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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 2 months ago

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Heart of the Weave - chapter 11 - Gale’s POV

The glowing orange sun begins to set beautifully, causing an aura of lavender and rose in the sky, and I can tell Emmy has reached the point of overexhaustion. We decided to camp one last time before we make it home tomorrow; we thought we would make it home today. Luckily, we’re close and we don’t have much longer before we arrive back at our sweet home in Waterdeep. I already miss Tara, our comfortable bed, and the balcony that stands above the bright, glistening ocean with soft waves that sing such a calm song. I’m imagining the reflection of the moonlight upon the water with the love of my life beside me as we admire it. I’m picturing our new child being curled up on my chest as we inhale the air of the salt water. We haven’t been away long, but I already miss the romantic and calm aesthetic of our tower that stands above the sea. I’ve always appreciated it, but after being abducted by the nautiloid, I’ve learned to appreciate it even more.

Having Emmy in my arms as we rest is the most comforting feeling that I love, and will continue to love for the rest of my life as long as we’re both alive. I did not realize how exhausted I was. As I hold her close to me, watching her sleep in my arms, it isn’t long until the soft chirps of crickets cause me to pass out and drift into a heavy slumber filled with solace. I’m so tired, my body is practically numb and my eyes are full of tears from the constant yawning.

When morning arises, I open my eyes to see Emmy is not in my arms. She’s normally awake much later than I am, so I’m wondering if she just had trouble sleeping. I crawl out of the tent, noticing Karlach and Wyll eating, but no sight of my wife anywhere.

“Have you guys seen Emmy? How long have you been awake?”

“We’ve been awake for a couple hours now. We both went to snag some food for all of us, but haven’t seen her once,” Wyll says. “We assumed she was in the tent with you. Not a sight of her since we’ve been awake.”

“Oh my Gods… Do you think Raphael got her?” Karlach murmurs, covering her face with her hands. Fear sinks within me as I come to the realization that’s more than likely what happened, since she doesn’t appear to be nearby. It’s not like her to run off and not come back. My stomach begins to turn as I try not to think about what he could have done with her. Of course he would come when we least expect it and snag her when she’s most vulnerable, when she’s alone in the forest. He knows she’s weak, he knows she can’t fight. Devils are always watching.

It’s taking everything in me not to have a manic episode, though it’s a challenge seeing as she could possibly be dead. No, Gale. She’s alive. She’s well. She’s pregnant with my baby – our baby – so it worries me that Raphael is getting exactly what he wanted, that maniacal, manipulative bastard. If I know anything about Raphael besides his diabolical tactics, it’s that he will hold her hostage and torture her like he did with Hope, a halfling we rescued from his home when we first broke in to steal the orphic hammer. It’s a long story, really.

“It looks like we have everything to summon ourselves to his home, but we’re missing the metal that goes in the center,” Karlach says, searching through her bag. “Son of a nutcracker, nothing!”

“Can’t we use a soul coin?” Wyll suggests. “It’s made of the same metal as the one we need for the summoning circle.”

“You son of a duke, that’s why I love you! Well, for other reasons too, of course.” Unfortunately, while I’m skilled in the arcane and would consider myself a rather good cook, I cannot draw a summoning circle for the life of me. Invading a devil’s home isn’t exactly a skill of mine that I hone.

“Could one of you draw a summoning circle and I’ll put in the material?” You can hear the hurt and brokenness in my voice, and Karlach and Wyll look at each other with worried eyes. Karlach places her hand on my shoulder, her eyes demanding my attention.

“Of course, Gale. Just so you know, it’s going to be alright. Deep breaths, Papa Dekarios, I’m sure she’s okay.”

“Thank you, Karlach.” As they draw the summoning circle, I begin to dissociate and visualize Emmy’s smile on our wedding day, the shine in her eyes as she stares at me with desire, the way her dark, curly hair falls behind her head as I say my vows. I can’t forget her cheek bones and the way they plump up as she smiles. The moment I placed my hand on her cheek before kissing her was my favorite moment to ever exist. I think about the moment she told me she was pregnant, how I suddenly got this overwhelming sense of protection. Fear sinks in as well as my protective instincts as Wyll shakes my shoulder gently.

“You ready, NightinGALE?” Wyll says, then immediately regrets his joke. I smile, still filled with worry and a pound of sickness within me as I walk toward the circle. It begins to light up, flames rising up as we’re being surrounded by flames, a horrific wave of magic causing our bodies to glow, and before I know it we disintegrate into the realm.

Being stuck in the in-between area of our world and Hell is quite a horrific trip I did not ever want to be in again, but for the sake of my wife and baby’s lives, I need to do what I have to do. I hear the deafening screeches of imps, piercing my ear drums as we drown into the Hells. I don’t know what lies ahead of us or what our ultimate goal is, but I really hope we can bargain with Raphael, though it seems our chances are rather slim given our past with him.

It’s like one giant flash of light, as if my soul is being transferred to the afterlife, my body being completely separated from what’s inside of me. Flames are consuming us for a minute, but I finally find myself in the home of Raphael. Luckily, Emmy is right there when we arrive, her body chained to the wall with soul chains. These are the exact same chains that were used to lock up Dame Aylin. Raphael, unfortunately, is also in the same room and it appears he’s interrogating her for something – maybe a deal of some sort. I gasp, watching her squirm for her life as the fiendish devil gets up in her face. No. This can’t be.

I wonder what he was speaking to her about before we showed up. Surrounding us are various cambions, staring us down should we make a single move. Though they don’t particularly make me nervous, the ill-intentions of Raphael sure give me a wave of stomach-turning anxiety. I can feel my face tighten, several angry emotions swirling within me as I try not to attack this bastard.

“I just didn’t want you to have the crown!” she pleads, her voice broken from all the cries. “We needed the orphic hammer, but we couldn’t allow you to have the crown. It was in everyone’s best interest.”

“Oh please, do you think I care about anyone’s ‘best interest’? No. All I care about is ruling over the Nine Hells and taking control of the devils, making them bow to me like the servants they are. They will have no power over me. Oh, silly girl. Mystra is a fool knowing damn well what she was giving up, who she was giving it to. Your husband worships a false idiot who claims to be all-powerful with magic. He’s just as pathetic as she is.” He touches her bare stomach with his hands, trickling it up and down with his index claw. I can hear him laugh as he’s thinking heavily on his next move.

“Let her GO!” I shout, approaching Raphael but he pushes me back with extreme force. It’s as if I lost all control and couldn’t contain my anger, which never happens. I fly in the air, feeling my back land on the hard floor beneath me.

“You will not interrupt,” he growls, looking back at Emmy. “She will be mine.”

“What do you want?” she cries out. “What can I give you to set me free?” Tears are dripping from her face as she struggles within the chains. Her body is weak, tired, and her face shows nothing but despair. It pains me to see her this way and it’s taking everything in me not to obliterate this creep.

“Emmy, my love,” I whimper, swallowing the words I want to scream at this devil’s evil face. I’m holding back screams and the urge to try and kill this fucker for good, but I know it won’t do a damned thing.

“NOW you want to bargain with the likes of me?” Raphael laughs, touching her belly with his sharp claw again, causing her to flinch. Her eyes widen as she begins to breathe heavily. I clench my fist and fight my words, but she might have him by a chokehold somehow.

“Raphael, please let her go,” I beg with desperation in my voice. “What can we do?”

“Ah, the pathetic wizard who would bow down to the worthless and pitiful goddess that gave the crown to me. One of the people who destroyed me in my own home.” His piercing gaze is digging deep into me, but I’m not allowing it to intimidate me at all. “You’re all too late for any deals. Nice attempt, however.” He continues to trace his claw across her belly, laughing quietly but with a deep tone. He presses his finger deeper into her flesh, causing all of us to panic.

“Please!” Emmy begs, her screams nearly deafening as she pleads for mercy. Karlach and Wyll move up in front of me to face him, ready to fight but I pull them both back with my hands. I can’t let them attack him; it seems we’re close to being able to make a deal with the man.

“Gale, we need to fight this fucking clown,” Karlach says. “He won’t stop unless we destroy him again.”

“He can’t die, remember? Especially as a ruler of the Nine Hells, it will be physically impossible. That will only make this entire situation much worse. Please.” Karlach sighs, and she steps back with Wyll, feeling a sense of defeat by the looks of it. “Trust me, I know the feeling.” Silence fills the room as Raphael turns around to face me, finally moving his hand away from Emmy’s skin.

“Fine. I assume you’re not willing to part with your unborn child. So, give me the Orphic hammer back and promise to never set foot in the House of Hope ever again. This is your only warning. Barge in again and your soul will rot in the stench of Hell, with your body. Understand?”

“Yes, deal. Thank you,” Emmy says, and he releases her from the soul chains. She takes the Orphic hammer from her pack and hands it to him, knowing damn well she has no use for it anyway. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I look back at Raphael, noticing an evil expression on his face, as if he’s planning something diabolical, though I imagine it doesn’t involve us; at least I hope not. He will still rule the Hells, but there’s nothing we can do. All I can imagine is that he plans on finding Hope again and feeding off her misery once more.I just know it. That’s what he’s known for – using people and feeding off their misery. We’re lucky we got away from him this time, but who knows if he has something nasty planned for the future?

We leave the House of Hope, which apparently is about to not exist in Avernus, and it will be rebuilt in the deeper depths of the Hells. If his plan is to recapture Hope, I feel so sorry for the poor girl. One can only hope that’s not part of his plans. We’re back on solid grounds, though I can safely say I did not expect us to get away that quickly. Emmy hugs me tight, as if she never wants to let me go. I can’t blame her.

“I thought we wouldn’t make it in time,” I murmur in her ear, feeling a tear leave the corner of my right eye. I almost lost her. I rub her back as she keeps her head placed on my chest. Raphael may have sounded like a complete blubbering idiot, but he wasn’t bluffing with his words.

“I love you Emmy, but damn girl, it’s scary how easily you can get away from an archdevil,” Karlach adds. “I have a feeling he has something else planned. If only we knew what. Let’s just…hope it doesn’t involve us.” I continue to embrace her, worried about the future of the world, what will happen, and the fear of surviving it all. We barely escaped Raphael’s clutches. Something tells me he was going to kill her.

“I’m just glad all I had to do at the time was give up the Orphic hammer, which I’m shocked I even had it on me at all,” Emmy says. “I could have sworn I sold it.” I often wonder why he didn’t just send one of his workers to try and steal the orphic hammer from us to begin with, but I guess he’s all about the theatrics.

I’m damn lucky we got away from our encounter with Raphael, but the question remains if it’ll happen again. There’s no way someone like him would let us off so easily, but maybe he knows he’s all-powerful and he already has what he wants. While we are more than ready to make it back to Waterdeep, all of us fear what we may come across again.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #ao3 #archive of our own #wizard of waterdeep

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cherokeegal1975 · 3 months ago

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The Complete Al's Baby

I discovered this comic in one of my deeply bored out of my mind internet searches because sometimes I go to weird places just to find something entertaining. Rarely does searches pan out with something even vaguely interesting but on rarest of rare occasions something odd pops up that catches my attention. This comic is one of them. I have never let anyone know I have this comic on my bookshelf and it remains hidden between some nonfiction tutorial books on drawing and crafting. I did have it hidden in a cabinet but one of the cats sprayed it and the pee went inside it and damaged my book a little bit. I had to peel apart several pages very carefully because of it. So it hides higher up. Fortunately no one bothers my books… though I sometimes wish they would because I want to share most of them.

Anyway this supposed to be comedy that doesn’t make me laugh is by the same authors who wrote Judge Dredd. A character I’m only familiar with through the movies that I never got to watch so have no opinion on them.

I don’t usually like gangster stories, but I took exception to this one because I was very bored and curious enough to try it. Keeping in mind that I think that the majority of mpregs are awful and this one isn’t too bad. So my compliment really means something. P.S. - Check out Noonibean here on DeviantART for her work and writing. I like her story though I haven’t gotten around to reading more than the first chapter and I don’t know why I haven’t. But I keep her writing in mind so I’ll eventually come back to it.

Anyway when I read this comic I can “hear “ the voices of the characters. Low, gruff any gravely for Al. High and nasal for Sal. Wheezy for their boss.

Al’s wife is a horrible singer and the one scene I really dislike in the book is the panels featuring a cat committing suicide with a gun because Velma was singing on stage. I am fond of cats and never want one to come to harm for any reason.

Now the plot is basically Al wants to be Godfather and will do anything to get the job. The current Godfather who is in poor health wands a grandson to secure the line and will grant Al’s wish to take over his mob if he has one. Velma refuses to be the one to have the baby and suggests the Al have it instead. Velma is even more ferocious than her mobster husband and since the Godfather threatens to end Al’s life if he doesn’t produce an heir, he has no choice but to undergo a procedure that will enable him to carry his baby to term. This isn’t the end of the story, there’s two more parts to it. But I’ll leave it here.

Normally I wouldn’t recommend a book like this but, I am doing it now. It’s surprisingly a good story. The artwork is great if a bit gory at times. I’m never going to be happy about the poor cat, even though I am aware that those panels are symbolically demonstrating just how awful Velma is on stage with her singing. This book is supposed to be a comedy, but it never made me laugh. But to be fair, it takes a lot for something to strike me as funny in a story. It’s a weird adventure with mob wars, one fearsome guy with ambitions enough to do anything to get what he wants. Literally anything, even having a baby himself…twice. So, check it out see what you think, buy it and hide it in your bookshelf too. Because unfortunately it doesn’t come in anything other than a large paperback book. A nice one, but I do wish it came in Kindle too. Or at least find a neutral dust jacket to cover up the cover art. It certainly gets attention, but if the people in my household ever find out I have this book, I can get a lot of grief about it.

#cherokeegal1975 #fantasy #sci fi #mpreg

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thelayersoffear · 4 months ago

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Reincarnation: Layers of Fear/HSR

"I've run around my house God knows how many times, but it's done nothing to bring them back!" The man bellowed, standing in the decrepit underbelly of his house. "There has to be a way!"

From the darkness, an ominous yet familiar voice spoke. "Oh, there is a way. But it bears a heavy price. Can you bear to give up everything you worked for, just to reunite with them?"

That caused him to pause, mulling over the options. As desperately as he wanted to be a great artist in this life, that dream had died. At this point, he had lost everything that ever mattered to him. Could he sacrifice his talent and fame for a chance to have his family returned?

He grit his teeth, but had his answer. "…I can."

Behind him, the man could feel a rush of cold air, even though he was in the basement of his house. Of course, it didn't come from outside, but from the being that was standing behind him. He felt the train of her coat on the floor brushing past his feet, but he didn't dare to look.

Her voice grew closer. "It will cost everything, but it will grant new life."

"…new life?" The painter asked hesitantly.

"Yes. A fresh start; isn't that what you want?"

He clenched his fists, still hanging at his sides. "But she…she'll be safe?" He asked, worried given the fate of his beloved wife.

"Oh, she will be. She'll thrive in a musical career beyond the stars." Suddenly, the man could feel those icy, gaunt fingers clutch around his shoulders. "Just what she always wanted."

While terrified, he kept looking straight ahead. "All right then, what's the catch?" He declared, knowing a deal with the Rat Queen always came with strings.

A deep chuckle emanated behind him. "You will become a nondescript man whose only mission is to save her homeland. You'll succeed, but it will cost you your life. Hardly anyone will remember you, and your beloved will carry on without you by her side."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Is that the deal, then? A life for a life?"

"That is the exchange. Do you choose to take it?" Her hands on his shoulders tightened.

There was a long pause as he considered the options. Despite this second chance, one of them could not survive. Of course there couldn't be a true happy ending. But this was the one chance for her dreams to come true, even if it meant doing so without him.

Shaking a little, he nodded. "…yes I do."

"Then it is done." The room began to swirl about them, and before the Painter could register what happened, everything went black.

~~~***~~~

"To the imperfect…tomorrow." Gallagher spoke into the wind. He had said goodbye to the Astral Express and the Halovian siblings as they made their return to the sweet dream in order to stop the Stellaron. It was out of his hands now, and unfortunately, he wouldn't live to see the conclusion.

He wasn't sure where he was going to end up after death, but one thing was for certain. Quietly, he spoke out last phrase out loud, directly to the woman he had harbored feelings for over many years, yet had not uttered a sentence or acted in any way to show it.

"No matter where I am in the future, I will definitely still hear your singing."

#I was inspired by Madoka Magica music #also Gallagher from HSR is the reincarnation of the Painter from Layers of Fear okay #layers of fear #honkai star rail #gallabin #hsr

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lorei-writes · 2 years ago

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Letters: From: Me ; To: You

(And Some of What Happened In-Between)

Clavis Lelouch & OC (OC Chart: Laura) Summary: A letter sent out in desperation, and how -- or whether -- it manages to rescue Laura from an arranged marriage. Word Count Estimate: 1k Other chapters: Masterlist

Content Warnings: animal attack

Leaves hummed above their heads, swayed by a warm summer gale. Dirty with mud and stricken with sweat, Cyran ran his hand down his face, thus smudging the stains left over his features even further. He did not appear to care much, however, or not any more than about the cause behind his concern, Clavis merrily treading a path for them through the mountainous forest.

“Attracting bears… really?” the knight sighed.

“No. Attracting male bears in dire need of mating. That is quite a serious oversight for my most trusted man,” Clavis chuckled quietly, a single (the smallest one of the lot) crease easing out from between Cyran’s brows.

“I am glad you are mindful of keeping your voice down, my lord. Your laughter could cause an avalanche, I swear.”

Clavis held back a snort. He brushed his damp hair away from his face, eyes set on the marks left in the bark. He walked to them slowly, and took off one of his gloves before running his fingers through the uneven welts.

“Ha! Would you look at that, it’s still fresh. Lucky, aren’t we?” he laughed, the crease returning with double the previous depth.

“An avalanche, Prince Clavis.”

Clavis crouched down, a jar nearly falling out of the inner pocket of his cape. He caught it in time, however, his companion growing a few more grey hairs just regardless.

“Now, that’d be delightful, but alas – you could search the entire mountain for snow, and not find even a single flake.” A brush in his hand, he begun to paint the tree with… whatever the translucent solution the jar contained.

“A landslide then,” Cyran sighed.

“Hahaha, now, now, that’d be unfortunate. Do you have the time to complain, though? Unless you want to meet more bears, of course.”

Cyran lifted a brush as well. Why, oh why… Although he had technically chosen this fate for himself.

It was a lovely day; if heavens could design for a weather to be perfect for a wedding, they did it then, and actualised their plan. Despite days of rain, not a cloud hung in the sky, the greenery surrounding the path sparkling in fresh dew suits as if it too was invited to celebrate the soon-to-be-husband-and-wife. Laura curled her fists into the skirt of her gown, her veil shaking whenever carriage wheels rippled any of the puddles ahead of them. She stifled a groan, the singing birds having her head throb. She glanced from her mother to her father, and then back at the floor, not a word leading itself into the web of silence entangling them all. If anything, the harder Laura struggled to come up with a suitable thought, the worse she got stuck, eventually losing all desire to talk.

Laura turned her head towards the window, the steep walls of the gorge staring back at her emptily. They had probably seen many women like myself, she considered, her stomach churning at the thought. The road widened, however, a valley spreading far bellow them seemingly aiming to ease her mind, blinding sunlight reflecting off the surface of the lake nestled within it…

Magpies warbled.

The carriage shook. It came to a halt.

“Dear? Were we supposed to stop now?” her mother asked. Laura turned her face towards them, her father’s uneasy grunt leading her to believe that much was not a part of their journey plan.

“I’ll inquire the coachman —”

Lord Sonne did not have a chance to finish the reply, low guttural growls turning his face pale and twisting his features into a frown. The sound grew in volume, multiplied and shifted as if to encircle them, each animalistic scream a reply to another of its kind. Hailstorm of roars fell over them, and so came a command:

“Fire! Fire! Fire at the bears!”

Laura pulled her veil back, her father pushing the carriage door open.

“Stay back,” he ordered, rushing out at once.

“Mother…?”

Magpies warbled again, distant howling colliding with roars just outside the thin wooden walls, followed shortly by man-made thunderstorm. Laura watched, her mother staring back at her, glass-like sheen having come over her eyes. The woman reached forward, old hands clasping around the much younger ones.

“Sweetheart… If you go now… I will not say a word, no matter what means they employ…” she whispered out, terrified eyes darting towards the coach-box window.

Laura opened her mouth, but her mother shook her head vigorously.

“There is no time. Go, or I may change my mind.”

Laura rose from the seat.

Distant cries chased after her as she rushed down the slick mountainside, raspberry bushes outstretching thorny hands towards the pristine muslin, disregarded berries dyeing the white in splashes of red. Laura threw off the veil, hair falling over her face the moment she ripped out the few pins holding it in place. She stumbled over her feet, continued to tumble through the dirt – and then rose to break into a limping dash The world made itself narrow in her eyes, compressed itself only to two things: the fury of screams and roars behind her back, and the lake, the shimmering promise of safety in Benitoite. There was no “her” for her mind, no pain nor cuts, nor bruises, nor soil on her hands, and most definitely, not a trace of concern for her torn dress.

Laura fell again, her feet catching onto a protruding root. Newly emerged barking crept up her back, and so she turned to look around, hounds closing in on her. Her hand trembled as she pushed it into the front of her corset, panicked fingers searching for a small glass flask. She closed her eyes, dogs lurching forward, and —

The bottle slipped out of her grasp.

Laura coughed.

Her ears rung, but refused to hear. Not that her mind would listen.

Too beaten up to get up, she crawled. Fear robbed her of what vision she had, but she refused to give up for as long as there was even a single sense that could provide her with guidance. She stopped, however, or was made to stop, her weight lifting off the ground. Klara stared at the blue sky above, and found herself mesmerised by the twin suns gazing down at her in turn. She smiled, positively convinced she had just seen violet clouds, and closed her eyes. Surely, she had reached Benitoite.

#letters from me to you #clavis lelouch #ikepri clavis #ikemen prince clavis #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen series

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vaynglories · 9 months ago

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get to know me meme (tagged by @strandedchesspiece, tyty! 💜)

do you make your bed? nnnnnot nearly as often as i should ahaha.

what's your favourite number? 3's pretty good tbh. it forms two of my favourite text-based emotes, :3 and <3.

what is your job? i'm one of the kens whose job is beach (Currently Unemployed).

If you could go back to school would you? tried that, got nothin' to show for it but student loans that i'll be paying off until the end of time; unfortunately my brain isn't really cut out for academia. (if i ever discover what it is cut out for, that'll be the day.)

can you parallel park? no, i don't drive >.>'' i'm lucky enough to live in a little city with decent public transport and with a lot of stuff within walking distance.

a job you had that would surprise people? wayyy back when i was in polytechnic i worked part-time as a life model for art classes for a bit. had a few friends who were art students, they were down a model for one of their classes, i needed the cash. yeah that meant my friends did see my whole naked booty ass out, but eh.

do you think aliens are real? eh, universe's pretty big. probably something out there, even if it's just little amoeba dudes wiggling around on one of those exoplanets with water somewhere.

can you drive a manual car? i can barely drive an automatic 😭

what's your guilty pleasure? honestly, writing fic. no guilt or cringe for the hobby in general; it's more the fact that there are folks out here putting out these thoughtful, plotty, well-researched works, and i am but a silly creature who writes mostly fluff and banter and occasional smut.

tattoos? none yet.

favourite colour? orange, teal, any shade of red. i wear mostly black though.

favourite type of music? my long-term heavy rotation is a lot of old-school goth rock and post-punk (sisters of mercy, the cure, siouxsie, etc) but i listen to a lot of stuff.

do you like puzzles? i do! when i was a kid my dad and i would get one of those big 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles over every summer break. i like puzzle videogames too, but there's something nice about putting something together with your hands.

any phobias? not since i was very little. my fears these days are all of the less concrete variety, like "dying alone" and "the inevitable heat-death of the universe".

favourite childhood sport? did karate for a few years... i miss it tbh.

do you talk to yourself? i sing or make weird noises more than i talk. my latest thing is making a weird kind of gravelly chainsmoker-catboy "nyagh!" sound when i drop my phone on my face in bed or something. three years of living alone has undone all of my human socialization.

what movie(s) do you adore? oh god i haven't seen a movie in years i think. a knight's tale is a Formative Childhood Classic to me though. been really itching to rewatch the hellboy and blade movies also.

coffee or tea? coffee is like a wife to me. even though all she does is make me sleepy (got the Caffeine Makes Me Sleepy adhd) and make my stomach kinda upset. we should get divorced maybe tbh.

first thing you wanted to be growing up? probably an astronaut? i read a lot of books about space when i was a kid and they had a lasting impact (see above: lingering existential anxiety about the inevitable heat-death of the universe).

tagging: uhhh picking some folks from my recent notifs: @mcbitchtits @thelittlestancient @thebansacredbanned @toybeluga (no obligation ofc!) also like, literally anyone reading this who likes doing these things PLEASE consider yourself tagged. (i like to know who i can annoy.)

#tag games #wild shrieks.txt #very glad tumblr auto-shortens long posts now wow. i just do not shut up!

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onceuponaloonatic · 1 year ago

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i've been rewatching atla and it reminded me of the atla au i made! it got a little long though lol

Sana had been dreading this day. Ever since she left, she had known there was a day where she would be forced to return. And, unfortunately for Sana, that day was today.

“Saya stop running around everywhere.” Sana sighed at her wife’s voice, watching as Sana ran around the boat.

“It’s so exciting, we’ve never been to the fire nation before!” Saya giggled. It was true, they had made frequent trips to Kyoshi island and Ba Sing Se to visit Tzuyu’s family, and they had even made it out to the northern water tribe a couple times, but Sana had done everything in her power to avoid the fire nation. “Is it true that there are volcanoes everywhere? And dragons?” “There are a couple volcanoes, I wouldn’t say they are everywhere.” Sana took a deep breath. “As for dragons…” Sana knew the girls hadn't been taught as much fire nation history as they probably should have been. She knew learning history was important, especially because her kids had fire nation blood running through their veins. But Sana had always been hesitant to teach them, just hoping their schools would cover it.

“Dragons are extinct Saya.” Sai cut in. “The royal family killed all of them.” Sai looked at Sana briefly. Sana nearly shrank under her daughter’s gaze.

“The fire nation has done many horrible things…” Sana trailed off. “Many many terrible things.”

“So the fire nation has one centralized royal family?” Sae asked. “Like how the Earth kingdom has a queen?” “Yeah, the head of state is called the fire lord. The current fire lord is your grandfather, fire lord Kenji.” Sana explained, trying to focus on Mina and Tzuyu's presence next to her. “Our grandfather is the firelord?!” Sana had tried to keep it a secret from her kids. They knew that Sana was important in the fire nation, but they didn’t know her exact position. Sana had tried to keep it that way.

“Yes.” Sana avoided the girls' gazes as Mina laid a hand on her shoulder.

“That makes us like princesses right?!” Saya asked excitedly.

“It would probably just be Nico right? Cause she’s the only one of us that can firebend?” “Hm?” Nico looked up from where she was laying against Mina. She always got a little sick during long trips, especially by boat. Mina would usually heal her the best she could, but it didn’t stop Nico’s stomach from hurting.

“You're a princess Nico!” “I am?” Nico muttered.

“It’s more complicated than Saya.” Sana nodded. “I’m not really the princess anymore.” “What happened?” “Saya.” Tzuyu interrupted Saya with one stern glance. “What are we going to do when we get to the fire nation?” Saki asked, looking up from her book.

“You guys will meet some of your mom’s side of the family.” Mina supplied. “Your mom is here on important business, but we can explore the capitol while she is busy.”

“I’ve heard there’s lots of really good food in the fire nation.” Sai spoke up. “I want to try fire flakes.” “I haven’t had those in a while.” Sana giggled. “Not since I was pregnant with Sai, I think.” “You did crave a lot of fire nation food back then.” Mina giggled. “We were convinced Sai was going to be a fire bender, then one day she threw a rock at Sana’s head while throwing a tantrum.” “It was cute, but painful.” Sana giggled.

“My bad mom.” Sai laughed.

“What was it like the first time I bended?” Saya asked.

“Chaos.” Mina laughed at the memory.

“You were trying to copy your sister, but you ended up slamming a rock into the side of the house.” Sana elaborated. “It took weeks to fix.” Tzuyu nodded.

“You were pretty attached to me back then Saya,” Sai teased, messing with her sister’s hair. “You used to follow me around everywhere.”

“Shut up, I was just a little kid.” Saya groaned.

“At least Sae was less destructive,” Mina commented. “One day she just bent the water while she was taking a bath.” “I did?” Sae asked. “Huh.” “What about me?” Nico asked.

“You sneezed and set yourself on fire.” Sana giggled.

“I put it out, but it was scary.” Mina smiled at the memory. “You were a lot younger than your sisters the first time it happened, you surprised us.”

“Well at least I don’t have any embarrassing stories like that.” Saki shrugged.

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry.” Sana sighed. She was always worried they were leaving Saki out when they talked about bending. Saki had always seemed a little sensitive about the fact she couldn’t bend. “We have plenty of cute moments with you too.” “I know mom.” Saki put her book down. “It’s okay.” “Saki I-”

“Miss Minatozaki! We are here!” Sana took a deep breath at the announcement. The air already felt suffocating.

“Okay, let’s go.” xx

Sana wasn’t surprised how quickly her family made her regret her decision to go to the fire nation.

“Sana, I have heard Nico is a firebender.” Sana sighed. After the incident when her father hired people to kidnap Nico, she had tried to finally remove her family from her life. Unfortunately, her father made it harder than it had to be.

“She is.” Sana muttered, taking a bite of rice while trying to maintain her composure. When they had gotten a dinner invitation with Sana’s parents, Sana had tried to get her wives and kids out of it, but her parents had insisted that at least Nico came. Sana had tried to argue, but had eventually relented that Nico could come.

“Has she started her training?” “Yes.” Sana answered. She felt Nico shift next to her. She wasn't used to sitting on her knees much, and Sana knew she had to be uncomfortable in the fire nation fancy clothes she had been forced into. “She has been working on mastering her basic forms.” “Very good. Would you mind giving us a demonstration?”

“Father I don’t think that’s a very good-”

“Sana.” Sana had to hold herself back when her older sister spoke over her. They had never been very close. “Come on now, I thought you had grown out of that rebellious teenage phase of yours.”

“Nico, why don’t you just show us some of what your mom has taught you?” Sana’s father addressed Nico directly. Nico looked nervous.

“Father I-” “I can do it mommy.” Nico nodded, standing up and moving to the center of the room. Sana hated that she felt so powerless to stop it. Nico performed flawlessly. Sana had known she would. Nico had excelled in her firebending training the minute she started.

“Very good Nico.” Sana’s father praised. She hated her father’s smirk.

“Yes, she’s just like her mother. A true prodigy.” Sana sighed at her mother’s comment.

“Good job sweetie.” Sana whispered to her daughter as Nico sat next to her.

“She is a true talent Sana, who is her teacher?” “I am.” Sana sighed.

“Oh? Don’t you think such a talent should be nurtured by a master? Just because someone is a good firebender does not mean they are a good teacher.”

“She’s learning just fine.” Sana grumbled.

“Sana, don’t you think she would learn better here, in the nation her bending hails from? There’s an opening at the Fire Nation Academy for Girls.” Sana sighed at the mention of her alma mater. The only good thing that had come out of that place was her friendships with Nayeon and Momo.

“She’s learning fine in Republic City.” Sana nodded. “Sana, we just want what’s best for Nico.” “Since when do you want what’s best for me or my daughter?” Sana muttered to herself.

“I was afraid it would come to this.” Sana’s mother sighed. “Sana, I’m going to insist that you let Nico come stay here, where she belongs.” “What do you mean where she belongs? She belongs at home, with her family.”

“Sana, we were going to wait to tell you this until we made the formal announcement, but we have decided that Nico is going to be named the successor to your sister.” Sana felt anger boil through her as her daughter reached for her sleeve.

“What do you mean?” “Well, you know of your sister’s, unfortunate, condition. Our family has been on the throne since the founding of this great nation. I will not allow the line to be broken. We cannot maintain our power without a blood heir.”

“My daughter is not a pawn for your political games.” Sana growled. “She will live with me and her mama and her ka-san in Republic City.” Sana grabbed Nico’s hand, fully prepared to drag her out with her.

“Sana, wait.” Her mother stopped her. “How about this, we will allow Nico to stay with you in Republic City, but we will send the finest teacher in the fire nation to train her.” “No, I’m not giving you any control over her-”

“Sana. If you walk out of that door, you will be considered an enemy of the fire nation.” Sana paused at her father’s comment. “Do you really think that’s what’s best for your family?” Sana felt anger pump through her veins. How dare her father threaten her family. How dare he threaten-

“Mommy.” Nico tugged on her sleeve. “I’ll be okay.” Nico nodded at her mom. Sana sighed, giving in was much better than the alternative.

“Okay.” Sana sighed. “Okay, I’ll agree to your little deal.” “That’s wonderful Sana.” Sana’s mother smiled. “We will make the formal announcement tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Sana sighed. “Can I take Nico back to our room to get some rest?” “Sure.” Her mother agreed. “See you first thing tomorrow, princess Nico.” xx

When Sana got back to the room she was sharing with Mina and Tzuyu, they could both feel the anger radiating off Sana.

Sana had never been the type prone to anger. Mina had been surprised when she had first met Sana. Firebenders were loud and hot headed. Sana was loud, but anger was not a normal emotion for her. But in that moment, Mina could basically feel the anger radiating off of Sana in waves. It felt like Mina was burning.

“What happened?” Tears sprang to Sana’s eyes at Tzuyu’s question.

“Well, our daughter is a princess now, apparently.” Sana slumped onto the bed.

“What?” “They are going to announce Nico as my sister’s successor tomorrow.” Sana answered. “My sister doesn’t have a kid. I basically spat on the throne when I left. Nico is our only child that can firebend. Therefore, Nico is now the princess.” “What… Does this mean?”

“My parents are ‘going to let her continue to live with us for the time being’ but she will be taught by a teacher from the fire nation.” Sana groaned. “I tried- I tried to get her out of this. But they-he threatened to declare me an enemy of the fire nation.” “I’m sorry baby,” “And I would let him do that, I hate this stupid place. But, it means I would be a fugitive, and that wouldn’t- it wouldn’t be good.” “I’m sorry Sana.” Mina rubbed Sana’s back. “We will find a way to get Nico out of this, I promise.” “I don’t think we can.” Tears dripped down Sana’s cheeks.

“We can.” Tzuyu nodded. “We can do anything if we’re together.”

#twice #minatozaki sana #myoui mina #chou tzuyu #atla au #misatzu #nico

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thebonnetblogger · 10 months ago

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I have a few thoughts about "Love and Basketball"...

Can I cross you over for your heart?

Have you ever loved a movie so much when you were younger, thought it was simply wonderful and a sheer masterpiece... only to rewatch it again as an adult and realize that it is just BASURA, BABY! Garbage! It stinks!

That is how I felt about the movie, “Love & Basketball” …

… and “Mortal Kombat: Annihilation”, because why in the hell would you kill Johnny Cage two minutes into the sequel?! He defeated Scorpion and Goro, for goodness’ sake! And what is with swapping Sonya and Raidon?! Trash!

Anyways…

For those who are unfamiliar with the 2000 movie, “Love & Basketball” tells the story of Quincy McCall and Monica Wright, two next-door neighbors in Los Angeles, who are pursuing their respective basketball careers before eventually falling for each other. The movie stars Omar Epps and Sanaa Lathan and was written and directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood.

[Sidenote: Spike Lee produced the movie, and I am like… why?]

Back to my thoughts… the movie basically is a young love story that happens to center around the sport of basketball—because hockey is too bloody and football just doesn’t make one’s heart sing like that.

The movie begins with a young tomboy, Monica approaching young boys playing basketball in a neighborhood that her family just moved into. This is where she meets Quincy, a son of an NBA player (who is played by the All State insurance guy and the same man that Savannah’s mom said was a good man… even though he had a WHOLE WIFE). When the boys agree to let her play, she takes off her hat and reveals that she is indeed a girl because apparently, a hat is the ultimate disguise. She was like Clark Kent.

After revealing that she is a girl, the boys show that misogyny has no age, and they question if she can even play. She proves to them she can. Monica is balling and Quincy cannot handle her sauce. Unfortunately, the little boy’s ego is bruised because he sucks and he pushes Monica, and she gets a cut on her face.

Little Boy! It is not her fault that you suck. You should have had your NBA playing daddy practice more with you, but apparently, he was too busy with other things… that we will discuss later.

After Monica gets cleaned up, Quincy comes over to apologize and asks her to be his girlfriend. What in the Blueface/Chrisean is going on here?! You left me with a permanent scar and now you’re trying to be my boo?! Is it crack?

However, Monica agrees—foolishly, but as you watch the movie further, you see that “foolish” is her middle name. Now, they are boyfriend and girlfriend, and they go to ride bikes. Quincy says that Monica must ride on the back of his bike because he is her boyfriend now, but Monica is a real a** b***h who doesn’t give an “F” about a ninja, and she says that she would rather ride her own bike. Quincy gets mad, breaks up with her, pushes her AGAIN! Someone needs to get this boy some anger management classes!

They tussle in the grass and then there is a time lapse.

Now, they are in high school and guess what they are doing…. playing basketball.

Monica is playing on the girls’ basketball team, and it is obvious that she really loves the game. She has a passion for it and gives the sport her all. Quincy, on the other hand, though he loves basketball, I feel like he does it more because he admires his father and wants to be like his dad. He loves the notoriety that comes with it all.

Rewatching the movie, this is when I noticed that Monica was more into Quincy than he was into her.

For example, when Quincy is playing, Monica is there to support him and stays for the entirety of the game. However, when Monica plays, Quincy leaves a few minutes in, leaving after Monica gets benched. It wasn’t like she was going to be on the bench forever, Quincy! You could have stayed, you selfish son of a b---.

If I didn’t mention it before, I shall mention it now… Monica and Quincy live next door to one another. Their bedroom windows are literally facing each other, separated by a gate, I think. When Quincy’s parents are arguing, Quincy climbs out of his bedroom and goes into Monica’s to sleep in peace.

Being a parent of teenager, BARS ON THE WINDOWS! I don’t care how platonic the relationship is… “Relations” are still in the word, but Quincy doesn’t see Monica “like that” even though the audience can see that she likes him. It really took Monica wearing a dress for the dance for him see her as attractive.

Really? Is that all it took? You saw some ankle and suddenly, your loins get activated and you’re ready to plow?

And plow he did! Because after they leave their dates, he climbs into her bedroom and takes her virginity! Quincy, you dog you.

After doing the nasty, the two lovers and friends embark on their new romantic relationship while going to the same college. And once again… they are both playing basketball (These two are nothing but consistent… and I admire that). It is revealed that Monica is only starting because one of the players got pregnant and apparently, babies and basketball do not mix.

Anyways… nothing is more sweet than young love, amirite? It just feels so good… until it doesn’t. And it stopped feeling good when Quincy finds out that his parents were divorcing because his father couldn’t keep it in his pants and managed to get one of these harlots pregnant.

HE IS NOT A GOOD MAN, SAVANNAH!

The news of his parents’ divorce is really taking a toll on Quincy. He and Monica talk about it on campus at night, but Monica remembers that she has a curfew and missing that curfew would get her kicked off the team. Do you think Quincy cares? Hell no! He wants her to stay back and talk with him about how his father is for the streets (he was an NBA player in the late 1970s and early 1980s… are you really surprised?).

Monica tells Quincy that she will talk to him tomorrow. For some reason, Quincy took that as she doesn’t care about him, she doesn’t love him…, and she wants an open relationship.

Wait… what?

They are supposed to go out for lunch… or dinner… or whatever time it was to eat, and Quincy invites another girl with them. Oh, hell no! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree because you’re a douchebag just like your sultry-voiced father. Monica gets angry and leaves the dorm room.

Hours later, Quincy is waiting outside of her dorm for Monica. He says all he did was buy that girl Burger King.

Did you buy her a meal? Did you make it a large?!

He downplays it as nothing even though he was clearly in the wrong to even suggest it, making it seem as though he wouldn’t have did what he did if Monica was there for him. SIR, WHAT?! She had a curfew! And this is what made me angry. He always wants her to sacrifice for him! He didn’t care about the fact that she be kicked off the team or get in trouble, everything was about him. Is this the type of movies you are funding, Spike?!

Monica goes to leave, and he grabs her to stop her from walking away… ONLY TO BREAK UP WITH HER! Why did you stop her in the first place? You should have just let her leave! I hate him so much!

[Sidenote: Good riddance, Quincy!]

A few years have passed. Quincy is playing for the Lakers in the NBA and Monica is playing overseas in Barcelona. She comes across another country’s women’s basketball team and see one of her teammates from college—the one that made sure to tell her that she was only starting because another player bust I wide open and got pregnant. They are cool now. She asks Monica how the men are in Spain and Monica is like… men? She doesn’t date. Girl, why?! Because of punk-a** Quincy?

Monica moves back home. Quincy is engaged (to Tyra Banks) and while playing in a game, he injures his knee. He won’t be able to play anymore. Monica goes to visit him in the hospital and one can tell that she still has feelings for him… and it is the dumbest thing to witness. Girl, why?!

Monica is working at a bank and after talking with her mother, Camille (Alfred Woodard)—who always had an issue with her love for basketball—still encouraged her daughter to follow her dreams.

I guess to Monica, that meant going after a man in a relationship, because she went to talk to Quincy literally that same night… a few days before his wedding!

Because basketball is a pivotal thing in their relationship, Monica challenges Quincy to a one-on-one game for nothing other… than his heart. Ugh! If she wins, he calls off his wedding. “I want to play you for your heart”. SAY WHET NAH?! Stand up! STAND UP! Those are some high stakes and the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Girl, you don’t have to do this. There are other men out there!

But Quincy agrees. And all I can think is “Poor Tyra” because he must not love her enough if a simple game of basketball is a deciding factor if he will marry her or not. Pathetic.

They are, and I must say… Quincy is giving Monica that work! He is crossing her over, I think there was some fouling, some breaking of the ankles; he is playing like she is Kobe. And he is WINNING! This man is like “Screw your heart! B***h, I came to win! I am a winner!”.

Quincy wins… but because he doesn’t want to lose her (or you just want someone to be obsessed with you), he chooses to be with her.

Years later, Monica is playing for the WNBA and Quincy is a stay-at-home dad for their daughter. Cute, right?

WRONG! Quincy didn’t choose her… he settled for her. Though his knee injury was getting better; he wasn’t going to play for the NBA anymore. He didn’t have a backup plan.

And how did that conversation with his fiancée go after that night?

“Hey, baby. I know we were supposed to get married, but I just played a game of basketball with my long-time platonic friend who is also my ex-girlfriend, and I won; therefore, I am going to be with her now. No hard feelings?”

Rage. All I would feel is rage.

I am sorry if this might be some people’s favorite romantic movie, but this is nothing but toxic. Quincy was no prize and displayed a lot of F**k Boy behavior. He was a spoiled jerk who felt like everyone should kiss his butt because he could dribble a ball. Monica always found it hard to move on from him, but he moved freely without a care in the world. This was not love, people! This was some co-dependency BS and I want Monica to know her worth! Where was her mother and father to steer her away from this madness?!

Ladies, do you see everything Monica did? Do the opposite of that!

What are your thoughts?

Sincerely,

#film #writing #romance #romcom #love&basketball #sanaa lathan #omar epps #tyra banks #basketball #love #friendshop #movie review #funny #follow #explore #explorepage #trending #blog #blogger

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anddreadful · 2 years ago

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full thoughts on frank wildhorn’s dracula having re-watched it in its entirety for the first time in many years:

- I watched a recent upload of an (american) community theater production, specifically because a) its sound quality was surprisingly good and b) my recent interest is because a local theater is putting it on, so given the opportunity, I wanted to see whatever version of the show is currently available for north american licensing

- the production was charming but the community theater (technically dinner theater! I went on a google hunt to find the theater and it’s only two hours from me lmao) was community-ing so I can’t really write home about the acting. or the singing although mina had a nice voice

- the one place I will dunk on the production is how hilariously chaste mina and dracula were. the biting scene was notably stiff and un-suggestive of sex despite taking place on a bed. maybe one of the actors wasn’t comfortable with doing anything more, but they had only one kiss, and it was so late in the show and such a teeny little dry peck on the lips that I hollered. at that point just don’t do it and pretend theirs is an ~intellectual connection or something

- dracula did do a creepy hair-petting thing to both renfield and Mina that I was a big fan of

- “if loving you keeps me alive, then how can leaving me be right?” is such a funny lyric. dirtbag manipulative boyfriend dracula

- I knew not all the songs were on the studio cast recording, but I had forgotten HOW MANY songs aren’t on it. where is How Do You Choose? If I Could Fly? It’s Over????? I had fully forgotten there was a life after life reprise. I was obsessed with the studio cast recording in high school and I know all those songs by heart (except for a perfect life because I think it’s bad) and now i’m like. why was I gatekept from so many of the songs!! why is there no professional english recording of Its Over!! answer me frank!!!!!

- this is not a new thought per se but a) I so love that all the suitors are present and themselves b) this show squanders them. jack has no personality whatsoever (I would trade TWO mina ballads for a jack song please I beg), arthur gets needlessly dunked on, and quincey is delightful and incredible and also narratively extraneous given that he doesn’t kill dracula or die at the end

- on that note, though, I cannot believe they included quincey being the first person to promise mina to kill her if the time comes in a book-accurate version of that scene. even the 1992 version doesn’t do that!!!! and this is basically just an adaptation of that movie!!!!! is this the ONLY dracula adaptation to include that detail? it’s a top five book moment for me so I very literally love to see it

- I understand that we had to beef up van helsing as a character SOMEHOW but was a dead wife song really the best we could come up with

- there are too many sad slow songs in this show for what it’s trying to accomplish! some of them immediately on top of each other! and some of the songs distinctly go on for just one too many verses 😭

- does the mina/ dracula romance make any sense? no. does the show make any effort whatsoever to make it? no. am I into it anyway? yeah. fuck it. I have terrible taste and so i think dracula as a disembodied voice like HI? HELLO? DON’T IGNORE ME? and mina being like “unfortunately, i’m into it” rocks

- “She Devil, Nosferatu” and “the lady in white” from that other dracula concept album are both so superior to “undead one, surrender” I almost feel bad for Frank and co there, but “the master’s song”, “life after life”, and “deep in the darkest night” still fucking slap

- the train hypnotism scene was soooo good except for the part where mina did dracula’s accent. not sure if that’s standard but I wish we hadn’t done that

- i’m not THAT well versed in musical theater as an art form and also all art is derivative etc but i do know that wildhorn has been historically criticized for derivativeness and…… yeah! you can tell where he mimics sondheim, and it doesn’t work because you can’t casually mimic sondheim and get out alive. i can’t think of the moment but there was some bit of music I could have sworn was out of Phantom, and it’s obviously a big general inspiration. not to be Boss Baby Guy but I see a lot of Les Mis DNA in it too (what is It’s Over if not The Confrontation in a goth hat)

- the dialogue between songs is serviceable at absolute best, and it’s a shame that it’s so consistently sacrificed at the altar of moving the plot the fuck along. for the most part, only mina and dracula meaningfully connect via song, so it would be nice to use the dialogue to flesh out relationships more often. lucy and mina being besties is a highlight!!!

- ultimately i had a blast but it must needs be said: the show is not good. the best possible execution of “literally just the novel dracula but dracula and mina are having a secret tragic love affair” is probably what we get in the 1992 dracula movie, and if there’s a way to translate that to stage well, it’s not this shallow, silly speedrun. but again. this trash is my trash. the painted cardboard castle of bad dracula adaptations is where i live.

- I actually think it would be really interesting to be involved in a production only because to make these characters function in terms of acting, I think you’d have to invent and extrapolate a lot in terms of motivation and characterization to supplement the text. which would be fun for me, a person who thinks about versions of dracula characters all the time already

#dracula the musical #dracula adaptation #frank wildhorn #sorry that I cannot figure out how to add a cut on mobile #I am one dracula years old #anyway thank god they cut that song about victorian technology christ

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readypanda · 10 hours ago

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hi hi hi friend tell me abt ur stories if u want!!! just read ur pinned post... I am intrigued!

which one do you want to know about?!?!?

(rather than waiting for an answer I'll tell you about the human and siren one since it's the furthest along, but feel free to ask about more if you're curious!!!)

Ok so the description says this story is about a human and siren starting a band, but it's ACTUALLY about the two of them working through their respective mommy issues. Bad parents are kinda a theme in this story.

SPOILER ALERT the reason the human (who's name is Haze) can talk to the ocean is because he's actually half selkie. I was inspired to write about this dynamic since in selkie folklore (which I don't know that much about so do not consider this a faithful representation) the stories of selkie women leaving their husbands who kidnapped them is pretty common, and I read on wikipedia that they would usually leave their children behind, too, if they had any. I also got the "talking to the ocean thing" from one of these legends, but I unfortunately can't find where I read that at the moment. This character and his sister also have non-human features (his hands and her face) that they hide from the other humans for fear of being ostracized.

Side note, one funny unintentional thing that crops up in this story is the fact that a couple other characters clearly have crushes on Haze despite the fact that he has ZERO rizz personality wise. I did this because I thought it would be funny, though it actually seems kinda relevant since selkies are supposedly seductive according to folklore. The story doesn't touch on this other than Haze showing absolutely zero interest in anyone despite this (though he could be read as just oblivious). It might be something I explore if I ever decide to write a sequel, though, since Haze being ace coded would be yet another contrast to the siren (who is a little boy crazy).

Where this story diverges from folklore is, most notably, the absence of a coat. It's something I could slide into the story if I wanted to but I never really thought about it. Maybe I'll consider adding it in the second draft, but it's just not all that important for two reasons: one being there's only one full blooded selkie character who appears in the story and the other reason being about why Haze's selkie mom actually left.

It's never stated directly in the text, but my hope was to portray Haze's parents as not the typical story of a man kidnapping a selkie to be his wife, but rather a complicated relationship that fell apart in time. Regardless of the circumstances, neither of his parents are around when the story starts, as his selkie mother left many years ago and his father died in a lumberjack accident. When I was first conceiving this story, I originally considered having Haze's father be abusive. This would explain more clearly why his mother left as well as giving my poor boy even more trauma to work through. I ended up not going through with this because 1.) it was too dark for the tone (and eventual audience) I was aiming for and 2.) the current version of the story gives me more room to explore Haze's feelings for his mother as a direct contrast to the siren character's feelings for hers. Speaking of...

The siren character, Lana, makes up the other half of this book. Unlike selkie mythology, which I did some research into, most of the siren lore in this book came entirely from my head. They still use songs for magic, but the spells they do go beyond just hypnotizing people (or fish, which is more practical for hunting). They use music to manipulate coral to build their houses on the reef, to transform their mermaid tail into legs for land, to summon bubbles underwater, etc. etc. Needless to say, music is a HUGE part of their culture beyond just magic. This poses a problem for Lana, who cannot sing underwater.

DISCLAIMER: Lana's story contains discussions about disability (specifically being deaf and/or unable to speak). I tried as well as I could to portray this in a sensitive and well informed manner, but I am only human and do not experience either of these disabilities, so if anything seems off or questionable please let me know if you're comfortable! I haven't done any sensitivity reading (other than one friend who knows sign language but is not deaf, who already gave me a lot of pointers in my portrayal of sign language) so it's entirely possible something has slipped through the cracks.

There is an explanation in the story for Lana only speaking above water (her gills were damaged in an accident, but she can still speak above water since the systems they use to generate sound are so different). I bring this up because I wrestled a lot with the depiction of Lana's disability and I worried it felt like it was erased by her not appearing disabled above water. After finishing the story, I feel a lot better about this aspect, since much of her story still takes place beneath water and going above the surface to talk is NOT a catch-all solution for her. Rather, she uses sign language most of the time, and part of the story is her convincing her family that there's nothing wrong with that and that they should engage with her signing rather than seeing it as less than speaking.

As I was developing this story, I wanted to portray more of the culture around siren sign language, since initially it felt like something only Lana did. This not only makes no sense world building wise (like if she's the only signer how did she learn?) but also feels inadequate representation wise. To bolster not only the setting but also Lana's relationships outside her family, I added another siren named Current to the story. He is deaf and heavily involved with the siren's sign language classes, which briefly shows some of the other sirens in that community. He and Lana also clearly have a thing for each other but their romance isn't heavily explored. That being said, I have brainworms about the two of them and would totally write about their romance in a sequel book if I scraped together a half-decent plot.

Anyways, let's finally talk about Lana's family.

In siren culture, siblings live together their whole lives. The oldest child is tasked with moving out of their parent's house when they are "of age" (never stated directly, but in my head, it's between 16-18) and preparing a house for their younger siblings to move into once they also come of age, which the oldest sibling will lead. It's generally accepted that siren mothers raise their kids with their siblings while siren fathers aren't generally a part of their kids lives (or even known by the kids), rather helping their own siblings raise their kids. Because of this dynamic, Lana has a HUGE family (at least compared to Haze). It's all comprised of her, her older sister Cordelia (who is of age and moved out), her younger brother Caspian, her three cousins, her mother, and her aunt and uncle.

Funny note about all that lore, when I went back to write the scenes at the siren school, I accidentally introduced a male siren who talks about his wife and kids, completely forgetting that sirens don't marry. I don't think I've fixed it yet but it's on the list lmao

Lana's sister is only one year older than her but has been working on their eventual house for three years. Lana was supposed to move out when she came of age, but didn't get around to it for a combination of her sister claiming the house wasn't ready and her mother not wanting her out in the world so soon. This builds on Lana's frustrations with how people treat her due to her disability. She has a common problem of feeling like people don't listen to her when she signs (evident with Cordelia and others) and she hates how her mother infantalizes her.

Lana's character arc is something I'm still kind of working out, since it's a complex issue. I need to resolve not only her own flaws (of which there are many) but also the mistakes other people in her life make without feeling like one overshadows the other dramatically. I haven't done a full second reading, but that's also something that's on the list. The complexity of her situation and my own lack of experience in the topic makes it a lot harder to write than Haze's arc.

When Lana and Haze meet each other, there's an immediate contrast. Lana is outgoing and not scared to take risks. She's a forward thinking person who makes plans and puts them into action, only stopped by other people in her life who don't do the same. Haze, meanwhile, is scared of everything and suffers from anxiety. He clings to the past desperately and doesn't like getting out of his comfort zone. They go back and forth throughout the story, and there's no shortage of the two of them butting heads. Through various circumstances, Lana convinces Haze to start a band with her. The first half of the story comprises of the two of them getting to know one another (and their secrets) while the second half actually has them playing in the band. I still think this pacing is a little wonky (ideally they would be playing in the band as soon as possible) but I'm okay with that for now because I don't want to restructure the entire story and deal with the plot point that prevents them from playing sooner.

and now, I get to talk about the secret third bandmate! Didn't expect that, did you? Well SURPRISE! This story has harpies, too.

The last character doesn't appear until the second half of the story and never gets a full chapter in his perspective. He's a harpy named Remiel who asks if he can join their band after their first show. He plays the harp (get it???) And to contrast Lana's outgoing energy and Haze's anxious energy, he's extremely chill. To demonstrate how chill, he gets exactly one exclamation in the entire story (said exclamation is also an inside joke in my family, which makes it funnier in my head).

Despite never getting his own chapter, Remiel isn't free of the bad parent curse, as he has a classic case of "high school musical dad" who wants him to join the family business rather than playing in a band. Unlike Lana and Haze, he's a lot more mature about his situation and seems to have come to terms with it. But that doesn't stop it from generating more drama between the characters.

I think he rounds out the cast well as the one mentally sane person in their crew.

LIGHTNING ROUND! Here's some out of context lines from random chapters to chew on:

"It would take an idiot to risk fishing in such a place. Haze was that idiot."

“Eat you? Gross! Human flesh tastes worse than rotten squid ink.”

"What was she gonna do, walk to his village with her fish tail and snitch?"

"If Cordelia didn’t want to talk, then she wouldn’t get a shopping buddy, either."

"But Haze was not smart."

“Why do you even HAVE this?”

“Lana, humans don’t lay eggs!”

“Yippee!”

"Lana made a rude gesture in its direction."

"Lana threw the prism fish toward Haze’s boat. Only, she missed, and it hit Haze in the face with a slchap instead."

"You’re making a layered collage for your boring situationship?”

“Mother always said you had a way with fish.”

“Can you swim back a little? We were just talking about holding your breath and having weird hands. What do you mean the ocean TALKS to you?”

"Listless didn’t even sound like a word to Haze anymore."

“No offense, but we’re not the shiniest fish in the sea. Some eye candy in our band wouldn’t hurt.”

“Have you really been swimming off to make out with boys?”

"Oh crap, he was being reasonable."

"Lana wasn’t sure what he was doing. She wasn’t convinced Haze knew, either."

"Lana expected excitement, even elation on his face. But instead, he stared at them, expression far, like someone might look at the remains of their pet guppy they pulled from the maw of a shark."

“That’s what I said! Is your head still half underwater?”

“Remiel is great on the harp, you straggly feathered old coot.”

"It took every fiber of his being to not smack his bandmates. What did he just say?"

“If we beat you at cards, will you tell us where your son lives?”

“Have you been using an illusion charm this whole time?”

"The stove in Haze’s kitchen was broken. Of course it was. Nothing could ever not break in his life."

"Besides, I wasn’t about to have Remiel ask his toolbag of a dad for one."

“Maybe the ocean is giving you the nicest version of an ugly truth.”

"Lana remembered Gus’ words about how being overwhelmed could turn some people into algae-sucking urchins for a while. He didn’t say that directly, but that was what she remembered."

“I have made a grave mistake.”

“You didn’t think at all! Is there a single brain cell behind that pretty face of yours?”

"She figured her mother should be a lot more worried about how Cordelia was ogling that harpy, but decided against drawing her mother’s ire."

“You told them I was WHAT?!”

Ok! This post has been a lot longer than I anticipated and I only got to talking about one story. If you're interested in asking, any posts I make for the other stories will prolly be shorter since they're not finished.

(unless you ask about the cyborg/flower nymph one. Prepare for impact if you dare peek down that rabbit hole)

Now I've gotta add a description of another story I've been working on to the pinned post...It's pretty far along but I never got around to it. We'll see.

Thank you for the ask and thank you for reading!!! Happy writing!!!

#writing #siren #selkie #my writing #rambling #talking about my story #is there a hashtag for rambling about your story??

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emmy-dekarios-bg3 · 9 months ago

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Heart of the Weave - A Baldurs Gate fanfiction

CHAPTER 11 - GALE’S POINT OF VIEW

“Have you guys seen Emmy? How long have you been awake?”

“More than likely you’re correct,” I say. “She probably got up to use the bathroom and that’s when she was snatched. The opportunity presented itself when she couldn’t be protected. Damn it! How do we reach him? I should have felt her get up.” It’s taking everything in me not to have a manic episode, though it’s a challenge seeing as she could possibly be dead. No, Gale. She’s alive. She’s well. She’s pregnant with my baby – our baby – so it worries me that Raphael is getting exactly what he wanted, that maniacal, manipulative bastard. If I know anything about Raphael besides his diabolical tactics, it’s that he will hold her hostage and torture her like he did with Hope, a halfling we rescued from his home when we first broke in to steal the orphic hammer. It’s a long story, really.

“Can’t we use a soul coin?” Wyll suggests. “It’s made of the same metal as the one we need for the summoning circle.”

“Of course, Gale. Just so you know, it’s going to be alright. Deep breaths, Papa Gale, I’m sure she’s okay.”

“You took EVERYTHING from me,” he snarls, his face up against her. His voice is stern and so deep that it’s spine-tingling. I can feel my blood boil as he speaks to her with such malice. “So for that, you will be my new ‘Hope.’ Locked here for centuries, begging for mercy, begging to be set free while your child will be my thrall, feeding off the souls of the unfortunate. It will be a slave, growing up to do my bidding, and then…you will watch as I tear it to shreds. A well-deserved punishment.” I wonder what he was speaking to her about before we showed up. Surrounding us are various cambions, staring us down should we make a single move. Though they don’t particularly make me nervous, the ill-intentions of Raphael sure give me a wave of stomach-turning anxiety. I can feel my face tighten, several angry emotions swirling within me as I try not to attack this bastard.

“You will not interrupt,” he growls, looking back at Emmy. “She will be mine.”

“Raphael, please let her go,” I say. “What can we do?”

“Gale, we need to fight this fucking clown,” Karlach says. “He won’t stop unless we destroy him again.”

“Yes, deal. Thank you,” Emmy says, and he releases her from the soul chains. She takes the Orphic hammer and hands it to him, knowing damn well she has no use for it anyway. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” I look back at Raphael, noticing an evil expression on his face, as if he’s planning something diabolical, though I imagine it doesn’t involve us. He will still rule the Hells, but there’s nothing we can do. All I can imagine is that he plans on finding Hope again and feeding off her misery once more.I just know it. That’s what he’s known for – using people and feeding off their misery. We’re lucky we got away from him this time, but who knows if he has something nasty planned for the future?

“I thought we wouldn’t make it in time,” I murmur in her ear, feeling a tear leave the corner of my right eye. I almost lost her. I rub her back as she keeps her head placed on my chest.

#raphael bg3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #professor gale #gale x tav #shadowheart #karlach #wyll ravengard #lae'zel #halsin #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction

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cherrycheridarling · 4 years ago

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gross | t.h.

tom holland x singer!reader

warnings: fluff

summary: you go live and sing an unreleased song to your fans. some catch onto the inspiration, including the one who inspired you. {listen to gross by olivia rodrigo (if you feel like it)}

wc: 1k

"Hello, my children. Welcome to my live." you gestured around your room as you propped your phone against your piano and took a seat on the bench.

The number of viewers grew by thousands every second and you smiled while you watched. Hundreds of comments flooded in; emojis, exclamation marks.

"When is the album coming out?" you read a comment, "Ooh, not for a while, unfortunately. Still have lots of work to do on it. But soon!" you assured them.

"Where are you right now? I am in my home. My humble abode. Specifically in my living room." you picked up the phone and showed the space. "It's a bit messy. Don't tell my mum."

Your eyes lingered on the telly before finding their way back to the comments, "What am I watching? C'mon, 'Criminal Minds', of course! Matthew Gray Gubler is my husband, have to be a supportive wife."

"How did you meet Tom and Jacob? How did I meet my adopted children? Um, Zendaya introduced us at a party and we've been best friends ever since." you smiled at the mention of your three closest friends.

"Where are they? I'm assuming you mean Tom, Jacob and Daya. They are filming right now, I believe? Not sure."

"Is there any song you can sing for us that's on the album? Hmm," you rubbed your chin, contemplating, "There is one, but I'm not sure it's going to be on the album. I wrote it a few days ago. It does not have a name yet, but I think I can grace you guys with a little something." you smirked before playing a little melody on the keys in front of you.

You hit a chord before clapping a beat, "Not long ago when I saw you there with your brown-eyed grin and your messy hair and every girl at the party was looking at you. Ooh-ooh-ooh." you smiled at the camera before continuing.

"I wonder what I'd say if I knew back then that the brown-eyed boy'd be my best friend. And the one I'd give my heart to. Ooh-ooh-ooh." you were so engrossed in singing that you didn't notice the certain brown-eyed boy join your live or the thousands of comments filled with theories.

'OMG THIS IS ABT TOM'

'no fucking way this isn't about tom'

'AHSGAAA IM SCRAMAING'

'tom has brown eyes and messy hair...'

'PLSSSS THIS IS SO CUTE'

'my y/s/n heart is screaming'

'i'm dead. deceased'

"Now everything reminds me of you, your pictures framed all over my room and if I hate someone you'll hate 'em, too."

Your mind wandered to the polaroid picture of you and Tom that was stuck on your bedroom wall. It was taken at one of Zendaya's many get togethers. You had fallen asleep on Tom's shoulder and he had fallen asleep with his head on yours. Jacob had taken the opportunity to capture the moment on Zendaya's polaroid and graciously given you the picture.

You went back to playing the piano, "As long as I'm your darling angel, I don't need anything in the world. 'Cause I feel like the luckiest every second that I'm your girl. I wanna do everything with you."

'TOM JOINED OSMDH'

'my PARENTS'

'HI TOM OMFG'

'he calls her darling angel i can die happy'

'TOM MF HOLLAND IS HERE AND SHES SINGING ABT HIM'

'MOM AND DAD ADOPT ME WTF'

'smo better be screenrecording this'

You continued to sing, clueless to the comments flooding, "Take the highs, I'll take the lows. I'll keep you close, give you the most. Oh, baby. I like you so much it's kinda gross, yeah. I like you so much it's kinda gross."

You shut your eyes and remembered all the times Tom would pick you up and you would take drives down the coast or to the grocery store even though you didn't need anything. When he would get you strawberry ice cream at Mario's Gelato because he knew that it would make you smile. Extra sprinkles, of course.

"And driving in your car, I feel all grown up. Is it me or does it feel more than high school love? Not gonna lie, your last name sounds so nice."

Y/N Holland.

"I love when you complain about things like traffic. Love when you're tired, baby, I like all of it. Honestly, I can't believe you're mine."

"I hate Los Angeles." Tom groaned as you stopped at yet another red light, hundreds of cars in front of you.

"What did L.A. ever do to you, love?" you chuckled.

Tom frowned and grabbed your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckles, "Most ridiculous traffic in the entire world. But I have you here, so I guess it's tolerable."

You shook your head with a smile, "Eyes on the road, Holland."

"I bring you up in every conversation. We're young, I know we got to be patient, but I know I want my life to have you in it. Ooh, and as long as I'm your darling angel, I don't need anything in the world. And I feel like the luckiest every second that I'm your girl."

Tom watched your live with a bright smile, unable to fight his grin as he watched you sing a song he knew was about him. Jacob and Zendaya perched on his shoulders in his trailer as they watched with him.

"You're whipped." Jacob told him.

Tom nodded absentmindedly, too focused on your singing to respond.

"Of course he is. His girlfriend is singing a song about him in front of– How many?" she leaned in closer to check the amount of viewers, "Almost fifty thousand people."

"She's not my girlfriend." Tom mumbled.

Zendaya scoffed, "Only because you haven't asked her. 'Darling angel', huh?" she smirked.

Tom felt his cheeks turn pink, "That's what she is."

As the song ended, Tom felt a wave of sadness at the fact that it was over. He quickly typed a comment before leaving the live.

You finished with a snap and an awkward smile before a comment caught your eye.

'love it, darling angel'

#tom holland smut #tom holland x osterfield!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x actress!reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

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The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed).

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant.

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them.

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline.

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group.

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did.

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting.

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back.

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow.

This... was going to be a tough one.

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

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sassyhobbits · 4 years ago

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rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

#every time i write a baby fic im like #is it obvious that i know next to nothing about babies #rowaelin #my writing #tog

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