#even though he knows his magic supply is wearing thin

[seriouslycalamitous]

Imagine: Timeloop AU, except it's just Ramón using dragon magic to continuously loop the day before qFit disappears over and over again - because he's not strong enough to stop him from leaving, not strong enough to save him completely, but if they stay right here, like this, it's almost enough. Almost perfect.

[thehollowwriter]

Meet Silas Clearcove, Atlantica's Boogeyman (but not really)!

(Left by @the-trinket-witch and right by me! I tried I'm so had at drawing 😭)

Silas is a butcher that sells parts of various sea creatures to whoever is willing to buy from him and even supplies Mrs Ashengrotto and eventually Azul with their wares for their restaurants. He's in his late sixties and lives in a kelp forest on the very edge of Atlantica's borders, where the light doesn't reach. He's treated with a lot of fear and suspicion, with dark rumours constantly spreading, and many city residents prefer to keep away from him.

Some Basic Info:

☆Homeland: The Coral Sea, though he was originally from the Abyss, a desolate wasteland below the Coral Sea

☆Species: Cookie cutter shark (abyssal)

☆Height/Length: 153cm/5'0

☆Birthday: 12th June

☆Dominant hand: He's ambidextrous

☆Hobbies: Gardening, reading, doing puzzles

☆Likes: Learning new things, music, cooking

☆Dislikes: Small, tight spaces, large crowds and bright lights, close-minded people

☆Favourite food: Clam chowder

☆Least favourite food: Triggerfish

Personality:

Silas is a very quiet man who doesn't talk very much at all. He doesn't feel the need to fill the air and only speaks when he thinks he has to. He's got a legendary resting bitch face and isn't all that expressive (he's delighted he promises, that's just his face/j). He is very closed off to most and prefers to keep to himself or those close to him, in fact he rarely leaves his property at all.

Silas is pretty similar to Finn. He's very hands-on and likes to get things done quickly and efficiently. He's a hard worker. However, he's very calm and calculating and has a lot of patience. He's good at strategy and knows how to adapt to new situations quickly, which is very helpful to his staff, many of whom are disabled (like him) in some manner.

Silas in general is very straight-laced and logical, but follows his own rules. He almost never obeys "social rules" and prefers to do his own thing, and doesn't care if it makes others uncomfortable or upset at him. He speaks his mind, if he speaks at all, and he doesn't sugar-coat anything and gets irritated when others try to do just dance around topics or imply things at him.

Silas, though he gives off a very threatening aura, does care deeply for those he's close to and is determined to care for and protect them the best he can. This especially extends to Finn, who he's trying his hardest to give a happy life. He has a soft spot for children and teens and generally acts more positively towards them than he does adults (in his own Silas way)

Appearance:

Silas has light amethyst eyes, dark purple hair and dark purple skin, except on his palms and parts of his tail and finds, where it is light purple. He has a long, fluffy beard that's also dark purple. He has various swirling black markings along his body and on his face, and long black claws.

His fins are torn and full of holes, and so is his tailfin. His face and body are heavily scarred and damaged. He's very thin, but has stretchmarks on his stomach. His teeth, like Finn's, are like that of an anglerfish, and are small and many.

Silas also has a band of black scales around his neck, and from just below that all the way to his navel are photophores that glow in the dark, which helps him camouflage and can even make him look like a school of fish from below.

Obviously, as a mer, he doesn't wear clothes, but he does wear both his and his husband's courting gifts to each other when he isn't working. Necklaces of orca teeth and shell, each has a volute and skeletal murex shell respectively. Sometimes, he wears his wedding jewellery as well, but it's more for important occasions.

Important Things To Know:

☆Unique Magic: Silas' UM has no name, but it is parasitic in nature. He can drain the magic from anyone he directly touches to make his own magic stronger and even get rid of blot. There is no way for him to transfer this magic or give it back. If he drains some of your magic, you can replenish it after a while, but not if he's drained it all. If you don't have magic or have run out, he can push further and suck out your "life force" too. He almost never uses his UM, apart from for getting rid of blot.

☆Silas does know the magic taught to the main cast and is in fact an extremely powerful mage, but his speciality is Abyssal magic. He has taught Finn a little bit of what he knows, but won't teach anymore until Finn is older, as Abyssal magic is very dangerous, difficult to master, and gathers a lot of blot quickly

☆Silas is autistic

☆Silas is disabled. When he was 14, he was shot by a harpoon gun, and the harpoon lodged so deep in his tail that it caused nerve damage that went untreated for decades. He's constantly in some form of pain because of it, and if he does taxing manoeuvres in the water or swims super fast or for long distances, the pain becomes unbearable. He's had to adapt how he hunts and travels to accommodate for this

☆As previously mentioned, Silas is a butcher. He hunts down (or just grabs) various sea creatures and butchers them to sell. He's spent his whole life hunting, so this is familiar to him.

☆A little part of his job no one knows about is a deal he made with the Leech twins' parents. In exchange for their protection (physically, money-wise if needed, etc) he *ahem* disposes of the remains of their enemies for them. He wasn't in a very good mental or emotional state when he made this deal but oh well, too late to go back now.

☆Silas is greatly feared and disliked by the majority of Atlantica's citizens, regarded as a dangerous cannibal due to being from the Abyss. This is worsened by his frightening appearance and silent but intense disposition. He's treated more like a cryptid than a person, and the rumours about him luring people to his home to kill and eat them, or that he was the one who murdered his husband (this is not true ofc) are often spread and only adds fuel to the fire. This unfortunately affects both his business and Finn, who struggled to find any friends as, due to the fear and disdain felt for Silas, parents would keep children away from both of them or children would avoid Finn overall.

☆Silas has a giant pet coral named Gillian that he feeds remains to

Silas' Family:

Living family? Finn Clearcove, his son, and Timo Byun, who technically isn't his son but he views as one. He later adopts @distant-velleity 's Chrysos. He does have in-laws and family on his husband's side, but he dislikes all of then and avoids them.

As for the rest of his family... his parents, grandparents, siblings, etc have all died in various terrible ways over the course of his life, and his husband, Morrigan, was murdered before Finn was born.

Backstory:

Silas was born in the Abyss, where he spent all of his early life in poverty and having to kill and eat other merfolk to survive. He had no education at all until his 20s, when he was given the chance to get out and start earning money.

He lived in Midway, a town that rests on border between the Abyss and the Coral Sea, for many years with his grandfather, his only surviving family member. There he met Morrigan and fell in with him, and after his grandfather passed away, they got married and moved to Atlantica.

Silas started his butcher business there, and they lived in relative peace for a while until Morrigan's death. Then, Silas was left to raise Finn mostly on his own without much help. He did recover and start going to therapy, but it took a very long time. Now, he just tries to exist in peace keep Finn safe and happy.

A more in depth dive into his backstory is covered in my ongoing fic, Lamentations :)

Some Fun Facts/Extra Info:

☆Azul is scared of him

☆Silas accepts teens to work for him part time

☆Silas likes the idea of going on land and exploring one day

(My full attempt at his design! I traced over the body and tail and gave up on the hands but added all the details myself!)

...........................................

A/N: Redo for the Papa of all time too!!!

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

@skibidibabygirl @paperclvps @quartztwst @devosin

[simplifiedemotions]

For @sumbul 🐰

It would be fine, Draco told himself as he exited the lifts to the DMLE. He looked around, breathing a sigh of relief at the relative din of the early morning.

He was doing office work today, and could hide the offending thing currently perched on his open hand. If someone came into his office, he would simply shove it into his desk drawer to hide it from view.

As if the small white rabbit currently nestled in Draco’s hand could read his thoughts, it gave him a look of abject betrayal, eyes wide and pleading. He scowled at it, but conceded a brief pet of its floppy ears.

“Alright, Malfoy?” asked Dresilda, one of the senior Aurors who seemed to have a knack for catching Draco unawares (see: that time Draco came out of the supply closet with a mortified Granger hiding behind his robes.)

Dresilda had given them a wicked grin before sauntering away, leaving Draco at the hands of a very angry witch.

Draco jumped, though he felt no relief when he saw she was alone. He was sure word of his new pet would reach the Auror bullpen before lunch, thanks to the ever-loose tongue of his superior.

“Did you stop by the Magical Creature department on your way here?” she asked, her shoulders shaking suspiciously, lips pursing in a tight line before she finally let out a cackling laugh.

He scowled at her, then turned on his heel to take the long route. When he made a sharp turn towards the archive wing, he bumped right into Granger.

With the same force she came at everything, Granger barrelled right into Draco’s chest, causing him to almost lose his hold on the fluff ball.

To stemmy both their falls (he was grateful for all his etiquette lessons as a boy), he caught hold of Granger’s waist before she tipped back and fell, still holding the rabbit in his other hand and lifting it in the air if it were a prized snitch.

“Steady on,” he said, privately delighting in the way her soft curves felt beneath his hand.

“Hello to you, too,” she said jovially, looking up at him with a small smile, before turning her gaze skywards, eyes widening.

“Malfoy,” she said, bafflement written in the furrow between her eyebrows. “Are you aware that you’re holding a bunny rabbit?”

The bunny in question raised its chin, staring at Granger as if considering if the fluffy-haired witch was an ally or an enemy.

Draco’s mouth twitched upwards.

“I am.” He sighed, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t make it to his office as fast as he would’ve liked. “Teddy decided that it was a good idea for me to chaperone his bunny rabbit while he was forced to go to the doctor. Evidently, there is a no-pet rule.”

She let out a light laugh, then set a hand on his arm. There was an odd, fluttery sensation in his stomach at the touch.

Draco had long decided that Granger had offensive knuckles. She would brush them down his arms, his sides, and, in one particularly offensive moment, down his cheek. Those same knuckles scorched his already heated skin as she turned her hand and brushed his sleeve.

“And you were the only hero available?” she asked teasingly.

He grimaced. “Mother was there too, but she’s allergic to rabbits. The entire time she was there, she was wearing a bubble-head charm.” He chuckled at the memory of his mother, whose stern frown held no weight with the thin film of liquid surrounding her. “We had to raise our voices so she could hear us in her bubble.”

“Your mother is allergic to rabbits?” The idea seemed to bother Granger greatly.

“She is.” He started heading towards his office, ready to say goodbye, but paused when Granger fell in step beside him.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Did you know a gathering of bunnies is called a fluffle?”

“A fluffle?”

“Yes!” She slapped her hands together, her eyes filling with glee. “Actual bunny colonies. I think I’d die if I ever saw one.”

“And this is important information?”

Her cheeks coloured. “Well, no. But the idea that a bunny colony is called a fluffle is spectacularly adorable,” she said primly.

“Flunny, even. Granger—please don’t laugh.”

This did not dissuade her, and she laughed all the way to his office. “Sorry. That was just such a terrible dad joke,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. She gave him a considering look as she turned fully to face him. “Though I suppose ‌you are a bunny dad now.”

He glared at her, then spelled his office open, cursing inwardly that he held the rabbit with his wand hand. If there was a sudden attack in the Auror Department, he’d go in rabbit-blazing rather than wand-blazing.

He was certain the rabbit just gave him another betrayed look.

When Granger walked in with him, he gave her a confused look. “I didn’t realise this was your office.”

“I’m just glorying in seeing you like this,” she said, smiling wryly. “Your obnoxiously tailored robes and coiffed hair really suit her.”

Draco scoffed, holding the rabbit closer to himself as he made to step towards Granger. “How do you know it’s a she?”

She grinned. “I’m the one who bought her for Teddy. Though I have heard no word on its name.”

Of course Granger would be the one to gift someone something annoyingly adorable. Two words he’d also use to describe her.

“Teddy is a genius five-year-old,” Draco started, unable to contain a smile.

Granger raised an eyebrow.

“He named it The Chosen Bun.”

He had to give Granger credit. She thinned her lips in a straight line—even put her hand over her mouth to stop the torrent of laughter that was clearly trying to make its presence known.

“Does Harry know?” she asked, voice muffled by her palm.

“He was a bit horrified, to my eternal glee,” Draco said, letting out a laugh, then another, until Granger joined him. They laughed for a solid minute, until Draco’s stomach hurt, and Granger had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“Oh god,” she said. “Nothing will top this for me today. I can’t wait to harass Harry.”

He looked at her smile, at the way it brightened his unlit office, and thought nothing could ever top the image of her.

She seemed to sense the change in the air as well, because she blushed. Her avid gaze and knowing eyes made his heart pound.

“I like it,” she said lightly, laying a hand on his arm. His blood roared in his veins, “You look… attractive with a small animal.”

Draco blinked, feeling as if he’d combust on the spot.

She gave him another smile, before reaching up and kissing him on the cheek. “I have to go,” she said softly, right at the scene of the crime in which her knuckles had first caused destruction.

Granger was trying to kill him with that smile, that mouth. It was a sort of lazy larceny she’d honed to precision.

Soft knuckles brushed down his arm again (beautiful thief, he wanted to say), before she gave the rabbit a gentle pat on the head. It seemed to have made up its mind about Granger, because it leaned into her touch.

After Granger left, Draco sat at his desk, considering the floppy-eared menace, which was now sniffing the air and tentatively moving its front legs on the hard mahogany desk.

“Don’t suppose you’re part of some rabbit colony?”

The rabbit’s floppy ears twitched once, and then it rolled onto its side and promptly fell asleep on Draco’s palm.

“I suppose not,” he said with a roll of his eyes. And smiled.

[howlingday]

Ok so Lore Dump today! I know I'm behind and after this I will make sure I do an ask about the Dusknoir au. Anyway Part 2 of the Guardians!

Name: Scimon (Sci-mon) He/Him

Appearance: In his human diguse he is a pale skinned raven faunus. He is about 7 feet tall. He has toxic green hair and wears a waring sign yellow cloak. He carries a black mask shaped like beak that covers most of his face but not his eyes. His trait is some raven tail feathers. He wears wear neon red pants with black shoes. He does not wear a shirt. In his true form his entire body is made of a thick dark green acid. His mask fuses to his face and becomes a working beak. He also grows wings in this form.

Aura:No

Magic:Acid(He can create and control acid. He can control how acidic his acid is. This includes his own body. His acid can quickly melt though even metal and only a speical kind of metal is immune.) Posion (He can produce and control posion and toxins in gas or liquid form) Storage (He has a small pocket dimension He can store supplies and weapons to use.) Flight (His wings can't really fly him so he has this magic) Wind (He was wind powers to work his acid and posion)

*Note I'm doing weapons now because the last three Guardians did not have weapons and either hand to hand and used magic so I'm adding it now.

Weapon: A metal staff and a round bottle on top without the lid. The staff is painted to look wooden. The bottle on top is used to fire out elemental attacks,potions he crafts, or just more acid.

Other notes: Scimon was made to guard the experiments of the Keeper as well as conduct and oversee them. They can range from finding new ways to use magic, to upgrading grimm and machines , or even human and fanuas ones. His base is a group of factorys used by him amd other companys. He is seems intense but is quite chill most of the time. He's does get really exicted with his experiments. He tends to hunch over a lot. He gets upset very quickly if people underestimate him in battle. He tries to end fights as fast as possible even being brutal. He main attacks are wide spread area attacks or close range acid touches and acid blasts. Hates the cold because his acid loses its acidity when frozen.

Main Inspiration:Horus from Idle Heroes amd Plauge Knight from Shovel Knight.

Name: Frost Helen She/Her

Appearance: Frost has three forms. Her first is her human disguise. She looks like a fair skinned women with long Grey hair(about mid back) She wears a thin grey shirt with a heavy cloak on her back made of black bear fur, cream colored pants, and thick brown boots. Out of her disguise her skin turns to see though ice. Her eyes turn pure dark blue amd her hair is know made of Grey snow. Frost second form is a giant snow wolf with ice teeth and claws made of blue ice. Her tail now her Ax. Eyes are still the same. Her size nows allow her to fit a 5'10 well built man in her mouth easily. Her final form is a large serpent with scales and teeth made of ice covered in white ice. She is long enough to coil around the outside of median sized village and taller than three stories. She can fits a Goliath in her mouth without stretching.

Aura:No

Magic:Ice( She can make and control Ice) Freeze( This allows her to constantly make the surroundings area cold enought to freeze water instantly.) Shape shifting. Wind. Snow(She can produce snow storms to cover her escapes or make people lose track or them or friends location.) Durability(She can make herself more Durability allowing her to use her strength to burrow though wood,stone and even metal)

Weapon:In her human form she uses a great two sided ax. She can use with only one hand. She can also channel magic though it to allow her launch freezing blast.

Other notes: Frost guards the portal to the Ever After(It does not work yet). She is quiet to the point of being selective mute. She also gets irritated easily. The most trigger happy of the Guardians she has no issue attacking people near her home even if they would have never entered them selves. Her home is a frozen viking/norse inpired village in Soiltas. She often reads to pass the time since she is alone a lot. When she gets lonely she calls the other guardian to talk.

Main Inspiration: Loki's three kids

Name: Terraend (Terra-end) He/him

Appearance: In disguise he is a average height dark skinned Chinese man. He has brown hair and yellow eyes. He wears a straw hat to cover his eyes and a purple and red Dragon robe on his body with open toed straw sandals on his feet. Without his disguise Terraend is made of a brown stone with glowing pure yellow eyes. He can also turn into a crystal form covering his body in crystal and having mupitle crystal eyes on his bofy.

Aura:Yes Semblance:Not yet

Magic:Earth( He can control and manipulate anything related to earth. Dirt,Sand,mud,stone, concrete and even iron but only pure iron.) Mind control(Anyone who looks into his eyes will fall under his control unless they have magic themselves or are an Arc by blood) Speed(He can boost his speed much higher than most Magiolems) Tired (he can drain people's energy though contact of his body or weapons with someone else's skin or thin clothes.)

Weapon: Terraend uses a variety of modified gardening tools. His main weapon his a flat shovel with a thick blade of gold looking metal and ruby embedded in the handle and the shovel. A steel sand rake with spikes. A hoe and scythe with sharp blades made of jade.

Other notes: Terraend guards a collection of plants being grow in Anima. His base is and old village ripped apart by grimm and then later raided by bandits. He is dismissive of anyone he is talking too or fighting. He always remains calm even when fighting muptile opponents. He is the most skilled of the active Guardians and makes that clear to people who like to brag their own achievements. He's hates the towerments on T.V because he feels in a real fight the rules they use are pointless and the champions are nothing but show ponys. He's like to make and care for Zen Gardens.(I know I made him look Chinese but it's fits other theming.)

Main Inspiration: Tsuchi from Clicker Heroes

Okay, so we have a warden for the magical experiments the Keepers hold to conduct.

Helen gives me vibes of either Demeter from Hades and Auril from Dungeons and Dragons.

Terraend's mind control power kinda reminds me of a combo of both semblances of Umber Gorgoneiaon and Jax Asturias. Him being a zen gardener sounds like a neat concept and makes me wonder if he follows Daoist or Confucian style philosophies.

[ghostsaberwolf]

The war had come.

She'd known it would. It was inevitable, really, even the smallest border towns were gone, pillaged by one side or the other for supplies and warm bodies. No number of demonic pacts or faerie deals or spirit bargains could hold back the tide of bloodthirsty humanity forever. All she could do was buy time, and she'd gotten every second she could. After all, what else was a witch for if not to attempt the impossible?

And here she was, with her little population of innocents, all gathered in the town square like lambs to the slaughter. A baby was being gently shushed by a tearful but quiet mother. Husbands kept their wives close, brothers kept between their sisters and the strangers while their homes and shops were ransacked. And there was nothing she could do, not without dooming them all to a far worse fate than a quick death.

"You have a choice," the captain said to them, pacing as his men slowly trickled back to him, weighed down with food and other sundries, grinning and squabbling over their prizes. "You may starve, after we leave. You may die if you choose to resist. Or you may swear fealty to King Velbrand of Delaria, and we will see that you are properly equipped and trained to survive our glorious conquest of this country." His pacing stops, his eyes penetrating, and his sincerity undoubted. "Each will be given their choice, man, woman, and child. Choose quickly. There will be no going back."

She sighs, determined as she is relieved. If they are left alone, even if they are forced to join the army, she has the power to make it turn out well. Given time, she can bring them home, make home safe again. All she needs is the-

"Captain!" comes a voice, echoing in the silence after his speech. A scout comes running, carrying a small, wrapped bundle. "We found this, in a small house at the edge of town. Brought it to you right away." The captain takes it with a nod, undoing the knot, revealing a small crystalline orb, a thin rowan wand, and an amulet, a five pointed star in a circle.

She almost screamed.

They had found her hiding place, somehow, despite her wards, her certainty that no one would even think to look there regardless. And now... Now they would all be put to the sword.

"Your village harbors a witch," the captain says, quietly, venom lacing his tone. "You will burn with her, then."

"Please!" Addie cries out. Poor thing. She should know better. "We didn't know! Think of our children, they couldn't possibly-!"

"Ignorance is no excuse," comes her answer. "Though it is gracious of you to volunteer to burn first."

That's it. She can't simply let this happen, she WON'T-

An arrow sprouts from the captain's throat, striking with the silver tone of a struck bell.

His men do not react, dumbfounded, until another is struck, the bell ringing out again and covering the sound of the first body hitting the ground. By then, it is too late, she can see him coming.

The paladin isn't what she'd come to expect from that order, no flashing armor or challenge shouted with arrogant fervor. He wears simple leathers, a quiver strapped opposite his sword, and his long hair is braided tightly but still long down his back. And she'd never seen any of them use a bow, but even as she has the thought, he lets another arrow fly, and death rings out again. The witch raises an eyebrow. Sloppy of him, to hold his powers so loosely, but hopefully she can avoid a witch burning if all his magic is so untrained.

The soldiers are charging him now, howling out their rage, but the arrows are coming faster, the echoes chasing ringing, and the paladin never wavers. The moment he fires his last shot, the bow is in the quiver, his sword is ringing free, and he charges, not even deigning to draw his shield.

Judging by the fact that he fells a dozen men without a scratch and isn't even breathing hard in the ringing silence, he didn't need it.

Damn.

She's going to die.

He sheathes his sword and bows his head, apparently praying though he doesn't take a knee as is generally custom. He simply calls, "Get your wounded taken care of. If anyone has a cart I may borrow, I would like to show what little respect we may. I will join the healers once last rites have been done."

The townsfolk jump to his command, soft spoken though it was. A paladin offering his services as a healer was no small thing, and the witch resented that she could not see to them herself, not without risking everything. Still, she was a known herbalist, and she would do all she could for the injured. All that was left was to see how long it would take before he discovered her.

                                                *     *     *

The paladin walks to the healers tents that had been erected in the square, the injured relatively few but still too many for one doctor and an overworked herbalist to care for in their respective domains. If anyone noticed the drag in his step, they said nothing, not wishing to imply he wasn't strong enough after working all day caring for corpses. He'd seen those glances before, knew he was pushing too far. Such was his oath.

Ducking inside, he sees a dozen or so men in beds, with the herbalist, the doctor, and the mayor gathered around a table. Curious, he approaches and asks, "What of these men? Their wounds do not seem so grievous to me that they cannot be seen to."

The herbalist turns to meet his eyes, her own gaze seeming hopeless. "They were assaulted by the captain directly, and his blade carried a curse. We do not have the means to save them."

He nods. "Who is worst? He will have the least time, so I must see to him first, if he is to be saved at all." She nods in turn, and leads him to a bed at the end, near the back.

"Zachariah," she says to him, worry clear on her face. "A good carpenter and a better father. I hope you can help him.”

He nods at her. “As do I. If anyone has found the captain’s weapon, bring it to the square and throw it in the largest fire that can be safely made. With luck, the flame will cleanse the spell or at least warp the blade enough to disrupt it.” He lays his hands on Zachariah and the familiar golden glow of divinity surrounds his hands, his mind both fogging and focusing as he helps guide the magic where it needs to go. “And please, make sure no one touches the blade once it goes in the fire. The curse may seek out anyone who had an active hand in its ending, and there have been enough deaths today.”

The witch nods, doing her best not to shake in the face of the dual faces of the paladin who saved them and the divine patron he channels. He has given her something she can do, at the least, and if breaking the curse will help him heal them, she has options far more effective than a simple cleansing flame. If she is going to die when he finds the truth anyway, she will at least give her people the best chance possible.

The sword she finds easily enough, set to the side of the grave they’d given all their fallen enemies along with anything else they might find use for once their spirits had been given the chance to move on. Its magic is a hungry, malevolent thing, and she thinks with a pang that it was kind of him to be so specific to protect her people from this. If fate is kind, maybe he will take her place and protect them after she is gone, for however much time his god will grant him.

Though judging by how little effort it takes for his power to shine through, he may not have very much time left himself.

Focusing on her task, she finds her shrine still intact, set into the base of a tree nearly big around as some of the houses in town. Working quickly, she draws out a banishing sigil with the chalk she keeps there, sets the blade carefully into the center, and starts sketching out the appropriate wards to ensure whatever magic is in it has no opportunity to further harm anyone. Just as she’s putting the finishing touch on the dispersal rune, however, she hears an almost-familiar voice.

“Narat would be so disappointed in you,” it says. “All your power, all the things you could be doing with immortality and no strings attached, and you’re wasting it looking after a bunch of rubes who’d kill you without a thought.”

She rolls her eyes. It’s not the first time her husband’s name has been used against her. “You didn’t know him, then. He was fascinated. He still would be.”

“If it weren’t for the paladin who killed him, hm?” the voice says, and she can hear the smirk in it. “A shame, that. Wouldn’t you like him back? I can do that, if you’ll only release me-”

“You’re getting released, have no fear,” she says, hands still busily adjusting her sigils and runes to accommodate banishing a demon along with a curse. “I imagine not in the way you’d prefer, but I am letting you out.” She smirks back at the voice, finishing the divine array with a flourish.

“Nononono, I can help you!” it stutters, trying to bargain. Trying to fight the inevitable. “Please, not this, I can be-”

“You’ve already nearly killed several of my people, and the curse on them tells me all I need to know.” She draws her athame, taking a deep breath. “I will not allow you to harm them, nor anyone else, ever again. Begone, pretender. You do not belong here.” A swift flick of her wrist draws blood, and she presses a bloody hand print into the banishing circle, the chalk lines flashing once as the sword warps beyond repair and the magic in it vanishes, even as the demon continues trying to bargain to the last.

She nods, satisfied and exhausted. Her people will be safe. Even if she isn’t sure what kind of guardian they will have, the offering of a demon inflicting curses on the order of a mortal is something even the most stuck up of the gods cannot ignore. They will find a way to repay that debt.

Her people have started a bonfire in the center of town, as she’d asked on her way out. No reason to take chances, after all. What she hadn’t expected was the impromptu festival going on. The few folk with instruments had fetched them, there were several smaller fires with spits and cookware about them, and several long tables with finished dishes piled high. Everywhere she looked, there was a palpable relief, and her own redoubled when she saw Zachariah buried under his children while his wife held both their plates with a smile. She tosses the sword into the bonfire before checking on Addie by one of the food tables.

“There you are!” she says with a smile. “That paladin is something else. He says we’ll have to watch our for the injured the next day or so, but with the curse broken, he got everyone up and about.” Addie shakes her head. “Poor man looked exhausted, though. Haven’t been able to get him to join us for anything.”

The witch nods, smiling. “I imagine he’s tired, Addie. I’ll make up a pair of plates and see if I can’t get him to at least nibble on something. We’d be poor hosts if we let our savior starve, wouldn’t we?” Addie laughs and helps pile food on a pair of plates before wandering off towards her own family. With a deep breath, the witch picks up her offering and her last meal and heads for the healing tents again.

He's slumped over when she arrives, golden light leaking from his eyes, from his fingers. If she squints just right, she can even see the faintest outline of wings sprouting from his shoulders. A powerful, faithful paladin, nearing the end of his career and his life, if she were any judge at all. She couldn't say specifics, but she knew the signs of a good man burning through his own life force, offering up pieces of his soul to divinity, just to save and to serve.

She'd married one and lost him to another, after all.

"I brought you something," she says gently, setting the plate on the nightstand next to him. She realizes he must not have even moved after he'd saved the last of her charges, simply letting gravity take him lower into that chair. "Addie means well, but she simply can't let a good festival go, in my experience."

He looks up, managing a grin, and she startles, both at how young he seems and at the double image of him, a bright, shining young woman with eternal eyes and wreathed in gold just at the edge of perception, mirroring his every move. "Thank you, Mistress Herbalist," he says, exhaustion dragging his limbs as he reaches for the plate and utensils. "It's deeply appreciated." He cocks his head.

"I would ask something of you, if I may."

She raises an eyebrow at him as she sits across the bed from him, her own plate in hand. "You just saved my people twice over, I would be disappointed if there were nothing I could offer you in return."

Another smile splits his handsome face, but there is sadness to it, perhaps distaste. Duty. "Truth, witch of these woods. I would hear your story."

She pauses, fork halfway to her mouth in shock. "My... my story?"

"Yes. I found signs of witchcraft, snares and traps and misdirections of all kinds. Yet I found no evidence of malice or ill intent, save the Delarian soldiers attacking your people." He shrugs, deciding to pull off his gauntlets to eat. "I have encountered witches before, but they all decided they preferred to try to kill me rather than allow me the chance to understand them. I thought I might press my luck somewhat further today and see if you might grant me the chance instead."

She swallows. Truth, he had said. Her story. She'd never told anyone her story. She'd not even told anyone her name. Perhaps it was time she did.

"I was a young girl, growing up in a town much like this," she says at last. "The people were kind and hard working, tough as the land they lived on. I was happy. But I wanted more than a marriage to the miller's son, and no one could understand why. The night before our wedding..." She sighs, remembering the dramatic way Narat had appeared, her own shock and surprise. "A demon came to me and offered me a deal. My soul for my dearest wish. A fair exchange, he said. I took it in a heartbeat."

He looks at her in the silence, head still angled to the side, strength slowly coming back to him as he eats. "Part of the truth, certainly. I do not see the path from a devil's bargain to a wood witch."

She looks at him, surprised. "Do you not?"

A shake of his head. "Well, perhaps A wood witch, but not to you. You live here, protect these people, but this place still seems... not too small, but as if you carry more than fits within it. You carry part of the world with you. Why?"

Another hard swallow. "I wished for knowledge, sir knight. To see the world and to wander it. To learn its secrets and study its wonders so that maybe, one day, I could share what I knew with others. He showed me the world, over the course of decades, and it was still never, ever enough."

"You loved him." It was not a question.

"Yes," she answers quietly.

"You lost him." Still not a question.

"Yes."

"How?"

How indeed. How could he put such upset into a single syllable? How could he be upset at knowing a demon was dead? How in the world was a paladin angry that a witch lost her demon husband?

"A paladin," she answers simply. "A day like today. My husband... he was fascinated by the world, said his vice, like mine, was knowledge and the gaining of it. 'It never ends' he told me more than once. 'You can learn and study and research a thousand years and still encounter something new every single day if you know where to look.' We had grown... overconfident, the two of us, secure in our ability to handle any threat with our combined powers. When a local conflict spilled over into the village we had been staying in to research some ruins nearby... well, he wasn't one to sit by and watch, and I used the time to prepare potions and poultices for the wounded he would bring me." She shivers, remembering.

"The next time I saw him, his head was dangling from that paladin's fingers by the hair. I never found out what happened to the rest of him."

"Narat," he breathes. "You married Narat the Hornless."

She startles again. "I... I didn't realize he was famous."

He snorts. "Not famous, exactly, but known. The stories say you could get him to cease his harm simply by knowing it, that calling him by name could summon him in a heartbeat and trading him something you knew would earn you a secret in return." His eyes turn hard and the magic around him flickers, sparking and fading. "He was killed by a member of my order for defending a village of heretics, or so the story was recorded. Everyone knew it was a lie, none of it was corroborated by reports in the area, but no one was willing to call the knight a liar to his face." He flicks his gaze to hers. "That was two hundred years ago."

She nods. "I have spent nearly half my life a widow. I miss him dearly."

He laughs, the sound finally clear of that divine flare, and she finds she likes the feel of it, something in it warming her bones. "An immortal scholar, dedicated to protecting the village her husband died defending. A fine truth, indeed." He sobers, eyes shuttering as he looks at his near empty plate. "Tomorrow, lady of these woods, I will die. I do not wish you and your people to witness it, much less die with me. Can they be evacuated, or the defenses restored?"

Her brow furrows in confusion. "Die with you? I wasn't aware that divine magic-"

"Not my magic," he cuts in quietly. "The rest of the Delarian forces that captain was scouting for. They will be coming. I will be doing my best to stop them. What can be done for your people?"

Her mind reels. Time, there wasn't time-

There is always another way, my love

That's what Narat had always told her. And there was. She just... wasn't sure if it was an option. She takes a long, deep breath.

"My defenses are in tatters, and my people will not run. They would prefer to die here, I think, than join either army. So tell me, sir knight, would you barter your soul for their lives?"

He tilts his head at her, considering. "You can see my lady Vesta burning through my shell even more clearly than your people can, I'm sure. You know I would. I already have, some would argue."

A whooshing sigh. "All right. I'll talk to them, let them know to stay in their homes tomorrow. There's a pond a quarter mile south-"

"I know the one."

"Good. I'll meet you there, and we'll make the bargain that will save them, even if it might damn us both."

                                                *     *     *

The pond was still and bright in the light of the full moon, and the paladin was meditating next to it, his weapons laid out neatly to the side, his leathers easily adjusting to the position. She was almost loath to disturb him, but her people needed them.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here," she says, setting down her bag and starting to sketch out the runes she would need.

"They need us," he replies simply, not moving, not so much as opening his eyes. "Let me know when and what you need me for. Your defenses may be in ruins, but the forest will still warn me of anyone or anything approaching, so long as I listen." She nods and continues working. Eventually, circle drawn, runes inscribed, and tools ready, she calls him over.

"I'm not entirely sure what will happen, or if this will even work," she says candidly, positioning him in the circle. "I haven't used this in decades, so the results may be... unreliable."

He shrugs. "If it gives your people a better chance, I'm willing to try."

A nod. "Stand still. If... well, if something appears or speaks through me, you know what you're willing to trade or to risk. I'll trust your judgement." And she begins.

A shadow falls over the moon. Over the pond and the clearing around it. The stars fade into darkness. The only light is from her circle and the candles in it, the only sound her chanting and the wind. The paladin stands quietly, still and steady, prepared for as many possibilities as he can think of. Even so, he is surprised when her chanting stops, her eyes open, and suddenly there are four of them in the circle.

To his left, towards the pond, a lovely young woman appears, her golden wings matching the gold of her eyes, and she smiles at him, conveying without words that he is not to bow or kneel, merely to listen. To his right, towards the wood-

"Husband," she breathes, and he looks into the handsome face of Hornless Narat. He is not overly lovely nor particularly plain, but the dancing intelligence of his eyes and wry humor on his lips speak volumes to the mind within.

"My wife has waited two hundred years to attempt to summon me," he says quietly. "She had not the heart after my death, and I think even now, her nerve nearly failed her." The mortals realize in the same instant that he is speaking not to them, but to the seraph across the circle.

"My knight has served me faithfully and tenaciously for nearly a decade," she answers. "He has not wavered or faltered, and even now, he looks to his oath and his duty rather than his own needs."

"I believe the two of them just might deserve each other, my dear."

The immortals look at their mortal anchors and nod at each other. Narat speaks first.

"Tell me, paladin of Vesta. Your oath binds you to protect and serve your people, to be the warm hearth they may find shelter at when the storms of war have abated. Why now sell your soul and service to a demon, if your goddess has no more purpose for you here?"

He considers his words for only a moment before answering, "There is always a choice. To surrender, to continue, to hold steady. I will not abandon them now, even if it means forsaking my oath in order to keep it, to preserve its spirit despite breaking its letter." A deep breath, and then, "They are under my protection, therefore they are mine, and I will not allow them to be harmed if I have a way to prevent it."

"And you, witch of Narat the Hornless?" Vesta asks swiftly. "You have been faithful to your husband some two centuries now. Why break your demon-pacted marriage to save villagers who would see you burned if they knew what you were?"

She does not hesitate to answer. "Because it is right. Because they deserve to be saved, even if they are ignorant. Because I will not watch them die if I have the means to prevent it. The world is bigger than this village, and it will look after itself, but no one else is here to look after this piece of it. So if none else can, then I will."

Vesta laughs. "A demon with a heart of gold and a deity with greedy fingers. Sound familiar, Narat, my love?"

He laughs. "It does, my dear Hearthfire. And so, our pact," he says, clapping his hands as the mortals share astounded looks. "Your village will be saved, your lives spared and bonded. And with you, we will go, fragments of ourselves reflected by our truest and most beloved devotees. Your choices will be your own, we ask only that you stay near to each other, that we ourselves may-"

"Narat," the paladin cuts in quietly, drawing three pairs of curious eyes. "Please. I need to rest. I will take this piece of you and swear my oath to your wife so she may serve as the font of my power. I will even stay by her side, to ensure you and Lady Vesta are never parted again so long as we both live. But please, I have not bathed nor slept in nearly two days."

Vesta laughs. "A practical soul as ever. What say you, witch of my love? Will you make the same promise to me, to serve as a vessel-"

"By my side, you said," she cuts in quietly. "What did you mean?"

Silence stretches. He turns to Narat. "You and I need to bond for this to work, I assume. Blood is traditional." A nod. "Then give me your hand and let's have done."

"Tell me what the fuck you meant," the witch snarls.

"A paladin's oaths are between them and their god," Vesta says quietly. "He cannot tell you, as you are not yet that god, nor is he yet that paladin." She tilts her head, wings fluttering quizzically. "Tell me, love of my love, what would you not risk, what would you not sacrifice, to have the chance to hold him again?"

She turns to the goddess and asks. "Fine. What must I do?"

A grunt sounds from the paladin across from her, and she realizes Narat has already sliced open his own palm at the same moment the two of them shake hands. A dark wind rushes through the trees, still vanished in the darkness beyond the circle, and Narat... vanishes. The paladin convulses for a moment, then stills, his eyes now focused and sharp where before they had been dim and tired beyond measure. His brown eyes had before been glowing gold in residual divinity, but now they flickered like fire, lit from within with burning red, still mixing with the gold of his goddess.

"The same," Vesta answers quietly, eyes fixed on the man before them. "Narat?"

A nod. "He's here. I'm still me, but... he's here, if you'd like to speak with him."

She shakes her head. "No, best to get this done, but... thank you." She pulls a knife from her belt, cuts her own hand, and flips it to offer it handle first to the witch, the blade weeping in golden ichor. "Please."

The witch nods, takes the knife, and repeats the process. One deep breath, a handshake, and a moment of blinding, excruciating pain later, Vesta is gone. The circle whooshes out, the candles with it, and light returns to the clearing, to the sky above.

"Done, then," the man next to her says. He goes to his spot by the pond, grabs his sword, and draws it, returning to kneel at her feet. He looks up at her and says, "My name is Sir Daemon Brightshield, bearer of the spirit Hornless Narat. I offer you this blade in both our names, on behalf of the people we have sworn to protect. I offer you my oath in my own name, on behalf of the cause I have chosen to uphold. I offer his love, and perhaps in time, my own." He offers up the blade. "Will you accept them?"

The witch goddess gently cups his hands in her own. "My name is Aeris, wife of Narat, vessel of Vesta Hearthfire. I will accept these things in her name and in mine, and I offer in return the strength and power to uphold your oath. Your sword will cleave the deserving, your power will rend the unjust, and your oath will inspire the hopeless." She pauses, the next words feeling right, but... terrifying. "And I offer also, in time, my love. For the man with the courage to forsake what is known to place his faith in a truth felt but unseen." She can feel Vesta's unchecked joy even as she can see the shadow of Narat's rogueish grin in Daemon's eyes. She takes the sword in her own hands, and power wreathes it, golden light twining with reddish black demon fire. When it fades, the steel still humming but returned to merely steel, she hands it back to him and says, finally, "Arise, my knight, and take thy sword. May it never fail you."

He does, and the hum stops, the gentle note sounding only when he swings he through the air, testing its feel in his grip. Satisfied, he sheathes it, picks up his bow, and says, "Where am I sleeping?"

                                                *     *     *

The village quiet behind him, Daemon stands on the main road, shield on his back, bow unstrung in its quiver, his sword planted tip down in the dirt with his hands resting gently on it. Before him, the banners of Delaria, its army arrayed in shining steel, its king at the forefront. The king rides to him, kind condescension in his eyes, and absolute confidence in every line of his posture.

"And who might you be, good ranger? What town is this you stand sentinel for so bravely?"

Daemon eyes him quietly. "Daemon Brightshield, King Velbrand, knight of Lady Vesta Hearthfire. This town has no name, nor anything of importance for you here. I suggest you leave, lest you meet the same fate as your captain and his scouts."

"What fate might that be, that my army would fare no better?" the king asks haughtily.

"Me," the paladin answers simply, "and my lady. Your men took from these people, without asking or offering recompense. Leave, lest you suffer for their deeds as their commander."

"What possible reason could I have to believe a single man might destroy my army, even if he were bold enough to strike me down in front of it?" the king laughs.

"My lady," the paladin answers simply, "and me. I have some skill with a blade, some power with magic both arcane and divine, but she has given me more besides. For the last time I warn you, King Velbrand, leave, or I will make you wish you had."

The king does not finish laughing before he hits the dirt, his head on one side of his horse, his body on the other. Daemon simply mounts the horse, calling to the assembled forces in a voice that has made itself heard across battle fields and through demonic conflicts countless times, "Your king is dead. Thrice he was warned, and thrice he refused. Flee now, and you will live. Stand or charge, and you will die." As he wheels the white steed to make his own charge into the oncoming forces of Delaria, a bell rings out, loud and clear and bright, and black armor forms around it and the man riding, midnight wings sprouting from it, and a voice in Daemon's mind says I never really enjoyed this sort of thing, but I think I can learn if you always pick battles like this. Grinning to himself, he hurls himself into the teeth of his enemy, power in every breath, and death in every hoofbeat.

At least with Narat, he wouldn't have to build a pyre. They would burn where they stood, and his people would be safe.

[bonesofchaos]

Hendrikson treads with care, gentle on the pathways provided through pressed grass stems and open woodlands. He knows a path created by a carrying owner compared to that of a humans frequent travel. Even animal tracks broke from this path which spoke volumes of intention. No harm, no carcass or bone left behind, but droppings, hoof prints and care. Though he was hungry himself, the idea of a venison shank wasn't amiss from his thoughts but he has been without proper food so long he could hold himself from harming a surely protected beast in these lands he crosses through.

Waking up only a day prior, he was a man of thin proportions, loss of muscle and fats, magic circulation could only do so much for a being like himself. Locien, his dragon was still asleep - it'll take him at least a week to wake proper to take flight and travel once more. So he was left behind, as promised and agreed upon.

Now, the nomad was his hunt for lakeside, following his ears that could hear a mild flow. Not a waterfall or breezy seaside, but it would be enough to wash his ripe self amongst natures veins. Though, as he did step upon such a sight of beauty - his gaze was pulled to a side. A body, tending to flower and taking trimmings of species he couldn't make out himself though they smelt wonderous compared to himself.

Exhausted from ones journey, he held himself to the best of his ability to greet them. Thankful to be wearing undergarments this year round - black and skin tight however - for they were worn under his armour, that was left in the cave. "Forgive this one's intrusion. Do you own the lake? Would it be best for me to find another to bathe?" Though his hip held a weapon, it was a mere dagger. Though it wasn't touched as he was holding onto a tree to aid with his position of staying upright. //@ Dahila / Vasily ~

@nvrcmplt

would that he were like vasily and could just grow his supplies dahlia wouldn't have had to leave his research in need of plants he knew grew at the edge of his ancestral lands. it also didn't help that he'd managed to offend the prickly cursed witch (so sensitive about his silly little shop) so he was refusing to send over what dahlia needed. which is why he's out here, on the opposite side from where vuir resides near the fruit trees, to the lake the merrow to live in through contract and blood pacts. under the warm sun, surrounded by the gentle sway of the forest that reminds him so dearly of his mother, he's more indulgent to the trespass than he usually would be as voice speaks and breaks his concentration.

blood gaze runs over stranger at tree line and there's a subtle wonder at just how he got through the first ward line, though not much worry. it's the weakest, the bare minimum of a ward, to lure those who know little into a false sense of security only to have them dash themselves against the violent ones closer to the house.

"it's on the grounds to my home, but i don't own it per-say. the merrow call it home, but they're usually open to sharing unless it's pascha trying to join them." a gesture to the komodo dragon sunning herself on the lake shore, watched with dark eyes by a single creature in the water.

"will you be needing a change of clothes once you're done? we're far from civilisation here but it's still a little... uncouth, to wander around as you are." as if dahlia's low cut and revealing robes were any better.

[roquenxnar]

Character Sheet: Urnarseldo

|| Basic

Full Name: Urnarseldo Sercenaran

Nickname: Seldo

Age: 100 (as of 2941 of the Third Age)

Date of Birth: May 24, 2841 TA

Species: Elf 

Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Hometown: Rivendell 

Current Residence: A small cottage an hour’s walk from Rivendell, with his younger sister and grandfather. 

Occupation: Unemployed, training to be a healer.

|| Abilities

Weapons training: adept at dual wielding daggers, but prefers to use the magic his grandparents taught him to use

Physical strength: Average

Speed: Above average

Planning: master tactician, though his pride leads to some blind spots

Powers: the use of both fire and ice magic, passed on from his grandparents

|| Family and Relationships

Parents: Assanolwe (mother, deceased); Nymari (father, deceased) 

Pets: none, at the moment

Current Partner: None 

Have they ever been married?: No

Are they in any kind of romantic relationship?:  Has had a few, but they’ve been fleeting

 || Physical Characteristics

Height: 6’8”

Weight: 190 lbs

Body build: Lithe, thin

Eye Color: deep green

Glasses or contact lenses?: no

Hair Color: Strawberry blond

Type of hair: smooth

Hairstyle: Cut short

Complexion and skin tone: Bronze, with freckles 

Voice: somewhere between tenor and baritone

Style: Casual; often wears his leather armor

Do they have any disabilities?: None.

 Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes 

Schooling: Homeschooled 

Native language: Sindarin

Secondary Languages: Quenya, Sindarin (mainly) 

Personality type: ENFJ

Any Mental Illnesses: Anxiety

 Spiritual Characteristics

Do they consider themselves religious? No

What religion?: Elven Pantheon (the Valar)

What God(s)/Goddess(s) do they believe in?: Orome Aldaron; Irmo; Tulkas

About

Born to healers from Rivendell, Urnarseldo’s early life was idyllic, if sheltered. He often spent time in the library, or the healing ward, learning from his parents and grandparents on how to be a healer; when he did leave, he visited his elder cousin in Mirkwood, following him on his patrols through the forest. He lived this way for years, and was overjoyed when his parents had a second child, Amaneniel, fifty years later, in 2891. The four of them— Assanolwe, Nymaril, Urnarseldo, and Amaneniel, lived in peace for three more short, wonderful years. This idyllic life, however, was not to last. 

In 2894, while on a trip to visit their family in Mirkwood, Urarnseldo’s parents, Assanolwe and Nymaril, were caught in an orc ambush; they were simple healers, and were unequipped to put up a proper fight. They were killed, leaving Urnarseldo and his little sister orphaned, and in the care of their grandfather, Solurion. The elder elf became withdrawn, and moved what remained of his family to a small cottage an hour’s walk from Rivendell. It was distant enough, Solurion insisted, that it wouldn't draw attention to them, and allow them to live in peace, while being close enough to seek help and supplies when needed. Urnarseldo, however, chafed under the newfound isolation, and began to rebel. Once old enough, he began wandering from home, traveling to the closest mannish towns and villages to perform his magic like a common entertainer, seeking adulation and (extremely temporary) companionship— and gold to line his own pockets. While on the road, he learned to wield twin daggers in addition to his magic, becoming an adept bladesman. He continued this way, as a wanderer, for years— at least, until something seemed to shift in the world. 

Of course, he didn’t know all that happened in the fateful year of  2941; though he did hear tell of a company of dwarves running about, with a wizard and a burglar. He even met them while in Rivendell, poking and prodding them for stories from the road, and even begging the most soft-hearted of the bunch to join them. He, however, remained in Rivendell, with his family and friends. It was only after the dust settled on the battlefield outside Erebor, and news reached the Last Homely House, did he realize what, exactly, he would lose if he did follow in the adventurers’ footsteps; though he still longed to have a story worth telling, Urnarseldo reconciled with his grandfather, and returned to Rivendell more often to visit, staying for months at a time, and continuing his lessons in healing— though he always kept his daggers close, just in case.

[inkandpen22]

Chaotic As The Seas (1/?)

Pairing: Jack Sparrow x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning: mild swearing

Part Summary: Elizabeth has been taken by Blackbeard. Jack and Will must hurry and find Y/N, she's the only one who can help.

Masterlist

Jack

So, Blackbeard takes Elizabeth and once again we're playing safe the poor maiden. If I get stuck babysitting Will Turner one more time and being required to save Elizabeth, I might sink myself to the bottom of the ocean. I don't even get compensation or a lover after the end of these charades. I could still work on Elizabeth, though she's pretty mad about Will. Nonetheless, I still have a shot at her.

"How are we supposed to find the Fountain of Youth? It's the stuff of legend!" Will shouts, following me about the Black Pearl.

I sigh, coming to the conclusion I knew would be an inevitability. I just wish it wasn't. “If we’re going to save your precious Elizabeth, there’s someone we have to see. She’s the only one who knows this sort of magic and the only one who’s ever seen the fountain.”

“She?”

“Yes, she. The first part is the hardest, finding where she is." Y/N is never in the same place more than once it feels. "I have a hunch but, she’s not exactly the sort that stays still for long.”

“Is she a witch or something?” Will predicts.

“She prefers Healer.” I correct. "'Witch' is a touchy word in some parts."

“Right...” Will drags out, not believing in any of the folklore, despite the whole Barbosa-ghosty situation.

Will

While Jack redirects the Pearl, keeping a close eye on the compass in hand, I slide over to Mr. Gibbs close by.

“Who’s this we're going to find?” I ask him.

“Y/N,” the man answers in not so quiet of a whisper. 

“How did they meet?”

“We stopped in Ireland once for supplies. That’s where she’s from, Cork, if we’re getting specific. She was running from some soldiers.”

“She’s a pirate too?” I question.

“No, well... only when she’s with Jack. She was running because she was accused to witchcraft!” The answer wide eyed to spook me. “The Irish take that very seriously.”

I shrug. “He’s never mentioned her.” 

“Maybe, but you know that ring that Jack wears around his neck?" He points thin and worn rope hanging from Jack and a gold ring around it. "That’s her’s.”

I gasp. “They were married!"

“Engaged,” Mr. Gibbs corrects. "Many many years ago.”

“What happened?”

“Better question, what didn’t happen.” The man insinuates.

So, to save Elizabeth and find the Fountain of Youth we have to go find a Healer who was also Jack's former lover? And we don't know where she is. Sound simple enough...

———————-

A few weeks later...

Y/N

"Two drops of this and he'll love you," I tell the young girl as I hand her a vile of my herbal mix. "Mix it in with some tea or liquor."

She thanks me profusely and rises from her seat across from me. I pick up my tarot cards, shuffling them decently before I let in the next customer. The tavern's noise breakthrough the velvet curtain that divides my table from the rest of the chaos.

I spin in my chair, reaching for the whiskey I keep by the fireplace behind me. "Who's next!" I shout. I hear the curtain slide back soon after.

“My beautiful rose."

An all too familiar voice purrs behind me. That nickname, that nickname is the very reason I have a branding on my shoulder! Only one person has ever called me that.

“How is it you ended up in Martinque?” The voice asks. 

I whip my head around and am met with a certain pirate from my past. A past I wish to forget. My heart sinks at the mere sight of him. One part of me is over the moon. The other is screaming to run.

“Uh uh! Not happening!” I refuse, rising from my chair.

“Love!” Jack pleads, reaching for me.

“Get away from me, Jack!” I hold up a hand to his face and walk by to enter the rest of the tavern.

He follows after me. “Two seconds of your time!”

“Ha! That’s what you said last time and somehow I ended up in Bermuda for six months!” I laugh, slipping past a group of men that watch us. I assume they're with him. I recognize Mr. Gibbs.

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun.” He smirks.

I halt, spinning on my heels to face him. He nearly bumps into me.

“We lived in a barn!” I remind.

“You made it a lovely home.” Such a kiss ass.

“You kept me from the sea! All because you had to hide from the East Indian Company and Beckett!” I scoff, turning to continue toward the exit.

“Would you rather I had been arrested?” He smirks. 

“Yes.” I laugh, finally reaching the door. "And that's exactly what happened!"

“Your one true love?” Jack questions cockily.

I halt in the doorway, gripping the frame. I can feel Jack step closer, hovering over me. I glance over my shoulder back at him. He stands mere inches from me. I meet his dark eyes with a hint of sorrow. “Come now, Jack... we both know neither of us believes in that sort of stuff...”

He steps into the doorway, closing the space between us. His hand glides down my bare arm and lands on my waist. “I do... when I think of you...”

I nod as my eyes flicker about his face. He looks the same, just a bit more aged. He's been through a lot these last few years I suspect. My hand rises to his cheek gently.

He leans into my touch as his eyes fall shut. “I’ve missed you.” He whispers.

“That’s your problem. You’re too sentimental.” I snicker, dropping my hand to my side. “Now, what is it you want so bad that you’ve hunted me down?”

Jack's eyes fly open, the sentimental moment gone. “Oh! The... uh... The fountain! Yes! That's it! We need your expertise.”

“Ha! Not happening." I shake my head, stepping out of the tavern onto the street.

“My love, please! Just listen-“

I whip around, causing Jack to nearly run into me. "No! I swore to myself that I’d never go back there and I swore to never tell another soul how to find it! It’s a vile place and fills even the most noble of men with greed!”

“But-”

“It’s too dangerous!” I argue. “If it falls into the wrong hands-”

“I won’t let that happen! You can come with us! It’ll just be you, me, and my crew. Only a few of us will go to shore.”

My eyes narrow. “Why do you need it?”

A young man runs up from behind Jack. “They took Elizabeth believing Jack knew the way! They’ll kill her in 3 days if we don’t take him to the fountain!”

I press my fingers to my temples with a sigh. “Who are you? Who’s he? Who’s Elizabeth?”

“Elizabeth is his fiancé of sorts if you will. ‘He’ meaning our ole friend Blackbeard and this is here Will Turner," Jack explains quickly, patting the boy on the back..

“Blackbeard!” I laugh, looking at Jack with raised brows. "You're in trouble with Eddie?"

Will whispers to Jack. “Eddie?”

“You all are mad!" I determine. "To give the most dangerous pirate in the seas access to everlasting life?”

“Okay, ‘most dangerous’ is a bit excessive,” Jack debates. “We’ll figure out a plan! We just need to get to the island soon!” He reasons.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s in it for me?”

“A lovely trip." He glides closer to me. When I don't budge, he offers more. “Ten sterling?”

I shake my head. “Goodbye Jack, I wish I could say it was a pleasure.” I turn to head home.

Jack Sparrow can't help but constantly be in a bind. He's always in some sort of trouble. I can't believe I followed him around the world as long as I did.

“I know where it is!" He shouts.

I pause. That's impossible. He's lying.

He continues. His boots tapping against the brick path toward me slowly. “There are rumors of its location. Some say the Caribbean, others say the far northern islands of the colonies. In a few months time, we could be there.”

I glance over my shoulder. “You’re lying.”

The pirate smirks. “Cross my heart." He stops in front of me. "Show me the way to the fountain and I’ll take you to the northern islands.”

"I can't believe I'm about to do this." I'm reluctant, but if he's telling the truth this may be my only chance. I huff. “I despise you, Jack Sparrow.”

He caresses my cheek with a grin. “You used to love me.”

"We were just kids then..." I mutter.

He nods, his eyes falling to my lips.

We were just stupid, naive kids. Sailing the world together as if we owned it. We didn't work for a reason.

Will

I watch as Jack convinces Y/N to join us. Those two have to be the most chaotic pair I've ever witnessed and I've just met her. Yet, Jack is different with her. Never in a million years would I have guessed Jack has a soft side.

“What’s it?” I ask Mr. Gibbs when he appears beside me.

The man sighs. “Jack never said. Y/N is very secretive, so Jack swore never to tell. All I know is that Y/N wants it more than anything. So much so that she bartered that compass from Tia Dalma."

My jaw drops. "Compass is her's?"

Mr. Gibbs nods. "And Jack has been holding onto it ever since they parted. It was always meant to lead Jack back to her. That's why you see him shake it so much whenever he's searching for something else."

"He's trying to redirect it," I conclude. "Is that how we found her so easily."

He hums. "No matter how hard Jack tries. She'll always be what he wants most. The tough reality for him is that whenever Y/N holds the compass, it always points elsewhere. That's why he's so determined to find whatever it is for her. He's holding onto hope that one day when she holds the compass, it'll point to him."

I nod, understanding as I go. "He loves her more."

"Always has, always will."

I never knew Jack could love someone.

____________________

Jack

I lean against the stairs, waiting for Y/N to emerge from my office. She went through some of Elizabeth's things to find something more sensible to wear. Her skirt and corset wouldn't exactly suffice at sea. It's been years since we're sailed together. It's been years since she was a pirate.

Soon, she emerges, finishing up buckling her belt. Her long (Y/H/C) rests over her shoulders in loose waves. I notice she's wearing my shirt. It's too big and hangs off her shoulders, Elizabeth's leather bodice from Singapore keeping it up. She used to borrow them all the time. I hadn't realized how much I've missed seeing her in my clothes.

“I would’ve helped you change,” I comment as she passes by.

She glares at me. “Oh save it.”

I follow after her. “Have you missed the Pearl?”

“I missed sailing.” She grumbles.

Why must she be like this? So, we ended on bad terms, but that was ages ago! It's not like I cheated, I simply... well... may have left her by accident somewhere BUT IT WAS THE EAST INDIAN COMPANY’S FAULT! It's not my fault I got arrested at a very inopportune time!

I admire as Y/N stops at the railing, staring ahead at the horizon.

I slide up next to her, placing my hand over her's. “The sea can be a real lonesome place...”

Her beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes meet mine. I've missed them more than I can confess. Sometimes I dream about them.

“Touch me one more time Jack and you’ll lose that hand.” She remarks.

I lean forward. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. She begins to walk away and I follow suit.

“So! What have you been doing these last few years?”

“Seriously...” she laughs, giving me a knowing look. She rolls her eyes again, marching up the stairs toward the wheel. “I’ve been traveling, collecting materials- crystals- some are hard to come by. You can thank Beckett for that, that short ass-kabob. I’ve also been searching for information of you-know-what. Apparently, I wasn’t looking in the right places.” She stops on the steps, spinning to face me. She towers over me. This is new, usually, it's the other way around. “How did you find it?”

“I didn’t. I’ve heard rumors of its location.” I confess.

“That’s more than I have and I've been searching for it all my life." She frowns. I hate seeing her disappointed. She spins around, strolling onto the top deck. "Hi," she greets Mr. Gibbs with a warm smile. Why is she nice to him but bitter to me?

"Looking mighty fine, Y/N," the man compliments. He earns a glare from me.

“Look at us, working together," I place my arm around her waist. "You guide me to the fountain, save poor William’s girl. Then, I’ll take you to the colonies, give you what you most desire...”

“You speak in riddles. We’re not even certain it’s there.” She shoves my arm off of her and moves to stand by the railing.

Mr. Gibbs gives me a look. Silently begging for me to leave her alone. I can't! I just can't! Now that I have her here again, I have to be near her.

I stand next to her. “Half the fun is the journey. Don’t you miss sailing together? Seeing the world?” I gesture out to the horizon.

“Getting arrested every other week. Always on the run." Her eyes meet mine, still filled with disappointment. "I’m not a pirate, Jack.”

“No, you’re a Healer who fell in love with one," I counter. “We’re opposites if you think about it. You use materials to help or curse people, mainly to make things right. I sail the seas, taking what I can no matter who it hurts.” I place my arm around her again slyly. When she doesn't immediately disappear from me, an ounce of hope weighs down in my chest. “I always knew you were too good for me,” I confess.

Her eyes fall from my eyes to my lips. “Apparently not if I fell in love with you.”

“So you admit it? You love me.” I grin, comprehending how close we are and I debate if I should kiss her.

“I did. Once." She swallows hard.

“And now?”

She directs her attention away, toward the water and steps out of my hold. “I’m waiting for the colonies.”

___________________________

Masterlist

[twistedgardens]

A Spell Gone Wrong

This is based on a conversation I had with @stygianoir a while back that I'm just now getting around to 😓. Sorry it took so long.

For context:

Magic can and does go haywire. The magic system of Twisted Wonderland is nothing like the fantasy books of Yuu's home world. Harry Potter didn't show them what happened when goes wild and actually turns someone into the opposite gender.

Content Warning: mentions of periods (but only implied and gender is not specified as just about anyone with a uterus can have one)

Dire Crowley

Of all the times for him to burst onto the scene, it's when magic suddenly goes wild with a mispronounced spell. You think overblots are bad, try dealing with a headmaster who didn't dodge a spell in time. Being the overdramatic drama king he is, or rather was, Dire's first reaction to growing new bits and pieces is to panic. It's one thing to shapeshifter into a crow or ghost, but that's only because he cast it upon himself. Turning back is another issue when it's someone else's spell gone topsy-turvy. Functionally he's still the headmaster just...moodier. He doesn't let visitors see him the way he is and cause confusion. If Yuu/Reader is able to have periods, even if they weren't involved in the incident, will be the one to secure necessary hygiene products if the spell isn't lifted in time for Dire to experience the wonderful world of menstruation. Were they in the same room or building when the incident took place? No, but that won't stop Dire from giving Yuu the job of getting a life time supply of products because he honestly does not know how periods work. Hopefully the spell gets broken before PMS kicks in. You think he's overdramatic? Wait until he gets a dose of PMS hormones for the first time.

Divus Crewel

A potion goes wrong because of course it does. However, of all the staff it happens to, Divus is the least concerned. Potion-related accidents happen and getting turned into a woman isn't the worst thing to happen or that he's seen happen in the lab. Divus is the exact opposite of Dire. He answers to having breasts testing the limits of his vest, the awkward fit of his pants from having widened hips, and a different voice by shrugging it off and continuing with the lesson. It could've been worse. He could have been turned into a slug.

Malleus Draconia (this is the only picture I could find that didn't include someone's fan art. it does not represent how his reaction is written)

It's not so much his reaction you need to worry about, it's Sebek's, who is outraged by the incident and won't let anyone forget it. Lilia is rolling on the floor laughing and Silver is in the corner sleeping. Malleus takes to being switched with the opposite gender in great strides, though he's concerned that he'll have to switch schools since Night Raven College is boys only. As a fae, at least he won't have to experience a normal menstruation cycle since their biology is different than most humans. This is a learning experience for him. If he's going to rule someday, what better opportunity to learn about issues facing his subjects who have certain body parts or present/identify as female?

Idia Shroud

Oh, this is going to be fun. No one realizes the spell goes wrong is when Idia opens his mouth. Instead of his normal voice, Idia sounds like a stereotypical female. He clasps his hand over his mouth and stands there stiff as board, too scared to move. Suddenly, all eyes are on him. Because he's wearing a hoodie, the changes to his body aren't noticeable. Idia turns his back away from everybody and looks down his shirt. The shriek the emits from him could break glass. Idia immediately runs away and holes himself up in his room, locking the door. His habits don't change much except he speaks even less and doesn't bother with health class. He's too embarrassed to let anyone accidentally see him while the spell is still in effect.

Rook Hunt

A spell or potion gone wrong turns him into a young lady? Meh. It's not the worst thing that could happen. As a matter of fact, Rook likes it. He'll need a new uniform, but that's easily fixed. This is the perfect excuse to find out how skirts feel since he's only allowed to wear one as part of his new uniform, and only because he gets turned into a girl. The breeze feels nice, but it makes hunting a little inconvenient. The only noted downside is that he can't stop admiring himself in the mirror.

Vil Shoenheit

You think this is the first time? LOL. Vil's an actor, who's played the role of girl once before and he's handled potion mishaps for years. He would be furious if he'd been turned into animal, or even worse, ugly. At least the potion didn't turn him into an old lady. Now that would be bad.

[luimagines]

He Accidentally Hurt You pt.2

Masterlist

Set platonically and within the group Part 1

Hyrule

Your blood was pounding as your feet carried you across the battle field.

Your hearing was rendered useless by the cause, you only thoughts were on Hyrule and getting to him before the hoard of monsters did. He had somehow gotten separated from the group in the struggle and was left to fend for himself.

You made contact.

The sword in your hand followed through your practiced movements, slicing all and any between you and your target.

You could hear him in the distance, you were close, you just had to get- just a little-

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and the air changed. The split second static was your only warning before lightning struck.

Monsters fell all around you but you failed to pay attention to that. Your attention was instead on the blinding, scalding twist in your arm that held your trusted blade. You couldn’t even find it in you to let go of the weapon, your muscles incapable to receiving orders.

The pain traveled through your arm and across your chest until it encompassed your whole being.

Screams tore through your throat without your knowledge and when the attack subsided, your whole body went rag doll and your vision went black.

“Please. Please. Please.” A voice whispered through the darkness. It was soft. Pleading. A blessed chill seemed deep into your bones and you found it within yourself to open your eyes.

Hyrule was crouched above you, tears in his eyes with shallow cuts across his tunic and exposed skin. Not a lot of blood though, your brain supplies. You take a relieved breath.

“Hey.” You croaked out in greeting. “Glad to see you’re ok. I was worried.”

“I didn’t know you were there.” He blurts as if he didn’t hear you. Maybe he didn’t. “I thought it was only monsters nearby. I don’t think I have enough magic to heal you completely. This is all my fault.”

“Fault?” You attempted to sit up. You succeed. Mostly.

A grunt leaves your mouth at the stiffness in your joints and you force yourself to power though to reach into your inventory.

A sniffle leaves your Traveler when you push his hands away when you find your target. The red liquid glints in the dying sunlight and you hand it out to him. “Think you can open it?”

He nods and pry's it open before you can even think about getting into a better sitting position.

You don’t think twice about taking the potion when he hands it back.

“Save your magic.” You say. “I’ll be fine.”

And you know you’re right....It’ll take a little more than that to convince the rest of the group when you get back though. Hyrule plans to smother you until not a single blemish is left. The others? Well... They’ll keep an eye on you.

Twilight

“Ten rupees says you can’t make that throw.” You hear Warriors say.

“Double it and I’ll gladly prove you wrong.” Twilight responds.

The book in your lap calls for attention more than whatever those two are doing for the sake of friendly competition. You don’t look up, trying to keep your eyes on the page but you can’t help the growing curiosity in the back of your head.

“What are we using to aim with?”

“That?”

“Sure.”

You roll your eyes and keep your head down.

“I’ll be twenty rupees richer and it’ll shut your mouth. Just watch.” Twilight grumbles.

There’s a tap and a growl before something comes at your head full throttle. It’s dense but not enough to keep it from exploding all into your hair and it knocks you over slightly.

You closed your book to protect it from the falling matter and reach at the spot. By your feet laying the offending object.

An apple.

They threw an apple at your head. Correction. Twilight threw an apple at your head.

The thoughts in your head spin a bit. Your whole head is throbbing but you doubt there’s any blood. You look up just in time to see Warrior and Twilight running at you as fast as they can. Twilight reaches you first and kneels next to you. “By Ordana, are you ok?”

His hands hover over you, trying to take in the damage without actually touching you.

“Who are you?” You blurt out, very quickly realizing that it was the wrong thing to say.

His face drops and Warrior wears a similar expression.

“Kidding.” A pained grin covers your face. “Take me to Hyrule please.”

“I’m so sorry.” Twilight reaches for you and you comply. Once you’re on your feet he speaks again. “Warrior messed up my shot and it hit you by accident.”

“That’s a weird way to say you lost a bet.”

You kick Warrior as payback.

Sky

“So...” You sit next to Sky during the break. “What are you planning to make this time?”

The boy next to you already had his whittling knife out and a decent sized chunk of wood in his lap. He picked it up and spun it a few times, staring into it as if he could already see the form inside it. It was just his job to take it out.

“I don’t know yet.” He admits. “Maybe it’ll come to me.”

You nod and let him work in relative silence, the faint but consistent sounds of Sky working next to you create a blissful and serene atmosphere.

The others are off doing their own thing, each keeping to themselves for the most part.

It’s nice.

“Actually, can you help me with this real quick?”

Your attention is back on Sky. He’s trying to get his knife out of the wood block, the outline of the shape he’s making already starting to form.

You don’t recognize it.

Sky picks up the knife and the whole block follows. “It got stuck.”

“How?” You raise an eyebrow and try to keep the smile off of your face.

Your response is only a shrug and the wood being thrust in your direction.

You grab it and instinctively tighten your grip on it when you feel Sky pull.

You both use your strengths to your advantage and pull in different directions. You feel the knife begin to slip out and adjust your grip. Within seconds the blade is free and you feel it cross the tip of your finger.

Instantly, the wood is dropped and you cradle your hand close to you, putting pressure on the injured digit.

“Ok, got it, thank- What happened?” Sky scoots closer to you and pulls your hands out.

A thin red line follows the length of your finger and it only seems to grow as the moments pass. It doesn’t feel deep but it certainly won’t let you flex your finger for a while.

A quite hiss leaves Sky’s lips. “Well that could’ve gone better. Sorry about that.”

“It could’ve gone worse too.” You press a little on the injury, trying to will the pain away.

It doesn’t work, but hey, you try.

“Hold on. I think I have some bandages in my pack.” Sky gets up and jogs to where most of the others are sitting. He picks up his bag and looks inside for a minute or two before jogging back to you.

A small role of bandages sits in his hand and when he reach for your hand, you don’t hesitate to give it to him.

As he’s working on your finger, you feel mild irritation bubble up in your throat. “This better not scar.”

“Why’s that?” Sky replies.

“It’ll be the lamest story.”

He laughs and finishes his work.

Time

Sometimes it surprised you how short everyone in the group was. You weren’t sure if it was a Link thing or one of the biggest coincidences of the universe because it certainly wasn’t just because they were Hylian (but that probably didn’t help).

That being said, and what you could gather from The Captain, it boggled your mind further that Time was the biggest of everyone. Warrior made it seem like he’d stay small forever, implying that Time was smaller still when he first defeated Gannon.

That didn’t seem very fair.

For him and you....well everyone, only Twilight and Warrior were the ones exempt from having to look up at the old man. But you didn’t like the idea of someone so small fighting such a beast, so Time is included in your sympathy list.

Despite his size, he seemed to move as silent as a mouse. Only Wild would be quieter than him.

After some time of traveling with them all, you realized he was just as much as a gremlin as the rest.

He was not above pranking the living daylights out of poor unsuspecting teenagers.

And the thing is, no one could catch him. Somehow he managed to get them to in the blame on each other but you knew better. You swore it had to be him. There was no way. There was no way he could count as a Link and not get into this kind of stuff.

But no one believed you.

It definitely wasn’t fair.

With the stage set, it’s safe to say now that you were calmly, peacefully and quietly minding your own business. You weren’t bothering anyone.

You were writing in your journal under a tree with some low branches. Nothing too bad but in terms of shade and angle, you found it to be the perfect resting place.

You took a deep breath in and let it out.

Yes, it was nice.

“BOO!”

You jumped as high as your reflexes you take you and spun around, but you had forgotten where you were in the moment.

With a solid thunk, your head hit the branch above you and sat back down, with a curse.

While there was laughter in the your reaction, it was cut off abruptly at the first sign of pain. “Oh jeeze, I’m sorry. How bad does it hurt?”

A whimper escaped your mouth before you could stop it and you closed your journal, choosing to furiously rub your hands against the now tender spot on the top of your head. “Ow Time. Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d move like that.” He moved your hands away and inspected the area for himself. “No bleeding. Doesn’t look like it’ll need a potion...”

“I blame you.” You grumbled. “This is your fault.”

“I can accept that.” He nodded and stepped back. “There’s not much we can do about it in terms of healing, but perhaps Hyrule would be willing to lend a hand.”

“No way. He’d ask how it happened and I’m not going to lie to him.” You pouted. “No one will believe me if I told them the truth.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s you!” You glared at him.

A tiny giggle escaped from the so called Old Man of the group, Mr. Stick in the Mud. Senor Buzzkill. “And why would that make a difference?”

“I cannot believe you... Actually yes I can, you were doing this on purpose the whole time.”

He laughed more fully this time and didn’t seem to let up.

With a pout, you picked up your book and marched away.

One day you’ll get back at him. You just had to figure out how and when.

Four

“So, how do we play this game again?” You picked up the ball one of your companions took out. It was almost the size of your head and had crisscrossing lines. It was white and weighed less than you originally thought.

It was a relatively slow day and no one felt in the mood to dampen it by looking for trouble.

While Twilight and Warrior set up the net that was supposed to go with it, the rest were waiting and going over the rules.

“Just hit the ball over the net. You can’t the ball twice in a row, someone else has to hit it and if it touches the ground you lose the point.”

“Seems simple enough.” Wild takes the ball from you and tosses it a few times.

It takes a while for all the appropriate moves to be demonstrated but you all play the game with ease.

You were having a good time with your friends. Everyone was actually getting along for a change. With a smile on your face, you waited for the moment that would inevitably change.

You swore you could almost pin point when it happened.

With Four right across from you, his sudden change in stance gave away the glint in his eyes.

The ball came to him and he jumped up, higher than you thought he could and spiked.

Next thing you knew, you were on the ground, stunned and slightly disoriented and your face was hurting.

Four ran to your side as the game was halted. “That... was not what I was intending.”

“You don’t say... Can I step out for a minute?” You asked, trying to get your feet. Four helped you get away from the battle field- I mean, the game area and helped you sit back down against a nearby tree.

“Sorry about that.” He smiled apologetically. “Anything I can do to help?”

You looked up at him hopefully. “Lose the game?”

“Not a chance.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY 

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

~

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial. 

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek. 

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame. 

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him. 

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering. 

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror. 

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak. 

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive. 

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive. 

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react. 

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse. 

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point. 

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile. 

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed. 

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

~

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

[separatist-apologist]

Listen…There’s so so little HelionxLoA smut out there🤧🤧 so naturally I came to the Queen of Vanserra/Spellcleaver writing to request literally anything you want to write for them, I just need content about them cause all we have is CRUMBS😭🤧

love your writing boo have a wonderful day💕

Look, if you think you can show up in my ask box demanding Helion content you are absolutely right. Honestly, more of this please. We could put Helion in ALL KINDS of positions, I know he'd be up for it.

Anyway, this is NSFW, 18+, edited with my hands tied behind my back.

--

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Helion pulled himself out of the gleaming pool of salt water, blinded by the overhead sun. Meeting, meetings, meetings, he thought despondently, wrapping a towel around his waist. What good was being the High Lord if your time still wasn’t your own? Helion wanted to float in sunlight until his skin burned. He wanted to float until he felt nothing but oblivion, until he was one with the world.

Instead he’d sit at his desk and a stack of papers while emissary’s for whatever boring High Lord wanted to talk to him droned on and on about trade routes and taxes. Helion had hoped to never be High Lord, had hoped the magic might skip him entirely and then Amarantha, the cunt, fucked that all up.

Not that Helion didn’t still indulge, of course. Just not as often as he would have liked.

His bare feet smacked against the marble, still slippery from the water and he smirked at a gentleman who glanced at the towel hanging from his hips. He knew what they were wondering. What was beneath? Nothing, he thought with relish.

“Give me twenty minutes,” Helion told one of his advisors as he made his way towards his bedroom. “Who is waiting?”

“An emissary from Autumn, High Lord.”

Helion rolled his eyes. “Give me an hour, then,” he replied with a relish. It hardly punished Beron, given he’d sent one of his simpering, spineless courtiers in his stead and yet Helion still could not help but be petty. Let the courtier go back to Autumn and complain about Helion’s lack of time for them. Perhaps one day Beron would take the hint.

He flung open his bedroom door with a relish, intending to bathe and, afterwards, take a nap. Maybe eat after that, read a few chapters of his book and then, if he felt like it, hear out whatever Beron wanted.

Helion froze in place, eyes huge, hand still on the doorknob behind him. The Lady of Autumn, his lady, Amera, stood in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a flimsy, cotton shift that did absolutely nothingto hide her body from him.

This is a dream, his mind shouted. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d imagined her standing in his bedroom with those russet eyes filled with wanting. He reached for his side and pinched hard, waiting to see her dissolve into nothingness.

She took a step forward. “You’re not imagining things,” she told him, her voice somehow prettier than he remembered. He rubbed his jaw; aware he must look half insane standing as he was. Helion, unable to put together words, at least managed to lock the door behind him. Had he said an hour? Autumn’s courtier would go home unanswered.

“How?” He asked, fisting his hands at his sides. His eyes drifted towards her pert breasts, the rosy nipples stark against the near transparent fabric.

Her eyes sparked with amusement. “You haven’t heard?”

Helion’s knees began to shake as a smile spread across her beautiful face. “Eris is High Lord, now.”

“How?”

Mischief replaced her amusement. “How, indeed.”

“So you’re…” He couldn’t get the word out, couldn’t bring himself to say it only to be rebuffed. Centuries of waiting, of wanting, of yearning and now Helion needed her to say it.

“Yours?” She supplied. Finally, his body worked and Helion, unable to stand it a moment longer, surged towards his lady and yanked her into his arms. He meant to kiss her but his legs gave way and Helion knelt before her instead, hugging her middle.

“Stay,” he begged like he’d done many, many times before. She carded her fingers through his wet, tangled hair. “Please stay.”

“For how long?” She responded and Helion couldn’t believe it was real. It wasn’t really happening. He was dehydrated, still floating in the pool, fantasizing like he so often did. He squeezed her body, his hands taking on a life of their own as they began to slide the long shift up her thin legs.

“Forever,” he choked, catching the scent of her arousal before he hand the shift anywhere close to her cunt. She chucked over him, as though the scene unfolding amused her.

“Is that all?” She asked him and Helion growled, pressing his mouth against her thigh.

“No,” he replied, ripping the fabric bunched in his hands. She gasped but Helion would shred everything she brought from Autumn, every article of clothing, every pretty memento and, in time, every bad memory. He stood, ripping his way up to the neckline while she looked up at him with clear eyes. He’d forgotten how little she was in comparison and the urge to protect her flared to life.

She slid the sleeves of the now ruined undergarment to the floor, never breaking eye contact. “Is it as you remember?” She asked him, pressing a hand to his hard chest. He swallowed hard because no, she wasn’t as he remembered. Too thin, too pale…he could fix that.

“Better,” he said instead, sucking air in sharply when she pulled the knot out of his towel, letting the fabric drop to the floor. She cocked her head to the side, red curls spilling down her back. A smile curved over her pretty, red lips and Helion almost let her sink to her knees in front of him.

“No,” he all but snarled, catching her by the elbows. “Absolutely not.”

She frowned, opening her mouth to protest and while Helion would have liked nothing more than to feel her mouth around him again, he would have her body, or he would have nothing at all. He scooped her up, reveling in the feel of her bare skin against his own and swallowed any protest she might have offered with his lips. He felt fevered, hungry, and desperate for the female he spread delicately across his bed of white and gold.

He stopped his kissing just long enough to position himself on the bed, half covering her body with his own. She tasted exactly as he remembered, like roasted chestnuts and bright, sun washed apples and Helion was lost. He ran a broad hand up her thigh and over her stomach, over and over, reveling in the feel of her soft skin beneath his calloused hands.

Helion’s cock ached even before she reached between them and began to stroke. He groaned against her cheek, his eyes rolling back into his skull. Had anything ever felt so good? “Let me touch you,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his neck.

“I want to touch you,” he replied, settling a knee between her legs as he cradled her face in his hand. “I want to taste you.”

She sighed sweetly, shaking her head back and forth as though the whole thing were infinitely funny and not something Helion had been thinking about for practically his entire life. Three centuries. That’s how long it had been since he’d last touched her, tasted her…really spoke to her. He’d heard her offer him forever, but Helion couldn’t quite believe it. Their time was always numbered, always stolen in between hiding from Beron and he’d learned to take what he could before she vanished again.

He needed her to feel good, to think about his skin against hers, his mouth, his everything. He needed her to miss him the way he missed her.

“Why not both?” She asked a moment before he caught one of her rosy nipples between his teeth, breathing hot air against her breast as he teased gently. Her eyes fluttered shut and her hips bucked gently, rubbing against his thigh. The radiating heat was enough to almost convince Helion to abandon his plan of slow seduction in favor of rough, near animalistic fucking. Next time, he swore, not convinced there would be a next time. He needed to hear her scream his name so loud Rhysand and Thesan would hear over the border.

Down, down, down, he slid, his tongue trailing a path over her pale, freckled skin. He parted her thighs as her breath caught overhead and Helion thought he might cry at the sight of her, spread out like his favorite meal. Mine, you are mine—

He brushed his thumb over her wet, pink opening, delighted when her whole body seemed to quiver at the touch. He ground himself into the mattress in an attempt to alleviate the ache building but rationally, the only thing that would satisfy him was her clenched around him.

“Helion,” she gasped overhead, the sexiest thing he’d ever heard in his life. He wanted to hear her say it again. He took his thumb and rubbed an excruciatingly slow circle over her quivering clit as he watched over. Her back arched in response, her eyes flying open.

“Helion, please,” she begged this time. Not enough, he thought to himself, circling again, a smile curved over his lips.

She screamed softly with frustration, her eyes locked with his. Beautiful, so fucking beautiful—

“Helion!”

That was good, he decided, in part because he was also desperately wanted to taste the arousal he could smell. He dropped his head and licked, replacing his finger as Amera fisted her hand in his hair.

“Better,” she half-gasped. “Please don’t stop.”

As if he could. He’d just begun besides, intoxicated off the sweet, musky taste of her arousal. Wet, he thought, his tongue sliding back down her cunt towards the opening he very much planned to be in just as soon as she came in his mouth. She was so damn wet it was driving him insane.

He couldn’t resist sliding his tongue into her body, his nose rubbing against her clit, to fuck her with his mouth. She writhed overtop him, her slick coating his face in the most satisfying way. To Helion, he felt the wet like a brand upon his skin, a warning to any other who might come near him.

Yours, I’m yours—

Back to her clit, his tongue skilled, his fingers parting her so he could have more, all of her. Helion was greedy and always had been. He hated the thought of sharing, of only getting the pieces she could give. Everything was available to him now.

He wanted it all.

“Helion,” she gasped again, her thighs clenching around his face. Helion smiled, his mouth moving faster, methodically, exactly the way he remembered. Her hands tightened in his hair, pulling almost painfully to hold him exactly where he was. Her hips bowed off the bed the same moment a scream ripped through the pulsating silence, his name mingled somewhere between. He didn’t stop, riding her through and, perhaps, hopeful she’d let him keep going.

She yanked hard, demanding him to come back to her. He’d intended to slide himself right in, anticipation warm in his stomach but it was clear Amera had other thoughts. She sat up quickly, her eyes liquid flame, and pushed him to the bed before he could do little more than exhale.

She straddled him without a hint of hesitation, positioning the head of his cock over her dripping pussy. Helion cried out when she sank down quickly, taking every inch of him all at once. His eyes snapped open as she began to rock, her breasts bouncing in his line of view.

He was tense, taut with burning desire. It was all too much and Helion knew he wasn’t going to be able to drag it out the way he’d wanted to. She was so tight it felt like a second skin. It was all Helion could do but hold her hips, his fingers grazing the swell of her ass.

She dug her nails into his chest hard enough she was close to drawing blood. She remembered, he thought in a daze. He liked that edge of pain, the feral part of fucking that left gouges in his skin as a reminder of what they’d done. He couldn’t bring himself to bruise her skin, not when he knew she’d spent centuries hiding them. She could hurt him however she liked but Helion could not hurt her at all.

“Come for me,” he begged, so close he was hanging by a thread. He was counting in his head, trying to prevent himself from spilling though electricity hummed through his veins, urging him to let go and give in to the building heat that had settled in his sac. “Please, Amera—”

She came again, the walls of her cunt fluttering around him with intensity. He lost his control, roaring so loud he knew the Autumn emissary knew why he was waiting. His muscles locked for a moment as release poured out of him, his warm come spilling from her pussy back down his shaft to pool on the sheets below them.

He reached for her, still sheathed within her, and kissed her roughly, desperately. This had always been the part where she left him and Helion couldn’t help his terror. Don’t leave me, he begged silently. Stay.

She caressed his face, smiling as she looked down at his face. “You shouldn’t keep Eris waiting.”

“Let him,” Helion replied, his voice hoarse. “I’ve waited long enough.”

“I’m not leaving,” she promised but Helion crushed her to his chest all the same.

Forever wasn’t long enough.

[awkward-gay-bro]

Just A Prank

“Hey guys, I’ve got something pretty funny in store for you today! Andrew aka LAHFW is staying the week at my place while his gets fumigated. We all know how much he loves pranks and magic...and I found a website dedicated to both!” Stuart walked over to his cupboard and pulled out a bottle. “The website is called ‘Presto’ and they guarantee to deliver. I ordered this bottle of ‘Presto: Hair-B-Gone’ and swapped it out for Andrew’s body wash. This should be great!”

“What the hell?!” The sounds of running water in the bathroom came to a halting stop. “Dude what the hell?!” Andrew swung the bathroom door open, glaring at Stuart. He no loner had any hair below his eyes, his body now smoother than the day he was born.”

Still looking at the camera, Stuart chuckled, “Don’t worry, man! It’s just a prank.”

************************************************************

“Alright guys, Stuart got me pretty bad in that last video. But I found his little website and made an order of mine. He swapped my body wash, so I swapped his!” Andrew lifted two bottles into view, one was the bottle of liquid that had removed all his hair. “This is what he used, so I figured I’d have to do him one better. This bottle is called ‘Double Bubble Bath’ it’s supposed to have some pretty cheeky side effects.”

The shower turned off and the bathroom door slammed loudly. The sounds of dresser doors repeatedly opening and slamming closed came from Stuart’s room and Andrew burst out laughing. “Having some troubles in there bud?”

“I think you know I am!” Stuart yelled back. “I can’t find anything that fits!’

Ten minutes passed, with just the sounds of Stuart grunting in pain as Andrew laughed hysterically. Then suddenly, the door to Stuart’s room opened. 

“Very funny.” Stuart was standing there in a pair of gym shortest that looked three sizes too small. “These shorts were the only thing I could fit in.” 

“I don’t think the camera can see why, why don’t you give us a little twirl?” Stuart followed suit, slowly doing a 360. His rear end had tripled in size, looking comically big on his otherwise fit frame. The fabric was pulled so tight across his cheeks you could tell he couldn’t find any underwear that still fit.

“I’m going to have to get a whole new wardrobe until this wears off. You know this means war.”

“It’s just a prank, right?”

************************************************************

“So Andrew took these pranks to a whole new lever, so I really had to step up my game. Lucky for me, I found the perfect thing on ‘Presto’ to knock him down a peg.” As Stuart backed away from the camera, his massive new rear end knocked over the chair behind him. “Oh, sorry guys, this thing still hasn’t gone down.” He leaned down to pick up the chair, unintentionally showing off his bouncing cheeks in the tightest pair of khakis he could fit into. The pants split straight down the middle, showing his underwear to the camera as the video cut away. 

The video cut back, and Stuart was now wearing a tight pair of running leggings. “We’re about to go for a run and I slipped something special from ‘Presto’ into his shoes. They’re called ‘Any Flats Soles.’ The description online said they’ll make any pair of shoes into the perfect flats, guaranteed to help you look shorter in any outfit.” Turning his face away from the camera, Stuart yelled, “You almost ready for our run?”

“Yeah, I just can’t find my running shoes. Have you seen them?” Andrew said from off camera. 

“They’re in the hall by the backdoor!” Stuart grabbed the camera and took it with him as he walked to the hall to watch his prank unfurl. He got there just in time to see Andrew tying his laces. 

“Why do you have the camera, what did you do?” But Andrew’s question was quickly answered as he dropped inch by inch, step by step. By the time he’d walked over to Stuart he was now craning his head to make eye contact with the man he’d previously had to look down at. 

“Oh gosh, you’re not even eye level with my shoulders now!” Stuart stuck out his hand and tousled Andrew’s hair. “We better get going! With those short legs this run is going to be way longer.”

Andrew lifted his shirt up, which was hanging to his knees, “I don’t think I’m going to make it very far unless I change.”

“Sucks when you have to buy new clothes,” Stuart turned to his side, showing off his gargantuan mounds in the tight leggings, “You’re probably going to have to check out the children’s section little guy. Don’t worry, it’s just a prank.”

************************************************************

“So you guys know Stuart and I are in a little bit of a prank war right now, and I definitely got the short end of the stick thanks to his latest video. He’s been calling me little ever since, so I have a little surprise of my own for him.” Andrew lifted up a tank top that looked massive next to his shrunken frame. “This is Stuart’s muscle tank he usually wears to work out. I swapped it out with a very special tank-top I got from ‘Presto.’ Shout out to ‘Presto,’ guys. They caught wind of our feud and actually sent this one free of charge!”

Andrew climbed down off of the stepping stool he’d placed in front of the camera. With his whole body in frame it was clearly visible he was wearing women’s work out sweats, the only ones that would fit right on his new proportions. “You might be noticing the wardrobe, Stuart offered to pick me up some clothes. I’m gonna go grab Stuart, hopefully we don’t miss the show.” Walking away from the camera it became visible the word “Sexy” written in glittery gold was stretched across Andrew’s perky little bubble.

“I’m heading out to my work-out, what do you need to show me,” Stuart said as they walked back into the view of the camera. 

“This should only take a second. Oh, the tag is still on your tank, let me get that for you!”

Andrew reached up and pulled the tag off Stuart’s top. “What I’ve had this tank for yea-” The second the tag left his tank Stuart’s body deflated like a balloon letting the air out. Every muscle on his body shrunk down until he was supply smooth all over. The only thing part of his body that didn’t shrink was the ghetto booty that jutted out from his now stick thin body. 

“What did you put on my tank-top?”

“That’s not your muscle tank, I swapped it out for a ‘Presto Muscle-less Tank’.”

“Dude. I just got new clothes.”

“It’s just a prank.”

************************************************************

“Okay, after our latest pranks both Andrew and I needed new clothes.  So I went out on another wardrobe run. That gave me the perfect opportunity for my next prank. He’s getting dressed now, so...let’s go see the results!”

Andrew walked out of his room, wearing a pair of women’s jeggings. “Real funny man, did you throw out all my underwear? This was the only thing I could find.” He rolled down his waistband just enough to show off the top off a metallic pink thong. “I’d rather wear my baggy old boxers then this.”

“Well I had to be sure you’d put them on, things feeling roomier?”

“What does that mean? Oh no, what are these supposed to do?” Andrew fled down the hall to examine himself off screen. 

“That was a pack of shrinky-dink thongs! You can probably guess at what those do.” Stuart laughed hysterically as Andrew shouted from off screen. 

“That’s way too far!”

“It’s just a prank!”

************************************************************

“Well, for some reason youtube demonetized both of us, so here we are on onlyfans. Get your mind out of the gutter, though! We are still all about the pranks. But this new prank I’ve got is definitely going to be worth the subscription.” Andrew pulled up what looked a normal bottle of baby powder. Before he could explain what it was, Stuart snuck up from behind him. 

“What are you doing?” Andrew yelled out. But Stuart wrestled him to the grown. Even without his muscles, he still outweighed Andrew at his diminutive new size. Stuart pinned Andrew to the ground and pulled out the ‘Muscle-less Tank’. Stuart maneuvered so he was sitting against Andrew’s chest shoving the tank over the smaller man’s head.  Andrew struggled to no avail. As soon as Stuart pulled both of his hands through the armholes the tank did its thing. Andrew’s muscles faded away almost instantly, but Stuart wasn’t done. He pulled out the bottle of ‘Double Bubble Bath’ and poured it onto the quickly thinning man. 

As soon as Stuart stood up, Andrew jumped to his feet and ran to his room. His ever expanding ass swaying as he ran. When he emerged from his room he dived straight for Stuart’s feet, shoving the ‘Any Flats Soles’ into his shoes. Even if though he could just get the tip of the soles in, they worked their magic. Stuart quickly started to shrink down until him and Andrew were on even footing. When they were looking eye to eye, Andrew tried to yank down Stuart’s slacks, but they were caught on his massive posterior. Andrew quickly changed gears and shoved the ‘Shrinky-Dink Thong’ into the pouch of Stuart’s underwear. With how strained his slacks were, the new adjustments to Stuart’s manhood were on full display, even though his clothes were now baggy everywhere else.

Stuart’s body hair started to fall out every below his eyebrows. “When did you?”

“I filled the pouch of the thong!”

Stuart tackled Andrew to the ground as Andrew’s phone started to ring. The phone fell out of his pocket as the two fell to the ground, sliding across the floor the momentum swiped to answer. 

“Hey Andrew, it’s Danny! I’m excited for our video today, I’m about five minutes away. Are you there? I can’t hear you. Sorry I must have bad service. Either way, see ya soon dude.”

As they were rolling around on the ground Andrew remembered the most recent prank he was going to pull. He jumped up to grab the powder and the label ‘Gay-by Powder’ became visible to the camera. Before he could get it opened Stuart tackled him to the ground and wrestled the bottle out of his hands. They continued rolling around on the ground, each wrestling the bottle out of the other’s hand before either could get it open. 

Danny knocked on the front door but no one answered. He’d known Andrew long enough though to feel comfortable letting himself in. But what he saw inside wasn’t the Anderw he knew. Instead, he saw two slim yet thicc men rolling around on the floor, fighting over something he couldn’t make out. When the two guys flipped positions, and he could see their faces, he was taken aback that it was Andrew and Stuart wrestling on the ground. 

“What the hell happened to you two?” 

Stuart was startled by the sudden shock of being caught in this compromising position, and Andrew took full advantage, grabbing the bottle. He couldn’t get the bottle to open with his dainty new hands, so he put his whole body into it. The force of it finally opening shot the powder all over the room, coating all three men. 

As the powder cleared, the two little twinks writhing on the ground had climbed to their feet. Danny was no longer looking down on the men with shock, but with lust. The twinks first locked eyes with each other before turning their cute faces up to the young jock standing between them. Danny took charge of the situation and ripped the slacks pants off both the other men. He pulled the little twinks into his arm as his pats began to tent. 

“I don’t know what this is,” Danny grabbed each of the twinks by their jiggling cheeks, “but I think I’m going to have a handful with the two of you.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on Stuart’s rosy lips, as he slipped a finger into Andrew’s crevice. Pulling his face away, he whispered, “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s going on?”

“It’s just a prank,” Andrew said between moans. “Good thing we’re on only fans.” Andrew sat the empty container on the desk by the camera, and the label came clearly into focus. “Warning: Do not mix Presto Products. Mixing products may permanently extend the effects.”

[sukorakurai]

@snarkyship is a true genius. I commission this Stark Family Portrait and I couldn’t be happier. I wrote a little fic to accompany this fabulous Picture. hope you all enjoy.

Stark Family Picture Day

 By Sukora Kurai

  Tony sighed over the counter in the communal kitchen. He had been there since dawn when he asked Jarvis what day it was. Then his trusty AI informed him of an importance of this month. Now he was stuck with what to do now.

 “Hey Tony what’s got you down?”

 “Hey Capsicle, I’m doomed.”

 “Oh come on Tony, it can’t be that bad you are an Avenger.” Steve smiled as he got out food to make omelets for the Team, and greeted the in coming members. “Morning Nat, morning Bruce.”

 “Morning Steve, what’s wrong with Tony?” Bruce greeted heading to the stove to put the kettle on for his morning tea.

 “Not sure I found him like this.” Steve stated cracking some eggs into a bowl.

 “His and Loki’s anniversary is this month and he has no idea what to get him.” Nat answered pouring a large mug of coffee.

 Tony shot up in his seat and stared slack jawed. “How could you possibly know that?”

 “It’s my job as a shield Agent and Pepper’s PA to keep tabs on you. So it is well documented when you clumsily asked Loki to be your boyfriend during the Lord of the Rings Marathon where you bought out the AMC Theater for the day.” The Spy shrugged ignoring the fact that all her team mates stared at her in horror. All were now wondering what she had on them in those SHIELD files.

 “So Tony, you have and anniversary coming up? Have you though about what Loki might like?” Steve coughed drawing the conversation back to the main topic.

 “No, I don’t. What does one give a god especially one that has magic and can make anything appear out of thin air?” Tony waved his arms in frustration.

 “That is a tough one but I’m sure anything you get him will be fine. Loki loves you Tony.” Bruce tried to be supportive.

 “I hope you will be putting more thought into the gift you give me next month for our anniversary.” Nat gave the Gamma Doctor a pointed before wandering out of the room to start her routine before heading out to work.

 “Ha, I’m not the only one in hot water now!” Tony crowed at the look of devastation in his science-bro’s face.

 “Tony, knock it off. Now in my day it was the thought that counted most. You should find what Loki cherishes the most. You find that then you can present to him in a meaningful way. It’s true he’s a prince and probably has had his other lovers throw jewels and meaningless expensive trinkets at him to win his affections. You know Loki better because you love him and he loves you.” Steve pointed out.

 “Yeah, Lokes complains a lot about his life in Asgard and that there were many who wooed him just to get to Thor. At night when it’s just the two of us and RC snuggled between us he sighs soft and says what a perfect night it is. He never elaborates but I think it means that he likes just the quiet nights with us.” The genius eyes went glazed as he recalled the many nights he cuddled with his god. Then the idea hit him. “Hey Spangles, can you paint or do you just draw?”

 “Huh,” Steve was caught off guard and almost dropped the omelet he was flipping. “I paint from time to time.”

 “Don’t lie babe you are in your studio whenever can get the chance.” Bucky laughed entering the kitchen. “All the paintings in our apartment Stevie did.”

 “Great! Can you do a portrait if I get you a picture?” Tony asked digging in to the ham and cheese omelet.

 “Yeah, it might take two weeks maybe less depends on if we get called out or if SHIELD needs me.” The captain estimated placing another plate in front of his boyfriend.

 “As long as it’s done before the end of the month we’re good.  Jarvis start looking through my photos and pull out any possible portraits.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “Delicious breakfast as usual Capsicle. I’ll get you the photo as soon as I find one.” Tony dumped his empty plate in sink and ran off to his lab.

 Two hours later…

 “None of these are good enough J.”

 “Sir, might I suggest you take a new photo of you and Prince Loki.”

 “Yeah and RC too, because she’s our baby. We can’t have a Family Portrait without all the family members. Where’s are RC now?”

 “She is currently with Alpine in his play room.”

 “Cool, I think I got the perfect outfit in mind.” Tony grinned as he ran to his emergency closet in the lab. Tony had put in the closet when he realized he destroyed a lot of his clothes during his inventing and building phases. Also there was a suit or two for the days he forgot he was supposed to be in a meeting and had to make a rush to the board room.

  In the penthouse…

  It had been a quiet morning with no call outs, no calls to Asgard and no need to go anywhere. Loki decided to enjoy the peace and quite lounging in his soft Asgardian casual clothes on the couch reading his mother’s spell journal.

 “Hey there, Bambi! It’s Picture Day!”

 “Anthony, what are you on about?” The prince looked up from his book to see his lover carrying their cat into the living room.

 “Well Picture Day refers to the day school kids take pictures for the yearbook and photos are bought for family distribution. Anyways I want to have a family picture that was honest. I never had that growing up because Howard was an asshole and Maria, my mother, was frail. She loved me but she couldn’t express it because she was always ill. Now we have our own little family and I want a picture to put in the lab.”

 “You want to take this picture now? Anthony, I look a mess and how did you get the bow on the cat?”

 “Aww, you look gorgeous, love, as always. Anyways, I put a bow on our baby because RC loves to look pretty for her daddies. Don’t you sweetie.” Tony scratched under the kitty’s chin as they sat on couch next to the god.

 “Mew,” RC purred.

 “Fine, you win, where would you like to take the picture? Also what are you wearing? I don’t believe I’ve seen that outfit before, and what is on your feet?” Loki set his book aside and took in his lover’s appearance.

 “Oh you like? I dressed in red and gold to match my shoes. I had these shoes made based on my Iron Man suit. I thought maybe putting them on the market for kids but I liked them too much to share. So I have a life time supply in the lab. If you want I can have a pair made for you.”

 “No thank you. They clash with my outfit. Now let’s take your picture.” Loki said taking the cat in his arms.

 “Okay, okay. Let me get out my phone.” Tony fished his Stark Phone out of his back pocket and held it out to make them all fit in the frame. “Okay say cheese!”

 “Click”

 “Okay let’s see how that one turned out.” Tony looked at the photo to see him smiling a black blur and a bland look on Loki’s face. “Nope we got try again. This time smile Loki and RC you need to stay still so we can see you.”

 And it went picture by picture they have yet to take a family portrait.

 “Shit I only got half your face.”

 “Anthony your thumb is on the lens.”

 “RC Stay still!”

 “Achoo! Ow! I dropped on my foot!”

 “Do not eat my hair you Retched Creature!”

 “Okay I set it up on a tripod. Now say cheese.”

 “CHEESE BROTHER!” Thor popped up between the two men who stared at shock at the blond god.

 “Next!” Tony rolled his eyes as Loki vanished his brother to where ever. Tony didn’t ask where the Loki sent Thunder god. He rather liked staying in the tower and wanted to keep it that way.

 “Meow!”

 “No RC! Don’t chase the bunny!”

 Three Hours Later…

 “Okay, this is it I can feel it. Now Jarvis is going to take the picture the bunnies are secure in their room. The penthouse is locked down, so no unexpected guest and RC is filled of milk to keep her calm and relaxed. And I promise after we get this picture I will have Jarvis order you favorite meal from the Thai Palace down the street and I’ll rub your feet, while we watch you favorite Harry Potter movies.”

 “Oh Anthony you spoil me. I love you.” Loki sighed as a soft smile graced his face and he leaned into his lover as Tony joined their hands together. RC who was seated now on the god’s shoulder leaned in and purred soaking up the love of her people. The genius couldn’t be happier in that moment as he had his to precious family members with him and the grin on his face was wide and bright.

 “Click.”

 Two Weeks Later…

 “Sir Prince Loki and Mr. Odinson have returned from Asgard.”

 “Great, I got everything ready. Tell Loki that I have dinner ready and waiting.”

 “Yes, sir.” Tony had the table set with Loki’s Favorite food from the five star steak house, they go to. He paid extra to have the chef come over and cook for their anniversary.

 “Ding.”

 “Thank you, Jarvis. Evening Anthony, never in my life had been so glad to leave Asgard. He talked for hours at the council over stagnant topics. What’s all this?”

 “Well my hard working God of Mischief, today is our one year Anniversary and I have planned the perfect evening. Dinner, a bath and I installed a movie screen in our bathroom so we can enjoy the movie of your choice during the bath and then I plan on us making love until dawn.” Tony pulled Loki over to the dinner table, watching as the god’s magic removed the armor and replaced it with comfortable Asgardian wear.

 “You lovely little man, you spoil me so; I don’t deserve it or you.” The Raven pulled the billionaire into his arms and planting kisses all over the man’s face.

 “Yes you do, because I love you and I got you something, well I got Cap to make it, but it was my idea.”

 “You didn’t have to, dinner is more than enough.”

 “No, I wanted to. Now close your eyes and I’ll get your present.” As Loki closed his eyes Tony ran out of the room and grabbed the portrait from where he hid it. He placed it on the wall then Jarvis turned on the lights illuminating the painting. “Okay open them.”

 “Oh Anthony! It’s wonderful.” Loki’s eyes became all misty seeing their little family together and there was so much love radiating from painting. “It’s perfect.”

 “Happy Anniversary Reindeer Games.”

 “Happy Anniversary, my Man of Iron.” Loki whispered pulling Tony in to the sweetest kiss they ever shared. They didn’t hear the click sound of Jarvis capturing the moment with the sunset background. Another memory to save for another day.

 The End.

[lafourmii20]

My favorite pairing is probably DrPepperony if I had to choose one, and I'm a sucker for 30 (the protective one). While I tend to swerve to "people protecting Stephen", please write it however you'd like - if you're interested in this combination. :)

Thank you for the ask, @aelaer 💕

I love drpepperony and I was very happy to write this OT3 with this prompt. It's a bit longer than I thought, and maybe not exactly what you imagined. I hope you like it!

~~~

drpepperony, pre-relationship (could almost be read as gen), hurt stephen, with a bit of blood, protective pepper, protective tony, not clint friendly (sorry i had to find sort of a bad guy), post Endgame but Tony lives and Steve died

~~~

“If you’re so powerful, why couldn’t you save her?!”

Clint’s shout echoed on the lawn, all the way to the cabin. Tony instantly got to his feet.

“Stay with uncle Happy, Maguna.”

He left his drink on a table, and his daughter under Happy’s careful watch, and hurried outside. When he pushed the front door, he frowned, deeply unhappy with the scene.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen whispered in such a thin voice Tony wasn’t sure anyone heard him –not sure the guy even wanted to be heard.

“You’re sorry? Is that what you just mumbled?” Clint answered, his tone getting angrier and angrier with each word.

“I am truly deeply sorry,” Stephen articulated more clearly this time.

It did not seem to appease Clint. At all.

“Well, great! You’re sorry. But Nat is dead because of you. And your sorry ass apologies won’t do shit to bring her back!”

Clint was furious. He was grieving. But he was taking it out on the wrong guy.

“It’s all your fault!”

Stephen didn’t move, didn’t even blink when Clint lurched forward and punched him square in the face. He fell backwards and blood splattered on the ground.

“It’s all your fucking fault!” Clint bellowed as Sam and Bucky restrained him, tried to stop him from attacking again.

He almost tore free, and Tony took a step forward. He was all for letting his fellow Avengers sort things out between themselves the way they wanted to –and if they had to punch some sense into each other from time to time, well it was their business. But no one was getting beaten up, without even trying to resist, on his lawn.

But before Tony could say anything, Pepper stepped into the scene.

“What is going on here?” she asked in her no-nonsense voice. Se didn’t wait for someone to answer –as if there even was a correct way to answer when she used that voice. “No one is fighting in my home! Today, we celebrate those we brought back, and we grieve those we lost. This is not a time for fighting and I will not tolerate it. Is that clear?”

Clint might try to protest, there was no way he would sway Pepper. He was an Avenger. She was even more dangerous, Tony thought with pride. Looked like he could let his wife handle the dirty business.

He crossed the lawn, got to the poor wizard still slumped on the ground, haggard and defeated. His nose was bleeding profusely, and the corner of his eye was starting to turn purple. Tony grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Come on. Let me take care of you.”

Stephen looked up at him. There was a deep sadness, a resigned look in his eyes that broke Tony’s heart. Then Stephen got up and it was gone. They walked silently through the crowd, crossed the lawn and reached the house. Tony pushed him as carefully as he could in a bathroom.

“Here we go,” he said softly, helping Stephen sit on the edge of the tub. “Fri, where’s the first aid kit?”

“Under the sink, boss,” the AI answered immediately and Tony dived under the sink to retrieve the little box, opening it to get some cotton balls and antiseptic, though he wasn’t sure what to do with those. “May I suggest the ice pack, boss?”

“You’re the best, baby girl.”

“Of course,” she answered, and Tony chuckled.

He went back to Stephen with a slightly wet towel to wipe off the blood while he handed him the cold pack. Stephen’s fingers shook wildly when he took it and pressed it on the side of his head, with a painful wince.

“You don’t have to do all this,” the Wizard of Oz finally said. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah, look in the mirror, doc, and tell that to your face,” Tony scoffed.

He got a brief glimpse of a smile before he moved the towel over nose, lips, chin, and all the mess of blood that covered Stephen’s face.

“Why didn’t you send Clint to the Sinister Dimension or whatever the name of that hellish world is?” Tony asked, trying not to wince with Stephen every time the towel stroked over a sensitive area.

“Dark Dimension,” Stephen corrected.

“Sure.”

A moment of silence passed. Tony took the time to rinse the blood out of the towel before applying it again. It seemed like the bleeding had stopped. That only left the big ugly contusion at the corner of Stephen’s eye. Ouch, that looked painful.

“Fri, can you scan our good doctor? Make sure there are no deeper wounds?”

“I’m fine,” Stephen protested with another wince that said otherwise.

“Fri?”

“The good doctor is right, boss. No deeper injury.”

“Great.”

As Tony looked at the slumped and beaten up form in front of him, it seemed that nothing was great. If there were no physical wounds, it seemed that there was a more profound, more painful, psychological one. That man was wounded, burned out, and morally exhausted. And Tony was suddenly filled with the impulse to help him, to fix this, whatever this was.

He wanted to see the powerful and cocky sorcerer he clashed with, when they first met.

He wanted the weirdly flirty wink after great prowess of magic, and butting heads with someone that didn’t take his nonsense but actually listened to him, and compromised.

“So, why didn’t you stop him?” he asked again after a minute of almost comfortable silence.

He threw the bloody towel in the laundry basket and leaned against the sink, watching Stephen intently.

“Because he’s grieving. And he’s right,” Stephen answered in a too small voice.

Defeated.

Tony was not taking any of it. If Pepper had to protect Stephen from Clint, Tony would have to protect Stephen from himself, apparently. It was far from the weirdest thing he had ever done.

“Bullshit. It’s not your fault.”

Stephen arched an eyebrow behind the cold pack, before he winced and dropped it. Tony picked it up for him and, instead of giving it back to the wizard, he brought it up to Stephen’s face and gently hold it up against his temple. Stephen just sighed, closed his eyes for a second, letting Tony take care of him. The situation was slightly more intimate than Tony anticipated but it warmed his heart to see Stephen accept his help. And yeah, he could see himself get closer to the wizard in the near future.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeated.

“It kinda is. I chose this path, the one where Natasha and Steve had to die. Their deaths are on my hands.”

“That’s just pure bullshit! You didn’t push Nat on Vormir, she jumped. You didn’t put the gauntlet on Steve’s hand, he took it and snapped his own fingers knowing he would not survive it. You did not murder them. They chose to sacrifice themselves to save us all, and believe me, I would have done the same thing, without blaming you. You know what you did?”

“Wallow in self-pity, dishonoring their great sacrifice?” he whispered defeated and seemingly disgusted with himself.

“No.” Damn, that man really needed to be protected from himself. Tony knew a thing or two about blaming himself for everything, but Strange was on another level completely. “You put us on the right path, you risked your sanity to view all those possible futures and other timeline. You are a hero.”

That seemed to finally shut Stephen up. He blinked, looked up at Tony, but this time, there was something different in his eyes. A deep emotion Tony couldn’t really name. It made his heart race.

Stephen’s hand rose, lightly touched Tony’s at the side of his head. It was delicate and far more intimate than he expected. But before Tony could say anything else, the bathroom’s door opened, and Pepper stepped in.

Stephen quickly took his hand away, but Tony kept his position. There was nothing he wanted to hide from his wife. Besides, if something ever happened with the wizard, he was pretty sure Pepper would want to be included. Yep, that would be very nice actually, the three of them in the cabin. Tony could almost picture it.

Wait, he was thinking a bit ahead of himself, wasn’t he? Well, who could blame him, he was a futurist, after all.

“Are you okay, Dr. Strange?” Pepper asked.

“You can call me Stephen. And yes, I’m okay. Tony took care of me.”

Pepper looked at her husband. Tony winked, she smirked in return. His hand was still pressed against Stephen’s head –there was a cold pack between them, but did that really matter?

Pepper went to Stephen’s other side, carefully took his chin in her hand to examine him –and there was no cold pack or any medical supply to excuse the proximity. Stephen tensed for a second, then he relaxed in her grip.

“You did well,” Pepper finally concluded, with a small stroke on Stephen’s cheek. The wizard shuddered. Then she stepped back and the fluttering moment was over. “Tony, you stay with him, I’m gonna send everyone home,” she ordered more than asked.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Tony answered immediately.

“And Stephen?”

“Yes?”

“Stay for dinner with us tonight. Please?”

A moment of hesitation, blue-green eyes jumping from Tony to Pepper, a gulp and finally.

“I will.”

Well, well, well, Tony thought. That was a very interesting turn of events. He couldn’t wait to see where all of this would lead them.

~~~

Inspired by this intimacy prompt list

Prompts filled: 3. touching foreheads (ironstrangefrost) 23. wearing someone’s clothing (ironstrange) 29. kissing while mad (ironstrange) 59. height difference (ironstrange)

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 16

A/N: Y’all chapter 16 IS HERE!!!!! Well this was a difficult chapter to write but it includes a fluffy ending! 🙂 I hope you lovelies enjoy it and feedback is greatly appreciated! And as always, have a beautiful day and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! ☺️ 💕💕💕💕

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, mentions of past trauma and abuse, blood and gore, mentions of past torture, scars

There was still daylight outside when you had roused from your nap, the sunshine emerging through the gap in the tall closed curtains just enough to provide the living room with some light and warmth. Yet another nightmare terrorized your dreams in the few hours of your slumber, the very same one that haunted you the night before in regards to the scars on your back. Whenever will these night terrors cease to exist? Shall you ever hope to one day have the fortuity of being able to rest your head and not have to wake up in absolute terror and dread.

You laid there on the couch, hands resting on your stomach as you stared up at the coffered ceiling, your eyes tracing the grooves along the panels as you reflected on what had occurred not very long ago. Which reminded you, you would have to check on your wound soon, hoping that your Olympian genes had at least allowed it to heal. And while you were at it, you could really use a bath. Sam was disappointedly no longer nestled next to you, leaving you in an empty coldness even though a blanket had been thrown over your sleeping form. Thoughts of divulging the story behind your scars invaded your mind like a dark stormy cloud hovering above your head, ready to rain down with feelings of fear, guilt, and shame. Sam had warned you about the dangers of keeping yourself in a dark hole. How shutting yourself off from the rest of the world and leaving your mind to the negative thoughts that ate at you like a blood-sucking parasite would slowly devour every last ounce of you that made you alive. It was no different than jumping into piranha infested waters. You had to tell them the truth about you soon, even if it was piece by piece, like putting together a puzzle to reveal the whole picture. However, you felt a sense of foreboding deep within your spine upon when the time would come. Seeing the whole picture only meant seeing the real you. And you couldn’t help but feel they’d look at you with the utmost horror indescribable to mortals, like the monster you were. You couldn’t blame them if they never wished to see you again. You’d run from that part of you if you could.

You got up with a soft groan, your hair was disarray and your body was stiff and sore as you looked around the dim room to see Sam sat on a stool by the kitchen area staring down at his laptop, the light from the screen Illuminating the blank expression on his face that masked a layer of concern behind it. Sam’s heart was torn from the moment he laid his eyes on your back, he could still feel the way his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of those jagged lines. The picture was imbedded in his mind like the first time you witness something upsetting. Sam could almost count the scars and map it out. This explained why you never wore a tank top and stuck with t-shirts. You had hid this from everyone since the beginning.

Bucky stood off to the other side of the room with his hands in his pockets. You noticed how his brows were knitted together, his eyes which were usually bright, now held a shadow over them as stared off into the distance. Little did you know, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you. The image still haunted his thoughts like a demonic spirit. Bucky had felt this malevolent and nefarious atmosphere surround him in that moment he first saw the slashes that lined your back, like a dense fog concealing something evil lurking behind the mist. In the days that he had known you, he believed you to be one of the most caring souls he had the luck of coming across in all his years, you reminded him of Steve in some ways. Who could have done this to you? Whatever did you do to deserve such cruelty?

“Y/n?” Bucky’s face lightened up as he walked over to you to see how you were holding up once he saw you sitting up on the couch. “How are you feeling?” He crouched down next to you, laying his hand on top of your bare foreman. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain you must have been in, to get shot and walk it off as if nothing had happened. He wished you had told him, instead of trying to hide it. It ended up doing you more harm than good.

“Better. Still a bit weak, but I think I’m gaining my strength back.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand as you lost yourself in his eyes, blushing under his gaze from how close he was to you and to the way his hand was on the bare skin of your arm. They had been the first thing you noticed about him, those bright steel blue orbs contrasted against his dark lashes that seemed to pierce right through you like icy daggers. You found them to be striking, as if you were staring into the skies of an oncoming storm. However, that was until you saw the curl of his lips and the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, it was then his boyish smile that completely transcended his appearance. And when he smiled at you, you could never seem to pull yourself away. It was that same charming smile that captivated you since 1942.

“That’s good to hear.” Sam spoke up after hearing your answer, looking up at you with a warm smile. “I knew you’d pull through.”

“You have too much faith in me Sam.” You shook your head with a soft chuckle. Your ears perked up at the sound of the bathroom doors opening, and when you turned towards it, your eyes nearly widened at the sight before you. There in the vicinity of the entrance to the bathroom stood Zemo fresh out of the shower wearing a bathrobe, his bare chest visible from under the collar where a thin gold chain hung loosely around his neck. His skin glistened from the water droplets that still clung to him, like the dew that formed on blades of grass and the surrounding plant-life the morning after a cold and misty night. He carried with him a small towel, using it to dry his damp hair, the loose strands falling over the side of his face. Your breath was caught in your throat as you watched him go over to the kitchen area, leaving behind a trail of his cologne as he went. The scent was much sharper now from being just recently applied and caused the hairs on your arms to stand up, encompassing you in a haze of this medley of fragrances. Your nose vivified from your sense of smell that picked up on the hints of cedar, fig, grapefruit, orange, pepper, vetiver and ylang-ylang. He smelled incredible.

In this very moment, you were beyond thankful you were the only one with telepathic abilities, due to certain uninhibited images that played within the walls of your mind. Your eyes flickered down to the belt of the robe that was tied around his torso, your fingers itching to untie the one sole thing that with a single tug, would leave him for you to behold and admire. You turned your gaze to the floor, your face burning along with your thoughts that seemed to swallow you whole. By the gods and the pits of Tartarus, were you really lusting after that man? If you had went back in time and told yourself that you would one day be infatuated with and dare say even be consumed with desire for none other than Helmut Zemo himself, you would have stabbed yourself and thrown your body into Tartarus with your own two hands to prevent such a thing from happening. You needed a shower, a cold one at that.

“Well, I probably should have said this in the beginning.” Bucky cleared his throat as he had now sat next to you on the couch, you didn’t even notice his hand leave yours and you prayed he didn’t see the way you were drinking in Zemo. Fortune was in your favor, owing to the fact that Bucky had not noticed at all. “But the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

You snapped your head towards Bucky upon hearing him say what you were ashamed to have felt a bit of dismay towards. You would be a fool to admit you didn’t see it coming. You had known the Wakandans were after him since the beginning, you said so yourself when you first saw him at your front door that day, hidden behind Bucky and Sam. Who would have known those words would eventually leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, his head shooting up from his phone after he heard what Bucky had announced.

“No.” Bucky shook his head.

“How can you be so sure?” Zemo questioned with a look of doubt.

“‘Cause I know when I’m being followed.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.”

“Hey, you shut it.” Sam snapped at Zemo. “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.”

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo retaliated as he went behind the table, opening up the cupboards and peering at the items inside.

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam expressed as he followed Zemo with his head.

“Sam.” Bucky spoke up as he stared at an article on his phone, making you look at him in curiosity.

“What?”

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

Your brows furrowed when you heard what happened. What in the realms was this girl doing? Did she just cross the line?

“What? What’s the damage?” Sam looked stunned upon hearing the news.

“Eleven injured, three dead. They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.”

You sighed, shaking your head from what you heard. “This isn’t good.”

“She’s getting worse. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the two of you?” Zemo turned to the two of them.

“She’s just a kid.” Sam defended, none of this was sitting right with him.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Zemo tried to point out. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.”

“You’re talking about our friends.” Sam glared.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky corrected Sam’s statement.

“So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.”

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo.” Bucky mentioned. “The serum never corrupted Steve.”

“Touché.” Zemo pointed with a cookie on his finger from the jar he pulled out. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

“Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo went back to open up another cupboard.

“Yes.”

“You guys.” You groaned, making them turn their attention on you as you leaned back into the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I hope you know that arguing isn’t going to help the situation at all. I agree with Sam, we should try to convince her to see the wrong in her ways first, try to get her to back down. Hopefully she’ll change her mind. But......if she doesn’t........”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to stab her.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” You stuck your hand out. “I was going to say throw her ass in jail if she persists. She’s already killed three and injured seven.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You’re acting like I’ve never signed peace treaties before Sam. My sister Athena and I used to be diplomats, ambassadors for our planet. Our father would send us off to other worlds to build alliances. Let me tell you from my personal experience from the people I have dealt with. Someone who is so dead set in their ways and begins to see themselves as a form of liberator or savior on the right path, you gotta do a hell lot of convincing to get them to see clearly.”

“Karli may be different.” Sam looked at you.

“Yes, she may or may not be. It’s a 50/50 chance. But when you live as long as me you start to see similarities, patterns. History tends to repeat itself.”

“So what do we do?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well. We take this with a diplomatic approach. I think you should go talk to her. You’re good at that.”

Sam nodded his head at your words, his eyes deep in thought.

“If you guys will excuse me.” You stood up from the couch. “I’m going to go check on my wound and wash up.”

“There should be some spare towels and robes.” Zemo gestured towards the bathroom, to which you thanked him with a nod.

You closed the bathroom doors behind you, locking it with a click before removing your articles of clothing and the gauze that was wrapped around your midsection. The wound had already healed, leaving behind a raised scar in its place, another mark to add to your collection. You shivered against the chilly air of the bathroom, your toes curled against the tile floors that were cool to the touch as you rubbed your arms. You went over to turn on the shower, running your hand under the water to check on the temperature before stepping in, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh the moment the warm water touched your skin.

Memories of your planet occupied your mind, filling you with a sense of solace as you remembered the beautiful lush land and the magnificent creatures that roamed them, scattered with tall mountains and waterfalls, lakes and streams, and the exquisite flowers that smelled absolutely heavenly whenever you passed them. You missed the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian architecture of the towering buildings and the tents that lined the local markets that you used to stroll through wearing a chiton and a pair of sandals, the markets always bustling with merchants, philosophers, painters, sculptors, and craftsmen of almost every kind. You missed the different smells of the food and spices that revitalized your senses and made your mouth water. And you missed the local hot springs, especially the secluded one you discovered on one of your walks. It was the perfect place for you to unwind, especially after a hard day of training where your muscles ached. The area was surrounded by plant life which offered you privacy, allowing you to immerse yourself in the waters in solitude and peace with a view that overlooked the ancient cities below you. When the sun went to rest over the horizon and the moon took command over the skies, the water itself became luminescent under the stars, as if someone had thrown handfuls of aquamarine jewels into it, which was stunning when complemented with the starry night sky. Gods, you missed your home, you missed the past. Apart from all those wonders that brightened up your eyes whenever you beheld them, you missed the familiar faces of the people you have come to know there. You missed the locals, and you missed your family. Your heart ached, it felt as if your soul was grappling with a pervasive emptiness that lurked in its dark and unexplored corners. An intense yearning overwhelmed you, a sentimental longing for the past and the things that were.

You sighed, shutting off the water and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape before stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry yourself off before slipping on a clean pair of clothes. Your hair was still damp as you wrapped a towel around it, opening the bathroom doors back up to see Bucky, Zemo, and Sam in a conversation.

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So, when I was a kid, my TT passed away.” Sam elaborated.

You stopped, furrowing your brows at Sam, only managing to catch a snippet of the sentence. “Why are you talking about tits?”

“What?” Sam looked at you. “No not tits, my TT.”

“What about your tiddies?” You quirked.

“No my TT. TEE-TEE.”

“Your TT?” Bucky squinted at him.

“Yeah, my TT, yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed that no one got what he was saying.

“Who is your TT?”

“Fine.” Sam sighed. “When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.”

“Sounds plausible.” You nodded, heading over to the kitchen to grab yourself a cold glass of water.

“Worth a shot.” Bucky noted.

“Your TT would be proud of you.” Zemo accentuated before tossing the three of you some candy. “Turkish delight. Irresistible.”

You caught the one Zemo tossed over to you, staring at the cubed piece of paper wrapped candy in your hands before looking up at Zemo with a raised brow. “Uh.....thanks.” You walked over to the couch where Bucky sat, sitting down next to him and popping the candy in your mouth after removing the wrapper.

“How’s the bullet wound?” Sam nodded towards you.

“It’s healed, thanks for asking.”

It was now or never.

“So uh......guys.” You cleared your throat, your nerves causing you torment like tiny little pinpricks over your skin. “About the uh............about the scars you saw on my back.”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” Bucky spoke softly after noticing how your voice shook, your eyes were glued to your hands as you picked at the skin on your fingers and palms.

“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t keep this hidden forever.” You sighed, taking in a deep breath to prepare yourself as the men watched you, silent as the grave as they listened attentively to what you had to say. “Long ago, back in Olympus when I had just reached adulthood, I used to be a diplomat for my father, as you already know. Well, that wasn’t my only duty. I was also an assassin, his.........personal executioner. I would be sent on missions to other worlds to take out tyrants, oppressors, the absolute heinous of society. In the beginning, it was for the health of the innocent, to unshackle the chains of injustice and cruelty. But then one day, Zeus wanted me to assassinate a king who had done no harm towards his people. At first, I couldn’t understand his reasoning on having me complete this mission, until it all clicked. I started to see the truth behind Zeus’s aspirations, his....ulterior motive. I had been completely oblivious to his twisted ambition and lust for power. I had never been so vexed with anyone and myself. I felt ridden with guilt, telling myself I should have caught on to his true intentions far earlier. So I confronted him about it and laid down the sword he gave me, not wanting anything to do with it. I told him what he was doing was wrong, and that I did not want to be a part of his path to reign of terror. Zeus became furious and tried to accuse me of treason before locking me up in the dungeons. I had never seen him with that kind of rage before. I was terrified to see my father act that way and hadn’t slept a wink that night in the cell. The very next day was my public punishment, one that Hera herself picked out. So his guards dragged me out to the stands that afternoon, the place where they held public shaming and punishments.”

You stopped, gathering yourself as you wiped away at the tears that fell down your cheeks. You could feel Bucky reach his hand out towards you so you grabbed it in return, clutching it with dear life as if it was the only thing that reminded you that you were here, not back in that traumatic moment, but here on earth with 3 men that would do absolutely anything for your safety and happiness. You choked back a sob as you continued. “They tore open the back of my dress, leaving me bare from the waist up for all to see before tying my wrists to the wooden post. I had never felt so humiliated and frightened my entire life. And then they whipped me, over and over again to the point I could no longer stand, the only thing keeping me up was the rope. My dress became soaked with the blood from my wounds and so did the wooden floorboards beneath me. I eventually fell unconscious from the pain, it was too much for me to bear. I was left there for the remainder of the day, left as an example of what happens to those who betray Zeus. When my uncle Hades, Athena, Artemis and some of my other siblings heard what had happened, they rushed to my aid, enraged at what was done to me. Athena and Artemis took me in to their home and tried to tend to my wounds there, but they had already festered. I came to find out later that the rope they whipped me with was laced with a poison so that my wounds wouldn’t heal properly, so that they’d remain to be a constant reminder of my actions.”

The men were silent as you finished telling your story, their faces only fitting the description of horror as they tried to process the inhumanity that was inflicted on you by the very people you trusted. They couldn’t bring themselves to give you words of comfort. No amount of words and speeches could help you or undo what was done. The men’s hearts wrenched as they could almost share the pain you had felt. If your father wasn’t already dead, they would have killed the scumbag himself. Bucky had hugged you in that moment, letting you cry into his shoulder as Sam had come over to you as well, wrapping his arms around you as he hugged you from behind. You sat there engulfed between Sam and Bucky as you cried, your tears and your confession representing the weight that was now lifted off your shoulders. You no longer had to hide the scars, your story was told. Zemo still stood by the kitchen, his knuckles white from gripping the counter, his face turned in the opposite direction. One look at you would tear him apart, he would drop everything and rush over to you this instant to be able to hold you in his arms. He’d let you cry onto him forever if need be. You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve any of it.

You went for a stroll that night after the sun had set. Bucky and Sam offered to accompany you due to the state you were in but you declined. You needed to be alone for a while. Retelling your story still rattled you as if you had relived that moment once more. You headed off to the nearest park, laying down on the grass as you stared up at the night sky. The cool wind brushed against your cheeks like an icy caress as you closed your eyes, the blades of grass tickling the sides of your face, losing yourself in your surroundings before the faint sound of footsteps against the soft grass interrupted you. You sat up, turning your head to see Zemo standing behind you.

“Zemo? What are you doing here?”

“Thought I might join you, if you’d allow me.”

“...............sure.” You watched him from the corner of your eye as he sat down beside you, wearing that fur collared coat of his. You pulled your knees up to your chest, clasping your hands together at the front before staring off into the distance.

Zemo’s eyes flickered over to your profile, studying your facial expressions and the hollowness that was held in your eyes. He still could not get your narrative out of his head, wincing at the image of the excruciating pain and anguish you must have felt at the time. He could not imagine what your back must of resembled in that moment. He wished he was there, so that he may have rescued you and went after those who ever dared to do you harm. “So, what brings you out here?”

“I wanted to see the stars. I heard there might be a meteor shower tonight.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, surprisingly. Still a bit unnerved, but I’m think I’m doing better.”

“I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you. It should never have occurred in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize, you had nothing to do with it.” You sighed, shivering as a strong breeze passed through you.

Zemo noticed your movement and turned in your direction. “Do you need my coat?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

You watched as Zemo slipped off his coat before leaning over to drape it around your shoulders. You averted your eyes from him and turned your head away from how close he was. You shivered once more, but this time from his warm breath that grazed across your cheek as he adjusted the fur collar so that it fit snug around your neck and head to provide you with as much comfort as he could. The way he handled you so tenderly made you blush, as if you were a delicate rose, a precious gem that if held incorrectly would be considered a crime, a disgrace to your existence. Then there it was again, that cologne of his that had you feeling a certain way. You could still smell it off him, and now that you wore his coat, the sharp citrusy and spicy scent completely engulfed you as if you had been transported back to the markets of the ancient empires. Zemo gazed down at you from where he was seated, you didn’t even have to look up at him to feel your face heat up, that’s how much of an effect he had over you. The way he looked at you made you feel vulnerable and small. You were the goddess of witchcraft, and yet, here you were, completely bewitched and transfixed by him as if he had cast an enchantment over you.

“Schatzi.” Zemo whispered as he gently laid a finger under your chin to bring your face to him.

You stared at him with wide eyes, hidden behind a veil of sorrow and regret along with your aching and yearning heart. The Wakandans would have him soon, then you might not ever have the chance of seeing him again. It was now or never. “Zemo I.......I want to apologize for that night. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t-“

“Schatzi.” Zemo held your face with both of his surprisingly soft pampered hands as he caressed your cheek. “There’s no need to apologize. I would never wish for you to be uncomfortable.”

“Why? Why are you so kind towards me? Don’t you hate the avengers, people with unordinary abilities?” You questioned, desperately wanting to know why he treated you with respect, despite his moral compass in regards to super soldiers and such. You would’ve conjectured that you would be on his list of people to eliminate.

“Because.” Zemo stopped to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have shown nothing but kindness to those around you and to my people. When I first saw you, you struck me as the silent and menacing one, you spoke very little and I thought you to be dangerous. But then I saw what you did after the attack from Ultron, how you stayed behind to help clean up what was left and find any remaining survivors. Your efforts towards my country will not be forgotten. You have a beautiful and caring soul y/n, one that shines brighter than any I’ve seen. After all that you’ve been through and all that you have done, you too deserve kindness in return.”

You smiled at his words, placing your hands on top of Zemo’s as he still cradled your face. You turned your head slightly to place a soft kiss to his wrist, eliciting a small gasp from his lips. The two of you had been touch deprived for so long, without a single soul to hold and kiss, that a small action such as this was enough to send you both over the edge. You gazed into his eyes once more as you placed your hand against the side of his neck, your eyes trailing down to his lips as you traced the smooth shaven skin of his jaw with your thumb. Zemo felt his heart stop in his chest from your gesture and the way you looked at him. You looked absolutely ethereal, wearing his coat and sitting in close proximity of him under the stars, the moonlight making you radiant in parallel to the the silver orb itself. Your heart palpitated in your chest, nearly breaking out of your rib cage and becoming the only thing you could hear as you finally mustered up the courage to do what you have longed to do.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned in with your lips slightly parted as Zemo did the same, your noses grazing against each together like the fallen leaves caught in the winds of autumn as you rested your foreheads together. Your breathing quivered, your body trembling from the sudden forethought of what was to come as the two of you hovered not even a centimeter apart, your lips brushing against his as your faltering breaths fanned each other’s faces, both of you too tense to make the first move. Zemo pulled away unexpectedly, causing your heart to drop and leaving your face to the coldness of the night air, which made you knit your brows together. Zemo chuckled softly at the disheartened expression that marked your features before tilting his head towards you once again, his hands never leaving the sides of your face as he pressed a feathery kiss to your forehead and each of your closed eyelids, placing another to the rounds of your cheeks, and lastly the tip of your nose as if he was mapping out what he found beautiful about you, before pressing his lips to the area you most desired them to be.

You gasped at the touch, both of you equally startled from the intimate gesture and your bodies rigid before melting in the kiss you shared. The kiss was innocent and sweet, bringing about a warmth that flowed through your veins like the rays of the sun on a warm summer day. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your palm through the fabric of his turtleneck. His lips were firm, yet soft and warm and the taste of expensive wine, cherry blossom tea, and Turkish delights still lingered on them. Zemo barely moved against the chaste kiss, luxuriating in the taste of your lips, the traces of coffee, caramel, dark chocolate, and pomegranates left him fully succumbed to your touch, not wanting to overstep your boundaries and allowing you to be the one to made the decision. The two of you remained motionless, frozen in time, resembling baroque marble statues sculpted by the hands of Gian Lorenzo Bernini. You compelled yourself to separate from his lips after what gave the impression of being an entirety of lifetimes, but, be that as it may, it had only been a matter of seconds. A soft smile formed on the curves of your lips as you gazed up at him with flushed cheeks, releasing the breath you had caged in this entire time before reconnecting your lips to his once more.

Your hands made their way up to wrap around the back of his neck, softly grazing the hairs on the back of his head while his slipped down to the curve of your back, pulling you gingerly to him as your chest was pressed flush against his. The smell of Zemo’s fresh citrusy cologne and your warmer, darker perfume reminiscent of castles, vampires and the Victorian era, merged together to create an aroma one would only describe as intoxicating. The kiss became more passionate, more ardent as you molded into each other like melted candle wax, as if you had been designed specially for each other as would a lock and key, it was absolutely breathtaking. You couldn’t resist the soft, sighing moan that escaped your lips from the feeling of serenity that washed over you, a sensation similar to that numbness that swept over your body right before you entered a deep state of sleep. The way your lips moved against one other and the way you held on to one another as if you’d wake up the moment you let go, wasn’t so much provoked by a desire for lust, but rather a cavernous desperation for the ability to feel, a craving for sentiment, to be able to find worth and significance buried in your souls within the walls of this hollow world. But more than any of these, this kiss was your way of professing the deep affection you held for each other, a testament to the sparking of the forging of your souls.

You broke the kiss after what felt like an eternity of euphoria, pressing your forehead against Zemo’s as you caressed the line of his jaw, a soft smile formed on your lips as your hearts now drummed in sync. You thought you could never feel such a thing again, that to be able to hold and kiss someone again would be impossible, you were incredibly wrong, and you had never been more happy about it. Zemo was left breathless, scrambling to put his mind together since he couldn’t process a single thought after what he experienced. Kissing you was unlike anything he had ever felt, he could only describe it as otherworldly, transcendent. How someone like you, a goddess, a princess, could ever manage to return his feelings, he would never know. But there was one thing Zemo was sure of, he could never grow tired of the moments spent with you. Truth be told, it only left him yearning for more. Zemo pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling you down to the grass with him. You let out a quiet giggle from his actions, pulling Zemo’s coat closer to you and interlacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest, your ear pressed up to where his heart was. Zemo’s arm was wrapped around you, his fingers brushing your back tenderly, feeling the ridges of your scars as he traced them with his fingers through the fabric of your sweater while you listened to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. The two of you stared up at the stars and constellations, watching how the night sky lit up with the meteoroids that entered the earth’s atmosphere, leaving behind trails of white and painting the skies in streaks of a celestial waterfall. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet, you didn’t need to. Being in each other’s presence was enough. Your gestures of affection that you had just shared with each other, already voiced whatever words you had been meaning to say.

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