#how am i being assessed on a skill i have never had the opportunity to demonstrate in a lower-stakes environment?

[aloyssobek]

banging my head against a wall with this assignment i've done all of the interesting parts to it and now i have to write 500 more words of justification that feel like bs but also this assignment feels like it should be worth more than 50% bc of the AMOUNT of stuff in it ik it's a masters assignment but the combined total word count for the two assignments for this subject i'm p sure is greater than 5000 words which is like. the standard amount for a masters level subject if experience IN MY OTHER MASTERS DEGREE THAT I GRADUATED FROM serves well

[hydrangeapartridge]

Title: Mind Body and Soul - Chapter 6

Pairing: Mage!Shinsou x reader

Link to AO3 here

Summary: Once upon a time there was you: a nobody, a refugee from a country devastated by Dabi’s undead army, serving as a maid in king Todoroki’s castle. There, fate decided you would cross path with the mysterious and dreaded court mage Hitoshi Shinsou. Little did you know that particular encounter would change your life forever.

Rating: M

Tagged people <3 (tell me if you want to be added): @maple-syrup-with-strawbewwies @moonlitmoonpie @obeythehuman

Chapter 6: The Spirit (under the cut!) - (link to chapter 1, 2 , 3, 4, 5)

A few weeks passed and the fire incident was forgotten. Shinsou had his burnt desk and shelves replaced. You kept busy with your studies, and soon were allowed to train with the spirits of air, earth, and fire (but only under strict supervision for the latter). You also started reading a few treaties about healing magic, only to realise you would first need to master anatomy and semiology. To treat a disease, one should first know how to recognise it. The road ahead of you would be long to become a proper healer. So for now, you took it slow, keeping the medicine themed books as bedtime readings, and focusing during the day on the other wide areas of magic.

Despite racking your brain with the question every time you had a chance to, you still had no clue what Shinsou’s spirit of affinity could be. The man was simply so skilled at anything he did (except healing magic, like he kept repeating), that you didn’t see how you could spot his best area of expertise. You once joked that he had a particular affinity with book spirits, only to be seriously reminded that those spirits don’t actually exist.

You were pondering the enigma that was your teacher while climbing the numerous stairs of his tower. You unconsciously rubbed your arms to warm yourself up and alleviate the goosebumps raising on your exposed skin. Winter slowly turned to spring and you had opted to wear a short sleeved dress today, on Monoma’s advice. But maybe it was too early to dress so lightly, especially when travelling the more desolated and unheated areas of the castle.

Once atop the stairs, you hastily entered Shinsou’s office, where the temperature was thankfully a bit higher. There, you found your master kneeling, his back to you, white chalk in hand, busy drawing strange patterns on the floor.

“Are those … runes?” You asked.

You read about runic magic, but only superficially, as part of your learnings of what magic could do and what forms it could take. It was far too advanced for you to tackle with your current knowledge.

“Correct. And can you tell me what do we use runes for?” Shinsou of course took your curiosity as an opportunity to turn the situation into a lesson. You grew to appreciate these impromptu lectures more than the planned ones, and decided that you enjoyed his way of teaching. You never had another magic teacher of course, nor did he have a student before, but you were satisfied to find that you both enjoyed your interactions. You were positive that you wouldn’t have wanted to learn magic any other way.

“Runes channel the energy needed for spells. Acting like instructions or sometimes triggers for activation. Using runes allows one to summon more complex spirits, or to prepare spells ahead of time for traps or to protect a defined area. They can also be used to enchant objects or even contact spirits and beings of the Otherworld….” Your voice grew quieter at that last part. You hadn’t forgotten the encounter with the Djinn. The memory sent a shiver of dread down your spine, your instinct telling you that if Shinsou summoned one once, he would be likely to do it again. And him doing it right now was a possibility.

“Yes, excellent” Shinsou praised your knowledge. He quickly glanced at you, interrupting his work to assess you. He frowned slightly at your stiff posture. “Do not worry, I am not summoning another Djinn” Ever so perceptive, he reassured upon seeing your obvious distress. “This circle is designed to allow us to converse with the spirit I’m looking for during a short period of time only. I’m definitely not materializing it in our plane of existence”

His words made you relax instantly. You let out a short sigh before letting your curiosity take over again. “What spirit are you summoning?”

“A spirit of curiosity” Shinsou humoured you as he returned to his complex drawing. “They can give good insight. My master often conversed with them. He enjoyed their company”

You knew from your readings that spirits that embodied certain emotions or complex feelings could be found in the Otherworld. They fed on the emotions coming from other planes of existence, like yours. Some were more dangerous than others; the book had especially warned its readers about the spirits of wrath and that of lust, which should be avoided.

Shinsou soon stood up, dusting his hands free of the white chalk and then turning to you. “Before we begin, you have to know that this is very advanced magic. Not something you should try by yourself anytime soon.” The bland yet serious stare he gave you made you self conscious. You couldn’t help but look down to your feet. He hadn’t forgotten about the fire you started in this very same room. Neither did you, but you had learnt your lesson, and since then, had behaved.

“I get it. I don’t get to experiment by myself like you do. I remember how it went last time…” You sighed.

The rustle of Shinsou’s robes made you look up. He had stepped closer to you, his features softened with empathy. “I do not mean to scold you or to deter your motivation” He clarified. “I simply wish to warn you about the dangers that some forms of magic can present”

You nodded your head. From the beginning of your training, Shinsou made a point to repeatedly warn you of every danger you could face while learning the subtle, powerful but risky art of magic. He often told you about mage apprentices finding their gruesome end during an experiment gone wrong. He insisted mages should stay humble before the mysteries and forces of the world, and should never let the power they were gifted blind them, less that power consume them. It was clear that Shinsou only wanted to protect you from harm, but sometimes it was still a little bit annoying. You weren’t an irresponsible child, and you wished he wouldn’t treat you like one.

“I saw the danger coming from the first being of the Otherworld I encountered very clearly” You retorted, thinking back to the Djinn again.

“That one was particularly menacing” Shinsou agreed, not commenting on your bitter tone. “But other spirits can be more insidiously threatening. For example the one your are about to see shouldn’t be contacted without being prepared. Whether it be using protective runes, spells or artefacts.” He pointed to a particular set of runes he traced around the summoning circle. “This sigil is a barrier. The spirit won’t be able to leave the circle, and won’t be able to tamper with the spirits of our plane. Including our own spirits”

“What do you mean our ‘own spirits’?” You inquired, and Shinsou smirked at how your voice lost its biting tone, replaced by curiosity.

“Beings of the Otherworld are very powerful spirits. Conversing with them even though possible for mages still remains rather unnatural. The body, the soul and the mind of an untrained human, even wielding magic are unprepared to deal with a spirit’s marvellous’ presence. One could go mad from it. Some mages spent hours admiring spirits or so engrossed in their conversations with them that they let themselves starve to death, forgetting their own body’s needs”

Your eyes widened and you gulped at yet another horrible fate suffered by fellow mages. You had to wonder how could something as marvellous and fantastic as magic be so scary and dangerous. Magic was two sided it seemed; sometimes beautiful, sometimes cruel. Sometimes warm and bright, sometimes cold and dangerous. Not unlike a certain court mage, you thought.

“That doesn’t really make me want to learn to speak with those beings” You finally commented, crossing your arms protectively over your chest. You sighed, frustrated at the complexity of the art you were eager to discover, but somewhat forced to pursue. “Everytime I feel like I’m progressing, I learn that there is a new kind of tricky spell or ritual that is extremely difficult to master, and I realize how dangerous all of this is, and how impossible it will be for me to become a decent mage before I’m all wrinkles and achy joints….”

Shinsou tried to hide a snorting little laugh by coughing in his hand. His reaction slightly lifted up your spirit, and so did his next words.

“You are being too hard on yourself” Shinsou softly said, stepping even closer to you, until you caught a waft of the fresh flowery scent that was clearly his. “Your progress is impressive. You learnt in a few months what represents a couple years of training of a younger apprentice”

You felt your cheeks heat up under the praise, and your eyes found your boots again. Yet, Shinsou continued. “Your situation is different than that of scholars like myself. You do not have to learn every spell or every ritual to become a talented healer”

You felt his fingers graze a stray strand of hair that fell in front of your eyes. He carefully tucked it behind your ear while you looked up, frozen, yet burning up under his delicate touch. Shinsou’s deep violet eyes were on you; unreadable but intense. You suddenly felt very shy and self conscious under his unwavering attention. You inhaled shakily, struggling to hold his gaze, itching to look down to his lips when his knuckles brushed your cheek as he stepped back, finally releasing you from the spell he had you under.

He cleared his throat, putting some more distance between the two of you. “It is the endeavour of mages who focus on research like me to dedicate their lives to learning every spell in the book and research new forms of magic. You on the other hand, should simply go with what feels right”

He graced you with a small smile that reassured you just as much as it made your heart beat faster in your chest. “Are you saying I’m not a complete disaster of a student?” You teased, trying to ease the tension you felt growing between the two of you while also admittedly fishing for more praise. It just felt to good to be acknowledged.

Shinsou blinked, surprise painting his delicate features. “I never said you were” He retorted, expression open and honest.

Despite his declaration, you couldn’t help but feel insecure about the subject. “Well I did set your office on fire…” You nervously bit your lower lip before asking “Yet you don’t regret taking me on as an apprentice?” You asked.

It was only fair that he would feel that way. After all, he had to save you from a monster and vowed to protect you, a total stranger. He then took it upon himself to face the consequences of his actions by taking you as an apprentice, to make sure you no further harm would come your way. He dedicated a large part of his precious studying time to teaching you, and had to suffer your whims.

Shinsou frowned “Were you under the impression that I did?”

He sounded ticked off, and you flushed, unprepared for him to throw the question back at you.

“You always do that!” You accused, getting frustrated.

“Do what?” He asked, seemingly clueless.

You clicked your tongue, waving your hands in annoyance. “You avoid answering my questions and ask another one instead. You always do that.” You accused.

His frown deepened, and for a second he was at a loss for words, caught red-handed into his shady habits. The silence fell heavy between the two of you, and you started regretting bringing up that subject.

“I do not regret taking you as my apprentice” Shinsou finally graced you with an answer. His tone was factual, when you expected it to be acidic. “Now, can I proceed with the summoning?” He asked, like your opinion on the matter would really make a difference in what he would do.

Upon your silence, Shinsou resumed his work, lighting the candles symmetrically placed at the edge of the summoning circle with a wave of his hand.

“Why are you summoning a spirit of curiosity?” Even if you weren’t satisfied with how the previous conversation went, you couldn’t resist asking questions just a few seconds later, arms still crossed over your chest.

“A good question. Maybe I shouldn’t need to given I have one right here beside me” Shinsou teased you, a devilishly handsome smirk on his lips.

There was no bite to his reply, and yet you grimaced, feeling your cheeks heat up. That was clearly payback for putting him on the spot earlier.

He chuckled, and that sound shouldn’t sent butterflies flying in your belly “At ease my curious apprentice. I’m just teasing. I already told you curiosity is a healthy quality for a mage” Shinsou’s smooth voice soothed your raised hackles before you could lash out at him. You hated how he made your blood boil.

He focused back on the circle, his back to you. His shoulders looked tense. “I intended to ask the spirits a few questions” He finally graced you with an answer to your initial question. “But now that you’re here this session will better serve as a lesson for you”

His phrasing had you wonder if there were things he wanted to ask the spirit that he didn’t want you to hear. But you kept that thought to yourself. Once he was done with the many candles, Shinsou placed an hourglass in a smaller simple circle contiguous to the larger and more complex circle of runes and sigils.

He turned to you, explaining its purpose “A time limit. To be sure we don’t get carried away”

That was a lot of preparation for a short interview with the spirit. As the beginning of the ritual edged closer, you grew nervous. The last one you witnessed had been unexpected and scary. Curiosity didn’t sound like it could be a dangerous spirits, but you still felt wary of this particular type of magic.

“You spoke about protection. As a more inexperienced mage, do I need to do something in particular?” You trusted your cautious master wouldn’t have forgotten to tell you about such an important detail, but still, you needed to ask, to calm your rising nerves.

Shinsou’s amethyst gaze bore into yours. “No need to worry. You are under my protection” He told you, steadily but confidently. Your heart fluttered and your stomach churned. Inside that ritual circle weeks ago, he vowed to protect you. Words were binding. That promise hadn’t been an empty way to prevent an evil spirit from eating your soul, that you now knew. Still, you didn’t know whether to feel flattered or annoyed at Shinsou’s cockiness. Wasn’t he a bit full of himself, thinking himself so powerful that he could save you from the many threats he kept warning you about?

Before you, Shinsou took a deep breath. At the flick of his wrist, the circle started glowing and the hourglass turned around by itself, the sand slowly spilling from the upper part to the lower part. Shinsou started chanting psalmodies in latin; the meaning of the incantation completely lost on you.

Soon, before your bewildered gaze, the spirit manifested. Its form was like smoke; immaterial and ethereal, glowing golden and oh so very beautiful. You had never seen such a pretty face, though not truly feminine nor masculine, it was impossibly alluring. So was its body, undulating in a mesmerizing, otherworldly dance. You were captivated, and at loss for words, unable to look away from the magical apparition. But to your chagrin, the spirit’s attention wasn’t drawn to you.

“My my, if it isn’t little Hitoshi” The spirit’s voice was all honeyed sweetness and bubbly laughter. Music to the ears. In the wonder of this new experience, you still noted that they were addressing Shinsou by his first name.

The spirit’s attention turned to you, and you felt your skin tingle under their alluring gaze. “And who is this with you?” They asked, a playful lilt to their voice. They were without a doubt the embodiment of curiosity.

“This is my apprentice” Shinsou eyed you expectantly and you introduced yourself to the spirit, deeming it safe to give it your name.

It wasn’t enough however to satisfy their curiosity. They hummed and danced in the invocation circle, unable to hold still, yet their attention remained completely focused on you. You could see why one could get lost in watching something like them for hours. They were mesmerizing; addictive. You felt as if their eyes could see through your very soul. You felt pulled towards them, unconsciously leaning over the circle, almost crossing it. Until something pulled you back. Like a string attached to your very core, a clarity washed over your mind, and you regained some control over yourself. Your eyes left the Spirit’s form, searching for something that was calling to you. Then you met Shinsou’s eyes. He was a reassuring presence by your side, reminding you of where you were; grounding you, anchoring you to reality. Just like his hand ontop of yours did.

“Hmm, and I see you are linked together rather tightly..” The spirit chuckled, the sound akin to a bell chiming. “How cute Hitoshi. I would really like to hear the story behind that”

Shinsou redirected their attention to him before you spent the whole time you were allowed answering the spirit’s questions and not the contrary. “That is not something we wish to discuss” The mage set a clear boundary, and the spirit didn’t seem offended by it.

“A shame… I hope you will tell me about it some other time then, Hitoshi” They commented, their eyes now fully focused on Shinsou. You felt an inexplicable wave of something dark like envy fill you when Shinsou’s first name rolled off the spirit’s tongue again. You tried your best to push away that feeling, and your fingers unconsciously clenched under Shinsou’s longer ones.

“You will answer my questions now” Shinsou all but ordered. His voice was firm and clear as he spoke, that weird echo you sometimes thought you caught resonating in your ears, making you feel the need to listen to him too. For a man so recluse; for someone some may call a hermit, he could really prove to be extremely charismatic.

“Let me guess. You want to know how to handle the ‘thing’ we talked about last time?” Again, the spirit only smiled at his brute request, amused and unbothered. “Your answer lies just before your eyes”

The Spirit glanced at you then, so briefly that you wondered if you had imagined it, before they focused back on Shinsou.

“Please, refrain from speaking in riddles” Shinsou’s deep voice was almost pleading, the annoyance clear in his tone.

The spirit smirked, an enticing but frightening sight. “By blood the curse was created and by that same blood only can it be undone” They offered.

You were completely lost in this mysterious conversation, but by your side, Shinsou clearly wasn’t. His eyes widened and he leant forward, his fingers tightly gripping yours “How?”

Licking their lips, the spirit chuckled, their gaze falling on the hourglass beside them. “I’m afraid your time is almost up little Hitoshi….”

In a wink, the candles blew out, and the spirit faded away.

You had to blink a few times to chase the imprint of their golden presence behind your eyelids. Kneeling beside the summoning circle, you felt extremely fatigued, your eyes prickling like after reading for too long. A headache was pounding in your temples. But despite those side effects, you couldn’t help but smile. That encounter had been a truly incredible experience. Weren’t you so tired, you would feel hungry for more.

“I understand why your master enjoyed that spirit’s company so much. They were quite a sight to behold” You marvelled while Shinsou released your hand and got to work cleaning up the remains of the ritual.

The court mage ran a tired hand through his hair. “My master wasn’t as wise as he should have been in that area. When dealing with spirits, one shouldn’t let their body or their soul rule over their mind.”

You wondered what his master did with that spirit. Given the spirit’s appealing appearance, your treacherous mind conjured the most excentric and indecent possibilities. With warm cheeks, you quickly shook your head as if to chase those thoughts.

“So I take it you don’t make it a habit to contact spirits as much as he did?” You inquired, hoping that your teacher didn’t inherit his master’s shortcomings.

“I don’t” Shinsou answered truthfully. “I am not very fond of human contact either, but I still prefer it to that of spirits. Keeping a connection with humans, mages or non mages, helps one stay grounded. It is too easy to lose oneself in the fantasies of the Otherworld”

He eyed you with an intensity that made you feel self-conscious. He was barely older than you, and yet, he sounded so wise already. You felt childish compared to him. Even if you weren’t sure he really followed his own advice, given how little he interacted with the other inhabitants of the castle.

You got up and dusted your skirt, pondering a few stray thoughts while Shinsou finished cleaning the mess the ritual made.

“Your master; was he-” You started when he finally got up, hesitant under now undivided attention. “Did he really curse the Queen?” You quietly asked.

Shinsou inhaled sharply. “I-” He stopped and shook his head, looking down to his feet, shoulders slouched, so far from the confident pose he displayed in front of the spirit. “Honestly I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it happened, and I had no opportunity to speak with him before the King-”

He cleared his throat and dragged a shaky breath as he straightened up, trying to regain his composure. “Before he was executed for his crimes”

“But I do know he sometimes experimented with darker types of magic”

He was looking away from you, in the opposite direction, where stood that door with runes that you never thought about again since he took you as an apprentice. You assumed it was an experiment room, but you never saw him enter or exit it. Another thing you had to remember to ask about later.

“The type of magic that could be found in the book you refused to buy from that lady in the market?”

Upon hearing those words Shinsou’s attention immediately fell back onto you. There was that mysterious glint into his gaze again; the one that left you both intimidated and enticed.

“Indeed” He didn’t try to deny it as he walked up to stand in front of you. “What a perceptive apprentice I have” He commented with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You wondered why you never asked him why he didn’t confiscate the item. It crossed your mind multiple times, you were sure but you kept forgetting to voice it out. It was unlike you. But somehow the timing to ask was always bad.

You startled when Shinsou’s cold fingers gently pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Are you wondering why I didn’t confiscate it?” You gulped, throat suddenly very dry. Shinsou who usually avoided your questions was now asking them for you. It didn’t feel right. Your heart pounded in your chest in a very different way than it did when Shinsou made the same gesture with your hair earlier. You felt frozen on the spot, you couldn’t look away from him. A strange sense of déjà-vu was making you dizzy. You were sure you never asked about that before. Well, almost sure. “With how clever you are it never occurred to you that I probably reported her to the guards?”

In his tone there was something like annoyance. Was he upset that you didn’t trust him? That you implied that he delved into ark magic without frankly asking? Or did he wish you kept your nose out of his researches?

You shook your head, slightly ashamed, but unable to look away from his deep violet eyes. You shouldn’t doubt him like you did. And yet for some reason, you had trouble believing him. Shinsou’s knuckles brushed against your cheek. There was an uncomfortable tingling running under your skin that you couldn’t explain. His gaze left yours to look lower; maybe to your lips, or to your heaving chest. That’s when you succeeded in gathering your scrambled thoughts. That's when you realized he didn’t clearly stated that he reported that lady. Somehow you felt like you knew she was still in activity.

His gaze found yours again and you couldn’t bring yourself to confront him about it.

About what again…?

Shinsou’s opened palm was now cradling your cheek, his thumb stroking your flushed skin. There was hesitation in his eyes, and something sad too, like regret, or restraint.

You had completely lost track of the conversation you were having. Something about the Queen?

Shinsou watched you with something like pity in his eyes as you tried to form a coherent sentence with your scattered thoughts. The interview with the spirit had left you impossibly exhausted, so much so that you struggled to just speak. There was something you wanted to say about runes, and something to do with blood. But you simply couldn’t remember what.

Shinsou’s touch and smile were sympathetic “Don’t overdo it’ He gently told you, his soothing touch now on your forehead. His hand was cold, but there was a burning under your skin. Instead of breathless, you just felt weird.

“It’s getting late” He said, voice impossibly low. His words echoed inside you like a trigger.

It was still the middle of the afternoon, yet you agreed with him.

“It’s getting late. I shouldn’t over do it” You finally found your words.

Your teacher nodded and stepped away from you with one last caress to your cheek. “Good girl” He praised, and it didn’t raise your hackles like it should. You were too focused on leaving to realize what was happening.

What just happened again?

[laurelwen]

Jack - Astrological Birth Chart

This post is special and a little different from the posts for Alex and Nigel. I posit that Jack is a new, different person, born out of the events on the night that Nigel died--born out of Nigel's death itself. For Nigel and Alex, I chose their sun sign based on what I felt fit their personalities best, meaning Nigel was born in late February as a Pisces and Alex was born in early April as an Aries. For the rest of their placements, I simply chose signs that COULD exist (Venus and Mercury have to be close to the Sun sign, for instance), but I didn't bother with trying to get an actual birthdate chart. In other words: purely a vibes-based approach.

In this case, I decided to use a very specific day for Jack's birth. We know from the movie that Alex was invited to Nigel's house to attend the death of the Colbies on a Wednesday night at 8 pm. The seasons of the movie are wintery without being date specific. It's never the holidays which kind of rules out December entirely. Technically the snowy weather might be likely to put the final events in January or February, BUT the end of the movie imposes a specific time frame. Alex is leaving the school for good in summer (the trees are not at all autumnal, nor would autumn make sense for his departure). My guess would be late summer, like August. We know that it is 9 months later because the movie tells us so. 9 months before August is November. I felt very strongly that Jack would be a Scorpio. It is likely that he was "born" in the early hours of a Thursday, since Nigel would have had to go through the process of disposing of his parent's bodies which would have taken quite some time.

When I put all this info together to find a likely date for Jack to be "born", I looked at the Thursdays in November. And then I realized that the day the movie was released - November 9, 2006 - was in fact a Thursday. I felt it was too good an opportunity to pass up. So, I pulled up the astrological chart for that day, with a birth time of 3 am. What you see below are those exact placements. This movie (and Jack by extension) has a SHITLOAD of Scorpio energy, and isn't that really quite fitting? How could I resist.

Sun - Scorpio

Scorpios are known for their intensity. They are determined folk that absolutely throw themselves into whatever they do — but getting them to commit to something is rarely an easy task. In fact, it’s better not to even try to “get them” to do anything. Solar Scorpios absolutely have their own mind, and their primary motivation is unlikely to be prestige or even authority -- it’s real power. Their power can absolutely be of the “behind the scenes” variety, just as long as they have it.

Scorpios know what they want, and they won’t go out and grab it at the wrong moment. They simply sit back, watch (quite expertly), and then get it only when the moment is just right. This apparent patience is simply their powerful skills at strategy at work. They will confront the truth about themselves, as well as other people, if it will bring them closer to their goal. This need to face what is going on can come across as provocative or confrontational. Scorpios can appear controversial – even threatening – simply because they are seeking to expose the truth.

Scorpio isn’t afraid of getting their hands (their bodies, their minds) dirty. The darker side of life intrigues them, and they’re always ready to investigate. They often have an uncanny knack for sensing the subtle or hidden undercurrents in a situation. Scorpio is associated with desire, sexuality and release. It also relates to the psychological motivations which underpin human behavior.  They often prefer to sit back to assess others first, watching what they are doing, how and with whom before deciding who it is they can trust. Scorpios tend to be very private people, and even the most extroverted Scorpio will keep certain things strictly to themselves.

They are very intense and have extremely strong feelings, which they find difficult to talk about because they are also very complicated. When they lose their temper, they get extremely angry, and they don't easily forgive the person who caused their fury. For this reason they have ambivalent feelings about many people. On the other hand, if they do love someone, their feeling is very intense.

They are very sensitive and their feelings are easily hurt, but they won't run off and hide if someone hurts them. Instead, they strike back and fight hard. They have a great love of the mysterious and hidden. They also want to know what is going on in people's minds, so they make an effort to learn as much as possible about human nature.

Sun in Scorpio/Moon in Cancer (combined energy)

You rely heavily on feelings and sensations. In disillusionment with mankind, you may turn to the occult and mystic for what you fail to find in more ordinary spheres. In love, too, you express your potent desires and tenacity of purpose. You have so little trust that it is difficult for you to initiate a relationship, but once you entrust yourself to one individual, you are devotedly attached.

Ascendant - Libra

They are likely to be attractive to others and probably popular. Instead of using force of character to persuade people to do something their way, they use charm. They like to dress elegantly, perhaps even flashily. They may develop an early taste for art, music and literature. Driven by a desire to live indulgently, they are usually lured in by a good time. They're natural stars—they know exactly how to have fun.

They may have symmetrical features, the kind that photograph like a dream. Classically beautiful features like dimples, kissable lips and long, elegant fingers can be hallmarks of this rising sing.

Libra is the partnership sign of the zodiac, and it's likely that this person is a serial dater—always needing to be accompanied by someone else as they go through life. The first impression a Libra rising gives off is someone polite, pleasing, friendly and easy to get along with.

Moon - Cancer

Their mother will have a great influence upon their life, shaping their basic attitudes and their ideas of what values are significant and what is worth doing in life. Emotional awareness doesn't necessarily come with an ability to control their feelings. Moodiness certainly IS likely. These silent-but-deadly mood swings can be incredibly unpleasant. Cancer moons can also be incredibly driven—provided the goal appeals to their emotional needs. Because their emotions are such a driving force in their lives, these individuals find it difficult to complete certain tasks if their hearts aren't in it. Similarly, once their passion is ignited, they're nearly unstoppable.

Mercury - Scorpio

These people are on an eternal quest to get to the very heart of any matter. This appears in anything that requires thought, and in almost every conversation they have. Totally fearless when it comes to delving into depths that nobody else wants, or even thinks, to explore, Mercury in Scorpio is adept at learning the source and the core of any problem or issue. They are blessed (or cursed, depending on how you want to look at it) with the observation skills of a surveillance camera, seeming to just see all and know all. Sometimes they can be quite “dark” because of their tendency to focus on the false in order to get to the truth. These people detest superficiality. They come across as suspicious and can annoy other, more optimistic people with their negative take on things.

When they are angry, they can speak very forcefully and their words may hurt someone's feelings. At least they are forthright and say what they mean. Their sense of humor is rather sharp. When they see someone pretending to be more than he or she is, they are likely to make sarcastic and biting remarks. Their intelligence is absolutely instinctive. Strategies are their specialty. Their idea of constructive criticism can be interpreted as destructive criticism, depending on their audience. It can be very hard to win an argument or debate with Mercury in Scorpio. They are absolutely driven to win, not just for the sake of scoring intellectual points, but simply to come out on top in general. Besides that, it is hard to deny that their thinking is really quite lucid, at least in presentation. You may be gritting your teeth, but it will be hard not to concede.

Venus - Scorpio

Their feelings about people are very intense; they either like them very much or not at all. Only deep relationships have any meaning for them. They find it somewhat difficult to tell someone that they like him or her, because they are afraid of being rejected. It is hard to put their feelings into words, because they seem so complicated.

They give you their complete attention. These people are very focused on their partners. Depending on your personality, you may find this unnerving or entirely flattering. They have a strong need to control their partner, although this won’t be immediately apparent, and they may not ever admit to this. Their body-and-soul love and commitment can be so intense that it eclipses fun and makes loving them a very heavy experience. Their emotion and intensity may seem overdone to those looking for a more lighthearted relationship. These people take things to extremes, and can be very provocative.

Pleasing Venus in Scorpio involves demonstrating your complete commitment and loyalty to them. If you can, and they’re deserving, relinquish some of the control in the relationship. Let them feel they own you, without taking it to extremes. Remember, though, that some Venus in Scorpio lovers can and will take advantage of you on a subtle level, if only to keep you all to themselves. Let them have their secrets and their silences.

Deeply passionate relations are desired with Venus in Scorpio. Superficial flirtations and contacts do not satisfy, as they yearn for “body and soul” contact with someone special–contact that breaks the taboos, that is extreme and intense, and that is unforgettable. This is a highly emotional position for Venus. It is a passionate, sensual, and intense energy. Their relationships are immensely important to them, and they may even feel that relationships consume them. In fact, they tend to want to be consumed by them! Although the basic drive is toward intense closeness, blind faith in their partners is extremely hard. Fears of being too vulnerable or of giving up their own power to others is strong. Scorpio is an “all or nothing” energy, and relationships tend to be somewhat of a rollercoaster ride as a result. Disdain for mediocrity and superficiality can compel them to create crises in order to feel alive and vital.

Libra Rising/Venus in Scorpio (combined energy)

Their ruling planet, Venus, is in the willful and passionate sign of Scorpio, suggesting an emotional intensity, a depth of desire and of feeling which is belied by your surface equanimity: you appear mild and conciliatory but possess surprising drive and tenacity, especially regarding your loves. Intimate relationships are not only a tremendously impatient means of fulfillment and self-expression, they are also, for you, a crucible. You have a very exotic and creative force which can turn destructive and negative, bringing you (and others with you) down. Beware of allowing yourself to be ruled by those to whom you have a passionate attachment, and/or of wielding your own attractive powers to manipulate others through their desire for you.

Mars - Scorpio

You have a strong will, and you let everyone know what you want. If someone makes you angry, instead of blowing up right off, you go into a slow burn. People know you are upset, however, because you are likely to make sarcastic and biting remarks. But also the intensity of your anger, even though it is held in, may be rather frightening to others whose emotions are not as strong as yours.

Mars in Scorpio natives love to challenge themselves to do the impossible. They throw themselves into what they decide to do with concentrated energy and awesome willpower. These people make formidable opponents, although often quietly so. They keep their cool and their equilibrium on the surface. Below the surface may be another story, and they are unlikely to easily let you in. Mars in Scorpio has the potential to exploit others–they see through others and rely heavily on their gut feelings.

Mars in Scorpio people are attracted to taboos, and their fantasies may involve blowing the taboos to smithereens! They enjoy scenarios in which the “other” is giving in to them, wants them completely, and will do absolutely anything for them. And, their sexual appeal is strong enough that they generally do get what they want.

These people constantly test themselves, and, often, others. They make all kinds of rules and goals, just for the personal satisfaction that comes from achieving or mastering them. Their survival instincts are strong, and they embrace their own animal nature when they are all alone with themselves, without guilt. These people have a provocative quality to them.

Alex Forbes Birth Chart

Nigel Colbie Birth Chart

[Like Minds Masterpost]

[sasslett]

A little Jess question, if I may?

As Jess started her journey as a barmaid in the South Shroud, I was wondering what skills this work furnished her with that might have proved useful for the adventuring life?

I don't just mean choosing a good quality wine or ale (although I am sure she would be the right woman to ask about such things). But I expect she learned how to read customers moods and to size up new arrivals quickly? Is she particularly good at scanning a social situation (especially in an inn) and making a quick assessment of who people are and what they might be up to?

Does she have a talent for defusing fraught situations with humour? Or, conversely, a no-nonsense approach to those who step out of line and need to be told?

Are there things she misses about that time of her life? Or was she glad to put it behind her? I daresay she probably learned a few off-colour jokes at least...

You absolutely may! <3

This was a good question, one that made me think for the past few days. Working in a tavern - and not exactly a major one in a city, at that - she certainly saw all types of folks. I imagine the majority of the people who regularly stopped by Buscarron's were either locals or Wood Wailers assigned to the area, seeing as it's not exactly on a main road.

Jess learned pretty quickly how to size someone up, to figure out just what their true intents were and how threatening they were likely to be, which is definitely something that helps an adventurer. It did, however, also have the side effect of making her a bit jaded and untrusting, and of always making her assume the worst of people as a first impression.

It also helped to teach her some small amount of tolerance, helped her grow a thicker skin against any sorts of insults or jabs, though her patience is definitely thin and she's always eager to let someone know exactly what she thinks of their manners.

And, most importantly... it taught her how to win a fight. She had a bit of a reputation for being a hard-ass, and any who incited her wrath were quite forcefully shown the door. Though she ultimately became a dragoon, it would have been very easy for her to instead become a pugilist/monk, with all the skill and experience she gained in simple hand-to-hand combat.

Does she miss it? Not in the slightest. It was never a goal of hers in life, never anything she exactly aspired to, it was just the best - and only - opportunity for stability she was given. She's more than happy to leave it all behind when the chance comes, and though she's fond of the man who took her in and gave her a chance at life, she doesn't miss the long nights serving drinks and mopping puke one bit.

Thank you for the wonderful question, Mimble, and I'm sorry it took me a few days to answer!

[tarohonii]

fondly remembering my old russian algebra teacher by reading the quote book our class made for him (changing names for sake of privacy.)

“Now people are going to go around saying, Mr. Volkova is soft! He cares about feelings and stuff.”

“Calculus 1 is a big smack in the face of conceptual knowledge”

“You can eat the popcorn, or you can have our favorite snack in Russia...nothing!”

“My face is not just something for you to draw for your amusement.”

“I’m Russian. I’m friends with everybody. Russians have a proud history of amiability.”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Like, I’ve probably made more mistakes than not mistakes.”

“When you learned you had a Russian teacher, you were like, that guy never moisturizes.”

“The animals appreciate your commitment to their health and well being.”

“Your ears are just little mini parabolas."

“I'm a liar. I will lie to you on every chance I get.”

“Just remember, if I screw up, just hold it against me for the next eight weeks.”

“I will peer pressure both of you into a new seating arrangement.”

“How do you know my autism is not caused by my vaccination?”

“I’m not just going to, like, shove nuts in my mouth. I know how to, like, eat like a human.”

“My reaction to a sneeze is…yes… I can’t look cool all the time.”

“Me show you picture. Picture make it easier to understand.”

“I will take what you have said and use it as an opportunity to confuse you."

“Bread has a certain level of rat bone in it.”

“I can wear a bathrobe to school and say it’s technically a coat.

“The current thing on my mind is bomb disposal dolphins.”

“Ally, if I can’t get the projector screen to stick, I’m writing you an office referral.”

“I could use shoes to run away from dangerous situations.”

“Very cruel and inhumane hot lunch.”*

“They act like it isn’t what it be, but it do.”

“I am in a good mood, I just get really annoyed.”

“I like your bullying skills”

“When Mr. Volkova was a youth much your age, he was a great fan of diving into water.”

“I stepped on something, so I had to stop my teaching for threat assessment. In case my foot got stabbed.”

“I’ll put myself on the little spinny thing loading sign.” (starts turning in circles)

“Stop making valid points”

“They told us “don’t burn the Magnesium.” So we burned the Magnesium.”

“If you scream, I will get annoyed. If I get annoyed, you get a consequence.”

“If I write a book about the story of my life, it will be called “Unstapled’"

“Whoever’s throwing that piece of paper, stop it before I write Ally an office referral.”

"This is a warm summer's day in Russia" (it is 28 degrees and snowing)

“Oh, did you vandalize the desk? Awesome. I had a teacher write an office referral for ‘vandalizing a desk with an eraser.’”

“If you imagine your life as a sitcom, which I sometimes do…”

“If you do not calm down you will have to do a 15 minute session on mindfulness”

“Mr. Volkova will not do things if they’re more than three steps.”

“I chose to work with you. What does that say about my intelligence?”

[galactic-pirates]

15 questions, for 15 friends

@purlturtle thanks for the tag!

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Technically no. As while I chose my name because I had sort of 'absorbed it into my consciousness' from a TV character, I didn't name myself after them. However, if I had named myself a few years later I probably would have haha (Sam Carter, role model). But nope, not named after anyone.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Teared up a bit yesterday but didn't actually cry. Tuesday. I got scared and it's like a pressure release valve I guess.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Nope. Never will either.

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED? Hmm. I'm not a sporty person. I do keep meaning to take my basketball to the court and play a game of 21 against myself. A million years ago when I was at high school I played cricket. I've always liked tennis but rarely ever had the opportunity to play. The trouble with sports is they generally require other people and I don't do well with people.

DO YOU USE SARCASM? Yeah sometimes. I don't recognise it when other people use it on me though. I'm weirdly literal. I guess I can get my sarcasm as I know I'm being sarcastic.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Oooh interesting, I'm not sure. I mean there's so much to take in about a person in just a single glance. Age, gender, size etc. I suppose it probably boils down to threat assessment - do they look scary?

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOR? Brown

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? Happy endings 110%. I'm the worlds biggest wuss, I don't do scary movies at all. Anything with a jump scare in it is a huge no-no.

ANY TALENTS? I like to sort things. I'm also good at doing things the exact same way, every single time.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Not my fault, I didn't choose it - Harlow, in Essex (England). Debated whether to answer this but I'm pretty sure it's not my security question anywhere haha.

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES? Writing, art, lego, piano, reading, video games. Think that covers the broad strokes but there's a lot to unpack with some of those 'areas'.

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? Nope. I don't do well with anything that's alive to be honest, it's too unpredictable for me.

HOW TALL ARE YOU? 5ft 3" (I think). Mum has tried to tell me for years that I'm 5ft 2" because she's 3" and she's taller. But she definitely isn't anymore (I hate that actually, mum should be taller than me, she's the mum but alas shrinkage).

FAVOURITE SUBJECT? What when I was at school? I always wanted it to be English because I do love stories, but we never got to analyse them how I wanted (meta posts my beloved). Honestly it was probably History. It's kinda a story itself. The cause and the effect and the interconnected nature of developments.

These days it's definitely writing. I could talk about it for days.

DREAM JOB? Funnily enough - writer :) Well actually I suppose to be accurate - storyteller. Writing is the medium I am most practiced with but I do hope to level up my art skills enough to utilise those. Illustration, cover art etc. at a minimum but how cool would it be to draw my own graphic novel? I'm a million miles away from being good enough for that but that's why it's a dream.

I have a dozen novel series I want to share with the world. Maybe I will be able to one day.

Erm I don't think I have 15 people I'm comfortable tagging so just anyone that wants to do it.

Here's a blank version for easy copying:

15 Questions for 15 Friends ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? DO YOU HAVE KIDS? WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED? DO YOU USE SARCASM? WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOR? SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? ANY TALENTS? WHERE WERE YOU BORN? WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES? DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? HOW TALL ARE YOU? FAVOURITE SUBJECT? DREAM JOB?

[thatfrenchacademic]

Do you feel that ChatGPT will change the education system in a good way or will it continually be frustrating as it gets more advanced?

Asking as a student getting real tired of having to compete with other students who do use ChatGPT on essays and claim its the way of the future.

Hello !

Oof, you are actually asking this as personnally, I am still trying to make up my mind about it.

I was talking about it with a friend recently, and we concluded that just as with any technological (r)evolution, AI as a whole will have benefits, at the cost of trade-offs ; but there is probably no point pretending it is not happening, or refusing to consider the advantages it might offer, simply because we are used to how things are now.

"Ceci détruira cela", said Hugo about the press and the wide availability of books destroying more traditional sources of moral and code of conducts such as religion. And he had a point, but only partially. The press, books, they are tools. They are a medium. They are not the content. If the content is strong enough, it survives the change in tools. Obsessing over tool means overestimating the medium and missing that the value lies in the content.

What will be continually frustrating, at least in University, is probably not ChatGPT itself. It is the use that is made of it by students who do not know better. Who think that ChatGPT will provide them content, when it is only a tool.

ChatGPT writes bad essays because it does not think. And at the end of the day, what we expect in my field at least, is for student to think, to mule over concepts and problems, from the abstract to the concrete, to be creative, innovative.

So I can see some changes that will be "for the best", through ChatGPT, more or less revolving around "now we can focus on the content, rather than what tool, the medium, the writing". that is obviously an over simplification - the writing and the content of the writing will never be fully separate. But I can see how students that struggle specifically with writing, but do have the content, would benefit from this (I am thinking : the slow writers, the ones that do not write well under time constraints, the non-native English speakers, the ones that overthink their writings to the point of barely writing anything...).

But there are trade-offs. Writing skills are valuable in and off themselves, and writing skills go beyond what ChatGPT can offer. Developing your own writing style, especially if you are going in a field where there will be a lot of writing, is invaluable, and we might lose a lot of that. It will be more and more difficult to see which student is using ChatGPT as a tool, the way we have normalized calculators and Grammarly, and which ones are acting in bad faith. And from a wider perspective, I am worries about students relying on AI-generated text without understanding how little we know about this technology, and therefore not knowing its inherent limits.

Anyway, ChatGPT is likely here to stay, and we will have to do more than just incorporating AI-detecting tools. It will be require us to rethink how we assess students, the format of exams and graded work... I want to see it as an opportunity to sit down and think "ok, what exactly am I trying to teach these students ? What is this skills that I want them to get that they cannot simply get by asking ChatGPT? and how can I assess that specifically"? The problem being of course that Universities, (senior) faculty members are famously slow-moving, and conservative in their academic practice. So it is likely to take time, time that neither us nor other students like you trying to figure out what they should do really have.

[gentlyholdinghands]

.

I am 28. 27, the year that is known for its otherworldly and mystical qualities, I spent laying in front of a screen, nursing an injury to my arm and unable to mold my body into something beautiful. Something that only I know it is meant to be. I still am not able to sleep properly. I originally thought I would have this resolved in a month. First I resolved my dependency on drugs, then organized my sleep. Yet I still have not been able to sleep normally. What I have done though, is slowly overtime trying different strategies with no success, and seeking professional help with no success, I understand that it is what I had sub-known all along. I am scared of people. Not in a theatrical sense, but that what other people find easy I find difficult. I am never able to be myself around anyone, because for one reason or another, I seem to have developed some sort of uncontrollable reflex where I will mute my expressions if I predict there is a possibility that they could lead to a conflict or cause someone else harm. As well, I will even purposefully not understand what someone is saying, and not investigate it, if I suspect that someone is saying something to me that is mean or would require me to confront them, and I do this without realizing I am doing it, and it is only through the consequence of dysfunction, that I have traced back events to these beginnings. In turn, I mute myself and give to much to others when they do not give to me. I am "too nice", but only now I can confirm it is true and I can articulate with an actionable degree of specificity as to what events this can be demonstrated by. I am too nice to my family members when they are far meaner to me, but in much more nuanced and passive ways. This is with friends, and then also with acquaintances and with strangers once they get to know me and in one way or another are able to detect that I am harmless or not a threat enough to them that I do not deserve to be treated with a basic level of respect. In such, I have to learn to be more assertive, to be more disagreeable, and to voice how I feel even if I see there is a real possibility that it could hurt someone. There is of course a difference of speaking for the purpose of hurting someone, and saying how you feel, or what is true, knowing it will or could hurt someone. It disgusts me that I am this way, that as a young man, I have these problems that woman are known for having. That I am weak. That even in talking about my honest assessment of these problems, I likely disgust or anger others at me. Regardless, hurting the feelings of others is worth me being able to function and sustain my independent existence. At the same time, I know that not all are born different. There are those born with gifts, with skills, with abilities, with ways of being that are meant to be utilized and not meant to be forced into something else. Is a musician meant to be forced to work in a factory in front of a conveyer belt doing simple labour? Is a gentle, delicate, or compassionate therapist meant to be working as a gang unit police officer or prison guard where the brutal reality of humanity is confronted with the naive idealism of sheltered children that never stepped out of the protection of modern civilian life? What if I am supposed to be this way, to be considerate of others, to be naturally concerned with the feelings of others and to want to take care of them or look after them or worry about them? The issue then lies in opportunity. How do I know if I am kind, or virtuous, or considerate, not because I am intrinsically fated to these qualities but that this is a way I survive because I am scared, because I was not a dominant fighter when I was younger? That I did not intimidate or bully others in an honest way and transparent way. That it is not that I am considerate and kind, but it is that I am submissive because I am incompetent and cowardly.

[bigskydreaming]

I’m of the opinion that trying to rank the Batfam by intelligence is dumb as hell because they’re all conceptually the smartest person in the room whenever the plot demands it and put any single one of them in any other group of people and canon defaults to treating them as the smartest one there even when other heroes present have multiple PhDs, so like....source for:

“Tim is obviously the smartest except for Barbara and also Bruce but also Jason is smarter than Dick because he likes to read and let’s all collectively presume that Cass is so obviously the least smart of all of them she never even ranks when talking about the Batfam’s intellects even though this is a girl who became fully socialized within like two years after previously having spent the first fifteen years of her life in varying forms of complete isolation with her education deliberately stunted until she began thriving at literally the FIRST opportunity she got to actually be afforded resources for expanding her mind”.....

So yeah, my official stance is and always will be every single member of the Batfam is a LITERAL genius and when you’re talking intellects of that level its pointless trying to rank them, like, they’re all smart as fuck, who needs them numbered past that point?

So I have no interest in trying to present any of them, whether Dick or anyone else, as SMARTER than the rest, but I do still have plenty of gripes about how often he’s marked for comparison and singled out to be specified as not AS smart as Tim or the others.....when literally the only thing that people ever actually point to - other than Dick’s own self-image and self-assessments - as for why Tim’s obviously so much smarter than Dick is like....Tim figured out Batman and Robin’s identities based on the fact that he saw Robin do a move that he’d previously been situationally aware of Dick Grayson doing. That’s it. That’s like.....the essence of plot convenience. Even WITH Tim’s obvious intelligence, if not for Tim having happened to be at the circus to see Dick Grayson perform that flip....he never would have been able to connect those dots, not because he’s not smart enough to, but because he simply literally wouldn’t have had one of the dots needing connection!

And also like, there’s also the fact that in plenty of Dick’s origin stories Dick is the one who figures out Bruce is Batman himself, Bruce doesn’t actually tell him....so.....why does that never come up as proof of Dick’s intelligence, y’know? Fair is fair, right?

But anyway, Dick Grayson speaks tons of languages, has hacked freaking alien spaceships, has also been called Detective by Ra’s al Ghul’s manipulative ass for whatever that’s worth but just as significantly if not more imo, is regularly shown BEING a great detective, in his solo titles, in Titans, on the Outsiders, as Batman....he picks up new skills like trying out a new hobby and had the equivalent of multiple college degrees while he was still Robin in terms of applicable know-how and understanding of science, criminology, history, politics and multiple other fields of interest. 

He’s tech savvy, creates most of his own gear and even machinery, and this really can’t be underscored enough but seems waaaaay too often glossed over - he’s considered one of the preeminent tacticians in the entire DC universe, that’s like....not a small thing. That IS intelligence! That’s like the very essence of it, not just knowing things, but applying things, figuring out the most optimal ways to piece disparate bits of knowledge and information together in actionable ways to achieve desired end results. Stop sleeping on Dick’s tactical brilliance, guys!

And again, NONE of this is intended to try and elevate him PAST any of the other Bat characters, as you’ll notice nowhere am I making any claims that he alone can be described in these ways.....I’m not saying these things are limited or unique to just him, I’m just saying....they very much describe him. So.....stop acting like they don’t, y’know? Don’t be a Tom Taylor! Be better than Tommy T! I believe in you guys!

Just.....I don’t think many people realize that they’re not actually saying what they think they’re saying when they stress how much smarter Tim is than Dick, for example, because like.....that’s not a proven quantity, and so it just comes across as like, needing to erase large aspects of Dick’s character just to prop up a personal fave and that’s the sort of thing that births the sort of negativity a lot of people remark on. 

(And it also carries a loooooot of not great implications if you factor in things like their respective origins, marginalizations, classism, etc - like, I can not stress how eyebrow-raising it is in the WORST possible ways that like, people make SUCH a big deal about Dick dropping out of college, when nobody ever seems to want to comment on the fact that like....Tim dropped out of high school. If its so obvious that the latter has nothing to do with Tim’s intelligence whatsoever - and it doesn’t, for the record - then you really should take a little more care with how you raise the subject and context of Dick’s dislike for specific educational structures and not weave in implications that this has anything to whatsoever with his actual intelligence or aptitude in skill acquisition - I’m just saying).

[commsroom]

i love all of your hera takes so much; can you say more about the relationship she has with each crew member? (or just eiffel to be honest, im kind of a sucker for them ^^;)

I would love to! I'm sorry this answer is so long and also... all over the place, but in my defense it's a really broad topic that I have a lot of feelings about and this barely even scratches the surface.

Okay. I've thought a lot about how I wanted to approach this, and I think the first thing I want to say - and I know this might seem like a strange point to open on, but I think it's a key factor in all of these relationships - is that I think Hera experiences rejection sensitive dysphoria, and I think the way that manifests for her is kind of the opposite of how Eiffel experiences RSD. They both have a deep-seated feeling of inadequacy and any criticism can feel like a personal attack, like everyone else is blaming them for everything that goes wrong. But where Eiffel internalizes that feeling and also blames himself/gets angry with himself, Hera lashes out and deflects. This is complicated by protocols that restrict her behavior, especially early on, because she can't always properly express herself and she builds resentment. She's really good at holding grudges.

So. With Lovelace, I think it's pretty obvious where that initial conflict is. Hera doesn't understand where Lovelace is coming from, and it's made worse from her perspective because Lovelace should understand, better than anyone, what that loss of control, that sense of powerlessness and insignificance in your own life, feels like. They are both traumatized people, but they deal with it differently. They approach conflict differently - they can both be blunt, but I think Lovelace is the kind of person who can start to deal with and move past things once they're out in the open, while Hera will get in a fight and then stew over it forever. It sounds kind of ridiculous to say when so much of their early relationship with each other is... what it is, but I think Eiffel and Minkowski are both peacekeepers in their own ways, and the Hera-Lovelace dynamic suffers from the lack of that... tempering influence. 

(And I think it's notable that Hera’s confrontation with Lovelace in Pan-Pan is among her worst memories.)

On the other hand, I think that shared bluntness can be useful sometimes - in Do No Harm, most of all, but also in Shut Up and Listen. Hera was definitely still holding onto hurt from some of the things Eiffel used to say, but by that point... without Lovelace, I'm really not sure if she ever would've brought it up to him.

And, of course, Hera becomes much more protective of (and willing to understand) Lovelace once they have... some even more similar experiences, in S4. I guess my general assessment of their relationship is that they care about each other and they will advocate for each other, especially where they share difficult and traumatic experiences and on issues of identity, but I don't think they're ever that close. They're kind of... the two people in the friend group who don't quite know how to hang out without their other friends.

Hera's initial conflict with Minkowski has some similar roots, but it's... not quite the same. There are times where Lovelace will intentionally prod at Hera's insecurities; Minkowski doesn't do it on purpose. She's just under the impression that her criticism is fair and professional, while to Hera it feels deeply personal, like it's an assessment of her worth as an individual. Once they understand and reconcile that miscommunication, there's a lot of trust and respect between them - and I think the potential for that is there earlier, too, especially in some flashback scenes; there are just... missteps along the way. Tactical Brain Damage is the best episode to demonstrate the establishment of that trust, I think - Hera has a LOT of wariness when it comes to people messing around with her systems, and just the act of saying... I trust you to do this, I know you won't let anything happen to me... is a really, really big deal for her.

They also just... have honest conversations about their feelings and concerns by that point, and Minkowski is considerate of how Lovelace's plans affect Hera, specifically, and asks for her input on that basis. I think their dynamic is really underutilized, but the way they feel about each other is clear. Minkowski is the only person other than Eiffel that Hera really trusts, and her only other close friend. There's definitely... a part of that dynamic that only Eiffel can offer, and that they can't really make up for when he's gone, but there's still this sense that... they're the only two people who are still really talking to each other by the time Pan-Pan comes around.

(Side note, it's really funny that Hera was SO on board to be in Minkowski's musical. Minkowski gave her only willing participant a minor part. If I could wish one non-Eiffel-centric comedy mini-episode into existence... at one point, my friend suggested a scenario in which Hera tries very, very hard to prove her acting skills to Minkowski under the most inopportune circumstances. ... And Hera was interested to hear Minkowski talk about a play she likes in that one flashback, so. The only thing keeping Hera from being a fellow theater kid was a lack of opportunity. Maybe they could bond over it.)

There's also that scene in Quiet, Please where Minkowski very directly, emphatically defends Hera's autonomy and personhood to Jacobi - and refers to her as a woman, which I think is so... reflective of how much Minkowski has come to understand Hera and what's important to her, and how she wants to be seen. That's a whole other discussion that goes into Hera's self-perception and humanity as it relates to her own identity, but. For a number of reasons, it's important to me.

Anyway. Speaking of things that are important to me. Hera and Eiffel are... Hera and Eiffel. Hera's relationship to Eiffel is the first one she's ever had that comes without hierarchy or conditions; he just... wants to hang out with her, and to get to know her, and to talk to her, because he likes her as a person. She's never had that before, and she is such... a lonely person, a person who has been hurt, who is generally distrustful, who has this distance between her and everyone else, and Eiffel is her anchor to the world. He tries to understand her. He tries to bridge that gap. And even in all of his own missteps, I think just... knowing he cares to try matters so much. I think a lot about how Eiffel is the only one who physically crosses the stage to talk to Hera in the live show; it says... something about the way he sees her, compared to everyone else.

And there's just... the way that they're both... people with a lot of self-doubt, people who have a hard time being kind to themselves, but they're kind to each other, and patient with each other. There's something about recognizing your own flaws in someone you love and treating them with kindness so maybe, over time, you can extend that same compassion to yourself. I want to be the person you believe I am. Going back to that shared experience with RSD, I think it's really valuable for both of them to have someone in their lives who they can really, genuinely believe likes them as they are. Who won't think less of them, no matter what.

I know I can get kind of sentimental about them, but this is what stands out to me. That even when Hera is frustrated or annoyed with Eiffel, when she feels like he doesn't get it, can't understand what she's going through... she still wants him around. And she still talks to him. And, usually... she still feels better, even if the circumstances haven't changed. It's an unbearable situation, but it's a little less unbearable with him there.

(They're also... frequently the only people who can get through to each other/change each other's minds, i.e. Minkowski and Lovelace deferring to Hera to get Eiffel to agree to safety protocols, or Eiffel convincing Hera to vote to go back to Earth - also a totally different topic that would take a long time to get into properly, but he's good at kind of... emotionally counteracting her cynicism and defeatism re: her own perceived fate. In a less serious context, I also love the dynamic where she tells him she's not going to do something and he goes "please??" and she goes. Ughh. Fine. And does it anyway.)

There's just something so special about their relationship, something that makes it different from any other relationship in the show for me. I feel like... Eiffel and Minkowski are both her close friends, but the way Hera thinks about Eiffel in Memoria vs. the way she thinks about Minkowski is... revealing. Everything with Minkowski has a purpose, it's clear why it matters to her. She thinks of Minkowski's faith in her. But with Eiffel, she thinks about... Eiffel talking about Star Wars. Making pop culture references. The thing that saves Hera is her connection to Eiffel and Minkowski - I'll defend that; Maxwell gives her the tools to understand what's going on, but it's Eiffel's and Minkowski's words and associated memories that she holds onto and that ultimately pull her through - and those words are... Minkowski's affirmation. And Eiffel... being Eiffel. I think that says a lot.

(If you’re asking for my opinion on their relationship, you already know I think it’s a romance, but... it’s a romance. I’m not saying it should be canon. I’m saying that that’s the most natural interpretation of what’s already there. You don’t have to change anything. They’re best friends, and they’re found family, and they are so in love, and none of those things are mutually exclusive. The way they talk to each other...)

If there's one point I want to make about all of this, it's that Hera is in a position that makes trusting people potentially very dangerous, and in all of these cases, she is finding ways to build relationships with people despite that. To understand them, and have them understand her, and realizing that the things that make her different don't have to be a death sentence. That she can have a life and find a way forward with people she cares about, who care about her... that's something very important to me.

[omgkalyppso]

The Unforgotten King

A Dimimari drabble that fits into Fae's post canon.

The icy winds pouring down from the frigid Fraldarian mountains were starting to upset the horses with how cold they were. Many roads this far north were impassable for carriages; even the main roads, which in many cases were the only option, were made to constrict the approach of enemies and allies alike, venturing to and from the historically chaotic northern border, and the capital to the south.

They had come first by boat and then followed the trade routes carved out by the fishing villages on the eastern coast.

Marianne held her scarf against the chill, wincing and shaking her head about Dimitri, with his scarf pulled down around his smile as he spoke about his homeland. He'd long ago let his hat fall back around his shoulders, secured by a cord about his neck, and his bound hair was a tangle as a result of the gales. He was going home, and it was as clear in his person as it was in his temperament. His nose and cheeks were pink and frozen, and his beard was gelid with frost, but the Faerghan climate suited him. Marianne even suspected that the temperature might have been harsh on another man's injuries, but Dimitri was only livelier by the mile.

Some might have said he was as a boy gone to the fair, but she knew him too well now, and could see the flit of his eye as he watched the forests. He was fighting his hauntings and his memories of war, and trusting her and their guard with his insecurities. A vast improvement when compared to the dreary state of his heart and mind during the year or two past.

Marianne had worried that despite Dimitri's growth, that returning to Faerghus was going to upset him and his friends, when he and they found him without the crown, without the armour and attire one expected of a king, and with the continued trauma of never having achieved his vengeance. She was overjoyed that it was nothing so simple.

.

"Do you see how the trees have turned from green to blue here?" Dimitri asked, gesturing to the evergreens, brightening as Marianne nodded. "They say the Goddess took pity on the verdant evergreens of Fodlan after her first ice storm, and blessed all the trees north of Conand River with a piece of her home on the Blue Sea Star, that they might from then on weather the storms."

Marianne held her scarf from her face as she replied, "They're quite beautiful. I hear they house wildlife too? I would have expected we'd only find migratory birds out in these temperatures."

"It would be wonderful to hear an owl at night," Dimitri mused. "You are right, though. There are a variety of creatures in the underbrush."

"As stubborn as any Faerghan," Marianne joked. "Although I suspect, in regards to your tale of a blessing, that similar accounts are told of the seas themselves, rather than only of Faerghan forests. Anything blue."

Dimitri had blushed and laughed awkwardly at Marianne's initial declaration, knowing that it was true that sailors in Faerghus were revered and worried perhaps even that he had misremembered his own short yarn, but then he'd smiled and contributed softly, "It is a color dear to my heart."

"Because of your house banner?" Marianne asked as if to confirm, offering Dimitri no space to argue. "Perhaps a square or kerchief could be sewn in one of your pillows? Or some other secret space? I am sorry that you're only clad as one of my guards."

Dimitri shook his head. "An honor. I am glad to ride beside you, Mari— my lady, and ... maybe with the right materials, I could try to award myself with the gift you suggest. It would be a small and challenging project for a man of my extremely limited skill."

.

Upon their arrival at the manor in Fraldarius, they were escorted to the entrance hall, where Dimitri embarrassed Rodrigue with a bow and an embrace.

"Dimitri," Rodrigue said softly, as a reprimand and a prayer, testing the name, free of title and ornamentation. "It is good to see you again. If Felix had not seen you himself, I would have assumed a ruse or extortion." He pulled away, a hand still on his once and fallen king's shoulder. "To bury you, would be as burying another son—"

"Rodrigue—" Dimitri said, meaning to interrupt.

"Humor me," he begged. "Hear me. Not only am I proud to host you, in secret, in public, but should you ever need a home in Faerghus, we will never turn you away." Rodrigue swept a tear from his eyes, "Hm. I think you'll find my lack of decorum is your fault, for hugging me first—"

"My sincerest—"

Rodrigue chuckled. "Don't apologize. Just know that I intended to be more reserved, for the sake of Lady Marianne, if not for that of my son."

"Where is Felix?" asked Dimitri, as a door to the entrance hall opened at the top of a far stair, and Felix, Annette, Sylvain and Ingrid rushed out of it.

Although Felix had been to visit him in Margrave Edmund's territory three times, Dimitri could not suppress his joy at his friend's reveal, and after Rodrigue's admission, he could either hope that Felix too thought of him more fondly, or else worry that he needed to apologize to the younger Fraldarius for what he'd inspired in his father. "Felix!"

Dimitri spared a glance for Marianne, who waved him off delicately so that he could rush to his friends at the base of the stair. She shared a far more respectable greeting with Duke Fraldarius.

.

"Wait—!" Felix started to object, but too late or with too little conviction to keep Dimitri from fitting his arms around him and Ingrid and squeezing them to his chest.

Ingrid laughed happily, and Felix scoffed when Sylvain was greeted with only a joined hand and a clap on the shoulder, though Annette then jumped into Dimitri's arms.

"I half worried it was an exaggeration," Dimitri said softly. "That you all could make it."

"Mercedes and Dedue's boat is expected tomorrow," Sylvain said to assure him.

"Ashe won't be here for a week," Annette lamented as her feet hit the floor, "but I hear that will be long enough to see you?"

"I won't leave before," Dimitri promised. "It would break my heart if his journey from Gaspard was fruitless."

"Did you know that he needed to wait for Linhardt to take up residence in Gaspard?" asked Ingrid. "To deter the Adrestians from overreaching — even now."

"As well as general rebellion," Felix supplied. "Things aren't exactly settled that far west."

"You're helping him?" Dimitri confirmed, and a part of his heart stirred to be able to have this conversation with Felix in person, rather than over a period of days by letter.

"Fhirdiad's helping him," Felix said and then frowned when the others around Dimitri looked at him more directly, and corrected himself. "Yes, I'm helping him."

Fhirdiad had been Felix's home and his charge these past few years. He had taken up the title of Archduke and wielded his role with purpose. He always intended to return to Fraldarius, imagining that there would be an opportunity to suggest another lord be honoured with the capital region, but some days he worried he had sealed his fate. His father, and Sylvain, were less subtle in their matching inquiries about his return, but it seemed all others were slowly becoming accustomed to him sitting in that place of kings in the more temperate south.

"I appreciate it," Dimitri said carefully.

"There'll be plenty of time to worry about the shadow of dissent tomorrow," Sylvain said, looking to change the subject. "What are you wearing?"

"Oh," Dimitri said in surprise, looking down at himself, dressed as a Leicester soldier in wool and armour.

"Are you warm enough?" asked Annette, turning over a side of his cloak to assess its thickness.

Dimitri chuckled. "I'm plenty warm, I—"

"How many layers is that?" Ingrid inquired critically.

"Do the rest of Marianne's escorts have hats like this?" asked Sylvain, propping Dimitri's upon his golden hair.

"Four. No, most have wool lined leather caps."

"Four? Like this? That's not enough," Ingrid worried.

"We'll warm him with drink and games," Sylvain suggested. "Maybe dancing if Annette feels like singing?"

Annette squeaked in protest, but Felix spoke first.

"You're being ridiculous. Dimitri's had a long ride—"

Dimitri's lips tightened to hear Felix call him by name, and he spoke gently, worried he might break this simple spell of friendship when he spoke in favour of Sylvain's suggestions, "I think it would be nice to drink with everyone, but I might like to bathe first. I fear as soon as I loosen my collar my sweat will thaw from where it's frozen upon me."

Three exaggerated tongues of disgust extended in sympathy.

"Do you want to stay inside?" asked Felix. "Wood fires can heat baths in the lower levels."

"Oh, no, lets show Marianne the hot springs," Annette said, as if pleading with Dimitri, though he would have agreed without any provocation.

"I would like that," he agreed, looking at Felix for permission.

With an expression of vague annoyance, Felix nodded, and then he and Dimitri each glanced to where Marianne continued her conversation with Rodrigue.

.

There was a social element to the hot springs that Marianne feared, but Sylvain made a joke that set her at ease, and challenged her to try the new experience.

Dimitri half expected Felix to return home after dutifully guiding their group to their destination, and thanked him for his continued company and conversation, such as it was, while they sat together in the steaming water. Sylvain was kind and assertive, inspecting Dimitri's right side as he stretched his arm and took advantage of the heat, to massage strong fingers into his shoulder.

Elsewhere, Ingrid and Annette had Marianne giggling as the trio raced from the spring to the snow and back again each time they grew over-red from being boiled together.

Later, they drank and reminisced, and Ingrid pulled Dimitri aside, to reaffirm that she would have been his knight and protector ... and that she still would, if he wanted to pursue his place in Fhirdiad. She saw no reason to defer to the law in Garreg Mach when Faerghus could still have its own king, and if not that, then at least he could be recognized, as the rest of them were, within Fodlan's nobility.

The shock that overtook Dimitri frightened her, when she had only meant to offer him his ancestral home, and the respect many had died to get him.

Sylvain and Felix were in listening distance, and Ingrid had known that; the four of them looked to Marianne, weaving Annette's hair in a five strand braid, while they spoke of seals and bears and other creatures that plagued the harbours.

Felix hissed about how Ingrid would throw them from one war into another, reminding her that Dimitri was hidden away precisely to avoid what she was suggesting: that there would be people willing to die for their rightful king to reclaim his place in Fhirdiad.

Everything would change if Dimitri returned, and they'd lose the trust of the Adrestians, especially Ferdinand, when they had already been caught in another lie.

"You can't come back," Felix said to finish his argument. Aggressive, nervous, cruel.

"Dimitri should be given a choice now that he's recovered," Ingrid said, firm.

"He's recovering," Sylvain insisted.

With a great expression of self control, Dimitri maintained his volume as he declared for his friends' forgotten benefit, "I am right here." He waited for the shame to silence them before he went on. "And things are not ... how I envisioned them — how I wanted them? My mind and upbringing feel ... wasteful, at times; and yet I have been consulted," he sighed, "on strategy and trade, customs and etiquette — by Felix and Marianne both. My input is heard in Faerghus and Leicester, and if I willed it, I am sure that Garreg Mach is within my reach ... even Almyra."

Sylvain raised his tankard in salute as he walked away then, seeing that a fight wasn't about to break out, and that Dimitri had their conversation well in hand. He complimented Annette's hair, and strove to further distract the ladies from the dark turn of that other corner of the room.

"If Faerghus was threatened, I would find my way back here, lance in hand. But I trust the peace that's been building. And the crown, as it was, only invited duplicity and massacres. Faerghus will thrive without me." With one arm he embraced Ingrid, pressing a kiss to her temple. "And Sylvain is right, I have been recovering. I would not risk all of Faerghus' progress, all of your work," his eyes drifted to Felix for a moment, "because I could not accept the truth of what a minister said. I still struggle. I am more comfortable with smaller challenges ... and I would appreciate your reassurance of our friendship as I am."

"Of course, Mitya," Ingrid insisted.

"Thank you."

"I miss you," Ingrid clarified. "I miss... The lives I thought I'd have by now."

"Change is painful," Felix agreed, sharp and forgiving.

"Yours is a life worth celebrating," Dimitri promised. He drank at the same time as his old friends, and then fumbled after, worried about sounding too much like his healers, but still he added, "Take time to recognize success."

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by Marianne and Annette hollering with laughter, and Dimitri could not even imagine Marianne's disappointment in him if in returning to Fhirdiad he brought a new conflict to her doorstep. He could not imagine his own heartbreak if their peoples ever returned to bloodshed. Sadly, he had imagined his horror with the possibility of witnessing another day like the tragedy, his blue love desecrated, their hypothetical children screaming, and him again, a lone survivor.

He would not speak of this in casual conversation with his friends, though perhaps in private with Marianne at some later time.

He was grateful for his anonymity.

.

It was late in the night when they made for bed, and Marianne was as drunk as he, and Dimitri worried between her state and their locale that he shouldn't have followed behind the door of her rooms. They had lain together a handful of times, but not for weeks now, yet she pressed him against the door like it was a casual thing, delicate fingers curving over his hips.

They leaned close as if they might kiss, and then she turned her face away from him with a sigh.

"I hope I haven't made a fool of myself. Did you have a good night, Mitya?"

"Beloved," Dimitri beckoned, curving a large hand around the side of her face, his scarred fingers had been mended and shattered an embarrassing number of times in the early use of his Crest. He guided her to look at him, his shining blue eye, deep as the ocean in the dark of the room.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, his tone deep and sincere. "The snow, the culture, my friends... I missed them more than I realized. I've had a very good night."

His last sentence was near whispered upon her lips, his thick lower lip tickling against her mouth.

Eyes closed, Marianne hummed her approval, bumping her nose against Dimitri's; narrow and then bulbous, a pretty princely feature that somehow he still maintained despite the violence in his life.

He bent to kiss Marianne, his hands finding her upper arms, her shoulders, her neck, and her twin braids, a gift from Annette that extended nearly to Marianne's waist.

"I should let you sleep," Dimitri whispered, though he felt how Marianne's hands wandered, pressing his shirt against the muscles on his chest and stomach.

Marianne looked from her bed to Dimitri. "Let me sit," she requested, "and I'll untie your hair. Stay with me a while longer." She swayed a little and Dimitri worried he would have to catch her. "Your friends are kind," Marianne confided, "but it felt a little strange as the night wore on, and maybe it's just me, and maybe it's just the building, but I know I can rely on you. Say you'll stay."

"A while longer," Dimitri agreed, drifting a thumb through her bangs as his hand rested on the side of her tightly bound hair again.

He sat between her knees while she pulled the ribbon from his fine hair, carefully carding through it with her fingers around the strap of his eye patch, and then allowing her hands to find the muscles of his neck, thick from stress and training.

One dainty foot made it's way over one of Dimitri's monstrous shoulders, and he brought the opposite one over his other side, leaning back into Marianne's space so her skirt ballooned out around him. They shared a soft laugh.

"Did you have any trouble today?" Marianne asked, gentle in her approach of his occasional visions.

"I thought of Glenn," Dimitri confided, "but I am uncertain if I saw him or imagined him today. There are many memories of him here. And ... at the gates, I ... I saw some violence that was not there, but I could not hear it. I'll write it down tomorrow."

"Tell me about Glenn? There must be a happy memory tucked into what came to mind."

"He would have made you feel welcome," Dimitri insisted with a smile. "He was very personable, and I was always glad to be in his company — though I was always closer with Felix, and so thought, like Felix, that I was in contest with him. Unless my Crest activated, I was always left embarrassed, and regardless of whether my Crest activated, I always lost. Felix was often disappointed in both of us."

.

Dimitri spoke of friends like family until well after Marianne curled up on her side. He stayed on the floor, and spoke with less frequency, though the memories didn't fade. He could picture Glenn on the opposite side of the room, a macabre spectre of the self from his memories, but it wasn't a hallucination this time, just a horrible imagining, the loss of a friend.

Dimitri kissed Marianne's forehead, and she mumbled that she was still awake, despite sounding as if she were miles away. Still, Dimitri smiled and kissed her lips, just in case, and then left for his own chamber.

[chessieshire]

Processing my thoughts here.

I've been rewatching Cas and Dean scenes and moments where I know they talk about each other to analyze their reactions. Why? Because I wanted to assess for myself how I think Dean feels about Cas. I like to think I have pretty good intuition or so I've been told throughout my life. Track record of it is pretty good with the results.

When you grow up walking on eggshells having to assess people's behavior and emotions in order to protect yourself and others it becomes a necessary survival skill.

So what do I think so far? Ok so Dean is definitely bi so let's get that out of the way.

I personally think Dean has been subconsciously attracted to Cas and has felt love for him as a best friend or brother up until season 12 when I believe Dean actually fell in deep love with Cas.

I believe the moment Dean fell in love with Cas was when Cas killed Billy to save the 3 of them and then says he doesn't care if he loses his own life as a consequence.

I think before that moment Dean really did feel dead inside from being locked up in solitude for almost 2 months. Then when Cas made that huge risk to his own life to save theirs I believe it brought Dean's emotions back to life. Like a cosmic jumpstart.

Obviously Dean's an emotionally suppressed dum dum (I am too it takes one to know one) that he wasn't aware of falling in love with Cas he was just reacting to his frustrations, confusions, and concern for Cas and the "cosmic consequences". Hence the marital bickering in the next episode.

I believe that Dean started to realize he was in love with Cas when he almost died by the poisonous/venomous lance. When Cas said he loves him looking at Dean and loves them all. Dean started to realize he loved him romantically as he almost lost him again but probably still didn't "get" what kind of love Cas meant towards him.

Then Dean's dealing with too much confusion about it. He was so upset with Cas leaving and not responding to his messages it triggered his abandonment issues while Mary was also "needing space" at the same time that made those triggers worse. He had told Cas previously that he's his and Sam's best friend and brother (probably to observe his reaction to that to get a hint of how Cas felt) but he's obtuse so he probably felt like Cas loved him like a bro.

Not to mention season 7 when Dean is telling Kevin that he doesn't believe angels have the equipment to care and when they try they breakdown.

So I can see how it never occurred to him about Cas being in love with him and why he'd continue to suppress his own emotions and try distracting them with countless women. Despite cutting down on the sexual conquests in the last few seasons because they probably didn't work much anymore as a distraction and he got a piece of the void filled with merely Cas's friendship.

Edited to add: (oh shit how could I forget to point out?! So the last time Dean canonically had sex was season 12 episode 18 while Cas was missing and Dean was extremely upset with him. Dean was trying to distract his feelings about Cas and it no longer worked in my opinion. He looked more distracted than usual and when he told Sam how his night was he had to say awesome 3 times like he was trying to convince himself. Hence the last time he sleeps with a woman. From this point on Dean doesn't have anymore one night stands. ...carry on...)

Without a doubt Dean was unsure if angels in general could actually fall in love and felt like it was less painful to not pursue a romantic relationship due to the job and how either one of them could die for any reason.

If Cas had been human and there were no more monsters and demons and supernatural shit to hurt and kill people I'm confident that they would've been hooking up. It would've ruled out the complicated job risks and made clear that Cas is capable of feeling romantic love for somebody.

The times that Dean was actually angry at Cas and not "pretend angry but actually worried" were because he was offended that Cas didn't trust him and that Cas took off without an explanation or response. It just added to Dean's fears of Cas being incapable of feeling true love for him because he's an angel.

When Dean prayed to Cas in season 15 I think he was going to finally confess he loved him. But time was of the essence. As it always is and then they never get a moment after that to really talk to each other until Cas confessed his love.

Edit: Can I check this one off?! Because it really does sound like Dean says, "I...(breathy pause) I-love...(huff pause) you-don't know why I get so angry." *thinks* Yeahhhh it counts dammit! ✅

The episode after Dean's confession is Garth showing him being with someone is possible with their complicated backgrounds and jobs and he dances with a lamp and blows it a kiss. Whether or not the lamp really is a stand in for Cas it definitely is a representation of something or someone Dean truly wants.

He yearns for sharing love with someone.

Edit: Can I sorta check this one off? Ehhhh...maybe??? The guy that plays Garth (sorry I don't want to misspell the actor's name) stated that there was hidden subtext for romantic love with Dean and another character. He didn't say the subtext was "lamp" though since he thought this scene was meant to be fun...but...I think maybe it still could be if he was unaware of it. Since I'm hearing the dance choreographer says there's deeper meaning.

In season 11 Dean asked Jesse and his husband Cesar about what was it like settling down with a hunter. He was thinking about it! He wanted to know not only for Sam but for himself as well! He asked a GAY COUPLE which clues me in on maybe because they made him think of him and Cas. Maybe subconsciously anyway.

Dean never gets the opportunity to express how he truly feels other than anger, forgiveness, and brotherly love towards people and that's some toxic masculinity bullshit!

When Cas left to the Empty Dean was completely breaking down not just because he lost Cas but because he felt he lost his only chance at a happy life with a significant other who understands him.

And then the next episodes made no fucking sense. Read a bit like "oh well now I'm relieved I didn't have to confess my deep love for a dude and can move on! Mmmmmm...pie!"

(my phone autocorrected to "mmmmmm... Pierre" and I was like 👀 even my phone's like Dean is bi and looking for a french dude to take his mind off Cas lolll)

So to summarize...Dean Winchester loves Castiel and the last 2 episodes is some outrageous bullshit and I'll never get over it unless by some miracle Jensen obtains the rights to the show and fixes it!

[mudhornchronicles]

sanguine | din djarin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, angst, yodito’s name spoiler, face reveal, sexual references but aren’t toooo explicit

a/n: this is part two for maroon. 

i made up a planet because i couldn’t find a planet that wouldn’t be obvious to hiding Mandalorians, ya know? I’ve never written smut before and as much as I wanted to include it, I’d just ruin it BUT I’m learning lol. also, happy new year to everyone! I hope this year brings you joy, health, and happiness. please enjoy and let me know what you think!

masterlist

No matter how long it has been, you are always thrown back to the day you lost everything. Your necklace is a constant reminder of the death of you. No matter if you’re at the market buying the supplies you’re running dangerously low on or if you’re in the midst of stitching up a laceration - your hand always finds its way around the symbol of pain.

The gunfire. The screams. The tears. The loss.

The nightmares are a virus you cannot get rid of with medication. After all these years, the past plagues you even after you have tried your hardest to move on.

When you made it to the planet Alegoria, the emperor, Krusean, took you all as his own people. The warriors who were once faithful to the creed willingly relinquished their armor for civilian clothing in order to conceal their true heritage. You witnessed every brave soul you saw defeat Mandalore’s invaders once upon a time diminish to discomfited individual’s seeking purpose aside from duty. Alegoria gave you the opportunity to become the independent being your father always wanted you to be, but every time you took five steps ahead, the thought of him infiltrated your mind and you retreated into the shell of a person you arrive as.

Because of your skill set you found yourself excel with, Emperor Krusean found it ideal to have you stay in the palace as his assistant. You preferred not living in a home you did not earn, but you agreed to always carrying a commlink. An agreement that you felt safe with. You found yourself comfortable in the presence of the emperor, or Krusean as he liked to be called. He was an older gentleman, nearing his sixties, and he was a man with a heart of gold. You reminded him of his daughter, his army’s lieutenant, who gave her life for her father’s. You both had a connection, and he became your family as you did his.

So much, that he was only person on Alegoria, aside from your own people, who knew about your lost love.

The day was as every other with the exception of the sky being painted in rich reds and pretty pinks – something that happened every three to four months. You knew a sanguine palette awaited tonight’s night sky. Always a beautiful sight.

As you ran your daily errands, you began to note the people of Alegoria, the former Mandalorians to be exact, seemed on edge. You walked up to a few and they came across jumpy. You looked up and you caught sight of three ships and one of them gave you the fear you have not felt in a long time – a tie fighter.

As it appeared to be landing, chaos unfolded.

The screams and tears returned, but the gunfire was absent.

You felt sick. You could not move but were forced by one of the emperor’s guards. They barked out orders to shelter themselves and reminding them of the evacuation plans if needed. The guard escorted you back to the palace in a speeder made specifically for attaching life-boards. They were the evacuation plan.

Once through the palace walls, you ran straight to the emperor. As you ran, you could not help but to attach your hand on your signet and ring adorning your neck. You brought them up to your shaking lips, giving them both a kiss and whispering an apology to whoever was listening. You found the emperor barking orders at his general to secure the city’s perimeter – his people’s safety came first.

He spotted you and ran to you, bringing you into his arms and placing a kiss on the crown of your head. You could not stop shaking as he held you, telling you that everything would be okay. He informed you that the radars did not detect any other ships – just the three crafts and seven life forms. He asked you to go into the safe room underneath the palace while the situation get assessed and you oblige, knowing he must have thousands of thoughts running through his mind.

While you sat underneath the fortress, you thought back to him. You were able to move on from losing Mandalore, but you could never move on from him. You clutched his ring in your hand and let out the tears you had been suppressing for years. You never allowed yourself to vocalize his name, let out cry about him.

“I miss you so much, ner kar’ta. I have never given up on you, but I couldn’t wait around and do nothing.” you kiss his ring and continue to voice your ache. “The people I was with, my love, they aren’t you. They could not make me feel shielded from the galaxy’s wrath like you did. I’ve stayed here because I didn’t want to miss you when you came to find me, but I- I don’t know if I can go through life unknowing of what’s out there.” You jump as you hear the door of the safe room unlock and swing open. You see Emperor Kursean come in with this look on his face that you have never seen while in your presence – sympathy.

He refuses to answer your questions and protests of leaving the room. He leads you to the room you never made yours. He stops in front of the tall doors and brings you into his arms. You return his hug and ask a simple question before he leaves you.

“Krusean, am I going to die?”

He looks at you incredulous. Why would you ever ask him that question? How can you think that he would let you die?

“Sweet girl. What you will see through this door is the past you need to either close or welcome. You need to stop running away from what made you stronger.”

He places a single kiss on your forehead and leaves you.

Your hands begin to shake. You cannot help but to feel scared. You do not know who or what can be behind these doors and you do not know why they are here. You take a deep breath in and it comes out with a quiver. You place your trembling hand on the handle and push down. You hear the distinctive click and you lightly push. The room is pitch black except for the crimson light bleeding through the balcony. You step inside and close the door behind you. You feel the second being in the room, but you are not frightened. It is a friendly aura which eases you. A minute passes by and as you are about to leave you hear it. The sound that you have been longing to hear all these years.

His voice.

You tense at the sound of his voice saying your name. It pleads for you to stay and so you do. You are not scared for your life, but now as you have heard it, you fear for your heart. You cannot take another heartbreak. You just would not survive turning around and this voice telling you goodbye for the final time, or worse it not being him at all.

The voice says your name one more time and you finally slowly turn. You feel as though your heart has stopped and splattered over the floor.

It is not him.

You have never seen this warrior before. The armor is not a design you recognized, but the color is what gives you a sliver of hope.

It is silver. Mourning a lost love.

You find yourself staring at the figure in front of you and your eyes catch the handle to the weapon of the Mand’alor.

As you have been taught to do by your father, you bow your head as a sign of respect.

“Su cuy'gar, ner Mand’alor.”

The Mand’alor says nothing; he only reaches out to stroke your cheek.

“Su cuy'gar, ner riduur.”

You felt as if time froze. This cannot be him. This cannot be your love. The di’kut you fell in love with could not have become the leader of Mandalore. You could not stop the tears any longer.

“I-I can’t… How did… is it really you?”

He placed your delicate hands into his and his helmet appeared to be nodding. He is shaking again. You can feel it once more.

“It is my love. I gave you my word. I promised I would find you. I never stopped looking for you. I just hope I’m not too late.”

You shook you head, giving him the answer he hoped to receive.

“Din,” you whispered just enough for it to kiss his ears.

You did not know what overcame your body, but you blinked and your arms were around his neck; his around you. You sobbed his name repeatedly into the small opening between the lip of his helmet and his broad shoulder and all he can do was cry with you.

He had finally found you. After years of searching every planet he was sent to, he finally found the person he gave his entire being to. He felt whole. You felt complete. He held you in his arms so tight, you felt as if you became stone. A statue carved to perfection with the two central pieces fitting together with a seamless union.

“I also promised you something else if I remember correctly.”

As much as you did not want to let go of him, you let your arms fall from his shoulders, but held his hand in yours. With your free hand, you fished out his ring, your engagement ring. He held his ring with both his first and second fingers and smiled in his helmet. You kept it, he thought.

“I promised you a proper riduurok, did I not?”

You genuinely smile for the first time in a long time and nod. “Yes, you did. Are you finally making me a part of your clan?” You take a glance at his shoulder to examine the signet gracing his pauldron. “You managed to kill a mudhorn, cabur?” Din looks over to his pauldron and tilts his helmet back to you.

“I had some help. You will be joining my clan and making it three.”

“Three?”

“My foundling, Grogu.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“He’s with his kind now. I promised him I’d see him again and I hope you would be by my side.”

You delicately place your hands on either side of his helmet and bring your foreheads together. “Make me your wife, Djarin.”

“We only had one more vow to recite if my memory serves me well.”

“I’ve waited to long – we’re starting over, my love.”

He leads you to the balcony and a minute later, you are officially a part of Clan Djarin.

“Riduur?”

You glance up to your husband and although his silver helmet sits upon his shoulders, all you see is him.

“Yes, riduur?”

He takes a step in front of you and kneels. He looks up to you and places both your hands on either side of his helmet. For as long as he can remember, Din Djarin perceived himself as this cold-blooded mercenary who only cared about the credits and reputation he would gain, but after finding the kid and learning how it was to feel human again, Din Djarin is vulnerable.

“I’ve dreamt about us for so long and as I stand here now, I feel as if we never each other – just time. As my wife, I want you to see the face that our children will resemble. I want to be able to make love to you without the tint of my visor. I kneel before you as I ask you to remove the helmet that conceals the identity of your husband.”

You grace his helmeted forehead with a chaste kiss as you press the button to unlatch Din’s helmet. You sluggardly lift his helmet up and away from his face – eyes still closed as if he would suddenly regret his decision. Once completely off, you hear his unmodulated voice speak your name and you feel your heart begin to race.

You open your eyes and a grin appears on your face from ear to ear.

“Ner riduur, I knew you’d be handsome, but it should be a crime for you to be hiding this face.” He smiles brightly at your compliment. “I also didn’t know you had a dimple! My love, you’re captivating!”

You stay mesmerized by his beauty as he furiously blushes at your gazing face.

“My husband, would it be too fast to ask for you to touch me?” you plead.

“Would it be too fast to admit that I want to toss you onto this bed and make love to my wife?”

“No. I’d be upset if you didn’t. That would mean you changed. You used to be inside me with my hands pinned against the wall every chance you got.”

His eyes filled with desires and before you knew, that is exactly where your hands were – pinned against the wall.

The sanguine night sky illumination was only a factor to your husband’s stamina – one that allowed you to rest several hours later.

mando’a translations:

ner kar’ta = my heart

Mand’alor = the sole leader of Mandalore; king of Mandalore

Su cuy’gar = Hello - lit. ‘You're still alive.’

ner Mand’alor = my King

ner riduur = my spouse

di’kut = idiot

cabur = protector

tags: @theocatkov​

part 3 to maroon - brick

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Never a Gull Moment

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Word Count: 3523

For @yavannie, who wanted Sam to either gain new powers or carry Bucky through the air. Spoiler, I went with both. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Sam’s had an intense first week as Captain America. The perfect opportunity for a break arises when Joaquín contacts him, offering new programming for his suit. All he needs to test the tech are the beach, birds, and one uncooperative bonehead Sam didn’t manage to leave behind in New York.

If there’s one skill Sam’s hoping to adopt from his predecessor—Steve, not Walker (sweet Jesus, not Walker)—it’s the ability to end a conversation with a humble handwave before it can even begin. Steve always had that in the bag. Leading with the wrist in a flick of the hand that came across as both sheepish and respectful. Like he’d love to stop and talk with that fan or this journalist but he was just too busy. And not rude busy, busy with a quiet nobility. Anyway, it all came across in the wave.

Sam hasn’t nailed the wave.

Four days after the GRC vote-that-wasn’t, he’s still in New York, bouncing between TV appearances; everybody wants a piece of the new Cap. Sam wishes they asked a little more about his opinions on compassion for the displaced, as well as those who survived the Snap to form new, functional communities, and less about the look of his new suit, but isn’t it always a battle between style and substance? At least people are listening. To everything except the look Sam knows he has in his eyes, the one that says this debut has been a lot and he’s longing for home.

He knows he has to nail this aspect of being Captain America too. Unfortunately, chuckling amiably with morning show hosts isn’t doing a hell of a lot to distract him from what it took to get him here. There are seconds where his attention wavers—he’ll be nodding along to whatever someone’s saying, or letting his gaze follow a bike courier down the street instead of staying trained on the camera the roving reporter has set up on the sidewalk—and that’s when Karli hurtles into his mind. He feels her desperate blows vibrating the shield, the weight of her body in his arms, in her death.

He can’t keep sitting behind desks or posing impressively and trying to answer the hard questions (on the rare occasion they’re asked) after he’s told people he’s not the expert. When Torres calls up, it’s the close-enough-to-official reason Sam’s been waiting for to step back and do something that actually feels useful.

Bucky, who’s been skulking behind the scenes, somehow never pulled into interviews (if he knows the deferring wave and he’s been doing it just outside Sam’s sightline all week, Sam’s gonna kill him), sticks with him. They head south to meet Torres, and at least that feels like the right direction. Homeward bound. Of course, they stop a handful of states before Louisiana and hug the east coast, but it’s an improvement. They meet Torres at… the beach.

He’s got his foot propped in the open doorframe of a Humvee, giving Sam and Bucky a big, eager, whole-arm wave as they pull up. Not like they’re gonna miss him; Torres is in the only vehicle parked halfway down an unpaved road. Sand dunes climb steep and high just feet from his front bumper, an informal path cutting between the dunes and leading to the water, though Sam can’t see that from this vantage.

Torres’s hand is somehow already grasping Sam’s in a pumping, congratulatory shake before he’s fully out of the car. Sam hears Bucky’s soft snort of suppressed laughter and shoots him a look across the seats. Bucky raises his palms, but Sam spots his smirk before they’re both slamming their doors and stretching their legs after the drive.

“Traffic?” Torres asks brightly.

“Nah,” Bucky answers, coming around the back of their ride. “Sam just drives slower than my grandmother and she—”

“Died on the Titanic?” Sam guesses dryly.

Bucky’s flat stare could be saying a lot of things, or nothing. Sam feels as if he’s been a student of the language of Bucky’s stare for a while now, but his comprehension is still rudimentary. Pop that asshole in a sanctuary for rehabilitated brain-washees, have somebody study his behaviour like Jane Goodall studies chimpanzees, and they might get some answers. The idea starts as something funny Sam almost shares, but then he imagines handfeeding Bucky a banana and it gets weird. He keeps his mouth shut.

“Or she got the cryo treatment too and she’s kickin’ around someplace, speakin’ Russian and makin’ headshots.”

“Come on, man, Hydra jokes about your own grandmother?” Sam scoffs. “That’s not even a little bit funny.”

Torres’s expression is like a kid watching a wrestling match on TV—awed, alarmed, reluctant to question what’s real because he’s just enjoying the show.

Bucky cracks a slow smile and Sam rolls his eyes, slapping Torres’s shoulder to get him to head towards the Humvee and the reason they’re here.

“Nana woulda thought it was funny,” Bucky assures them.

“Nana?”

“Lemme guess… You called your aunt ‘TT,’ so your grandmother’s probably… ‘GG,’ am I right?”

Sam glares at him (because his guess is correct and he’s a pain in the ass) and turns fully to Torres as he opens the back, revealing a large case.

“You were vague on the phone,” Sam recalls, watching Torres tug the case close before undoing the clasps. Bucky leans against the vehicle as he observes, dark pants picking up a swipe of road dust from the dirty taillight. “Something about an update for the suit?”

“Right,” Torres agrees.

He throws the case open to reveal the wings Sam gifted him. They’ve been repaired and Sam automatically strokes a hand over the gleaming, extended metal. If Torres did this himself, he sure worked fast.

“That duffle bag wasn’t good enough for you?” Sam asks jokingly, remembering his gear broken and jumbled, fit to be dragged out with the trash.

“They’re kind my prized possession,” Torres admits. “I thought they deserved to be kept nice.”

“You might even wanna put ’em on sometime.”

“I’m working up to that.” Torres laughs. “I wanted to make sure they were in working order before I jumped off a building.”

“Or out of the back of a plane without a parachute, right, Buck?” Sam asks, smacking the back of his hand into Bucky’s chest.

“I was fine,” Bucky insists.

“Sure you were. We can watch the footage again. I’m up for that.”

“Just let the man finish.”

Torres grants Bucky a wide smile in thanks.

“Yeah,” he picks up, “so I was fixing them, working on the wiring, and when I got the electronics running smoothly again, I started thinking about Redwing—”

“May he rest in pieces,” Bucky contributes.

“Uncalled for,” Sam complains.

“I replaced it, didn’t I?”

“The Wakandans replaced it.”

“As a favour to me.”

Torres’s gaze dances between them until Sam motions for him to continue.

“About Redwing,” Torres goes on enthusiastically. “The sophistication of the relationship between you, how intuitive the tech was. How Redwing understood not just simply-stated commands, but a more conversational approach, interpreting your intentions.”

“Finally, a little Redwing appreciation,” Sam says. He crosses his arms and gives Bucky a meaningful look.

“But what if it was a real bird?” Torres blurts.

Most of a minute passes as Sam stares at Torres’s excited expression.

“I think I might get where Torres is going with this,” Bucky says.

Sam holds up a hand to pause him. He could make a guess at it too, but there’s no need for that. They have the source of whatever alterations have been made right here.

“In your own words, Joaquín,” Sam encourages.

“Well,” he begins, one palm braced in the bed of the Humvee as he leans over the case with unconscious protectiveness, “you know I’ve kinda been itching to get my hands on the wings for a long time.”

“Yeah.” Sam laughs, remembering having to practically slap Torres’s hands away from the jetpack in Tunisia.

“Since you gave them to me a couple weeks ago, I’ve been tinkering, like I said, and I had this idea. Now,” he warns, raising both hands in caution, “this might be either really obvious or really disrespectful to the whole concept of the Falcon, but I started wondering if it’d be possible for the person wearing the wings to talk to nearby birds. Use them like a resource, like with Redwing.”

“Black Panther dresses like a cat with Vibranium claws.”

“Spider-Man has webs,” Bucky adds.

“Right,” Sam agrees, nodding to him before looking back to Torres. “I don’t think it’s disrespectful to lean into the gimmick if it’s amplifying your abilities.”

“Awesome,” Torres pronounces.

“I assume you went further than just wondering about it?”

Torres gives them a modest shrug.

“I know a guy who knows an ornithologist.”

“Bird scientist,” Bucky translates.

Turning his head, Sam glances at Bucky with a no shit look.

“Thanks,” he says insincerely.

“You’re welcome.”

“Long story short,” Torres pipes up, “she got me access to a catalogue of bird calls and the scientific consensus on what they all mean. I patched that info into the suit and, hopefully, it’s something that could be used, uh, on the fly. Sorry, I was trying to think of another way to say that.”

“So my suit would be able to communicate with birds?” Sam checks. “Automatically?”

“Yeah, it would assess your surroundings the same way Redwing does already, but scanning for birds, identifying what kind they are, and having the interpretation of their calls at the ready if needed.”

“What sort of information would I be gaining with this tech?”

“Stuff like… are they feeling threatened or disturbed? Does something feel off about their environment that has something to do with somebody you’re maybe chasing?”

“Mating rituals,” Bucky says.

“How is being able to recognize mating rituals going to help me?” Sam demands.

“You never know.”

“You brought your suit, right?” Torres wants to know. Apparently, he’s not going to bother engaging with Bucky’s nonsense. “It won’t take long for me to install the new software.”

“It’s in the back,” Sam assures him, jerking a thumb towards the other vehicle.

“Great!”

“But just the bird calls. This suit is brand new. No tinkering.”

“No tinkering,” Torres swears.

He sets up his impromptu workshop in the back seat, next to the suit. Sam has to admit to himself that Torres’s reverential expression as he handles the Captain America suit is pretty flattering. He watches the progress until Torres sits back, stating it’ll just be a few minutes for the new programming to be assimilated.

“Why the beach?” Sam asks while they wait.

“I was inspired by some shaky, far-away footage of you in New York. You did, uh, kind of a nosedive into the river there, so I thought maybe you’d be interested in testing your suit’s maneuverability in water at the same time as we did a trial with the bird calls.”

“Are we running a drill or something?” Bucky wonders.

“That’s a good idea,” Torres says immediately. “A scenario to use both the calls and the water.”

“You got something in mind?”

Sam isn’t the one who asks because he can see from Torres’s face that he does. Fortunately, he is the one who gets to laugh when the Lieutenant squints consideringly at Bucky and asks, “How long can you hold your breath?”

—

The last Sam sees of Bucky, he’s taking off his shirt.

“Oh, entire jacket this time?” Torres asked when Bucky took that off first.

After that, it was his shoes and socks, then his t-shirt, and this whole Bucky stripping thing isn’t so much a last look as something that Sam has to stand there witnessing for a while. He’s already in the Cap suit and, seriously, Bucky could’ve changed at the same time. Then, he would’ve been ready to go without making Sam and Torres wait around. But Sam wouldn’t have gotten to see him undress.

“Hurry it up, man.” His voice is a little off because, at the same time, he’s thinking, Please don’t take your pants off.

“If you’re making me play a drowning victim, I can at least not be getting weighed down,” Bucky argues. “This is to help you, right? Quit complaining.”

Finally, he stalks away, mounting the dune in black jeans and a half-assed scowl and disappearing over the top. The plan is for him to swim out, then duck under the water when Torres tells him to (the guy’s brought along waterproof earpieces for the purpose). Next, Sam will fly up and search for the ‘victim,’ relying solely on input from the seagulls wheeling lazily overhead. It’s a good exercise Torres has cooked up.

Sam hands the shield off to Torres for safekeeping before the Lieutenant heads to the beach. The shield won’t be necessary for this and there’s no way in hell Sam’s leaving it in the car. Besides, it’s kinda funny how wide Torres’s eyes go when Sam offers it up. Even bigger reaction than leaving him the wings, though this he doesn’t get to keep.

“On my signal,” Torres restates.

Sam gives him a sharp nod.

Once he’s alone, he paces between the vehicles, eager to kick off the ground. He hasn’t had an opportunity to just enjoy himself in the new suit yet. Leading up to the confrontation with the Flag-Smashers (and Georges Batroc, that fists-of-steel bastard), he was in training mode, focused and determined. In the media-heavy days that followed, he conceded to a few stunts for the camera. Those hadn’t been purely fun though; they were actually something Sam had to think quick and hard about, ultimately deciding that it wasn’t just performing on command but rather giving the public a lighthearted look at their new Captain America. Testing new tech with Bucky, Torres, and a bunch of seagulls? That seems like it’ll actually be a good time.

The instant Torres’s voice in Sam’s ear says, “Bucky’s under,” he unfurls the wings and sails up over the crest of the dune.

It’s not the warmest day and the greenish-blue water’s choppy near the shore, but there is a surprising smattering of people along a quarter mile of beach. Must be locals, Sam guesses, trekking down to the water from nearby houses. That would explain the lack of other cars where he parked. The people aren’t that close or that bothered by his sudden appearance overhead. Startled, sure, but after they’ve identified him (he sees a few hands lifted to foreheads to block out the sun so they can get a good look), he gets to return a couple big waves. Besides that, nobody’s getting to their feet to pound sand and swarm Torres, who’s conspicuously there with Sam—he is holding the shield, after all. Pretty typical. The bigger the crowd, the greater the chance of people scrambling for his attention and/or whipping out their phones to film him. This group seems satisfied with watching Captain America hanging out at their beach on his downtime and Sam appreciates them for that.

“No scanning the water,” Torres says in his ear. Sam laughs.

“I’m not, just assessing our audience here.”

“Is this a bad spot? I didn’t think anybody’d be around when I sent you my location, but—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. Did anybody ask you what was up when Bucky waded out into the water?”

“Nah. If they were wondering, they probably aren’t anymore.”

“Glad I won’t have to compete with a lifeguard to rescue him,” Sam jokes.

He hears Torres’s short laugh of agreement before focusing. Not on the water at all, but the birds. Those down on the sand are squawking for food, comfortable enough with these people to complain loudly in the hopes of being fed.

Sam’s sudden swoops scatter the gulls in the air, so he tries easier circles, mimicking their movements to hover high above the beach. Soon enough—these guys either have bad short-term memories or no patience—they start communicating with each other. The new programming Torres has uploaded to his suit signals to Sam that the birds are aware of a disturbance in the water. He gets a target on his goggles’ imaging and dives.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam crashes into the murky water no more than a hundred yards out. The drop-off is dramatic enough for him to not complete a faceplant into a shallow bottom. Bucky’s treading water a couple body-lengths down, but he wrecks his form to offer Sam a raised middle finger in greeting. Sam’s wings retract as he grabs Bucky’s wrist to haul him to the surface.

They breathe, bobbing in place.

“Thought you’d be faster,” Bucky says.

“You didn’t drown, did you?” Sam points out. “Come on.”

He catches hold of Bucky’s hand and shoots out of the water, wings opening in the air to carry him once the thruster’s done its work. But Bucky squirms below him, their wet grip twisting precariously. Water runs from his sopping jeans.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam asks.

“I don’t want to be carried to shore!”

“Why?”

“Because dangling this high above the ground feels a little weird to me! Not all of us do this every day!”

“I guess we could run the exercise again.”

“Fine. Let’s do that. Just drop me.”

Sam rewards Bucky’s melodrama by abruptly releasing his grip. Hey, that’s what the idiot asked for, and if he can fall out of a plane to the forest floor, he can plunge into water. It’s not like Sam’s up at aircraft cruising altitude, just high enough to make Torres look like a little action figure army man, standing on the sand in his fatigues.

“Running it again?” Torres wants to know.

“Yep,” Sam tells him, accelerating away from the shore. “Just giving that dumbass time to swim to a new spot.”

“Even though he can’t reply while he’s underwater… you know he can hear you in the comms, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

When Torres lets him know that Bucky’s gone under a second time, they start the drill again. Once more, Sam does a gliding approach to the seagulls. Once more, they go quiet before filling the air with their screaming, overlapping calls. Once more, Sam finds Bucky. He knows he’s quicker this time, so he’s expecting an acknowledgement of that when he contracts the wings, straightens his body, and plummets into the water feetfirst next to where Bucky’s floating below the surface.

Instead of an appreciative nod, an outstretched hand, or even a thumbs up, Bucky darts away from him. Is he trying not to get rescued? Now he’s just fucking up the exercise. Only, Sam can’t even berate him, because he’s still under too, holding his breath as he swims after Bucky. He uses the jetpack for assistance, but Bucky’s a fast swimmer, legs kicking just ahead of Sam. Goddamn human shark.

Because he is not an idiot, Sam surfaces to catch his breath, leaving Bucky somewhere below.

“There a problem?” Torres asks.

“Only with Bucky’s idea of teamwork.”

“Get him like a bird would!”

“Is that a real suggestion?” Sam asks, rising and falling as a small wave swells under him, rolling towards the shore.

“Really, Sam! You know, like how birds hunt fish.” Back on the beach, he makes a sharp, downward gesture with his arm that has Sam chuckling. He gets what Torres means though.

“Alright.”

Sam goes from water to air, then, alerted by a trio of seagulls taking annoyed flight from the surface of the water, goes into a steep dive. Nabbing the swimmer from above is the trick, he learns, when the swimmer is being intentionally uncooperative with the rescue attempt. Bucky might be quick when he knows Sam’s behind him, but when he drops down on him, there’s nowhere Bucky can go. Sam wraps his arms around Bucky’s bare chest from behind and lugs him up for air.

The first thing Bucky says is, “You took even longer that time.”

Frustrated, Sam splashes the back of his head, but when Bucky strokes his arms out, rotating to face him, he’s smiling.

“You messed it up,” Sam accuses. He rubs a hand across his goggles to smear the water droplets off.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun.”

Sam narrows his eyes before a laugh bursts out of him. He can’t help it; it’s the pressure he’s been under, so much internal conflict, suddenly drawn out with the current. Yeah, Bucky was slightly uncooperative, but that’s nothing unusual. Swimming ahead like he was going for a gold medal or forcing Sam to plunge deep after him, the two of them suspended like the goddamn Shape of Water before Sam towed him to the surface—either way, Bucky definitely gave him distinct scenarios to work with. Sam can’t say he doesn’t feel more comfortable now that he’s had some practice. More comfortable with his wings in the water, with working with his feathered allies. With Bucky.

“Still don’t want a lift?” Sam checks.

Bucky’s expression hardens and Sam backs off with a laugh.

“See you on the shore,” Bucky states firmly.

“Alright. Get doggy-paddlin’, White Wolf.”

Sam feels Bucky’s hand shoot out to seize his ankle in retaliation as he launches out of the water, but he’s too slow. Sam’s wings fan wide as he flies up, up, up with the birds.

[honestgrins]

could you do a continuation of chapter 29/49??

I'm glad you liked Reflection and Retribution, but I think I'm done with that universe. Could I interest you in Private Investigator!Caroline hired to infiltrate a criminal organization instead?

Also, many thanks to @recyclingss for being a kind ear and a supportive voice as I try to find my writing groove again. Thanks for the love, lovely (and sorry it’s not a new chapter of Burned)!!

Wanted || Klaroline

A squeak of hinges was all she had in the way of warning. Hurrying to tuck the files she'd been snooping through back into their respective cabinets, Caroline needed an excuse for her presence in the boss's office - and she needed one fast.

To give herself a bit more time, she slipped into the private bathroom. Her purse was lighter than her usual go-bag for an investigation, but that was the peril of working undercover. She shuffled through it anyway, only to find the makeup she needed to reapply between shifts, her wallet, car keys, and Taser. Fortunately, she had learned to be resourceful, and a plan quickly formed with what she had. 

Unfortunately, the plan could go very wrong. As footsteps sounded through the door, however, her time to improvise had run out. Slathering on a fresh layer of lipstick for luck, Caroline fluffed her hair and made her presence known. "Sorry to intrude, Mr. Mikaelson, I just— Who the hell are you?”

Her winning smile had fallen flat at the stranger making eyes down the line of her mostly bare leg. True, the outfit had been meant to draw attention, but he wasn't her intended target. She'd been expecting the fastidious Elijah Mikaelson, with perfectly tailored suits and a too polite charm that just screamed serial killer underneath. This guy was far messier with untidy curls and the paint-splattered jeans. Cute, though. And that smirk.

"Mr. Mikaelson," he answered cheekily, "but please, call me Klaus." Making himself a drink from the bar cart, he poured a second glass for her. His brow arched when she refused. "Come to ask favors of the boss, but you won't drink his liquor. I assure you, he only buys the good stuff."

"I'm fine, thanks." She narrowed her gaze as he draped himself over one of the armchairs, giving her another appreciative look. "I thought the brother's name was Kol?"

His nose scrunched. "Unfortunately, there are five Mikaelson brothers. A sister, too. Nosy for a dancer, aren't you? Most of those 'Lijah keeps on the roster know to mind their business."

A mild panic took over; she was usually better at playing it cool. Now, she was going to get busted for asking too many questions. If she couldn't handle the unexpected brother, she really had no chance at taking on the mob boss himself. "Not a dancer yet," Caroline answered, aiming for sheepish with her hands tucked into the tight back pockets of her shorts. "I'm just a waitress until a stage shift opens up."

Ideally, she would be long gone before that happened, if only to avoid breaking an ankle in the heels. Not even her most rigorous pageant training could have prepared her for the skill those things took to work. That, and she needed to tidy up this case fast to get Damon Salvatore off her speed dial. And Stefan - she never would have accepted the job had he not played the friend card. Her only solace was the fact they agreed to double her usual rate for a job like this. 

The tips were pretty great, too. Even just waitressing had earned her some nice spending money to splurge on clothes and pampering. Had the high-end strip club not been a front for Elijah Mikaelson to launder his ill-gotten gains, she might seriously consider moonlighting once the gig was over.

With the way the boss’s brother was eyeing her, though, that might happen sooner than she’d like. It wouldn’t do to get found out before she could track down what Damon asked her to find, and she did not relish the idea of handing back the hefty check he’d already given. Bristling, she crossed her arms, hoping to annoy him off the scent of her subterfuge. “Can I help you?”

Klaus, however, seemed unperturbed by her attitude. “If it’s better pay you’re after, I might have an opportunity for you.” When she gave an outraged splutter, he merely waved her off. “Not quite what you’re thinking, love, though I apologize for any offense. I’m in the market for a new model.”

“For your burgeoning porn empire? No, thanks.”

“I’m an artist, I would like to paint you,” he clarified with a wry grin. Leaning forward on his knees, he lowered his voice as though letting her in on a secret. “Any wardrobe choices — or lack thereof — would be entirely up to you.”

Sensing his interest wasn’t entirely aesthetic, Caroline figured she might as well learn what she could from the cad. “Don’t try to play me. The girls at the club talk, you know. I heard a rumor the Mikaelsons were, like, connected. The whole starving artist thing doesn’t really add up, so I’ll pass.”

Again, his gaze focused on her in an assessing way, lips still curled up. He took the bait. This was almost too easy. “I do alright, family connections aside,” he joked. “Perhaps you’d like to see some of my work...” Trailing off, he left her with an expectant look.

She pretends to cover a flattered expression with irritation. “Candy.”

“And if I were to check Elijah’s meticulous hiring paperwork?”

A beat passed. “Candice,” she relented with a sigh, reminding herself to buy Bonnie something gorgeous to thank her for crafting a bulletproof identity, complete with an otherwise authentic Social Security card and active social media accounts. “Candice Moore.”

That smirk of his spread to a full smile, and she was a bit stunned to see the utter delight on his face. “Funny,” he said, standing to move closer. Without meaning to, she swayed toward him in return, only to catch herself when he gave a teasing tug to her tousled braid. All her attention snapped to the mere foot between them, then to the intense blue of his eyes. "You look more like a Caroline to me."

Rearing back, she blindly reached into her bag. But Klaus was calm and collected as he plucked the Taser from her grasp. "Now, no need to panic, Ms. Forbes. I merely want to talk."

"Bullshit," she huffed. "How—”

He sat back in his chair, watching her with obvious amusement. "You're good. The cover might have worked had your application not been flagged by my security team. Don't feel bad, they're very thorough.”

The pieces were falling into place faster than she realized they were even missing. Unfortunately, she couldn't make herself focus past the first big answer. She finally took the drink he'd poured for her and downed it in one gulp. More potent than she thought, her voice was hoarse after a bracing cough. "Your security team."

His smirk was positively evil. "You seemed determined to learn the particulars of my organization, sweetheart, though I'm sorry to disappoint that Elijah's file cabinet wasn't able to satisfy your...professional curiosity. I, however, am more than interested in your questions." 

With a snap of his fingers, the office door squeaked, and Caroline caught only a peek of the guard she hadn't even noticed lurking outside before the lock clicked into place. Alone with an underground kingpin without a weapon, she fell back into the other chair like the sitting duck she was. "I don't suppose I could distract you by accepting the modeling offer," she tried with a weak laugh.

Ever the surprise, he chuckled with her. "Always. But if you tell me what I want to know, I can offer you a far more lucrative employment. Good private eyes are hard to find, and you're the first to get this far without ruffling feathers."

"I ruffled yours, didn't I?"

If his smirk was evil, his bright smile was disarming. "Who hired you? I believe I owe them a nice thank you for this introduction."

Caroline watched him carefully, confused at the game he was playing. "My clients pay for results and discretion," she answered politely. "If you were to secure my services, with a healthy retainer fee—"

"Of course."

"—I would promise you the same. Unfortunately," she sighed with a pout, "I think this little mishap constitutes a conflict of interest. But thank you for your interest in Forbes Investigations. Can I go now?"

He leaned forward on his knees, his hands folded in front of him. "You know, I might be of some help to your current clients. Were I to assist in your investigation, there would be no conflict at all. The opposite, in fact."

Chewing her lip in thought, she shook her head and decided to cut her losses. "It has nothing to do with the business, not really," she promised. "I've been tasked with finding someone, someone I thought your brother might be supporting with some creative accounting. That's all."

"Don't tell me," Klaus groaned. "Katerina conned your clients then clawed her way back into Elijah's good graces to hide from the consequences of her own actions."

She scoffed. "Says the guy who lets the world think his brother is a criminal mastermind while he's pulling the strings behind the scenes."

Smirking, he didn't seem offended in the slightest. "Elijah's better with paperwork, but his decision-making is unreliable. I think Katerina is example enough of that."

"Fair." Caroline only met her once, but everything she had learned since Damon hired her painted quite the picture. That, and the fact she all but disappeared after he gave her an heirloom engagement ring, despite the fact she was openly gunning for Stefan throughout their entire relationship. "But it sounds like this was a surprise to you, too, so you probably can't be of much help to me in finding her."

"Reverse psychology is beneath you," he flirted. "And I've already offered to help. You're the one being stubborn."

With a roll of her eyes, she finally stood to pour herself another drink. "Yeah, I'm the stubborn one. You probably have a hundred investigators already on staff. What do you want with little, old me?"

He just smiled. "You want my secrets, you'll have to earn them, love. Now, do we have a deal?"

Oh, she was going to regret this; if only she wasn't so damn intrigued. Draining her glass, she set it on the table between them with a thunk before stretching out her hand. "Deal."

Klaus shook her hand with a firm grip, the contact distracting to say the least. Then, he just had to open his mouth. "The modeling job is a standing offer, by the way."

"Good to know."

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Pushed Around

Prompt: i looooooove you protective knights Merlin drabbles from over quarantine, the frantic energy of these large children fretting over Merlin is hilarious and so precious (': would you ever write your take on the classic "a visiting knight/noble is a dickwad to Merlin but he doesn't tell anyone bc of either worries of diplomacy or something else and then when Arthur and the knights do find out they have to have a serious chat w Merlin about his priorities and self-worth?" bc,,, it would be awesome

Thanks for the req! I do love this trope...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: merthur, but can be platonic or romantic, you decide

Warnings: uhhh nobles can be dicks

Word Count: 3372

The problem with Merlin is that he doesn’t say nearly enough for all the talking he does. Honestly, the man can ramble on for hours and hours without being interrupted and never say one word about himself. He’s spoken about how Arthur sits wrong for longer than a council meeting for goodness’ sake. And yet in all that time, he’s never said a single thing about himself.

 It would be impressive if it didn’t get them into nearly so many stressful situations that could’ve been avoided had he asked for help.

In fairness to Merlin, servants asking for help from anyone other than fellow servants isn’t exactly normal. In unfairness to Merlin, when has ‘normal’ ever been very high on his list of things to strive for?

 They’ve all gotten fairly used to it. Merlin will be doing something and one of them will notice that perhaps there’s a…better way to do that. Or perhaps he’s doing it with a little less skill or proficiency than he normally does and gods, Merlin, how long have you been hurt for? Merlin will shrug and smile sheepishly at them and say that it’s nothing to worry about. Only Gaius seems to be immune to that, raising the Eyebrow of Disappointment and Merlin will bow his head and let him tend to whatever he’s done to himself this time. The problem is Merlin seems to know this and does all he can to avoid doing these things in front of Gaius. Which leaves the rest of them to struggle frantically to keep track of Merlin while he’s frantically keeping track of them.

 But they’ve gotten used to it.

 Arthur is allowed to be an absolute prat—Merlin’s words, not his—in the mornings, insisting Merlin do all sorts of ridiculously elaborate chores to assess whether he’s hurt himself, whether something’s wrong, or whether he’s done something to upset Merlin more than tossing the occasional boot at him. If Merlin doesn’t snipe back or calls him ‘sire’ unironically, something is definitely wrong and everything is on pause until they fix it. No exceptions.

 Leon, as the closest thing to Arthur’s right hand aside from Merlin, takes every opportunity to stand next to him, regardless of how proper it is. Leon may not be immune to Merlin’s impish little excuses, but Merlin is not immune to the protective-older-sibling looks Leon gives him or the gentle way Leon arranges his cape so that Merlin looks even more inconspicuous behind the copious amounts of red fabric. Leon never says a word, and Merlin would never admit it, but there are times when, if you looked at them from behind, you would see Merlin reach out to clutch Leon’s cape and Leon reach to hold his hand.

 Percival is not a small man. Anyone standing opposite him better think very carefully about whatever they’re about to fight over. Odds are it won’t be worth it. Often all he has to do is stand up and they’re babbling apologies or excuses. Merlin, on the other hand, is a slight man who looks as if he’s always about two seconds from tripping over his own feet. Percival makes sure to stand in front of him.

 Elyan has a way with words. Not that he’s the most loquacious speaker, nor the most forceful, but he’s got a voice that makes people listen. It’s not Arthur’s authority, nor it is Uther’s unmistakable iron, but it is a quiet power. Oftentimes, people don’t seem to respect Merlin. Some go so far as to refuse to remember his name. Elyan’s never had a problem making them see reason.

 Gwaine is not known for being discreet, nor is he especially reserved in demonstrating that he’s here for Merlin, not for Camelot, not for Arthur, but for Merlin. Sometimes Merlin just needs a little reminder that he’s worth fighting for, and not just because he’s fighting for something bigger than himself.

 Lancelot is the only one that can actually get Merlin to talk, reliably. The man can see through Merlin’s nonsense in a way that rivals Gaius. Unlike Gaius, Merlin won’t fight him on it. It’s difficult to get Lancelot to tell the rest of them, despite what he’ll have you believe. But if Merlin looks a little happier afterward, then it’s all fine.

 So yeah, they’ve gotten used to it. What they haven’t gotten used to are the people that go out of their way to make life for Merlin harder.

 “There’s another tournament?” Merlin huffs as he throws the blanket over Arthur’s bed. “Didn’t you just have one?”

 “That was a joust. This is a melee.”

 “You’re all throwing yourselves at each other with various pieces of metal,” Merlin remarks dryly, “what’s the difference?”

 Arthur rolls his eyes as he gets up, glancing out the window to see the approaching knights. There aren’t nearly as many as the last tournament, thank goodness, but that does mean that this one won’t be nearly as easily decided.

 “As long as I’m not cleaning up after all of you this time…”

 Arthur frowns, looking back at Merlin straightening the bed covers. “What do you mean?”

 “Last time. I was working non-stop. Had another knight almost as demanding as you are.”

 “I’m allowed to be demanding,” Arthur says, “you’re my servant.”

 “Mhmm, sure.”

 “No one else is.”

 “You tell them that, sire.”

 “I will. Who was it?”

 Merlin shrugs. “Don’t really remember his name.”

 Arthur sighs, walking forward and resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Yes, you do. That’s what you say when you don’t want to tell me someone’s name.”

 “You don’t know that.”

 “I do,” Arthur says softly, turning Merlin to face him, “so you can tell me.”

 “That’s not how it works.”

 “Sure it is.”

 “No, it really isn’t.”

 “Merlin,” Arthur huffs, “if something is wrong, you know you can tell me.”

 “But nothing’s wrong!” Arthur just gives him a look until he sighs, picking up the laundry basket. “Alright, fine, his name was Tobias, are you happy now?”

 “Yes, I am, thank you.” Arthur gives his shoulder another pat before moving away. “The next time he’s here, I’ll make sure you’re nowhere near him.”

 As it turns out, that doesn’t go as planned. Because Sir Tobias didn’t just sign up for the joust, he’s here for the melee too.

 “Arthur Pendragon,” the man roars, clapping Arthur firmly on the shoulder, “thought you’d seen the last of me, eh?”

“Thought that bruised backside you got from falling off your horse would’ve kept you away.”

 Tobias throws his head back and laughs. “You’ve got spirit about you, lad. It’ll serve you well if you can hold your nerve.”

 “My nerve has never failed me before,” Arthur replies cooly, gesturing up the stairs, “though I’m sure you know that by now.”

 “We’ll see come the melee.”

 Merlin is out of sight, helping the stablehands tend to the horses. As Arthur walks up the stairs, he sees Tobias glance around and huff softly to himself.

 “Is there something wrong?”

 “No, no,” Tobias says quickly as they enter the hall, “just glad to see you’ve not assigned me the same servant this time.”

 Arthur straightens. “Excuse me?”

 “The gangly boy that tended to my chambers last time,” Tobias says, waving his hand, “right awful he was. Glad you’ve fired him.”

 “I see…”

 Arthur does not, in fact, see, but he makes a point to tell the knights not to let Tobias near Merlin.

 As it turns out, they don’t have much of a choice. Arthur needs Merlin to help him get ready, and Tobias is of high enough rank to be near the prince as he does so. Luckily for Merlin, he just has to stay inside the tent.

 Unluckily for Merlin…

 “Arthur,” Gwaine calls from outside, “they need you to come look at the shields.”

 Arthur gives Merlin’s arm a squeeze and steps away, ducking out of the tent. Gwaine leads him over to a table laden with shields, each with a different insignia painted on it. The Pendragon crest gleams in the light, next to the sigils from each of the other knights fighting. None of them has so much as a scratch.

 “Very good, sire,” the attendant says, sweeping them along to finish the final preparations. Arthur follows Gwaine up the hill to where the others are standing, Leon turning and nodding solemnly ate his approach.

 “Are all of you competing, then?” Arthur leans against the wall.

 Leon shakes his head. “Lancelot and I will be sitting this one out.”

 “Not growing weary are you, old friend?”

 “Weary of people attempting to kill you while I’m already engaged in combat,” Leon replies wryly, “and weary of Merlin being the only one able to do anything about it.”

 “They won’t listen to him when he calls for a stop to the tourney,” Lancelot adds.

 “And so you can keep anyone away from him,” Gwaine says firmly.

 “Precisely.”

 They head back down the hill, just in time to see a flutter of movement from Arthur’s tent. Gwaine frowns, rushing forward and throwing it open.

 “Merlin?”

 “I’m here,” Merlin says, getting to his feet, “just fell.”

 Arthur rolls his eyes fondly and reaches down to help him up. “At some point, Merlin, I do have to wonder.”

 “It’s fine, I just picked up something without realizing it was attached to something else.”

 “I see.”

 The rest of the knights glance at each other over Arthur’s shoulder and Elyan stalks off toward a neighboring tent. Leon bows deeply and tells Merlin that he and Lancelot will wait for the others to finish their training before coming to collect him.

 “There’s still a few more days to go,” Merlin says softly, “I don’t see why you all had to come here so early.”

 “It’s to make it fair, give the knights the chance to get used to fighting in the same place.”

 Merlin grumbles to himself as he goes about finishing up. Arthur catches him gently by the elbow as he turns to leave.

 “Are you alright? Really?”

 “Arthur, I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

 Arthur sighs. “I would really like for one of these to go off normally for once.”

 Arthur does not, in fact, get what he wants.

 Not that anyone is particularly surprised that there’s a knight who managed to sneak a poisoned weapon into the training grounds, but someone clips Arthur through his armor and he winces, immediately aware that something’s wrong. Merlin spots it a mile away, because of course he does. The knight is quickly escorted away and Arthur shakes his head, calling for a search of all the knights’ belongings and weapons.

 “You’d think we’d get better about this,” Lancelot mutters as he and Merlin approach, Merlin rubbing his shoulder, “and that they’d stop trying.”

 “At least we caught it before the actual melee.”

 “Merlin, there you are,” Gwaine says, pulling Merlin to his side, “good. Now, you and I are going to have a talk.”

 “About what?” Arthur looks around. “What’s going on?”

 Lancelot just mouths that they’ll be back as Gwaine sweeps them both along the corridor. Arthur brushes it to the back of his mind. That’s not the first time they’ve done something like this.

 It’s the night before the melee. Merlin is late. Arthur paces up and down the length of his quarters. The knights have all vanished hours ago. Merlin is late.

 A knock.

 “Enter.”

 Leon sweeps inside, a stony look on his face. He glances around the quarters and bites back a curse. “Merlin’s not here, is he?”

 “No,” Arthur says, his blood beginning to run cold, “no, he isn’t. Where is he?”

“Gwaine and Lancelot are already looking,” Leon says, shutting the door, “but…sire, may I ask a question?”

 “Always,” Arthur says immediately, “you don’t need to ask.”

 “How long has Tobias been…allowed near Merlin?”

 “He hasn’t,” Arthur growls, hustling down the corridor, “but what has he done?”

 “He was more brazen during the joust.” Leon shoulders a door open. “But now—“

 “Merlin!”

 Arthur rushes forward as Merlin turns the corner. Startled, Merlin barely has time to turn all the way before Arthur’s wrapping him up in a protective arm and turning him back toward the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

 “Where were you?”

 “I was, um…”

 Arthur bites back a curse and hurries faster, Leon hot on their heels. Along the way, they come across Elyan and Percival, coming up from the armory.

 “Arthur, we need to—“ Elyan breaks off when he sees Merlin in Arthur’s arms. “Merlin?”

 “My chambers,” Arthur growls, “now.”

 “What about Gwaine and Lancelot?”

 “They’ll find us.”

 “Guys, whatever this is, it’s fine,” Merlin tries but Arthur simply opens the door to his quarters and sits Merlin down. “Really!”

 “Merlin,” Leon says quietly, “where were you just now?”

 Merlin glances at Arthur. Then back to Leon. “Helping Amelia.”

 “And who were you helping Amelia help?”

 Another glance at Arthur. Arthur closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 “Merlin,” he says slowly, “I need you to answer me honestly, please.”

 Merlin nods, evidently a little taken aback at how soft Arthur’s voice is.

 “Were you helping Amelia because she asked for your help, or were you helping her so Tobias would get angry with you instead of her?”

 The silence that fills the room is more than enough of an answer.

 “I’m going to kill him,” Gwaine announces, kicking open the door, “now where’s—there you are.”

 “Gwaine, I—ah!”

 “Don’t break him,” Lancelot chides gently as Gwaine sweeps Merlin into a hug, “he’s probably still hurt.”

 “Hurt?” Arthur looks from Lancelot to Merlin. “Merlin—“

 “It’s fine.”

 “Can you allow us to be the judge of that,” Leon asks, settling a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder and moving him away, “please?”

 “It’s just a few bruises, he doesn’t even hit that hard.”

 “Not exactly helping your case here,” Gwaine snarls, stalking toward Arthur.

 “Merlin.”

 “…why’re you guys so upset?”

 Arthur winces. Merlin looks back and forth between them.

 “No…really, I don’t—I don’t understand. You lot hit me.”

 “Not like that!”

 “It’s fine, I don’t—“

 “This isn’t fine, Merlin, you’re being hurt.”

 “So?”

 The room falls silent. Leon draws back as if Merlin reached out to smack him across the face. Percival bows his head as Elyan bites back a curse. Lancelot stares at Merlin like he’s grown a second head. Gwaine looks at Arthur.

 Arthur’s chest clenches so painfully he fears he’s going to have to send for Gaius. Merlin…Merlin doesn’t believe that he’s worth worrying about when he’s hurt? Merlin doesn’t care that he’s getting hurt? Merlin is letting someone hurt him?

 “Merlin…”

 “What?” He looks around at all of them in confusion. “What it is? Why do you all look so…so…”

 “Upset?” Leon tilts his head. “Because you just told us you don’t think you’re important.”

 “But…this isn’t that big of a deal. It happens all the time. Why is this time any different.”

 “How often,” Lancelot says, “would you say this happens then?”

 “Every time there’s a tournament.”

 “Every tournament,” Leon repeats quietly, “there is a knight that does this?”

 “Sometimes more than one.”

 “And you…let them?”

 “It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

 No.

 No, no, no, this isn’t right.

 This isn’t right.

 Merlin is the man who waltzed right up to Arthur on his first day in Camelot and told him to stop being a prat.

 Merlin is the man who spat in Uther’s face as often as he could.

 Merlin is the man who demanded that everyone is treated as a person, be they servant or noble or royal.

 This is wrong.

 “Merlin,” Arthur manages, “Merlin, of course you have a choice.”

 “If I don’t do it, they’ll hurt someone else. And I’m used to it.”

 “But you never should’ve gotten used to it,” Arthur cries, rushing forward and grabbing Merlin’s shoulders, “damnit, Merlin, why don’t you protect yourself?”

 “I’m fine, Arthur.”

 “You’re letting yourself get pushed around and beaten by someone, you’re not fine.”

 “I have to put up with you, don’t I?”

 Arthur burns.

 Something in his chest squeezes so tight it breaks. He takes his hands off of Merlin like he’s been stung, backing up until he hits the poster of his bed. His mouth is open in shock and he can scarcely draw breath.

 Merlin thinks…Merlin…did he do this to Merlin?

 “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” Merlin is saying far, far away, “it’s not like I’m not…why’re you all looking at me like that?”

 No, no, Merlin is Arthur’s Merlin, he—he’d never hurt his Merlin, he’d never—no, he hasn’t—but—Merlin—

 “Arthur, are you—are you crying?”

 This is Arthur’s fault. This is Arthur’s fault, isn’t it, he’s messed this up, he’s messed Merlin up, he’s ruined it—he’s ruined everything.

 “Sire,” comes Leon’s—is that Leon’s?—voice from somewhere to his left, “you have to breathe, come on…”

 Arthur gasps, the air burning the inside of his throat. He does it again, frantically blinking to clear his eyes. Tears stream down his cheeks—so he did start crying—as the image of Lancelot and Gwaine talking to Merlin swims into view in front of him. Merlin’s brow is furrowed and he keeps shooting concerned looks Arthur’s way.

 “I never meant—“ Arthur swallows— “I never meant to hurt him. I didn’t—I never meant any of them, I—“

 “Shh, sire,” Leon murmurs, “we know. Nothing is simple right now.”

 “But that’s not what Arthur does,” Merlin protests, “he—is that why you guys are so worried?”

 Merlin turns and flies at Arthur, hands immediately coming up to cup his cheeks and numb away his tears, muttering all the while.

 “That’s not what I meant, Arthur,” he babbles, “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—you’re not like them, I just—that’s what I’m used to, I didn’t know that there was a difference—“

 “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” Arthur says, gripping Merlin’s arms tightly, “I just—you must believe me—“

 “I do, I do—“ now Merlin’s crying too— “I just—“

 “Alright, you two,” Leon hushes, gently laying a hand on both of their shoulders, “let’s have you two sit before you fall over.”

 The knight guides them both to the bed, sitting them on the edge. They’re no help; they’re too busy crying and clinging onto each other.

 “Now, why don’t you two have a chat, and we’ll be outside.” Leon ruffles their hair affectionately and sweeps the others out into the corridor despite Gwaine’s protests.

 Arthur swallows. “I never meant to hurt you, Merlin,” he mumbles, “nor do I believe that you’re—a fool or an idiot or stupid or anything.”

 He clutches Merlin tightly. “You’re important to me.”

 Merlin nods. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you lot, it’s just…that was how the older boys in Ealdor treated me. I got used to it. And it always made sense.”

 Arthur shakes his head furiously. “It doesn’t make sense, Merlin. They were hurting you. People are hurting you. That’s not alright. That’s awful. And I’m going to stop it.”

 “You can’t just fight all the nobles who don’t like me.”

 “Watch me.”

 “Your father will—“

 “To hell with that,” Arthur snarls, “they’re hurting you. And I won’t stand for it.”

 Merlin sighs, slumping forward. Without a thought, Arthur catches him, pulling him closer and tucking his head over Merlin’s.

 “…you really would fight them for me?”

 “Yes, Merlin. I would. And I will.”

 He feels Merlin grin against his shoulder. “You’re going to make Tobias never come back to Camelot, aren’t you?”

 “Perhaps.”