#i mean yes clearing a room but like he's not White Knighting anyone like that honestly

[radiaking]

i think coop would be flabbergasted to learn that sb (lucy) finds the fact that he can and will clear an entire room of raiders, etc. with glee (he's just having a Fun Time....it's not bloodlusty lol) for her sexy. or that this would in any way be considered a good thing ever from her POV

[mindninjax]

Iron and Wine (3)

Chapter 3- Lovely Bitter Water

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Erwin Smith x fem!reader (Royalty AU)

Warnings: Erwin can't keep his fucking hands to himself, sexual tension, some dirty talk, nightmares,

WC: 3.5K

a/n: Be wary of the warnings on this one just in case anyone is uncomfortable with it. But This chapter contains humor and sexual tension and by far was my favorite chapter to write so far.

The high stone ceiling peels away above you to show the sky. It is clear and dark, save for a thousand twinkling lights, the souls of those you’ve lost shining down upon you. You blink, once, twice, as the wind tickles your skin and dances merrily through your hair. There is a warm pale glow above you and your mind is wandering into the cosmos as you feel a pair of cool lips on your forehead. A glowing ball of white light beckons to you as you sit up and gaze around the swaying tall grass around you.

This is a dream.

You stand, the dress you’re wearing swaying with the wind like a synchronized dance. The air smells clean and fresh, like the trees back home. You take a step forward, smiling to yourself and basking in the white light shining down on you. The moon sits large on the horizon across the field you’re in and fills you with joy as you skip freely toward it. You laugh and it rings out into the field like a carol of bells.

You’re stopped in your tracks as a large white hoof stomps in front of you. The ground shakes from the impact and you can see it start to crumble. You look up and there is a beast with the face of a goat and the body of a man sitting atop the saddle. It’s eyes are blacker than an abyss, staring at you blankly. They’re cold, sucking the very life from you.

Suddenly the wind stops and it is deathly silent. The air no longer smells fresh and clean but reeks of rotten flesh. You whip your head around fear creeping up the back of your neck as the clear night sky forms dark stormy clouds above your head. The sky bursts open with an ear splitting crack and wailing misery from above can be heard. It is earth shattering, rumbling the world and making your ears bleed.

Horrific images flash before your eyes in quick succession. Animals' skin and bone disintegrate in his presence. When he dismounts from his horse the land dies beneath his feet and when he takes a step blood stains the earth.

You scream but the sound is stolen and swallowed by the darkness he brings. The last thing you see before it takes over you completely, is the beast opening his mouth, a sinister crooked smile on his lips as he utters the words “I have come and with me I bring death.”

You awake with a gasp and shoot up in the large bed. Your vision is blurred as the remnants of the dream fade away and the bright morning light breaks through the haze. It takes you a few minutes to recognize your surroundings, but it comes flying back to you when you see Historia lying peacefully next to you in bed.

You are in the wolf king’s castle, acting as what he refers to as a “guest” when really you are his prisoner. Historia helped you take a bath last night, washed your hair and dressed you in a light but extravagant sleeping gown. When it was time to retire for the night, she’d bowed to you and asked to be excused. Remembering how fond she was of the room, you’d suggested she stay here with you and sleep. It might’ve been a bit selfish on your part, her presence was calming and her soft breath next to your ear was the only thing that lulled you into slumber.

But that dream almost certainly was a warning. You’d prayed for clarity before you went to sleep and the Mother provided. However, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t woken up more confused than before. What was she trying to tell you? If Erwin Smith was in fact the enemy, the bringer of destruction and death, why did Her whispers stay your blade?

You shut your eyes tightly, put your index finger and thumb together while intertwining your other fingers and kiss the tip before bowing your head. “Forgive me Mother. I do not understand what it is I’m supposed to do. Erwin Smith is the enemy, so how do I stop him and save your children?” You whisper quietly under your breath.

A bubbling warmth pools in your gut when you think about the Wolf King and you don’t like the way it makes your heart thrum in your chest like a caged bird. You don’t understand what part he’s to play, whether you should trust him or not. But one thing is for certain, The Mother does not want him dead. You roll your eyes before getting off the bed and walking to the window to open the heavy curtains and let in the sun’s warmth.

Historia still sleeps peacefully on the bed, her even breathing occasionally interrupted by soft snores. You smile as you watch her, curled up on the bed, innocent and lovely. Perhaps you were wrong to think you couldn’t trust any of the people in the castle. As you watch the bustling people below from the window, you take a deep breath and make your decision. The only people who have actually shown you their true selves are Erwin and the little dog he keeps next to him. Which means, the only ones you have to distrust right now are those two. It would make for an easier time if you were being forced to stay here.

Then it’s settled, you’ll be cordial to the others and keep your guard up around Erwin and his knight. He may think you’ll agree to his plan, but you won’t. The fact that you can’t kill him is bothersome but you can definitely take this time to learn more about how he rules and bring that viable information back to your people.

Two quick knocks on the door draw your eyes away from the people below and your body instantly crouches into defense. You shake your head, trying to break the automatic defensive edge that is built into your character. Cordial and pleasant. That’s what you need to be. A nervous voice on the other side of the door calls out.

“Good Morning my lady, King Erwin demands your presence in the council room.”

You squint your eyes in frustration. Demands?

You wrench the door open to see the tall farm pup man standing before you. He jumps a bit at the sudden swing of the door and his eyes drift down your body before he turns red and looks away nervously. You don’t realize how thin the garment you’re wearing is. Your nipples bead in the cool air in the chamber and a breeze flows through your legs making it cling to your curves. You smile a little to yourself at his obvious embarrassment.

“You’re one of the knights he sent to stand outside my door, yes? To make sure I don’t run off?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

He still doesn’t look at you, but nods his head and says “Yes my lady.”

“I see, and you are Ser…?”

“Moblit my lady. Umm if you don’t mind me saying, maybe you would feel more comfortable in more appropriate attire? The King is demanding I escort you to the council chamber at once,” he says again.

You study him for a bit. He’s cute with warm trusting eyes. You can tell he’s not faking how nervous he seems to be around you but if you were to guess why Erwin would keep someone like him around, he’s probably levelheaded on the battlefield. You do raise your eyebrow in frustration at his use of the word “demands” again but you clear your throat and look at him.

“Well, thank you for guarding the door Ser Moblit,” you say bowing to him.

You smile brightly at him as he’s caught off guard by your pleasant attitude. He blushes again when you complete the bow and gaze back into his large brown eyes. You can hear Historia yawning and waking up behind you. You hear her little gasp as she jumps out of bed and runs to the door, mortified at the way you’re dressed in front of Moblit.

“You can’t just answer the door dressed like that! It’s indecent!” she squeaks, trying to cover you as you laugh warm heartedly at her. The last thing you say to him before Historia pulls you back into the room and shuts the door is “Please tell the King to get fucked in the ass by his horse before he demands anything of me again.”

Erwin lifts his clear eyes from the scroll of parchment at the sound of the heavy doors opening. The sound echoes loudly around the room creating a grand entrance. He stops scribbling and peaks an eyebrow when he sees only one person entering the council room. Moblit clears his throat uncomfortably as he approaches. All eyes are on him as he bows respectfully avoiding the King’s gaze.

Erwin speaks calmly, no hint of frustration in his voice. “Moblit, why is my guest not with you?”

Moblit bows again before responding, “My apologies sire, she...refused to come.”

“Really now? Did she give a reason why?” He asks as if he’s unbothered with the disobedience.

“N..no sire.”

Erwin smiles to himself, thumping his long fingers on the large wooden table. Of course you wouldn’t come. This is exactly what he expected. If you had shown up, that would’ve been too easy and not your style. “Not giving a reason certainly doesn’t sound like something the silver tongued little lioness would do. Come, tell me her words.”

“S..she requested that your majesty… ahem… be fucked in the ass by your horse,” Moblit stutters and shifts his eyes and it looks like it physically pains him to say this to his King. The room goes silent, Hange tries to keep a snicker in, Levi growls underneath his breath, and the others watch Erwin carefully.

He looks back down to his parchment and continues scribbling. “Nifa.” He says not looking up as he continues to write. Nifa jumps at the sound of her name. She sits in the corner of the room, large rolls of parchment are draped over the side of the small table she sits at. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Is there anything on the roster after sunset?”

Nifa shuffles through the parchment as her eyes scan over the schedule. “No, Your Grace.”

“Excellent. Please add ‘fuck my horse’ to the roster for just after nightfall. Thank you.”

Hange’s snicker erupts into laughter as Nifa scribbles in the addition and Erwin smirks to himself.

You sit in front of the large vanity mirror, the candles dripping wax down the candle holder. You stare into the fire, daydreaming of leaving this place as the last remnants of sunlight become swallowed by the horizon. You’ve been cooped up in this room all day, refusing all who came to the door with food and gifts of clothes from the King.

“I still can’t believe you told Ser Moblit to tell the King that. I’ve never heard anyone speak like that about His Highness,” Historia says nervously as she brushes your hair. You’re holding a silver goblet full of wine that was brought up to your room, a peace offering, the woman who’d given it to you said. It wouldn’t be here if not for Historia asking to sample it. It’s true you’ve taken a very intense liking to Historia. She truly feels like your only friend here.

You sniff the wine and wrinkle your nose in disgust. It smells processed and fake, not at all like the wine Carla makes back home. Erwin must think you a fool. As if you’d drink something he’d present to you as a gift. It could be poisoned.

You set the cup down as Historia moves to braid intricate little braids at the crown of your head and let the rest flow freely down your back.

“Well, you’ve never left this castle. Outside these walls, the people don’t speak fondly of your king,” you scold her.

“Why not? King Erwin has done nothing but help me since he found me in my village,” she says seriously.

“What do you mean?” You turn around to gaze at her in confusion. It has occurred to you that you haven’t asked her anything about herself and it saddens you. Your gaze softens as you look at her and she smiles her bright smile at you before a firm knock on your door makes the both of you jump.

“Don’t,” she says, putting a hand in front of you to stop you from moving. “We don’t need a repeat of this morning. You probably almost killed Moblit. Put this on I’ll get the door for you,” she says handing you a silk robe to cover the thin nightgown you wear.

You chuckle as she walks to the door and opens it warily. You hear her squeak in surprise and turn to see her bowing lowly and Erwin pushing the door open and stepping into the room. You stand quickly, pulling the robe up over your arms and glaring as he enters.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says warmly to Historia. She blushes and shakes her head quickly, her blonde locks hitting her cheeks.

“No, Your Grace. My lady was just getting ready to sleep for the night,” she replies, still holding the door, face full of shock.

Erwin’s eyes rake up and down your figure and he smiles that cocksure smile he’s famous for. “Yes, I can see that. Historia, would you mind giving me and the Lioness a moment of privacy?” he asks, bending down to take her hand into both of his.

You’re steaming, grinding your teeth as you watch Historia’s face grow pink and she nods wordlessly to him. “No! Historia stays with me. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of her.” You step between her and the door and she looks nervously between you and him. He gives her a knowing look and she scurries past you, whispering in your ear quickly. “I’ll be back when he leaves.”

When she closes the door quietly behind her, you glare up at Erwin who continues smiling warmly at you. “I see you’re not a fan of the wine I had sent up for your pleasure,” he says walking to the vanity and picking up the goblet. He takes a sip, then closes his eyes and relishes in the sweet taste. “This is the best wine in the entire kingdom, made specifically for the King.” You curl your lip up in disgust.

“It tastes that way. Like it was only meant to please you. It lacks the care, the love for the vine and fruit that you would be able to taste in each sip,” you explain, rolling your eyes. Not like he would understand anyway. A spoiled king with servants to do his every bidding would never understand the time and care it takes to produce good wine.

“Hmm I suppose it does,” he says, eyeing you curiously. You can tell he’s enjoying this, the way his sneaky sapphire eyes move slowly up your body, lingering on the spread of your hips and the curve of your breast. You turn away from him in disgust.

“Why are you here?”

He feigns shock, eyes growing wide and he puts a hand to his chest. “Why, my lady, I thought you summoned me here. Surely I didn’t misinterpret Moblit’s message.”

Confusion floods your face as you squint and question his sanity. “Are you mad? I told Ser Moblit no such thing,” you say, shaking your head.

“Hmm, I thought for sure being fucked by my own horse was some kind of coded message. It is quite sudden I will admit but I have had many who crave me and I will not tell a lie, I am fascinated by what is beneath your lovely gown,” he says casually walking over to stand in front of you and smile down smugly.

You can feel your face heating at the insinuation. As if you’d ever invite him to your room, least of all for that. You sputter a bit before quickly retorting, “Is that what you tell all the women you try to seduce into a pact with you? I am not that weak and I have met many who were worth craving.”

You see the shock flash across his face and return his smug smile. His expression turns dark then and he lowers his voice and moves so close to you that you can smell the lingering scent of the wine he sipped.

“Do not continue to insult me. Your snide comments are only as entertaining as I continue to allow them to be. You would’ve been dead a long time ago were it not for the way I enjoy your tongue sliding over your lips while you say them,” he breathes and the warmth envelops you and makes your head a bit dizzy.

You keep your composure though, opting to continue to tease and make him as uncomfortable as he made you. You’re determined to expose his weakness and walk out of this castle vowing to destroy him and everything he holds dear.

“A shame that even the great Wolf King can be brought to his knees by a woman,” you reply sarcastically.

“Forgive me, but you are mistaking a fleeting lust-filled gaze for something more. I shall not kill you until we’ve come to an agreement, that or...I have at least tasted you upon my lips. And once I have—and I will one day—the fascination will cease. But until then, enjoy your stay in my castle and please read over the document I’ve provided. I am sure it will help with your decision.”

Your hand is itching to slap him across his chiseled jaw. You crane your hand back quickly but he catches it and throws you against the nearest wall. He pins you against it with his large body looming over you, the hand you were about to use to slap him pinned above your head and the other at your side. He tightens his grip on your wrists, a thick muscular thigh wedged between yours, partaking in the warmth radiating from your cunt.

“You’d dare to strike your king?” He grunts in a husky voice as you struggle in his grasp. His breath washes over you again as he cranes his neck down to drink in your scent.

“You are not my king,” you hiss through your teeth.

“Ahh there is the fierceness that makes my cock weep. A true lioness. Breaking you will be the greatest victory I’ve ever tasted. ”

You’re ashamed at how his words affect you. He pushes his thigh ever so slightly up against your folds and you gasp as his cock twitches against your thigh. He stares into your eyes, half lidded as his breathing increases.

His musk strangely reminds you of home, it’s woody and spicy like roasted chestnuts during the Celestial Ides festival. Hints of rose linger around the edges and you try very hard not to be drawn in by it. Your face burns as his eyes shift down to your lips and he leans in to brush his against your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft and he’s very skilled at swiping them against your collarbone and up your jaw in such a way that would have you pleading for more if it were not him. You shudder and hold in the moan that desperately craves to be released before wriggling in his grasp to try and free yourself. Your hand moves to the tiny hidden slit you made in the robe when Historia wasn’t looking.

He moves gently up to your jaw, dragging his lips over your soft skin. He only stops when he feels a cool sharp prick right beneath his rib cage.

“Let. Me. Go. Or I’ll carve out your heart and feed it to your dogs,” you say between clenched teeth and heavy sensual breaths. You push the dagger harder into his side and it pricks through the fabric of his shirt, drawing blood.

He chuckles and releases his hold on you, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender. He pulls a rolled up piece of parchment from the inside of his loose sleeves and places it onto the vanity before saying, “I should’ve known you’d have a weapon hidden on your person. I guess you’ve become a bigger distraction to me than I previously assumed.”

You wipe your neck and face where his lips were in disgust, holding the dagger and crouching ready to spring should he come closer to you.

“Get out. And do not ever touch me again.”

He only smiles a warm hearted smile, as if nothing has happened and walks to the door to open it.

“Until next time, my lady,” and shuts the door quietly behind him.

--

taglist: @lazyezstudy @jeanbeaux @ixwrites @melyannathemaia @forlancasterrr @starstruckkittensweets @charlotteplsdosth @mythical-goth @casspea @saturnalya @neptvnia @mrs-kuroojinguji

Strikethrough means tumblr won’t let me tag! I’m sorry

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - -  - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the  culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced. 

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making. 

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?” 

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on. 

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous. 

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said. 

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.” 

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.” 

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory. 

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with  dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years. 

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-” 

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-” 

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash. 

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.” 

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view. 

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.” 

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.” 

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement.  The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely. 

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”  

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.” 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply. 

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster.  “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?” 

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme. 

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-” 

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

-

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...” 

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

-

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

-

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

-

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions. 

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

-

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’ 

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-” 

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head. 

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

[butwhyduh]

Sickening

You looked at the blood in your sink. It was becoming sticky and rust colored at the edge. It probably wasn’t a lot but it certainly looked like it. The fact that you weren’t exactly sure who’s it was made you feel sick. You closed your eyes and grabbed some towels to clean it.

After spraying your sink heavily with antiseptic, you scrubbed your hands clean and left the room. Your boyfriend laid out on the couch. Normally you found it a little funny the way his long body would hang over the arm. Now you were worried.

“Jason,” you asked. What is going on? He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“I got in a fight. It’s no big deal. You know how assholes in Gotham are,” he said. As if to emphasize his point, the sound of police sirens sounded close by. Yeah, this place was rough.

And Jason certainly looked like he had recently been in a fight. His knuckles were red and raw. He had a bruise blooming on his forearm. And his grey shirt had little specks of black that you couldn’t help but wonder was blood.

“Why are you always covered in bruises? Is that the assholes in Gotham?” You asked, sitting on the coffee table.

“You could say that,” he muttered under his breath. “I guess people just want to punch me. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“You need a bath,” you said. “I’ll throw your clothing in the wash.”

“I’m fine-“

“You’re covered in blood and I’m not sure it’s yours,” you said. Jason slowly rose from the couch and you see that he favored one shoulder over the other one when pushing up. Probably also bruised. Or worse.

He all but stumbled into the bathroom. You started a hot bath. Your small apartment didn’t have a shower attachment. Jason roughly pushed off his boots before grimacing as he pulled off his shirt and threw it in your tiny washing machine. That one was a gift from him that somehow your landlord was totally cool with despite being a complete ass.

His shoulder had nasty red and purple splotches of bruises and there was a small bloody area. He shoved his belt open and pushed off his pants and socks. Jason slid into the tub. He groaned. His long leg had his knees sticking out of the water almost comically.

You bent down and sat on the old tile floor. Someone, probably in the 1920s or something, had out tiny little white hexagon tiles all over the floor next to the claw foot tub. You grabbed a cup and started pouring water on Jason’s chest. He hissed before relaxing. Steam from the tub rose in the cold room.

“I worry about you. Worry what you’re doing. Why you won’t tell me what you’re doing. That you’re in trouble or something. Do you owe a gang money or something? Who hit you?” You asked softly. Deathstroke, Jason thought but he certainly couldn’t tell you that. His hard look soften a little.

“I don’t owe a gang money. Nothin like that,” he said. He couldn’t help but look at your face. You were too pretty, too innocent, too good for his world. He didn’t want you in this. Hell, he shouldn’t have talked to you in the first place because no one lasted long in his life. Jason knew that taking you on a date had been selfish. And everything after that was him being too weak to do the right damn thing.

You took the cup and poured water over his hair. The slight pink color had you grimacing. You didn’t push your questions. It was something Jason loved about you. He was a hard nut to crack and usually what worked best was time and space.

You grabbed your shampoo rather than Jason’s to wash his hair. There was no way that you were going to use his ‘mountain bear scented 4 in one shampoo, conditioner, body wash, motor oil’ when trying to pamper him.

You’d never washed his hair before. He’d definitely never let anyone close to washing him. Shower sex, great. But never something non-sexual and intimate as just being bathed. You ran your fingers through his hair letting the soap rub in. Jason literally felt goosebumps on his skin and he closed his eyes and leaned into your hand. You were the only person that he let touch him and high key, this was the best relaxation he’s ever remembered feeling. You ran your hands through his hair longer that necessary but you could tell that he wasn’t complaining. He groaned a little.

You poured the water over his head and was pleasantly surprised that the water was soapy but clear. At least there wasn’t a lot of blood in his hair. Jason bent and washed his face in the water. He had more stubble growing than he usually did.

“Do you wanna shave your face? I can do it,” you offered. For a fraction of a second his brow creased before he gave you a half smile.

“Not today. I’m good. Thank you,” Jason said holding your hand. He couldn’t exactly say that he didn’t trust anyone with any kind of blade near his face.

“Are you okay? Tell me what’s going on,” You said reaching a hand to his other cheek. His jaw clenched a little and his eyes almost looked hurt. He was thinking of all the people who had died because they knew a secret. Other vigilantes who’d lost their entire families for knowing their secret identity. But at the same time, Jason knew that you wouldn’t stay around forever and the lies were growing. He was going to do one more little selfish thing. He sighed deeply.

“I’ve gotta tell you something but I don’t want to scare you,” he said and his eyes showed so much worry and fear. He genuinely thought he might lose you over this.

“Scare me? Jay, what are you talking about?” You said confused. He inhaled nervously.

“I- I’m Red Hood! Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to say it so loud,” he said. Jason’s eyes searched your face. Your eyes were wide and you were frozen. His breath was all over the place in absolute fear. It was only a few seconds but he prayed for you to speak.

“Did you just say that you’re Red Hood?” You said faintly. Red Hood was infamous. Brutally murdered gang members, rapists, and traffickers. Even once famously fought the dark knight himself. The one continued theme of everything you heard: cold, cruel, and highly deadly. If you saw Red Hood, it was probably the worst day of your life, if not your last.

“Uh... yeah? Yes.” He gulped and watched you. His blue eyes were so round and worried.

“No. I can’t believe that,” you said. Jason, who would read Jane Eyr to you, that fed stray cats outside of the apartment, and was literally the sweetest boyfriend couldn’t be this killer. He looked down with a sarcastic smile.

“I’m Red Hood. That’s me. If you don’t believe me, there is a Glock 26 Gen 4 strapped to my bedside table. There are a few more around,” he said motioning around the apartment.

“You keep stuff here?” You asked with a mad look. Your head was spinning.

“No. Just some protection. None of the Hood stuff is ever here. I don’t want anything that could be found in this apartment. All the stuff here is new and never fired besides a few practice rounds. I try to be as safe as possible so you are never in danger,” he emphasized. You both sat in silence for a few minutes. The only movement was Jason’s fingers running along your hand.

“Why? Why do you do it? Be the Red Hood?” You asked finally. He expected that question but not right away.

“I should probably tell you how it started,” Jason said and he didn’t hold back. He told you about his parents, attempting to steal the rims from the batmobile, becoming Bruce Wayne’s ward, becoming Robin, being killed by the Joker, the lazareth pit, and becoming the Red Hood. By the time he was done, the water was cold and your legs were numb. “That’s why I have bruises and scars. Why I leave sometimes or miss dates.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. He gave you a look of confusion. What could you possibly be sorry for? “You shouldn’t have gone through that. You shouldn’t have needed to hide it from me. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t scare you? You don’t want to run from a murderer?” Jason asked. His eyes searched yours for signs of fear or disgust.

“Is it really murder if they are evil? Or justice?” You said slowly and he winced at that word. Bruce certainly wouldn’t agree. “Every time I hear the question ‘would you kill baby Hitler’ I would. Without question. I would shoot a baby because I would be thinking about 6 million Jews and unknown others that died because of him. The bad guys always get out and make things so much worse.

“You’re going to have to tell me where all the weapons are here. I’m paranoid that I’m going to reach in the couch and grab a sword,” you said with a laugh, standing up. Sure, you were shocked. But that wasn’t going to make you run screaming into the night. Or maybe you were in shock? You’d find out in the morning.

“Swords are more my brother’s thing,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll show you. I’ve been wanting to teach you some self defense too.”

“We’ll get back to your brother being into swords later. But first, let’s get you out of that wet ass tub and into bed. Because I can’t process any more information tonight,” you said handing Jason a towel. He obviously favored his right shoulder when dressing in sweatpants before coming to the bed where he flopped down. The lights in the bathroom flickered and you rolled your eyes. That’s Gotham for you.

“I’ll fix that tomorrow,” Jason said quietly.

“Nevermind that. Do you want an ice pack?”

“No. I want you,” he said and you smiled a little before crawling in the bed. Jason moved around to lay with his head next to your chest snuggling close. It was almost comical the way the big man hugged you and laid in your arms. He needed to be close to you even though your arm on his waist made him clench in pain for a second before you moved to a better position.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly. “You’re way too nice to me. Almost gullible. Like Baby, you live this way?” he said with a smile. His sarcastic defense was back up. You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe I’ve got a thing for the whole bad boy thing. Or that I know last week, you had cereal with water and honestly, that’s the ultimate weakness,” you said back and he gave you a rare grin.

“We were out of milk. Like what was I gonna do? Eat it dry? No.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth and he grimaced.

“Sorry. We should get some sleep. It’s super late,” you said.

“Yeah, sleep. Sounds great,” he said already drowsy. “I fucking love you,” he whispered before falling asleep.

[glitterrosesnz]

decided that enough was enough, Venti couldn’t just keep showing up in my fics as a Chaotic Caretaker. so. Venti fans, come get yall’s juice-

---

Venti sat at the bar, his head resting on the countertop, seemingly asleep.

For anyone else, this wouldn't really be considered out of the ordinary. Sure, the bard was rather good at holding his liquor, but everyone has their limits, so the other patrons mainly chalked this behavior up to Venti having had one too many.

Diluc, on the other hand, with his inside knowledge of Venti being a god, and the fact that, thus far, the bard had only ordered one glass of wine, found this behavior very out of character.

"...Are you okay?" Diluc asked, quietly, so as to not draw the attention of anyone else. When Venti didn't immediately respond, he picked up the bard's half-drunk glass of wine and lightly nudged him with the bottom of it. Venti finally opened one eye to look at him.

"....'M fine." He mumbled, "Just.... used a bit too much energy today."

"If that's the case, you should go home and rest, rather than continue to sulk around in here." Diluc said, crossing his arms.

"I went to Windrise earlier and rested for a bit." Venti said, sitting up and subtly rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

"That's not what I- wait. Do you even have a house?" Diluc asked. Venti gave a tired laugh in response.

"Why do you ask? Are you offering for me to live with you?" He asked, a smirk on his face. Diluc sighed.

"I'll take that as a no, you don't have a house then." He said, "And absolutely not. If you think even for a minute I'd let you freeload at Dawn Winery, then you must be well past drunk."

"Can't let people say I didn't try." Venti said, coughing a little before sighing, rubbing his nose again as he sniffled. Diluc narrowed his eyes, looking the bard up and down again, taking in his... unusually messy and unkempt appearance, suspicious. 

"...Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, and Venti gave that tired laugh again-

And then suddenly the bard paused, stiffening as he quickly pressed the back of his hand against his nose. Diluc raised an eyebrow in silent question, but Venti was no longer paying attention to him.

The bard abruptly stood up, muttering a quiet curse and stumbling a little. Quickly, ignoring Diluc's protests, he rushed around the counter, ducking down behind the bar to sit on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Diluc asked, and quickly got his answer as Venti's breath audibly hitched, his head tilting back-

"Heh- H'NGKt-shiew! HihH- H'NTCH-iew!" Venti stifled the two sneezes into his hands, the force of them making his body curl up tighter-

And a pair of feathered wings unfurled from his back, flaring out.

Thankfully, the wings didn't go high enough to be seen over the countertop. However, they did end up knocking over various bottles and glasses, sending the crashing to the floor, leaving shards of glass and puddles of spilled wine on the floor, and drawing the attention of quite a few of the patrons in the bar. Diluc quietly waved their attention away.

"I do hope you plan on cleaning this....." He started, only to trail off as he watched how the god tiredly shuddered as he drew his wings back into himself, and let them fade away. The whole process looked.... draining, to say the least. Diluc offered his hand as he helped Venti stand back up. Even through his glove, he could feel the heat coming off of Venti, and now Diluc was officially worried.

"I apologize for the mess I've made..." Venti said, staring down at the glass and wine on the floor. "Get me a mop, I'll help clean it up."

Diluc found he didn't really care about the mess on the floor.

"You're sick." He said, and Venti didn't even try to deny it.

"...Yes, I suppose I am coming down with something or other." The bard said, still not making eye contact with Diluc. "I'm sorry for being such a bother."

"Oh, stop with the rhyming." Diluc said, and he tightened his hold on Venti's hand, stepping out from behind the bar, dragging the bard along behind him. "I'm taking you to Jean."

There was, surprisingly, no resistance to this notion. As Diluc walked out into the cool night air of Mondstadt, he could feel Venti shiver beside him, but he chose not to comment on it, continuing to walk in the direction of the Knights of Favoinus headquarters. He didn't really like going in there, but for tonight it was necessary.

They'd just about made it halfway there when Venti suddenly stopped, tugging on Diluc's hand, attempting to free himself. Diluc looked at him questioningly, only to see a, now recognizable, look of mild panic on the bard's face, his free hand once again pressed against his nose.

"Really? Again?" Diluc asked, and Venti nodded frantically, not responding verbally, probably holding his breath in an attempt to keep himself from sneezing. Diluc looked around, there weren't many people out and about at this hour, but there were some people standing around, and so he quickly dragged Venti into the first alleyway he saw. He let go of the bard's hand just in time, as Venti was snapped forwards by a sneeze, his wings appearing and flaring out (causing Diluc to jump away to avoid being hit) as the god fell into a small fit of sneezes.

"Hih- H'ISHH-iew! H'Tt-shiew! Heh...hIH- H'ETSh-iew!"

"Bless you." Diluc said, as Venti sniffled miserably, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.

"You can't bless me, I'm a god, I'm already blessed." Venti said, laughing a little, which only caused him to start coughing. Diluc rolled his eyes as he gently patted the space in between Venti's wings in the hopes of it helping a little.

"You done?" Diluc asked, once Venti had stopped coughing. "Okay. Lets hurry up and get you to Jean."

"Wait." Venti said, his voice cracking a little from how hoarse it'd become. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Wait. We...kinda have a problem."

"What's wrong?"

"I...don't have enough energy to hide my wings." Venti said, quietly. "I've been doing this all day and I-"

"You don't need to explain it." Diluc said, sighing as he shrugged off his coat, before placing it over Venti's shoulders, effectively hiding the snow white wings from sight. "There. That should do until we get to Jean."

Venti reached up to pull the coat tighter around himself, looking almost swamped in it, considering how much shorter than Diluc he was. He clearly appreciated the warmth it brought to him though.

-

"Diluc, Venti!" Jean exclaimed, standing up from her desk as the two of them finally entered her office. "What are the both of you doing here so late at night?"

"Our little bard here need a..... secretive but warm place to stay the night." Diluc said, closing the door to the office behind him as he walked in.

"Why? What's wrong?" Jean asked, and almost as if on cue-

"Hih'NGKT-shiew!" Venti stifled a sneeze, his wings flaring out, knocking Diluc's coat off of him. Jean startled a little, but quickly recovered.

"Oh." She said, "I see."

"....'M sorry to bother you." Venti said, sniffling, gratefully accepting the tissues Jean proceeded to hand him in response. "I'd usually just stay in Windrise, but Mr. Diluc here decided I'd be better off with you."

"And you will be better off." Diluc said, "Seriously. You'll get better faster if you stay someplace warm."

"The tavern is warm." Venti protested, for the first time that night. "You could've just let me stay in the tavern."

"Absolutely not. Even sick, you probably would've drunken over half of my supplies." Diluc said, "Speaking of which. I still have a mess to clean up, so Jean, I trust I can leave the rest of this to you?"

"Of course." Jean confirmed, "I only had just a bit of paperwork left to do anyways, I've got time. You can go now."

Diluc gave her a nod, and turned to leave, picking up his coat from where it had fallen to the floor as he did so. He paused before opening the door, thinking for a moment, before laying his coat down on a nearby chair, in case Venti needed to use it again, before finally leaving the room. Once he'd left, Jean pulled off one of her gloves, placing the back of her hand against Venti's cheek before he could pull away.

"Hmm. You've got a fever." She said, "I've got some medicine in my desk but.... does medicine even work on you?"

"...It's only healing magic that doesn't work." Venti muttered, "Medicine is fine."

Jean quickly got the medicine out of her desk, setting up the right dosage, before handing it over to Venti. He took it quickly, grimacing in response to the flavor. Jean lightly put her hands on Venti's shoulders, just barely brushing up against his wings as she gently guided him out of the room, Venti picking up Diluc's coat and holding it tight against his chest as they left. Jean led him up the stairs towards one of the makeshift bedrooms, specifically made for people who had to spend the night at the headquarters. Luckily, Jean seemed to be the only one working late tonight, as they encountered no other guards as they walked through the halls.

"J-Jean...." Venti started, breath suddenly hitching, his wings tensing- "You....you might wanna duck...hIH- H'ESHH-iew!"

Jean took his advice, letting go of his shoulders and ducking down just in time to avoid receiving a wing to the face.

"Snf....Sorry..." Venti muttered, tired, as Jean stood back up, leading him the rest of the way to the bedroom.

"It's not your fault." She said, kindly. "You can't exactly control it."

Venti didn't respond, too tired to speak again after the amount of elemental energy he'd used up during the day. He slowly climbed into the bed, curling up around Diluc's coat, holding it like one would hold a stuffed animal or a baby blanket. Jean gave a soft laugh as she pulled the covers over top of him.

"Am I to presume Sir Diluc won't be getting that coat back anytime soon?" She asked, a note of light humor in her voice. The response she received was a light hum, which she took for a yes. She supposed she'd have to find some means of getting Diluc another, identical, coat then...

Jean turned to leave the room.

"Shout if you need something, okay?" She said, received another hum in response, and then quietly shut the door, leaving the god to sleep in peace.

[soulmate-game]

Continuation of the story from Day 1, because you guys requested it enough that I started Thinking, lol.

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 3: Siblings

—*—*—*—*—*

Dinner. One day after meeting her father for the first time. She had managed to postpone any sort of… socialization and emotional bonding, during their meeting earlier for everyone to choose from Marinette’s initial sketches for them and generally consult some more, by once again steamrolling everyone with Professionalism and Business Marinette.

But no longer. She couldn’t escape. Staring at a giant wooden, elaborate door like it was her pathway to Prison—

“Stop dramatizing everything in your head, Mari,” Adrien fondly scolded, gently rapping the side of her skull with one knuckle. “I got things to do, for your company I might add, so I can’t stay. But, you’ll be fine,” he leaned in, smirking at her and winking as he lowered his voice. “Besides, you’ve been through way worse than a little family reunion, Bugaboo. You’ve faced down way scarier people than the Waynes. You got this,” he encouraged before giving her a solid clap on the shoulder and a chaste kiss on the cheek, walking back towards their sleek but understated dark red car. Rented, of course, for the business trip, but nonetheless very nice.

Adrien had driver’s licenses for just about every major country. Marinette stopped questioning it a while ago.

She waited until he was gone before throwing her hands up. “Scarier people, he says. Like the Bat clan isn’t known for being some of the most intimidating heroes and vigilantes in the spotlight,” she grumbled. When she turned around, it was to the door already being open, and she jumped a bit in surprise. She hadn’t heard anyone answer the door, but sure enough Alfred Pennyworth stood there holding the door with a small smile, with Bruce Wayne and all of Marinette’s siblings gathered behind him. At least this time, nobody had their spouses or children. Every one of them was smirking, some more sharply than others (Damian).

“Would you like to come in, Miss Dupain-Cheng?” Alfred asked, waving his hand to gesture to the fact that there was plenty of room for her to enter. Blushing, she did just that, taking a breath and forcing herself to actually look at the family she had just met instead of down at her glossy navy blue pumps. Jason, the man with the white fringe in his hair. Second Robin, current Red Hood, her mind supplied, spoke up with a grin and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You don’t look so suave anymore, little Queenie,” he teased. Marinette instantly made a face, screwing up her nose.

“No. That nickname is vetoed. One of my friend’s nicknames is Queenie, and not only will she never let me live it down if she finds out someone called me that, but, just no,” Marinette dramatically shivered. “Most of my friends call me Princess nowadays anyway,” she shrugged. “Adrien started it, and it somehow caught on. It’s too much work to protest at this point.”

“You’re not good with crowds,” the soft spoken woman, Cassandra, decided to add. Marinette winced, shifting on her feet even as she followed the group to the dining room.

“Ehhh. I’ve gotten used to dealing with press and stuff, to a certain degree anyway considering my alias. And wearing my Business persona always helps in consultations. But, I’m not…” Marinette bit the inside of her cheek, clearly a little uncomfortable as she looked around. “The best at… actually talking to people outside of my small group of friends.”

Bruce sighed as most of his kids chuckled or snorted at that. Dick, the oldest but second-shortest of the men besides Tim, came over and draped an arm familiarly over Marinette’s shoulders. He still towered over her though, so he had to slouch a bit to do so.

“Ah, that would be the genetics. Let’s hope you stay where you are at instead of getting as bad at communication as B,” he told her cheerfully. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“What about Damian?”

“He’s even worse!”

“Tt,” said teenager tutted, rolling his eyes as they entered the dining room and he was able to come up to Marinette’s other side. “That was mostly how I was raised before I met Father. I have gotten a lot better than I used to be, Grayson.”

Dick gave him a smile, graciously relieving Marinette of the close contact in favor of rustling Damian’s hair despite the fact that the younger Wayne was taller than him already. “Yes, you sure have! But you still need improvement, baby bird.”

Soon enough, everyone managed to get seated around the large dining table. Bruce insisted that Marinette take one of the seats next to him at the head of the table, across from Damian, since this was her first family dinner. Dick sat next to her, Jason across from him, followed by Tim and Duke on Damian’s side of the table. On the other side of Dick sat Cassandra, and then Stephanie. Alfred served everyone before also taking a seat at the table, on the opposite end from Bruce.

And, true to BatFam tradition, everything was a little awkward for the first minute or two. Marinette didn’t know what to say, and nobody quite knew where to begin. Dick would normally start a conversation, but he was trying to glare into Bruce’s head a silent message of “talk to her, damn it.”

Finally seeming to get it, Bruce cleared his throat and turned to Marinette. “So, I wanted to ask. When do you find out about being my daughter?”

Several people around the table closed their eyes in mourning for Bruce’s social skills. Marinette though, just smiled in slight relief at the decision of how to start talking being taken from her.

“Oh. It was in stages, really. When I was ten, we started our unit in school on genetics. I don’t usually care enough about science to do much more than the school requires, but genetics captivated me for some reason. I researched it almost obsessively at home for a while, almost instantly realizing that there had to be a reason that I had blue eyes when none of the rest of my family did. After a week or two, I found my Maman and Papan’s adoption papers in their room,” she blushed, tugging on one end of her bangs, which she had framing her face since she was wearing her hair down that day. “I uh… I’ve always been a little nosy. I never told them that I found the papers, to me it was just the answer I needed. I didn’t think about it at all after that, and my obsession over genetics went away. It wasn’t until I was thirteen that I decided to look into my birth parents,” Marinette sighed, shoving a bite of food in her mouth to buy her time before continuing. Everyone was focused on her, and it was a little unsettling. Every one of them had a sharper gaze than a normal person, and it made her feel like she was made of glass and everyone else could see right through her. “I was going through a lot, back then. I wanted someone to be mad at, I wanted to be able to blame my DNA for the things that had happened.”

“Things?” Bruce interrupted, back straight and eyebrows drawn down. “What things?” Marinette giggled, tilting her head instead of answering and just letting her eyes study him. Bruce Wayne, Batman, the Dark Knight. Original vigilante of Gotham city, one of the founding members of the Justice League. Famous for his secrecy, intimidating presence, and intelligence. Then she switched her gaze, one by one, to everyone else at the table before leaning back and taking a sip of her soda.

“Do you guys know anything about the situation Paris experienced for four years?” She asked, instead of directly answering. It was Tim who frowned, leaning forward to look at her and reply.

“I heard very vague rumors of weird things, but nothing concrete enough to investigate. What happened?”

Marinette hummed, deciding to sum it up for them. “The short version? When I was thirteen, a classmate of mine spontaneously turned into a giant rock monster and destroyed a good portion of the city. Turns out, that was the first of many attacks by our city’s very own supervillain, Hawkmoth. He had a magical artifact that allowed him to take advantage of anyone’s negative emotions to give them powers and brainwash them into being, essentially, temporary villains that he used for his own means. Two heroes showed up out of nowhere, powered by similar magical artifacts, to combat him and free the people he corrupted. Ladybug and Chat Noir, the original Parisian heroes and the leaders of the team that later had to form.”

Jason frowned, along with everyone else at the table. Finally, it was Duke who asked:

“How did we not know about villains in Paris?” To which Marinette just gave him a dangerously wicked smirk that was far too similar to Damian’s for anyone’s comfort.

“Because I do my job,” she told him flatly, sipping from her cup as everyone stared at her in various amounts of shock. “That’s why finding out that my biological father was Batman made so much sense. That’s why I wanted to find out who my birth parents were. I wanted to blame the heroism on genetics. And, it doesn’t look like I was exactly wrong.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Yeah, that was how her first family dinner and subsequent identity reveal went.

Luckily, considering that Bruce had hired MDC for a pretty long job, Marinette was able to finish school online instead of going back to Paris for it. There was no real need anyway, they had defeated Hawkmoth and gotten Adrien emancipated so for now it was calm in Paris. They didn’t need their heroes anymore, for the time being. This meant that Marinette and Adrien, along with a few employees that helped measure and cut fabric and do secretarial duties they needed help with, got to stay in Gotham while Marinette went back and forth to Wayne manor, Wayne Tower, and back to their temporary home.

After about a month, Marinette was comfortable enough with the Waynes that she found herself lounging in the bat cave as she sketched, though she kept raising her eyes to the glass tubes that held old uniforms. Damian was sat across from her, essentially laying out over two chairs while he played some game upside down on his phone. He might usually be a cold brat, even for a sixteen year old, but even he liked to abuse the way furniture should be used and ignore the world via technology.

But he still caught her constantly wandering gaze.

“You don’t like them.”

“They suck!” Marinette immediately agreed, slamming her sketchbook on the metal briefing table. “Your Robin outfit is the only passable one there is! The colors aren’t even the issue, even high fashion designers can appreciate a good color clash moment. But what was Father thinking?! Putting Grayson in that glorified onesie— why are there no pants?! Jason’s at least as a cape that can cocoon his body and prevent anyone from seeing the disaster beneath. I should thank Tim for at least upgrading the suit to having pants, but he still kept the outside-underwear look that I cannot forgive. The attempt at fashion, though, is appreciated. Disappointing, but appreciated.”

“That pretty much sums them all up,” Damian quipped, getting a snort of amusement out of his sister. Maybe that was one thing he had grown to like about her. She didn’t reprimand him for his sense of humor, and usually she even laughed along. The more morbid humor would get a playful shove and a glare, but no real animosity. And she understood him on a different level, too. One he appreciated even more.

“You said, yesterday, that the Cure brings back everyone who dies during a Miraculous-related incident,” Damian spoke up again after a moment, pointedly not looking at her. “Did you ever count?”

Marinette, this being one of the reasons he was quickly growing fond of her, immediately understood. She sighed, closing her notebook. She might have only been two years his elder, but she had had what felt like a lifetime of more experiences than he did, usually in the friendship and social department though. They were roughly equal in their heroism experience, which was weird to think about, but Damian still valued her input. It was different from the rest of the family.

“It was different in Paris than it would be for anyone else. I didn’t keep track of the number of people who died,” she finally answered, taking her hair out of its work bun and running her hands through the midnight black locks. “But I kept track of how often. Since nobody remembered their deaths, I guess I felt it was my responsibility to remember my failures for them. My former best friend, Alya. Over the course of those four years, she died seventeen times. Her boyfriend, Nino, died fourteen. The Mayor died three times. Chloe, my current friend and former bully, died twenty-two times,” she grimaced at Damian’s shocked expression, nodding grimly. “During those first two, maybe two and a half years, she was one of the primary Akuma targets. She was still either an active bully or in the beginning of trying to change for the better, so she caused a lot of negative emotions everywhere she went. Things got better once she matured a bit, though. Anyway, there’s this girl I used to babysit. Manon. She died five times before she was even ten years old,” Marinette shook her head, that look of age and exhaustion that Damian saw in every Wayne and every hero he had ever fought with seeping into her eyes. “My parents, they died thirty-seven times. They were constantly worried about me, and ran into danger on several occasions trying to find and keep me safe. But I could never tell them who I was. I physically could. I had the power to sit them down and say; Hey, I’m Ladybug. Stop running out and getting yourselves killed. But I never did. I valued my identity first. So I usually ended up seeing, in the middle of a fight, one or both of them squished under falling debris. Or drowned. Frozen solid. Burned alive,” she paused, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “So no. I don’t understand what it was like for you, to count bodies as you felled them. But hell, if it doesn’t feel like I should. Logic doesn’t mean much in the face of emotion, especially guilt. I know I didn’t kill the people I care about, but every single one of their deaths weighs on me like I was the one that caused it.”

Damian nodded, and they shared a few moments of peaceful, contemplative silence as they both ruminated on their less than pleasant memories without fear of being yelled at for what those memories contained.

“But, I do have a secret,” she admitted softly, attracting her brother’s emerald-eyed attention again. The normally cheerful woman was much more subdued even than before, sapphire irises self conscious and vulnerable, which was rare. She licked her lips, even more rare considering her love of her light pink lipstick, and moved off her chair so that she was, instead, sitting on the cold stone floor. Without hesitation, Damian joined her.

“Technically, it didn’t happen. It was a timeline that my friend, the one who I gave the snake Miraculous, essentially erased when he reversed time. But I remember it even though I shouldn’t. How could I forget?”

“You took a life,” Damian whispered, grimacing in empathy. “First time?”

“And the second, and the fifth,” she admitted. “Viperion had to try seven times before I stopped repeating it. But it was always the same person, back during our final battle. I killed Gabriel Agreste seven times. But nobody but me and Luca will ever remember.”

Damian and Marinette both knew it wasn’t the same as Damian’s childhood. They both knew that they would likely never fully understand one another’s trauma. Not the nuances of it. But they did understand the important parts, the broad strokes. Despite their vastly different lives, they understood the big parts that shaped one another.

That was why Damian took to her so quickly. If he had been younger and still bratty, naive, and angry at everything, then it would be a different story entirely. But he was matured, more willing to let himself feel sympathy. And that made the difference.

“You never forget the first person,” he remarked.

“No matter the age or timeline,” she agreed. “I saw how hard it was to stop. How sickeningly addictive it can be, but I hate what it makes me more than I like how it feels.”

“... me too,” Damian whispered. “Me too.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Wooo!” Marinette cheered as she flew through the air, her hands latching onto Dick’s. There was no audience, but there didn’t need to be. Just the two of them, doing a routine that they’ve been working on during the few chances they had for the past several weeks. Marinette had never done trapeze before Dick helped her learn, but her time swinging through Paris streets helped tremendously alongside her general Gymnastics experience.

Marinette and Dick flipped through the air, swinging from bar to bar, Dick occasionally catching and tossing her again. They soared through the air, both curling through two flips before landing on their respective platforms with matching wide smiles. Marinette, chest heaving a bit since she was slightly out of shape (meaning that she wasn’t at all out of shape, only out of practice when it came to swinging through the air for any length of time. There’s a difference). She met Dick on the floor, who proceeded to ruffle her hair happily.

“That was awesome! Looks like you finally got the routine down,” he praised. She laughed, elbowing him.

“I bet I’m better on the balance beam,” she challenged, making Dick grin widely.

“Oh you are on!”

—*—*—*—*—*

“Ya ever died before?” Jason asked, making Marinette chuckle.

“Two-hundred and eighty-seven times.”

“You started as Ladybug at thirteen, right?”

“Yup. No training or mentor for the first year either.”

“Yeah, then that sounds about right. Wanna go break all the traffic laws?”

“Only if we take your bike.”

“Fuckin’ Duh. What else?”

—*—*—*—*—*

“You stalked Adrien?” Tim asked, smirking that insufferable smirk of his. Marinette groaned, flopping back onto the sofa.

“No! I didn’t mean it that way, anyway. I just took a lot of pictures and spied on him.”

“Yup. You’re Bruce’s kid,” he remarked, tapping away at his laptop. Marinette narrowed her eyes.

“You have noooo place to judge, Mister ‘Dick Grayson is the only person alive who can do four somersaults in the air!’ And ‘Yes, I‘ve known that you are batman since I was eight. Look at all these pictures I took when I— what was your terminology again?”

Tim rolled his eyes, but a grin was peeking through. “Yeah, yeah.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Four months later, and Marinette was staring down at all the garment bags she had painstakingly filled. Outfits for every single one of her new family members. It took a while, but they were ready for the Wayne Gala. Adrien slung am arm over her shoulder.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Princess,” he praised, grinning at the array of coveted outfits they were about to transport. “But one teensy weeny, tiny little thing.”

“What is it, Chaton?”

Adrien grinned. “Do you have a dress for yourself? Bruce invited you, too, didn’t he?”

Marinette’s face drained of color, right as a knock sounded on the door. Adrien, seeing as Marinette was so far into Panic Mode that she could not be reached at the moment, went to open the door. A second later, plastic was all Marinette could see. Blinking, she raised her head.

It was Cass, holding out a pink garment bag with Marinette’s name on it.

“Thought you would forget,” was all the other woman offered as explanation. Marinette, after gaping for a moment, slowly took the bag from her. Cass smirked. “Present from WE.”

Marinette laughed.

“You guys are the best.”

—*—*—*—*—*

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl

[the-wayward-arc]

Commission done for a friend. (WARNING! GORE AND TORTURE ARE MENTIONED AND INVOLVED)

Their plan had failed. Kidnap the Arc heir and get the ransom. Easy. Of course, the child put up a fight and force had to be used. Necessary. But then they came, Tyrian and a man known simply as the Hound. Both of them were her mistress's top men in the Grimm syndicate. Why did they attack them? Why were her and her three other associates tied up in the middle of the clearing? Cinder wanted answers and she needed them now!

"I just wanna go home." She looked to the five year old Arc heir, he was clinging to the Hound for dear life, his eyes closed tightly as tears ran down his face.

"Hey! What's going on here!? Why'd you ruin our job?!" The fourth member of Cinder's team yelled out, Bron. A swift kick to the jaw from Tyrian was his only answer. Bron coughed, spitting a tooth as he glared at the uncomfortably quiet assassin. Cinder knew Tyrian, he was never this quiet! He always had something to say! Before she could ponder more, lights could be seen approaching from the tree line along with the sounds of Engines.

An armored limousine flanked by four hummers, two on each side drove up, their lights nearly blinding. Their headlights were turned off but the floodlights on top of each hummer was turned on. They all recognized the vehicles, they were all Grimm syndicate vehicles. Though the limousine in the center, they all knew who that was. Cinder had a small smile on her face. The occupants of the Hummers exited their vehicles, they all looked ready to fight a war. Decked out in full military apparel from their military rifles to the various tactical gear, the only striking things separating them from any actual military branch was their black and red uniform color and their bone white metallic masks. Apathy squad. That was the name of this particular group of Grimm syndicate soldiers. Only used for the extreme of issues and commanded only by on-

Two people exited the driver and passenger sides of the limo. Hazel and his older sister Gretchen Rainart, both dressed in suits. All four watched Gretchen walk to the end of the Limo, opening as someone stepped out, someone they all recognized; Salem, the head of the Grimm Syndicate. She was strikingly beautiful given her age, platinum pale blonde hair kept in half undone bun style. Fair skin with vein like tattoos spreading all over them, a tradition she once stated was part of her family for those that became the heads. Her light blue eyes fixated on the bound for as she walked over to them gracefully. Her heels kicking rocks as she walked over.

"Ha! You idiots are in for it now! Once the boss lady hears you messed up our job, there will hell to p-"

"Aunty Salem!" Bron stopped talking, all four of them froze as they saw the hound put the young boy down as he ran with a limp to Salem. She brought herself down to one knee, arms opened as a loving smile that none had ever seen before was on her face. The boy hugged her tightly as she did the same, her arms wrapping around him as she kissed his forehead.

"Shhhhh, it's okay my sweet knight. I'm here. Your aunty is here." She said with a soothing motherly voice, soothing the crying boy as she sent a death glare at all four of the bound men.

"I *hic* scared Aunty! They said they would *hic* kill me. That they would come after everyone." He cried as he buried his face into her chest, crying.

"Мой маленький рыцарь(my little knight), I'm here now. You were so brave, I'm proud of you for being brave. Aunty is gonna make the bad people go away okay?" She said, a chill of pure fear running down all their spines.

"M-Mistre-" cinder tried to rise, to tell her Mistress this was a misunderstanding! Only for the butt of a rifle to hit her back down. She looked to see an Apathy soldier behind her, they had surrounded them. All their rifles pointed at them. She looked at the crying boy, then to Salem. This boy. The sole male of the Arc family was Salem's nephew. He was her family...a family they all just threatened.

"Stay down." The soldier stated.

"Jaune, why are you limping and who gave you that black eye?" She asked him, Bron and Mercury stiffened as Jaune pointed at them.

"The man with the silver hair hit my legs hard because I tried to run away. He said if I did it again, he was gonna make sure I could never walk again." He told her. Mercury looked at Salem, her glare terrifying him. Then he glared at Cinder, the one who decided to go against Salem's orders.

He rose up, "DAMN YOU CIND-" the butt of rifle slamming against his jaw sent him to the ground, two soldiers picking him up and putting back onto his knees.

"Silence! You will speak only if Salem allows it!"

"who gave you that black eye?" She asked him, ignoring the commotion as she moved locks of Jaune's hair to get a better view of his eye. Her anger rising as she could see the outlines of a fist among the swelling. He pointed at Bron.

"He did." Tears started forming and it broke Salem's heart to see her nepphew had gone through so much pain, the redness on his wrist did not go unnoticed. "H-he said h-he would kill me and our f-family. Saying h-he would do bad s-stuff to m-momma and my sisters."

Bron's mouth was dry. He couldnt speak to defend himself. What the boy said was true. Of course he was just stating it to keep the kid in line but he didnt know that. Not would Salem care if he didn't mean it. Salem looked at him, there was death promised behind that stare.

"You arm, why is it like that?" It was Cinder's turn to stiffen more than she already did. She kidnapped and beaten Salem's nephew. Threatened his family with death or well Salem's family.

"T-to keep me in the room. The metal hurt when I tried to get out of it. She gave me a knife and said I could leave if I just cut off my hand." Cinder didn't dare look up. She knew they had screwed up immensely. There was no mercy. No way to talk themselves out of it. There was only punishment.

"Gretchen," the older woman stepped forward, "take Jaune into the Limo, give him water and some snacks. Hes had quite an ordeal."

"Yes ma'am." The giant of a woman extend her arms out as the boy hugged Salem tighter. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, whispering in his ear as he nodded. He allowed Gretchen to carry him as she began to walk away. Salem slowly walking towards the four.

"Wait!" Jaune cried, causing Salem to immediately turn her head with concern. Gretchen walked towards Salem. "Aunty, the girl with the green hair...she was nice to me. She gave me food and played a game with me." Salem looked at Emerald, the girl not wanting to look back.

"Is that so."

"Yeah! She was nice to me, when the man over there punched me, she wiped away my tears and tried to make the pain go away." Emerald smiled a bit, internally thanking the boy for remembering. Cinder however was seething with anger. She didnt know Emerald was doing this!

"I see, go rest now мой маленький детеныш(my little cub), I'll be there shortly." Salem turned away, waiting for the door to the Limo to slam shut. Once it did, she looked at Cinder.

"Cinder," there venom and anger in her voice, despit her calmness. Gone was that motherly tone. "What were your orders hmm?"

"Mistress, please just all-" a hard slapped shut her mouth. She looked at Salem, seeing her hand raised with a glare. "What. Were. Your. Orders?"

"T-to S-stand by and wait for your orders." She answered, recovering from the slap.

"What did you do instead?"

"We acted on our own."

"And?"

Cinder clenched her teeth. "We kidnapped the Arc heir and held him for ransom..."

Salem look towards Bron as she walked over to him. Two soldiers bring the bound man to his feet.

"let me see your hands." She commanded, holding her own hand.

"Ma'am, T-this was all Cinder's idea! If we had know-" a fist to the gut by one of the soldiers silenced him. Salem still waiting for him to show her his hands. The two guards did for him, Salem examining his right knuckle and seeing it was somewhat red. Her anger rose more, knowing what he had done to Jaune.

"This the fist you used? Hazel." The large man immediately walked over, clasping Bron's fist into his own before crushing with all his strength, a sickening crunch was herd as Bron screamed in pain, his fingers all broke with a few bones poking out. "His punishment isnt over yet, stand him up." The soldiers immediately raised the man up, cutting his bound hands as he went grasp the broken one.

The others looked at Salem as she walked in front of them, then hearing the snarling and growling. All their eyes widened when they saw three large wolf like creatures. Beowolves, The result of the Grimm syndicate cross breeding Russian bear dogs with Wolves, to create vicious attack dogs to be sold. The dogs were large, with jet black fur and vicious fangs as they snarled. They charged at the 3 bound people only to be stopped by their chain leashes.

"Каблук!" The dogs immediately sat down, looking at the one who ordered, Salem. She looked at Bron who looked back fearfully.

"I have done everything in my power to ensure my family is never involved in the other side of our business. From bribing officials, forcing others to look the other way, to even assassinations against anyone that looked at my family the wrong way. Then you four," she looked at them all, seeing their fear. "Decide to act on your own, kidnap my sweet nephew and make him endure pain that I worked extremely hard to ensure he would never experience!" She shouted, making them all flinch. "Bron, you threatened to kill him. You threatened to kill MY family. To do unsavory things to my not only niece but my great nieces as well." She walked forward, the man trying to back away only to be stopped by Hazel.

"Ma'am! Please!" He begged. "It was Cinder's idea! Please you have to believe me!" He cried, tears running down his face but it didn't faze Salem. She snarled at him.

"Run."

"W-wah?" He asked through sobs.

"Run. You have 3 seconds." She said, turning around. "3..." the beowolves stood up and bron knew what was going to happen. He stepped back, breaking into a sprint towards the treeline. "2..." he ran, as fast as he could. Praying to any god that would listen to save him. "1." Salem turned around, "Убийство.(Kill)" The beowolves immediately broke into a run, free of their chains as they chased after their prey.

Bron ran, he could hear the barking from the canines. He ran, despite his lungs burning. He had to keep going! He had to survive! He wasnt going to die here! He- a Beowolf lunged onto his back, pushing to the ground, before he could react they were on him. Biting into his flesh, ripping chunks off as he tried to fight back. One grabbing a hold of his broken hand and violently tugging at it, he screaming as one bit into his exposed stomach, a chunk being ripped off due to the powerful jaws.

Salem looked at the surviving three as they listened to their former teammate being ripped apart. His screamings echoing throughout the forest. Screams for help. To make the pain stop. Forgiveness. There was no forgiveness. No mercy. They had brought the wrath of the devil himself onto themselves. Mercury could clearly hear the flesh being torn off as the screams died down before silence.

"Возвращение!" A soldier yelled. Within a few minutes, the canines came running out, all three recoiled as they saw each one of them was covered in blood. In their jaws, each held a piece of Bron. One held his mauled tattooed arm, bits of flesh hanging loosely off it. The other held what looked like intestines in its mouth but the other was the worst. A piece of Bron's face was held firmly in its jaws, his lone eye hanging out of the half torn socket. Emerald couldn't hold it in and vomited. Cinder tried her best to stay composed despite the brutality she had just heard and seeing its aftermath. Mercury was shaking, the assassins always the one doing the killing. Now he was on the other end.

"Emerald. The kindness you showed my nephew will not go unnoticed, your punishment will not be as severe. But you will still be punished, just not now. Others are ahead of you." Salem stated as she walked past Emerald. Silently thanking Jaune.

"Mercury." She looked at the young assassin as he looked away.

"Look at me." He still looked away. Immediately a soldier grabbed his head and forced him to look at Salem. He could've sworn her blue eyes were gone, replaced by a pair of glowing blood red ones. He blinked and her eyes were normal.

"You beat Nephew's legs. To ensure he couldnt run far. You threatened to make sure he couldn't walk again if he tried to run again. Am I correct?"

Mercury could only nod. He dare not lie.

"You will not die today. No, I still have need of you. But you will be punished and it will be the way you threatened my sweet boy." Mercury's eyes went wide as the soldiers grabbed him, throwing to the ground and started to tie his legs above the knee caps, a piece of wood placed between his legs, also above the knee caps as it painfully forced his legs to spread apart despite being bound. The soldiers held him down.

"Make him experience the pain he brought upon my nephew." She ordered, before Mercury could say anything, something was shoved in his mouth.

"You may wanna bite down my dear Mercury, or else you'll bite off your tongue." She told him as a large soldier walked foward, a sledgehammer in hand. Mercury eyes widened as the soldier raised the sledgehammer high and immediately brought it down to the side of Mercury's right leg. Forcing the limb to bend into the wood. He screamed into the leather as the hammer came down again onto his right leg, another swing and another followed until his right leg was a right angle. His bones sticking out.

Emerald shut her eyes as the soldier repeated the same action onto the other leg. Salem unfazed by any of it as she looked at Cinder. Each sickening hit of flesh tearing and bone breaking made her flinch. Eventually it stopped and she looked at the gnarled form that was Mercury, he had passed long ago from the pain.

"Treat his wounds. Make sure he lives." The soldiers bowed before taking the broken assassin away. The beowolves were still gnawing their prizes.

"Take Emerald away, put her in one of the vehicles."

"Yes ma'am." One soldier stated as he picked the thief by the arm and forced her away. She dared not look at Salem or Cinder. Cinder glared at her as she was led away.

"Cinder. You have no one to blame but yourself." Salem snarled as Cinder looked at her. She was immediately brought to her feet to look at her boss.

"Ma'am! Please, I acted on how you taught me! To take the chance when it presented itself!" Cinder told her, hoping she can get out of this.

Tyrian walked forward, holding a long box in front of him with both hands. Salem turned around, opening the box's latched lid carefully to reveal a sword Nestle in soft fabric.

"Crocea Mors. This sword has been in my family since the time of the Roman Empire. During the reign of Julius Caesar. It was his sword, then it was melted down by one his descendants and reforged into the sword you see now. Carried by our ancestor Joan of Arc before her death." She waved the sword a bit, holding it up high as she inspected it. "Each Arc since then has held onto the sword, swearing upon it to protect our family no matter what. To honor our promises we make. To ensure any foe who stands before us falls. It will be Jaune's soon. When he comes of age, it will be his." She looked at Cinder. "You harmed my family Cinder. I had such high Hope's for you as well, but you still have some uses to me, so I won't kill you."

That didnt make Cinder feel better. "Raise your right arm out Cinder." She ordered, at first Cinder didn't. Salem looked at Hazel as the man stepped forward and forced her to. Cinder tried to fight back, but to no avail due to the man's strength.

"Mistress! Please! It won't happen again! I promise!" She pleaded, Salem handed the sword to the hound, as he raised the blade above Cinder's arm, right above elbow.

"Oh my sweet Cinder. I know. But what was it you said to my nephew?" The Hound raised the blade higher. "The only way to get out was to cut off your hand?" The blade came down In one swift motion. Severing Cinder's arm. Cinder fell to her knees, shocked. She looked at her severed limp limb as it was thrown towards the canines as they began to rip it apart. Then down to her stump, blood pouring out. The shakily looked at Salem, who simply cleaned the blood off the blade before carefully placing it back into secured holder. She began to walk away, as the pain finally registered to Cinder. She screamed and flayed on the ground as she tried to stop the bleeding.

"Go, make sure she lives. She still has uses to me." She told the soldiers. The canines were put back into their cages as Hazel opened the door for Salem. She saw Jaune was fast asleep, hugging into Gretchen, Salem extend her arms out, wanting to hold the small child. She cradled him as snuggled into her, a sweet smile on her face as she alerted her niece that he was Safe and the proper authorities were dealing with the people involved. She slowly ran her fingers over his swollen eye, then looking at his wounded wrist. "The bad people are gone now, I'll always protect you my sweet knight." She kissed his forehead as they drove away, the sound Cinder screaming could faintly be heard.

[magicman111]

A Moth to a Flame - Chapter One

Marcy watched the sun slowly set on Newtopia as she’d done many an evening before. The sharp squawks of the gulls rang through the orange sky. She looked quite the forlorn figure standing by the hotel entrance, the gentle evening breeze that ruffled her cloak underscoring her solitude.

Her eyes remained fixated in the same direction her friend had taken off, maybe in some fleeting fool’s hope she’d change her mind and come sprinting back right into her arms.

Not a chance, Marbles.

Anne was long gone by now. Hopefully, she’d caught up with the Plantars’ fwagon before they reached the city gate. Judging by how quickly she booked it, the odds were in her favor. That girl didn’t make varsity back home for nothing.

Marcy only hoped those sweet, simple frogs knew just how lucky they were to have someone like Anne in their lives.

Sighing, her head lowered, she licked her wounds slowly.

Really? That easy, huh?  

Could Anne have made it any more obvious that she wanted to get out of there faster than she did? After they’d been apart for so long, and for a family of farmer frogs whom she’d known for what? Months?

No, don’t do that, she pulled herself up. It wasn’t right for her to be mad at the Plantars. This wasn’t their fault. Sprig and Polly were a barrel of fun at the slumber party, providing you disregarded their life-threatening encounter with the jelly-fish ghosts. Hop Pop, meanwhile, reminded her so much of her own grandpa it was uncanny. They were sweet, decent folk who’d taken Anne in and kept her safe all this time. It was just...

Her lips twisted into a bitter frown. How else was she supposed to feel but a little rejected?

However, was she really allowed to complain when holding her tongue was so normalised for her by this point? Marcy was a people pleaser, she understood that much about herself. Anytime Anne and Sasha got into an argument, she was there to keep the peace and everyone happy. So if Anna-Banana wanted to spend more time with her bumpkin frog family than her literal best friend since preschool, who was she to say no?

The story with her folks wasn’t all that different either. When they pressured her to keep up her studies, up to and including PSAT prep despite it being years away, she did as she was told like a good girl to make them proud, and they were. She hoped they were.

Goodness knows what they must be thinking right now—

Nope nope nope! Don’t go there, don’t go there.

She’d already lost too much sleep at night ruminating over the unspeakable pain she’d most surely put them through, it was the last thing she needed right now. She tried to do the logical thing and focus on the positives instead. That usually worked.

Anne wouldn’t be away for too long. They’d be together again as soon as Hop Pop’s contacts returned the Box to Wartwood and then it was off to the first of the three temples to get those gems recharged. Once that side quest was done and dusted, it was a simple matter of finding Sasha and making their way home.

Looking down, she caught herself wringing her hands.

Home.

That sure was the plan.

I mean... what else are we supposed to do?

“Always sad to see someone go, isn’t it?”

Marcy quickly wiped her eyes and glanced over her shoulder to greet the towering form of King Andrias.

Almost instantly, her mood perked up a notch. He was the one person whom she trusted, more than anyone else in all of Amphibia. Ever since she first landed outside the city walls, he took her under his wings and ensured her smooth transition into this brave new world.

Andrias was without doubt one of the kindest and wisest people Marcy could have ever hoped to meet. He was a true listener, and there were very few you could say that about, her parents included. How often had he been there to lend both an understanding ear and sage advice over games of flipwart?

Games she won more often than not, she wasn’t humble enough not to brag.

It was also he who sent Marcy on the daring missions that would eventually make her the hero of Newtopian society she was today. All because he recognised the value of her talents beyond passing an exam or helping her friends with their homework. No other 13-year-old had their own solid gold statue adorning a city bridge.

She owed this king a debt she couldn’t possibly repay, but one he was far too altruistic in nature to demand.

Then, why did he look so... solemn?

“Come along, Marcy. We need to talk.”

Maybe it was his serious tone of voice or those specific choice of words, but they made the hair on the back of Marcy’s neck stand on end. In an almost pavlovian manner, she corrected her posture and she held her chin erect.

Shoving whatever remaining conflicted thoughts aside, she silently followed Andrias back to the castle like a pilot fish tailing its great white. She was so puny next to this tremendous salamander, he could crush her with a single blow of his fist if he so chose. Not that a gentle, goofy giant like Andrias would even dream of doing such a thing.

So when he was dead serious, Marcy knew better to zip it, listen, and do as instructed.

Their quiet journey took them all the way back to the castle and into the royal throne room, a place she was all too familiar with by now. To enter this hallowed hall was a privilege bestowed only to a select few. For Marcy, it was where she had her morning debriefs over bugachinos.

Instead of going straight up to the throne for their pow wow as she anticipated, Andrias guided her down a small passageway to their left.

When they made their way up to the statue of what Marcy recognised as one of his ancestors, one of the great rulers of Amphibia, they came to a stop. Andrias then gazed down at her with the most serious look she’d seen him give anyone.

“Marcy, before we go any further,” he spoke sternly, “I need to be absolutely crystal clear about something. Okay?”

“Y-Yes, Andrias?” Marcy asked, shivering a little. She did not like being pulled out of her comfort zone, not like this.

“You’re about to enter the most secret place in all of Newtopia,” he continued, now down on one knee and his hand hovering over her shoulder, as close as they could be to eye level. “What I’m going to show you... I need you to swear you won’t share with another living soul. Not to Anne, not to Lady Olivia, no one. Do you understand? I can’t emphasise this enough, Marcy.”

“Of course,” she answered earnestly, trying to sound more confident. “You know you can always trust me, Andrias.”

A ghost of that warm, fatherly smile returned to his big blue countenance.

“Trust is a hard thing to come by, kid, and you’ve gone above and beyond to earn mine. It’s just that I’m not exaggerating here when I say this is a big one.”

Marcy simply placed one hand over his huge index, the other over her heart.

She smiled back at him sweetly, genuinely, “I promise.”

“Very well.”

Nodding in approval, Adrias rose. He reached out, pushing a luminous coral torch upwards.

It didn’t take an encyclopedic knowledge of ‘Creatures & Caverns’ for Marcy to predict that the statue was going to shift to the left next, revealing the spiralling staircase leading to Frog knows where. She probably should’ve been more surprised, but come on, it wasn’t exactly the first secret passage she’d come across in this castle lately. 

“Follow me,” was all Andrias said, before he pulled off the same coral torch, then proceeded down the stairs without another word. Marcy followed obediently, unable to ignore the unnerving chill that was now travelling up her spine.

Was it... always this cold around here?

Something about all this just felt so unsettling compared to last time. She couldn’t really explain why; she knew she was safe with Andrias and that he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally put her in harm’s way. It was a gut feeling and that sort of thing bugged a rational person like her to no end.

She tried to take her mind off it by hazarding her best guess as to precisely what he was going to show her. Either she did that or started getting all worked up dwelling on Anne again, which she’d rather not at the moment.

Another secret library, perhaps? Probably not, though she wouldn’t be at all disappointed if it was. Maybe there were forbidden texts about the dark arts hidden away down there. Magic users were incredibly rare in Amphibia these days—Marcy had already searched far and wide—so might this be her chance?

Oh, how the very idea of being able to cast actual magic excited her. Being Chief Ranger of the Knight Guard was a great honor and nothing to sneeze at, but to be a powerful sorceress, one who could communicate with spirits, raise the dead, shuffle the orifices on her enemy’s faces—

Okay, rein those snails in, Mar-Mar.

Her musings were interrupted by a strange noise emanating from below. At first she figured it was just her imagination, but the further they continued their descent, the clearer it became.

It sounded an awful lot like beeping. Yes, that was it. A progressively growing cacophony of bleeps, bloops and chirps, the kind she’d expect to hear from a high-tech supercomputer. Something absolutely alien in a world like Amphibia, she and her friends excluded.

Before Marcy could ask Andrias if he heard it too, she was distracted by the emergence of an orange glow chasing away the darkness below. It was a warm, almost heavenly light that conjured the mental image of a crackling fireplace on Christmas morning, protecting you from the snowstorm outside.

The chill in her spine had by now spread to the crown of her head and the tips of her toes. Her throat tightened up. Beads of cold sweat dripped down her forehead.

What the... Marcy could not say a word, only think.

There was something down there. Something greater than any library, however inconceivable that sounded. Whether it was good or bad was irrelevant to her at that moment.

It called her.

The duo finally reached the foot of the staircase and entered the sacred sanctum.

Marcy’s jaw dropped.

“Woah.”

There were no shelves of books. No ancient Amphibian artifacts. There weren’t even any walls that she could make out from where she stood. Just an apparently endless sea of darkness encompassing a large round platform from which both the enticing glow and the lowkey din of beeps originated.

Marcy resumed taking Andrias’ lead as they stepped out onto the platform, the clink-clank of their boots confirming her assumption it was made of metal. The whole thing appeared more at home on an alien spaceship than in the dungeons of a castle.

Upon arriving at its centre, Andrias knelt down on both knees and, much to Marcy’s curiosity, removed his crown and set it down on the floor. She took the hint by following suit.

Any lingering fears melted away the more she basked herself in the radiance. It was as if the beams were steadily pouring into her body, clearing up her headspace, reducing any tension in her body. She recalled a favored memory from when she was five-years-old, when she and Anne spent a whole summer afternoon by the beach. How the tides would come in and out without fail, washing away the ruins of their sandcastles, the seaweed, one of Anne’s sandles and the teeny tiny baby seahorse they rescued.

Like a nice blank canvas.

Was this a private place of worship? Not according to her expansive studies of Amphibian anthropology. Or maybe it was a place for Andrias to meditate away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the castle. Seemed a skosh excessive if that was the case.

“Truly captivating, I know.”

Andrais’ baritone brought Marcy back down to earth. She straightened up and tried to refocus herself. They were down here for an important reason, at least she believed they were.

“One can spend hours down here,” Andrias boomed ominously. “Adrift in their own thoughts and... dreams.” The light cast his face in a rather unnerving shadow as he stared ahead into the void. “But I’m sure you know I haven’t brought you here to show off my retreat from the world.” He took a long, deep breath, like he was mentally steeling himself for what he said next, “As much as it pains me to say it, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely truthful with you, Marcy.”

He produced from his sleeve what appeared at first glance to be two giant pieces of parchment and unfolded them neatly on the metal surface. A closer inspection told Marcy they were in fact pages torn from an exceptionally large book. Judging not only by the size, but the font and format as well, she easily pieced together its origin.

“Are these...?”

“From the book we “found” in the wing?” Andrias chuckled mirthlessly. “Yes. Still kinda surprised you didn’t pick up there were pages missing, but that's not important right now. Please, read.”

The platform provided ideal reading light. Marcy’s ability to read at a 12th Grade level meant she cruised through the text and finished within minutes.

She read it once, then twice. A third and fourth time just to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

Her bottom began to tremble.

No... Nononono, this... this can’t be right. I-It’s impossible! How in the world can it...?!

No amount of curative rays could unfreeze the blood in her veins. The metaphorical pistons in her brain were firing on full cylinders in a vain attempt to digest this earth-shattering information. For a split second, she thought she was going to pass out.

Desperate, she turned to the stone-faced Andrias to plead for some kind of answer, but she found no words with which to speak. All the personal growth and development that made her Newtopia’s champion had been stripped of her and she was reduced to nothing more than a helpless lost toddler.

A comforting set of giant digits placed themselves under her chin, the same way a father would do for his daughter.

“All this time, I’ve been testing you,” Andrias told her, his voice full of pride. “The games of flipwart, the missions, the “secret library”, even the barbari-ant colony I had lured to the city. I was watching you, studying your every action. With each challenge I issued, you excelled my expectations. You’re an exceptionally talented human being, Marcy, truly worthy of the name ‘Wu’.”

Even if these words were meant to serve as comfort or encouragement, they had only the opposite effect for Marcy. Tears were leaking out the corners of her eyes.

She mustered only a pitiful whimper, “I-I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry, kiddo,” he promised, “you will soon enough. He’s so excited to meet you.”

“... He?”

Lifting his mighty hand in the air, he thrusted it into the nothingness facing them. Marcy instinctively followed its direction.

“Marcy Wu,” Andrias’ thundering voice resonated throughout the sanctuary, “allow me to introduce you... to my master.”

No sooner had he finished, the whole world started to tremble at Marcy’s knees, throwing her off her balance. A rumbling, mechanical ROAR struck her ears so loud she had to cover them to protect the drums from rupture. Yet despite this sensory assault, she somehow forced her eyes to stay wide open. She needed to face whatever was coming.

Marcy gazed into the abyss.

And the abyss gazed back with all thirteen of its eyes.

Terror. Pure mounting terror overwhelmed every cell of her being. Her pupils shrunk to the size of pinpricks. If her mouth stretched any wider, her jaw risked snapping clean off its hinges.

Everything around her faded into black. Andrias, the platform and its glow, the beeping, all vanished into the ether. All now that existed were herself and those colossal demonic eyes plucked from the deepest recesses of her nightmares, their leer burrowing into her very soul.

Marcy wanted to scream until she coughed up her lungs. Moreso, she just wanted to wake up. This was all a dream, it had to be. A lucid dream that had gone on for far too long. She and her friends weren’t in another dimension inhabited by talking frogs, such a notion was a scientific absurdity. She sure as heck wasn’t a ranger in some anthropomorphic newt army.

Any moment now, her wizard kitty alarm would ring and she’d wake up in her soft, cozy bed. Dad would have left for work by now, planting a goodbye kiss on her sleeping forehead as he did every morning since she was little. Mom would be already making her her favorite congee rice and youtiao for breakfast. Then she would begin the process of packing up her room for the big move to Oregon like a good girl.

Yes, she would even happily do that. Anything to bring an end to this ordeal!

Shhhh

Her train of thought screeched to a sudden halt.

Marcy

It’s gonna be okay

And just like that, as if those were the five magic words required, everything was fine again. No more panic, no more existential terror. Her heart rate lowered to a steady, non-life threatening level.

The tide had risen up and washed Marcy’s mind clean.

Like a nice blank canvas.

What quickly followed was an epiphany of sorts.

There was nothing for her to fear. Once she accepted that fact, the warm sensation from before returned greater than ever, engulfing her in what could only be described as a spiritual hug. She could feel the pair of hands, tender as her own mother’s, caressing her face and flicking away her tears. They even ruffled her raven hair in the same playful manner.

Come to me, daughter of Wu

Let me get a good look at you

Marcy obeyed. Getting down on all fours, she crawled across the nonexistent ground—the laws of physics evidently had no place here—until her face and the eyes’ chief pupil were within inches of each other.

Fresh tears, now ones of ecstasy, trickled down her cheeks and evaporated in the pulsating heat.

“You’re beautiful.”

I know

We’ve gotta lot to talk about, Marcy

And I have a feeling...

You and I are gonna become the best of friends

[lyranova]

Children of the Future:

Chapter 13: Suspicions

Hi guys! I’m so sorry its taken so long to get this chapter out, I hope you guys enjoy it! Chapter 14 will be reblogged soon I gotta make a few edits first but it should only be a day or two hehe. Also the story is kinda picking up a bit in this chapter but not too much hehe, I hope you all enjoy~!

Taglist: @eme-eleff @crazyclownthanos @ckjwnnbc @thoughtfullyrainynightmare @talpup @elysianluv @melissa-novachrono @jovialnoise @bowandcurtsey @simpingforthisonedeer @flow3rbudz (if anyone else wants to be added please let me know or if i forgot to add you please let me know!)

Word Count: 2,216

Warnings: None

———

William glanced over his shoulder at the two members of his squad, Yuno and Neva, and their ‘daughter’ Miku. This wasn’t what he had been expecting when Marx asked him to come up to the castle as there was something he needed to see, but Yami seemed to have an inkling because he had the smuggest grin on his face and was almost too happy about William getting a call from Marx. That should have been his first clue as to what was going on.

After Marx had met him at the doors and explained the situation William had been expecting the members to be either Klaus or even Alecdora, but insteadWilliam had been very surprised to see that it was in fact Yuno and Neva. Those were the last two he had thought of when Marx was telling him the details, but after seeing the young girl and seeing his two squad members there was no denying that she was their daughter. She looked like Neva but with black hair, her serious face was a perfect blend of Yuno’s and Neva’s, but she appeared to carry herself more like Yuno then Neva. This was interesting.

“ Is everyone alright?” William asked as he glanced over his shoulder, the three nodded but remained silent. Apparently they were all still trying to process this information, it was no secret that Yuno and Neva had a crush on each other, but it seemed the only ones who didn’t know about this, were the two in question. William let out a soft sigh before walking out the castle doors and walking towards the brooms.

“ Captain, where exactly are we going?” Neva asked as she grabbed one of the brooms, Yuno began to use his wind magic to make himself a transportation vessel. Miku looked between the two before walking towards Neva and her broom, apparently she wasn’t very comfortable flying using wind magic.

“ We have a house not too far from here that we’ve all been staying in the past few days, just until we’ve gotten things sorted out with the children and how to get them back home.” William explained simply before stepping onto his broom, Neva did the same as Miku sat behind her and wrapped her arms around the blonde haired woman's middle, and Yuno summoned his wind vessel.

“ ‘We’ve’?” Both Neva and Yuno said at the same time, just how many people were there?

———

They all landed softly outside the house a few moments later and walked up to the door, dread was steadily filling William. He knew Yami was going to enjoy this too much, especially since so far every child had been connected to the Black Bulls in some way. He opened the door slowly and looked inside, some of the kids appeared to be at the dining table while others were in the common room. Zora and Nebra were on two opposite ends of the common room, would there come a time those two could look past their differences? Even if it was only for Ace’s sake? William didn’t know at this point. Charlotte and Yami were sitting at the dining table with Alistar and Hikari, all of them appeared to be having a pleasant conversation. Except Yami continuously glared at Alistar, probably because of what Zora said yesterday.

“ Y’know Captain,” Neva started as she looked around the house. “ when you said ‘we’ I was kind of assuming there would be a few people but not-.”

“ Almost an entire squad.” Yuno finished as he looked around himself, William let out a soft chuckle before nodding in agreement.

“ Yes, I guess you could say we’re slowly becoming our own squad. But we make it work.” William shrugged before everyone finally seemed to take notice that there were new people in the house.

“ Hah! Finally, Goldie Guts is going through what I’ve been going through the past few days!” Yami said with a shout of laughter, William chuckled as he walked towards the dining table.

“ Yes the universe decided to finally take pity on you and give you a small reprieve from the future children.” William said, Yami grumbled something under his breath as Hikari and Charlotte also began to laugh softly. Alistar frowned and looked around his father to see who it was and his eyes widened slightly; it was his Auntie Neva and Yuno, which meant it was one of three possible children.

The white haired man stood up and tried his best to look around the two Golden Dawn members to see which child it was, but they were hiding behind their ‘parents’ legs all too well. From what he could see it was a girl, which left two options and he had a feeling he knew which of the two it was.

“ Miku? Is that you?” He called out softly, he watched as the girl poked her head between her parents to look and see who was calling her and she blinked when her eyes landed on the young man.

“ Oh, hi Alistar.” The girl said softly as she moved to stand in front of her parents.

Hikari turned to look at Alistar and frowned; he had relief in his eyes, but he also held confusion and genuine surprise. She turned to look back at the young 12 year old girl, Hikari had only interacted with her a few times so she didn’t know her that well, but she seemed surprised as well, except she was better at hiding it then Alistar.

The white haired man walked away from the dining table and moved to stand in front of Miku, he crouched down in front of her. The two just stared at each other silently as everyone else looked on curiously, it was as though the two were speaking telepathically.

“ What are you doing here?” They asked in unison, apparently neither one had expected to see the other here. Alistar frowned a bit before standing and holding out his hand, Miku looked at him with a frown.

“ I need to talk to you a bit outside if that's ok?” He asked politely and with a soft warm smile, Miku rolled her eyes and walked past him.

“ Of course it’s alright, but I’m not a kid anymore so I don’t need to hold your hand.” She grumbled, Alistar let out a small chuckle before following the girl out of the house.

Everyone just stood there in confusion, completely unsure of what just happened. The two seemed to know each other pretty well, but it still felt like everyone had missed out on some big piece of information that only those two seemed privy to.

“ Alistar and Miku are ‘cousins’ not by blood but more like by choice,” Hikari began to explain. “ since Captain Vangeance and Neva have a sibling-like relationship, Alistar and Miku, along with Miku’s siblings, have adopted a familial relationship as well. So they affectionately call each others ‘cousin’ as well as call Captain Vangeance ‘Uncle William’ and Alistar calls Neva ‘Auntie Neva’.” Hikari added with a shrug, everyone’s confusion seemed to clear slightly, but not completely.

“ Miku’s siblings?” Neva and Yuno once again asked at the same time before they both seemed to pale, this was beginning to be too much for them to handle. They could take down a devil and invade a kingdom set on destroying and taking over the continent and be perfectly ok, but finding out they had children together? Nope, that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

“ Erm, oops?” Hikari said with a nervous laugh, she had said more than she had meant too. Charlotte stood suddenly before looking at Yami and William.

“ I would actually like to speak with you two privately as well.” She said, The two Captains in question looked at each other before nodding and following behind Charlotte as she walked down one of the hallways of the house.

As the Captains left everyone just stood there awkwardly, not really sure of what to do now, since it appeared everyone was having secret conversations.

“ So, nice weather we’re having huh?”

———

Hikari frowned as she watched Alistar and Miku talk, she was watching them through the kitchen window as she assumed they would hear her if she stepped outside. She wondered what on earth they could be talking about, especially since it appeared to be a private conversation. Did it have to do with what Alistar told her a few days ago? About why they had been sent back? If so, then why was Miku sent back as well? It made no sense, especially since she wasn’t-.

“ Y’know,” Josslyn said suddenly, accidentally startling Hikari. She had been so lost in thought she hadn’t sensed the girls Ki or heard her approach. “ There’s something very strange going on with Pretty Boy and the little Princess.” She added.

“ Strange? What do you mean?” Hikari asked, feigning slight ignorance. The pink haired girl scoffed, clearly seeing through Hikari’s lie.

“ You know exactly what I mean, you and Pretty boy are having secret conversations late at night, he’s wearing a normal magic knight's robe instead of his Captain's one, he dodges every question about himself and why he’s here. He’s acting stranger than usual. As though he knows something.” Josslyn said with slight irritation, Hikari could understand the girl's frustration as she was feeling the same, But.

“ We need to trust him. I’m sure he knows what’s truly going on here and why we’re being sent back. But he can’t tell us, not yet. So for now, until he can tell us, we just have to trust him.” Hikari said softly, Josslyn scoffed again.

“ Well you can trust him all you want, but I won’t. The only one I trust here is you and myself, so I guess if you trust him then I’ll trust your judgment. But if anything seems even more suspicious then what it already is, than I’m going to make him talk, willingly or unwillingly.” Josslyn said seriously, Hikari let out a sigh but nodded. She already knew how a fight between the two would turn out, and she can’t say Josslyn would win.

“ Y’know, I could sneak outside and listen to their conversation? They wouldn’t even know I was there.” The pink haired girl said after a moment of quiet fell between the two, Hikari grabbed the girl's arm before she could run off and dragged her into the kitchen.

“ Oh no you’re not. You’re going to help me with dinner.”

———

Yami sighed as he closed the door behind him, Charlotte sat down on the bed as William and Yami leaned against the walls on either side of the door.

“ So what did you want to talk about Princess?” Yami asked as he crossed his arms.

“ I’ve been wondering recently, I don’t know why I didn’t think about it before, but did you ever wonder why Lord Julius gave us this house in particular? I mean, at first it was only three of us living here and the house was too big for just three people. He could have easily given us a smaller house to stay in, but instead he chose this one.” Charlotte started curiously, Yami tilted his head.

“ Maybe he felt like we needed the space?” Yami reasoned with a shrug.

“ As much as I would like to believe that, Lord Julius is a very smart man and he plans things out pretty meticulously. So I doubt he felt that we needed a big house just for the sake of it.” Charlotte argued, William crossed his arms as well.

“ What are you saying Charlotte? You think Julius knew that this was going to happen?” He asked her, the room went deadly silent for a moment before Charlotte spoke cautiously.

“ I...I’m not sure. But it seems all the signs are pointing to that conclusion. Otherwise, why else give us this house with a bunch of rooms and with a wide open field where we could all train if we needed too.” Charlotte said, none of them wanted to believe Julius knew this was going to happen, but considering he did have time magic, maybe it was possible he saw the future or otherwise somehow knew this would be happening?

Suddenly, there was a soft knock on the door.

“ C-Captain Roselei? We need you in the kitchen, Josslyn almost burned it down.” Ace called softly before they heard him walk away. Charlotte sighed before standing and walking towards the door.

“ We keep this between us, we don’t have the full story and I could easily be wrong, but for now, I think we should assume Julius knows more than what he’s letting on.” Charlotte said before walking out of the room, William and Yami shared a look between them. They wouldn’t be completely surprised if Julius was hiding something, but that didn’t mean they still wanted it to be true. The two Captains followed Charlotte out of the room and into the kitchen.

“ Honestly? As long as my squad doesn’t have any more kids coming back, I don’t care how many come from the future.” Yami said with a laugh.

But, the universe had a twisted sense of humor as well, and Yami would find that out the hard way the next morning.

———

I’m sorry this isn’t very good and its very rushed but I hope you all enjoyed! Thanks for reading and I hope you all have a good day~!

[obiwanobi]

Ok ok but Clem, hear me, I need to share my personal Obi-Wan gets out release some steam in the lower levels of Coruscant but instead of stripping or raving at club, he gets into clandestine fistfights. He just goes all fight club on who wants to get punched in the face. Once, Anakin follows him in secret and find him his nose bloody, bare torso glistening with oil like a gladiator and dozens of fans screaming his (fake) name. He whites out instantely.

THIS IS WHY I’M HERE FOR I wanted to write like 2 paragraphs but then I got really into it, so here’s Anakin going from “time to laugh at my boring old master who I’m definitely not obsessed with” to “ANYWAY denial time’s over, I need him to pin me to the ground in front of everyone immediately”:

It takes fifteen minutes after landing on Coruscant for Anakin to decide that it’s time to bother Obi-Wan. For once, it’s not a decision on a whim, despite the carefree way he announces it to Rex before leaving his troops and ship in the hangar. The Force guides him through the halls and corridors toward the warm and familiar presence of his former master, but Anakin isn’t surprised to feel him preoccupied. 

Obi-Wan has been stuck in the Temple for the past four months.

Because of some careless planning, he was unlucky enough to be on Coruscant when Yoda realised that he was the only council member not currently swamped in various missions off-world. Since it was an unspoken rule that at least a few Council members should always be at the Temple, Obi-Wan has been asked to put his missions in the field on hold, and dedicate his time to represent the Council, until more of its members come back.  

Since then, Anakin has only seen him through holotransmitters for official briefings and reports. The artificial blue lights haven’t hidden the creases between his eyebrows and the twitch of his hands when Anakin raised the topic of his time away from the front, telling him all he needed to know about how Obi-Wan felt about being stranded on Coruscant to do paperwork all day or act as the face of the Jedi Order in the Senate.

Now that he can finally see him in the flesh, it feels natural to seek out Obi-Wan, poke at his poor master and laugh at his concealed misery. There was no doubt that Obi-Wan always brilliantly plays the role of a calm and serene Jedi Master, but Anakin hasn’t spent more than ten years around him without catching on the fact that at heart, he’s still a man of actions who needs some excitement and tangible problems to solve before he grows bored.

Anakin isn’t surprised to find him in the middle of various maps, datapad in hand and pointing something on a holotable at another Jedi. What does surprise him, after a few minutes of waiting for them to be done and the Jedi to go away, is that Obi-Wan is not putting any weight on his left leg. It’s the most subtle of change, probably undetectable to anyone else but someone who has spent so much time watching the way Obi-Wan walks and moves and carries himself. But it’s there. 

“Oh, that?” Obi-Wan says almost like he hasn’t noticed, after Anakin didn’t even bother with a ‘hello’. “A knight asked me for some hand-to-hand training sessions. Since I’m to stay at the Temple for an indefinite period of time, I can at least be useful to others. He didn’t go easy on your old master, that’s for sure,” he quietly laughs, and Anakin will be annoyed at himself later for not noticing the clear bait.

But for now, it’s the perfect opportunity to make fun of him, saying that old men like him should pay more attention to their health, and “be careful Obi-Wan, you’re already part of the Council and drink your tisane before going to bed at 2200, you can’t be going around holding your back and complaining about young people or I’ll start mistaking you with Master Yoda!”

A datapad comes flying at his head and it only makes him laugh harder.

Anakin starts to become suspicious two weeks later.

He arrives in the middle of the night from an exhausting mission in the inmost depths of the mid-rim, and his feet take him directly to Obi-Wan’s quarters. it’s closer than his anyway, and he knows Obi-Wan keeps his old room just the way he left it. If he’s being honest, he should also admit that he spends half of his time there instead of his own quarters. It’s just a question of being used to it, he thinks as he lets himself fall on his old bed. And here at least, he knows he will find the bed made and a cup fo caf waiting for him in the morning. Plus, there is nothing more comforting than the feeling of slipping between fresh sheets and the smell of the familiar citrus detergent, unchanged since his childhood. He should really ask Obi-Wan which one he uses. 

When he opens the fresher’s door the next morning to brush his teeth, he barely notices that Obi-Wan is already taking a shower, complaining about sacred personal space and unruly boys who never learnt common courtesy like not leaving their muddy boots in the living room or barging in occupied freshers behind the curtain. Nothing out of the ordinary, until Obi-Wan comes out with a towel high on his hips, but not high enough to hide the large bacta patch on his back and shoulder. 

“Wha-” Anakin tries to ask between toothbrush and toothpaste, but Obi-Wan is already out of the room, and even outside their quarters with a hurried goodbye when Anakin finishes brushing his teeth. 

Anakin starts to get annoyed when he comes back from Corellia a week later and Madame Nu catches him near the entrance of the library. 

“Please come get your master,” she sighs with a hand grabbing his arm, already dragging him in with unexpected strength. “I don’t know what he’s trying to do, but this is getting ridiculous.”

The ‘not my master anymore’ is still on his tongue when she makes an exasperated sign to a corner of the library where he finds Obi-Wan seated at a table, chin on his hand and head bowed toward a screen.

Snoring. 

Anakin barely contains his giggle long enough to take a holo and send it to Ahsoka. He takes another one then, closer, focusing on the way the late afternoon sun catches his hair, his beard and his lashes, enfolding Obi-Wan in its warm golden light. Focusing on his peaceful expression. 

 He saves this one for himself. 

Reluctant to disturb him, he allows himself a few more minutes of fondness and gentle affection in front of the scene before putting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, and shaking it gently. The wince and sudden jerk he gets as a result surprise him, before he remembers the flash of a bacta patch in the fresher a week ago. 

“'N’kin? You’re already back?” Obi-wan mumbles, straightening himself with difficulty on his chair. 

“Yes, just arrived a few minutes ago.”

 “What are you doing in the library?” He asks in a light tone. Something cracks, and his hand makes an aborted move toward his shoulder before thinking better of it. “I thought you would only come back this far in the economy section under death threats.”

This time, Anakin doesn’t take the bait. 

“You’re still hurt. Are you going to tell me which knight beat you up and apparently kept you up all night?”

The words have barely left his mouth when he realises the double meaning of his question and there are suddenly a dozen images in his mind and- No no no, it can’t be- Obi-Wan would never... Well, he would. But not this way, not the- Hand-to-hand training? With another knight? Every time Anakin leaves for a certain period of time, when no one will notice if Anakin’s not here? Being so tired that he’s sleeping in the middle of the library? The bacta patch? To get this, that would have- Oh, that would be a sight to- NO, no, this is definitely not it, Anakin has to believe it, or he will lose his mind right there. 

“A knight?” Obi-Wan asks, apparently still too drowsy to sense Anakin’s inner meltdown. He stretches his arms, and Anakin grows even more confused when he realises that his knuckles are scraped. “What are you talking about?” 

 “The- The one you’re training?”

Something passes in Obi-Wan’s eyes and he puts his hands in his sleeves just a little too quickly to look natural. 

“Ah, yes, the knight. Yes, he- we, we’re still having sessions now and then. Good to stay in shape, you know. Now, since you’re back, what do you say about dinner? I’m paying for Dex’s takeout if you go get it.” 

Anakin doesn’t feel focused enough to harass him about his flimsy explanation or tease him about taking a nap in the library. There are way too many incriminating images in his mind he needs to get rid of first. 

The next time he comes back to the Temple after a few days trapped in negotiations with neutral planets, he doesn’t comm anyone and is careful not to let Obi-Wan knows he’s here. He sends R2 and one of his droid pal to stand close to Obi-Wan’s door, and then, he waits. No one pays attention to droids, and most people forget that they have cameras that can be turned on at any point in time, if you ask nicely. It doesn’t take long. At 2240, R2 sends an alert to his comm. He gets his robe, shields himself heavily in the Force, and starts following Obi-Wan.

Anakin really, really doesn’t expect his former master, his “remember that wherever you go, you represent the whole Jedi Order, Anakin, so act accordingly” master, to make his way to the bars and clubs district of the lower levels through hidden shortcuts, bypass cameras and security officers like he’s done it all his life, and knocks at a durasteel door full of graffitis in a language Anakin can’t read.

Definitely not meeting a Jedi knight for regular hand-to-hand training. 

Under his hood, Obi-Wan nods at the Twi’lek who opens the door for him. Anakin lets a few minutes pass before making his way to it. It takes him a heavy mind suggestion to get her to let him in, and when he walks through the door, his heart suddenly starts beating faster in anticipation of what shameful secret he’s going to find.

The thought of seeing Obi-Wan sprawled on a couch of a hidden club with a harem of girls around him crosses his mind, and it twists something he usually tries to ignore in his stomach. It’s not Obi-Wan’s style, it’s so far from everything he knows about his master, but his mind won’t stop entertaining the most insane possibilities of what he does when he’s stuck without Anakin at the Temple and bored by meaningless paperwork. He wouldn’t have imagined Obi-Wan doing anything else but meditate to release tension, but here he is, in the worst part of the whole planet. So what’s next to come?

His throat is already dry, but it’s even harder to swallow when he imagines Obi-Wan letting himself be lead to a private alcove by one of these imaginary girls.

Or boys.

Anakin suddenly thinks that there is no way he’s going to handle this whole thing well.  Whatever he will find will make the effect of betrayal, and he’s not certain why. But Anakin is also convinced that he will be restless and unable to sleep for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get answers. He needs to see, to understand, to know everything about Obi-Wan, even the things he apparently doesn’t want to share. It’s selfish and unkind to his master who has always made a point of respecting his privacy and was probably way too lenient with him during his apprenticeship. He knows that. Now that Anakin has a padawan of his own, he’s fully conscious about all the things Obi-Wan let him get away with for years. He knows. 

But there is something about him that Anakin can’t let go, will probably never be able to let go, that makes Anakin greedy. Demanding. Needy. A poor example of a Jedi that his master would be ashamed of, especially for being the source of it. 

 Anakin refuses to think about it for too long. 

The arena is a distracting surprise.

All of a sudden, he’s pushed in the middle of a crowd, unbalanced by the music, the loud cheers, the flashing lights, the Togruta yelling into a mic, the bell ringing and the thunderous applause all around. No one pays attention to him, way too engrossed in what’s happening in the centre of all this agitation, a few meters down from Anakin’s position.

Nothing could have prepared him for watching the two fighters in the centre of the arena. 

One of the men, the largest one, is face down on the red sand, clearly defeated for the night. Anakin barely notices him, because above him, rubbing his knuckles against his bloody nose before raising it in a universal sign of victory, is Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Polite, well-mannered Obi-Wan, who once lectured Anakin for ten minutes because he walked on a nice carpet with his boots on, is now bare-chested in front of a rowdy crowd roaring at him- no, for him. He’s sweating, cheeks, knees and hands covered in sand and exhibiting massive bruises on his ribs and his shoulder. The wide smile on his face says enough about what he thinks about it. 

When Anakin thinks that he will never truly recover all parts of his brain from seeing Obi-Wan’s muscles gleaming with oil and sweat under the artificial lights, he realises that people are chanting his name. Well, nickname. Even with the deafening sound of his blood pumping in his ears like he’s the one fighting in the middle of the arena, Anakin can’t stop himself from scoffing. How can Obi-Wan get into illegal street fighting in the lowest levels of Coruscant and choose to call himself Ben? At least some of his boring master’s choices don’t surprise him. 

It's not the first time he's watching Obi-Wan fighting with nothing else than his fists. It was even quite common when his master was teaching him how to defend himself, when Anakin was still a young padawan. But Obi-Wan was always so proper about it. Focused on the fastest and most efficient way to get the upper hand without maiming his opponent. The picture of calm and serenity, even while throwing his padawan down on the mat to teach him an important lesson about self-defence. Rarely a strand of hair out of place.

But here? Here it's nothing like the impassive and soft-spoken Jedi Master who doesn’t even seem to sweat in the training room of the Temple. Here, it's a fascinating grin on his face, bloody knuckles in the air, adrenaline and flashing lights painting his red hair a shade too wild. It's a violent and brutal show for glory and entertainment, and it suits Obi-Wan like nothing else before.

Anakin has never wanted to be slammed down in the sand so badly in his life. 

The crowd around him suddenly goes quiet, and it takes Anakin a second to realise it’s because Obi-Wan asked for it with a simple hand raised. There is something fascinating in watching all these strangers obeying him so promptly, eagerly waiting for a word from him, when Anakin can still remember all the times he cut Obi-Wan off in one of his tedious lectures. 

The whole arena holds its breath, and Obi-Wan takes a few seconds to enjoy it. 

“Next!” He finally yells, and the crowd yells back in delight. 

Anakin needs to gather his thoughts. Or what's left of them anyway. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan dodging the punches of his new opponent with a flourish, parrying and making an acrobatic show of throwing him over his shoulders on the ground just for the crowd’s enjoyment is more than distracting. Despite the blood on his face, the bruises, the dishevelled hair and the sand sticking to his torso because of the sweat, Obi-Wan hasn’t looked this carefree since the beginning of the war, and Anakin can’t look away. 

 He can’t decide if he’s content to simply be mesmerized by the whole thing, thrilled to be able to admire Obi-Wan being this bold, almost smug, from far away, where his clear feeling of want doesn’t have to be ignored right away, or angry at him for putting himself in danger for no reason when he’s taking enough risks as it is fighting a war. For once, Anakin is tempted to be the voice of reason for the two of them.

It doesn’t last long.

A minute after the commentator enthusiastically yells into her mic Ben’s victory, a bell still ringing in celebration, Anakin has already made his way to a little booth away from the show, where a bored Kiffar asks him what he wants. Anakin licks his lips, and can’t help feeling like he’s a young padawan again, giddy with excitement and vibrating with anticipation. 

“How much to join?” he asks, but doesn’t let him time to answer before adding, pointing to the arena, “How much to fight him?” 

[the-witty-pen-name]

It Happened on Sakaar Pt. 1

Mando x F!Reader; Loki x F!Reader

Rating: M; 18+ Only

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs, alcohol, and exotic dancers, grieving, angst, slow burn 

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: The bounty hunter’s most recent puck sends him across the Galaxy to an unfamiliar and artificial planet named Sakaar- literally the galaxy’s trash can. Sakaar is a bizarre planet, but so is his most recent bounty. Din is chasing a man he only knows as The God of Mischief. The reader lives on Sakaar as a scrapper, a similar trade to that of a bounty hunter and has a tangled history with the man Mando is looking for. Will the unlikely duo team up to capture the mischievous Asgardian or will the reader fall victim to Loki’s promises?

A/N: I had planned on writing this in a few days but as per usual I put off coursework to write this fic! So here it is a couple of days early. I am also working on the next chapter of Deadbeat as well as Rest so look out for both of those within the next couple of days! I also am working on an adorable Obi-Wan x Reader request I received a few days ago that will be coming soon as well!

This is unedited and if I missed anything that I should include as a warning please let me know! Thank you y’all! 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

He promised. 

And you were foolish enough to believe him. 

You were foolish to think you were different. 

You were foolish to think you really got to know the real him. 

You were foolish to think that everything he told you was real. 

You were foolish to think that when he told you he loved you he meant it. 

You were foolish to think he’d come back. 

You, a warrior, a fighter, defender of the throne of Asgard, lied helpless on the ground, broken in pieces as you’re told by Odin that Loki was gone. 

And he was dead. 

You mourned him. 

The ache never going away, day after day, that stupid statue just another thing to remind you that he was gone. 

He wasn’t coming back. 

Until he did. 

And you realized how much of a fool you were. 

And you realized everything you thought you knew was a lie. 

So you left. 

 You left with the promise you made to yourself that you would never return to Asgard. 

In your rage, you were blinded when you demanded Skurge open the bifrost and send you to the furthest planet from your homeland. 

 The thought crosses your mind that if it had been Heimdall, he wouldn’t have let you go, talked you into reason and asked you to stay. 

If it had been Heimdall, Thor would’ve caught up to you in time instead of just missing you when you left. 

You didn’t know where you were going and you didn’t care. Your only thought was to put as much distance from yourself and Asgard as possible. You landed in a gross pile of debris when you first arrived, and from there worked your way up to one of the favorites of the Grandmaster- you were dubbed Scrapper 451 and second in most captures to Scrapper 142. Time works odd in space, you’d been there for three years- completely developed a new life under your new alias. 

You’d bring in life form after life form to the Grandmaster, always pleasing him by bringing him potential fighters. 

You worked alone, you preferred it. The only friend you had was Scrapper 142 and that was hardly a friendship- more just a rivalry you both had your fun with. There was a mutual respect, and a feeling about her you couldn’t explain, but that was it. 

When you met Mando, you almost killed him. You had heard a tip from a local shop owner a ship had landed rather roughly, and you made haste to be the first one to investigate, determined to beat 142 if there was a capture worth making. 

Carefully navigating your way through the wasteland, you had finally found the ship in question. It was a model you had never seen before. You stay crouched behind a pile of trash, your stun gun aimed at the ship waiting for it to open. 

You stopped and lowered your weapon when you saw the armored passenger had a very small creature by his side. A baby. 

You hadn’t seen a baby on this planet since you’d landed. Sure, people have children, but you had never seen anyone bring their child to Sakaar. All the children whom you’ve met, had been born there- no one with a child willingly travels to this part of the Galaxy. 

A metal man and a green baby. You scoffed. What an interesting duo. 

You took in the appearance of the armored man. Sakaar had a very basic premise that determined your survival. Are you a fighter or are you food? This one was very clearly a fighter. Not necessarily one that you think could be a gladiator- not the right type. But you could tell by the way he walked out of the ship, he was a force to be reckoned with. The baby was really throwing you off of your game. You could have this man halfway back to the Grandmaster by now if he wasn’t traveling with a kid. Sakaar has not yet made you completely heartless, as much as you tried to be. You decide to compromise your position, in a hope of being able to just talk. Learn why he’s here. 

No one comes to Sakaar. It’s never on purpose. Lost souls are dumped here. Yet, this man seemed like he was the only creature to intentionally travel to Sakaar like he was just passing through. If you couldn’t bring him in, maybe you could at least salvage parts from the ship. 

“What’s your business here?” You ask, from behind the pile where you hid. You could see him but he could not see you. You watch as his first move is to close the floating pram, protecting his child first as he desperately looked around for the source of the voice.

“I’m passing through,” he replies, looking around at his surroundings. 

“Nobody just passes through,” you reply. “No one comes here on their own accord. No one leaves once they arrive. What is your business?”

“I’m looking for someone,” he says nondescriptly, further irritating you. You stand up, slowly, your gun still pointed at the man as you walk closer. 

“Who?”

“Bounty”

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

“No, I came here for vacation.”

“Don’t be a smart ass.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Who are you here for?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” 

“I don’t know.”

“What kind of bounty hunter are you?”

“One of the best.”

“Oh really?”

“Don’t test me, Princess.”

“If I’m a princess what are you?” 

“Knight in shining armor?” 

“Are you really hitting on me right now?”

“Only if you’d want me to be.”

“Gods.” 

You can’t see his face from under his helmet but you could feel the smirk he was making. He clearly didn’t view you as a threat and it really annoyed you. Maybe you came off too friendly? No, you’re still pointing a gun to his head. 

“Who are you?” He asked. 

“Scrapper 451,” you said blankly. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Mando.” 

“Mando?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of a name is that?” 

“What kind of a name is Scrapper 451?”

“It’s a title.”

“Not going to tell me your real name?”

“Are you gonna tell me yours?” 

“How-?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“What’s a scrapper do anyways?”

“Bring mouthy tin men in in exchange for a generous amount.”

“You’re a bounty hunter?”

“You could say that?”

“Are you going to turn me in?” 

“That was my plan.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“The baby.” 

“Slave catcher with a heart of gold?”

“I’ll get that on my tombstone.”

“Sooner rather than later I hope.”

“Ouch. Mando, I thought we were friends.”

“You know I didn’t mean it, Princess.”

“Who are you here for?” 

“Someone who calls themselves the God of Mischief.”

You freeze, and you lower your weapon. You’re stunned. You hadn’t heard that title in years, and although you never forgot about it, you were great at pushing it back so far away where you couldn’t access it. The man is able to read your body language and can tell you know the man he’s looking for. 

“He’s not here,” you finally manage to say, your knuckles turning white at how tightly you grip your blaster. 

“He is here,” he says slowly, pulling out a bounty puck. Clear as day, Loki’s face shows up on the holographic screen. Your stomach churns. 

“He’s not here,” you insist. “If he was, I wouldn’t be here. Trust me.”

“So, you know him?” 

“Not at all.”

“Really?” 

“Really,” you take a few steps backwards to walk away. “I wouldn’t stay on this planet long if I were you. Sakaar has a way of just pulling you in.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Get lodging,” you advise with a smile, “the next person who finds you out here won’t be as nice as me.” 

With that you left, leaving the Mandolorian dumb struck. What was this planet? 

Mando knew well enough to take your advice. With the Crest secured, he and the Child made a journey into the city. 

Your words lingered in his mind. He knew you had information about the bounty you were withholding. He needed to run into you again. He reasoned with himself it was for the sake of catching the bounty, but part of him also wanted to see you again. He just wouldn’t admit it. 

He found a place where he could get a room. An elaborate casino, with ornate decorations and loud music playing constantly. A large bar and lounge also attached. He received his room key and ignored the festivities that occurred in the bustling establishment- his first order of business to make sure the Child was settled and would be safe in the room. He regrets his decision to not ask Peli to watch him, but he knew he’d be distracted being so far away. 

He figured he was far enough across the galaxy; he wouldn’t need to worry about those after his own bounty or the child’s. But he realizes that he forgot about needing a sitter. If he absolutely needed to, he could bring the child with him, but that was not ideal. Especially, since gauging your reaction at the mention of his new bounty, this didn’t seem like it would be any easy task. He sat down on the bed in the middle of the room, and pulled out the puck- reading over what little information he had.

He needed to find you again and desperately needed any information you’d be willing to share.

You were worried. There was no way Loki was here. You knew he wouldn’t have come for you, even if you thought about it when you first arrived. You thought if anyone would come after you, it would’ve been Thor, convincing you to return to Asgard and cleaning up another one of his brother’s messes. It hurt when no one from home reached out once in the last three years. However, you decided you were better off because if Thor had convinced you to return home, you’d have to face Loki again, and you were adamant on keeping your word you would not see him again.

 ***

His funeral was devastating. Although many on Asgard did not care much for Loki or his antics, the throne had lost a prince. It was a dark day. Weather on Asgard usually always seemed to be perfect, but on the day of Loki’s services, the God of Thunder was so distraught, he was unintentionally causing a gray and gloomy sky. Thor and you were affected the most.

You stood next to Thor as Odin spoke, but your gaze stayed fixated on the ground. It felt so unfair and you felt an indescribable amount of pain and loss. Your face was stained with tears, as was Thor’s, and you felt like you had just cried until you were physically unable to do so. He was gone and you couldn’t get him back.

Odin watched you solemnly throughout the services. He had told you that he knew how much his son loved you and how despite his absence, you are still considered family. He insisted you had an open invitation to be at the castle whenever you wanted. You could only nod and offer a very, very meek thank you.

You took advantage of that offer, and honestly, you knew you were overstaying your welcome under the palace walls. You found yourself coming, and spending the days in his room, trying to just feel him in anyway you could. You’d run your hands across the broken spines of his books, look at the kingdom from the view of his window, laying on the bed over the elaborate bedding to just try to feel him. You didn’t even know what you were hoping to feel, but you somehow thought this would help you be closer to him.

At events on Asgard, you continued to wear green, almost like your own twist instead of just the traditional black of mourning. It felt right to wear green in his memory, but it was nothing more than just another attempt to pretend like he was there.

You could imagine how he would react to seeing you wearing his signature color. When he was there, he looked at you like you were the only living soul in the room that mattered. He’d shower you were touches of affection and whisper nothing but praises to you, making you think he had actually loved you. This was back before you knew how foolish you had been, blinded by your own puppy love and your affections towards him.

 ***

You now sat in the lavish home of the Grandmaster. He always had hundreds of people in his home, a constant party, a group made up of Sakaar’s elite being entertained by drinking, drugs, or entertainment of sorts from his um… staff. Drink in hand, you sat cross legged on an elaborate circular couch lost in thought while a dancer performed on a table in front of the group you sat amongst. You didn’t even look up- you hated this part of earning the Grandmaster’s favor. You hated these parties with your whole being. They were hedonistic and you would avoid them if you had the choice. However, you knew the Grandmaster would take offense if you were not in attendance.

Music was loud, and there were many flashing lights. You couldn’t rely on any of your senses to navigate in a place like this, but that was intentional. The Grandmaster set this up on purpose. His parties were meant to be a completely immersive experience. It was probably great for those who wanted to be there, but for you, you wanted to escape and slip out as early as you could.

You weren’t interested in the company and you weren’t interested in the weird substances you didn’t recognize being passed around. You didn’t want to relax, and honestly, these attempts to relax always seemed to make you feel worse. Being sober at these events was invitation for horrible eye strain and a hefty headache.

“451! 451!” you heard a familiar voice call over the loud music in a sing song voice. It was the Grandmaster. He would be the only person at this party who would actually be looking for you.

“Grandmaster,” you smile, getting up and walking over to him. You kiss both his cheeks quickly as a greeting. “You look radiant,” you smile, the compliment going right to his head as they usually did.

“451! Look at you, let me see the ensemble,” he would say, talking a step back, and you would twirl once. It was a long golden dress that draped your body, with a plunging neckline. It was paired with golden arm bands and an elaborate gold necklace. You also had gold flakes throughout your hair. “Stunning,” he praised, “I wish 142 would be more involved like you 451- she’s the best, but ugh, she doesn’t know when to relax. Anyways, I called you over to meet a new friend of mine.”

“Are you replacing me, Grandmaster?” You say with a tone of mocked offense and it makes him laugh.

“451, there is no replacing you- you are the three B’s,” he chuckled, lightly guiding you over to another area of the party. “beauty, brawn and brains, a very rare combination indeed.”

“You flatter me, Grandmaster,” you laugh. If you went along with him to keep him happy, the Grandmaster was actually a pleasant creature to interact with. You had the ability to match his banter and he liked that about you.

“Anyways, anyways 451,” he says, as he remembers his train of thought, “I want to introduce you to someone. He’s devilishly handsome and talks like some stuffy aristocrat, he arrived here a couple of weeks ago and I was finally able to convince him to join us.”

“Did he say where he was from?” you ask curiously.

“Get this,” he chuckles, “Ass-guard. What a hoot, am I right? Anyways, there he is. We got to get whatever stick is out of his butt. I’m hoping you’ll help me to uh, loosen him up. Loki! I want you to meet one of my best, 451.”

Based on the look of surprise, you knew he didn’t expect you to be here. He looked like a deer in the headlights and it angered you that he was here. You felt your teeth clench, and you wanted to just get out of here as fast as possible.

“451 is one of the best scrappers I have,” the Grandmaster talks, “Of course, nothing compares to my Champion but she is ruthless. She’s second in the most gladiators she has been able to bring me.”

“Impressive,” Loki smiles, and you feel the urge to just scream. “I’m Loki, prince of Asgard.”

What an asshole.

“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,” you say between your teeth. You could kill him.

“I’m gonna mingle,” the Grandmaster announces, “I’m leaving you in 451’s hands.”

“Please let me explain,” he immediately tries to say as soon as the Grandmaster is out of earshot. You scoff.

“I’d tell you to drop dead if you hadn’t already,” you spit, “Don’t talk to me. I want nothing to do with you. Get off this planet.”

“Please, just allow me,” he begins.

“Fuck off, Loki,” you snap, and make a fast exit. You leave him standing there bewildered and you watch how stunned he looks as the elevator door closes behind you.

You felt small again. Like all the progress you had made gone in a single instance, and you knew tomorrow you’d face the Grandmaster but for now you didn’t care. You craved a warm bed and sleep more than anything else in the world.

You had planned on staying here so you didn’t know how you were going to make it back to your little apartment. You assumed just walk. You weren’t armed and that was always a terrible idea on Sakaar. You didn’t have anything except a dagger that was fixed to your thigh under the dress you wore. You wished you had your blaster.

“You clean up nice, Princess,” a voice modulated voice you recognize says when the elevator door opens.

“Mando,” you say curtly, stepping out of the elevator.

“You clean up nice,” he states.

“Thank you,” you reply.

“Leaving the party so soon?” He asks. You nod.

“Not really my scene. What are you doing here anyways?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest for a little bit of warmth.

“I received a tip that my target might be here,” he answers, you nod, not elaborating on that you knew for a fact Loki was upstairs. “Did you see him?”

“No, I didn’t.”

PART TWO

Taglist:

@msclifford

[camxlots-retxrn]

of all things magic, a cerulean haze

teen+, no archive warnings, arthur/merlin

When Arthur goes missing, Merlin goes on his own in search for him. He knows to look for things that the others simply do not and has things at his disposal that the others, again, simply do not.

. . .Magical things, of course.

In all his worry and power, he has no idea the missing king is being shown each thing that Merlin does with that power.

. . .Magical things, of course.

written for Quest Four: Canon, What Canon? from The Sorcerer’s Guild :)

read on ao3 here or continue below! <3

Warm winds carry birdsong through the forest of Camelot’s southeast border, though Arthur can only hear them distantly. He stands at the base of great mountains – the White Mountains, that is – which hinder the earth’s breaths. With the sun directly overhead in the midday heat, Arthur longs for the coolness of the absent winds, though he does not miss the sting of winter.

Arthur looks around the small meadow he stands in, quite a beautiful thing, really; tall grasses billow like waves in the few breezes that manage to stir, spring flowers sprout all around, punctating the evergreen of the forest with their yellows, purples, and blues. There is a faint dampness in the air from spring showers, but it eases into the shadows with the warmth of noon, though dew drops still cling onto leaves, petals, and grasses.

Growing up large rocks like a blanket are the flowers Arthur came for: tiny, closely-knit yellow flowers. They grow in small but dense clusters.

“Ah, there you are,” he remarks, approaching the golden sprouts and bending down to gather a bouquet.

Though he would deny it if asked, Arthur has come to gather these flowers on Merlin’s behalf – only not in the way castle rumors would imply, truly. He has merely noticed his servant had been quite preoccupied as of late. With what, the king isn’t sure; Arthur only hopes it isn’t the tavern, for the sake of his chambers’ cleanliness if nothing else.

So, when Arthur overheard Gaius talking with Merlin about a need for these flowers… whatever they had been called (Arthur has already forgotten), he decided to take it upon himself. Regardless, he has sparse other things to do for the day. (That isn’t entirely true, but it is what he will tell himself… along with anyone who may question him.)

Plucking several of the flowers, Arthur gathers them in a small bunch to put in his pocket while rustling leaves sound from behind him.

Before the blond can even glance, the being rushes at him from behind.

/|\

Dry, bleary eyes open slowly, the king stirring up with a confused expression before his latest memories return to him.

Starting upright, he is suddenly on guard as his now-alert eyes dart around his surroundings – a cave, well-lit by its mouth that opens not five meters from where he stands. This cave certainly isn’t the largest, but it is a beautiful thing, with a small waterfall somehow flowing softly at the cave’s furthest end, water cascading down the rear wall and falling into the smallest of streams that ends at a crevice in the floor. In the center of the room’s expanse sits a small fire, which is surrounded by various pots and what Arthur assumes to be cooking materials.

A woman kneels at the fire, hands tending to some sort of herbs that Arthur does not recognize. They look to be just younger than he, with long, chestnut hair and eyes that loom darkly, broad arms, and a pudging stomach – something that Arthur hasn’t seen in some time after the long winter Camelot has only just begun to heal from. He might find this to be nearly comforting had this person not likely been the one who abducted him.

Arthur instinctively reaches for his sword, something he always carries with him when outside the castle, only to find it missing from his waist.

“Who are you?” he orders.

There is no reply whilst the figure merely continues their chore.

“I demand you tell me where you’ve taken me!”

When his further implores are only met with silence, Arthur takes note of the woman’s passive nature and decides instead to escape, as it doesn’t seem to be terribly difficult. He makes motion for the opening of the cave.

Before he breaks not three steps, he hears the figure utter something and finds himself pulled back by an unseeing force, leaving him sitting back on the cool, damp stone floor where he’d awoken. “You use sorcery?” he accuses.

“Yes,” the figure, at last, speaks, looking to Arthur with a calm expression as they set aside their herbs. “Is that so profane?”

He huffs. “Magic is illegal in Camelot, punishable by death, and you practice it against the king,” he says plainly.

“We are not in Camelot,” the sorceress says simply. “And I would not say ‘against’ you. On you, certainly. . . but I’ve done you no harm.”

“None that I know of,” Arthur mumbles more so to himself. “Where have you taken me?”

“The Mountains of Asgorath.”

“In Gawant? You hold me captive in the kingdom of my allies.” Arthur moves to get up again only to find himself in the same position after more incantations are spoken. “Stop that!” he calls, meaning to feign warning but instead only bearing frustration.

“I’ve waited a long time for you, Arthur Pendragon,” the sorceress remarks. “You won’t be leaving until this is through.” They stand, moving towards Arthur.

The king gets to his feet quickly, standing at the ready. “Until what is through? What do you mean to do?” Arthur demands.

“You will find out soon enough, only know that I mean you no harm.”

Before Arthur can respond, the figure, standing across the fire from him, begins to perform a spell of sorts, using the herbs they have been preparing and Arthur previously thought harmless.

He makes a final attempt at getting out of the cave, knowing defending himself against a sorceress alone – weaponless, no less – is not wise. His sword may be somewhere outside, or even a sharp branch, perhaps.

Unsurprisingly, he is forced on the floor again. Arthur finds this time to be different, however, as now, when he tries to escape, he cannot seem to move very far – as though within an invisible sphere. When he tries to move not even a step in any direction, his muscles grow weak, as though walking through the thickest of jams. He tires himself trying to step out of the boundary, only to sit upon the chilled stone floor with exhaustion after some time.

“Who are you?” he queries dejectedly.

“Maelwys. Maelwys Lunned.”

“And you are a sorceress.”

Maelwys smiles. “I’m no lady, Pendragon.”

“Right,” Arthur says stiffly, oddly embarrassed despite the situation at hand. He almost apologizes before remembering the grievous circumstances he is in. “A sorcerer, then,” he corrects.

Maelwys’ smile does not fade. “Nor am I any man.” At Arthur’s confused expression, Maelwys continues. “Your concept and belief of the nature of things does not make it fact, may it be about this or magic or ample other matters.”

Arthur’s lack of understanding doesn’t fade, but he drops the conversation, allowing it to dissipate. He instead warns that his men – his knights – will find him.

“They will not,” Maelwys replies. “Another will.” They look towards a fair, clear crystal that rests beside the falling water at the rear of the cave. “I’m counting on it.”

“You possess the Crystal of Neahtid,” Arthur states, though it’s almost a question.

“I do not. The Crystal of Neahtid is not the only of its kind.”

Arthur’s mind grows dry of what to do. He can’t escape, though he hardly wants to carry conversation with his captor either. He decides to instead take more observation of his surroundings and said captor, and hopefully, make one lucky observation that may grant him escape. He does not know if he should make means to attack the figure who resides across the fire, considering they have abducted the king but have done him no real harm. Though, he ponders on their practice of what he knows little of and surmises they may still have harmed him without his knowledge. A poison of some sort, perhaps.

Arthur takes comfort in knowing, at the very least, that his people are safe, before realizing this is of no certainty.

“Do you mean harm to Camelot?” Arthur demands, his voice sharp. “Do you mean harm to my people?!”

Maelwys shakes their head. “No,” they say. “I mean harm to no one. I only wish to have my people free.”

“Camelot today homes no captives.”

“We might as well be prisoners with how carefully we must tread under the Pendragon crown and its allies.”

Arthur sighs. “Persecution of magic and its users have lessened under my ruling,” he says. “I mean no harm to those that hold the same regard for me and my people.”

“And yet its use remains banned.”

/|\

The day passes on. Arthur does his best to pay attention to time through the sun’s castings beyond the mouth of the cave; they show the time to be late morning. He recalls the mountains of Gawant lie southwest of Camelot and thinks of the mountains which he’d been standing at the base of, picking flowers just that morning.

Flowers for Merlin, which he finds remain crumpled in his pocket.

Arthur thinks of Merlin but quickly pushes the thoughts from his mind as his reign on them slips.

“It begins,” Maelwys suddenly says, drawing Arthur’s attention back. “The truth.”

Arthur turns to them, stuffing the flowers back into his pocket. He finds Maelwys bearing the crystal – if not of Neahtid, Arthur does not know what. They peer into it intently, and he notes that it now glows vibrantly with hues of cerulean. It’s larger than that of Neahtid, with a greater expanse across one side – the one that Maelwys looks into. They stand with the crystal and approach the sitting king.

“What are you doing?” he says, wishing he could move away from their looming form and the crystal itself.

Bearing no words, Maelwys lowers the crystal to be sat in front of Arthur, just within his reach at the edge of his invisible circle. He doesn’t look at it at first, eyes locked on the figure in front of him.

“It’s time you know,” Maelwys states, face hopeful.

“Know what?”

Maelwys only nods toward the crystal before returning to their spot across the crackling fire. Arthur reluctantly looks into the face of the glowing crystal, only to find an image of Merlin in Arthur’s own chambers. They are cleaned, Merlin having seemingly completed his morning chores as he paces back and forth in front of the desk. Arthur’s training clothes are laid out on the bed, untouched by his lack of training today, what with having been abducted. The blond wonders why Merlin is in his chambers, as he thought his servant had much to work on during the sun’s rise. Had he already noticed his king’s absence?

Merlin stops and tends tediously to the pot of flowers on Arthur’s desk, a kind gesture from Guinevere. She and Arthur had eased out of the heat of their closeness into something somehow warmer, though in a different way. Something comforting that didn’t bode sharing chambers or lying one another to bed, but instead spring picnics and talks of their futures, which were no longer entwined, though still close. He loved her dearly, and she, him, only differently now. Not as a wife, but a friend.

Lifting the flower pot, Merlin suddenly turns towards where the door would be, though it remains out of Arthur’s view. The king realizes why when one of his knights, Elyan, suddenly comes into view.

The two talk soundlessly, prompting Arthur to realize he can’t hear them through the crystal. He can presume, however, as Merlin drops the flowerpot, that Elyan has confirmed the king has been taken.

Always has been a bit dramatic, Arthur thinks fondly.

This warmth fades as Merlin makes his way through the castle halls and into his and Gaius’ chambers. He dashes up the steps to his room, tearing furiously through his belongings before coming up with a leather-bound book.

Merlin whips into its contents as Gaius approaches him curiously. Though Arthur doesn’t hear what is said, he sees the physician take on a grievous expression as Merlin speaks. Gaius’ eyes quickly fill with worry as Merlin gathers things into a bag. Arthur doesn’t recognize these things, and obscurity in the crystal’s view – as though there is an oil on its surface, almost – grants no ease of discerning them. He presumes them to be medical supplies.

Merlin, you idiot, stay home! Arthur thinks, wishing he could shout to Merlin through the crystal.

“What is this?” Arthur shouts instead to Maelwys, who now sits at the small creek with clothing in hand. “What are you going to do to him? Why do you show me this?”

Maelwys looks to Arthur for a moment but does not say anything. They return to their washing without a word.

Arthur shakes his head and returns to the crystal, seeing Merlin slung with a satchel and making his way out of the bustling castle. In the courtyard, he finds the knights and approaches them, speaking with Elyan once more, who makes motions directing Merlin southwest. The knight then gestures for the servant to join them in the search for Arthur, but Merlin points back towards the castle and steps away, shaking his head and granting Arthur relief.

That is until Merlin sneaks off to the stables to grab a horse of his own once the knights have taken their leave.

The servant leaves the city grounds, riding southwest, the same way his king had gone only hours earlier. Merlin finds the same grove Arthur had picked the flowers he can’t name in, and he feels his face heat up in embarrassment. He hopes Merlin takes no notice of the flowers and remains ignorant to his king gathering them on his behalf. How ridiculous, he realizes, to be concerned with such things in a situation like this.

Dismounting, Merlin steps into the flowers – pretty, standing amongst them, Arthur notes. He hasn’t a clue what his servant is doing, but the servant himself seems to. He walks about in the clearing before stopping suddenly, looking around intently. Arthur sees no indications of his capture – because of the crystal’s haze, surely – but Merlin apparently does, as he mounts his horse with a look of determination and eyes set on the southwestern edge of the clearing.

He rides further into the mountainous landscape, his horse galloping through woods with no beaten path. Arthur suddenly wonders how his captor had even gotten his unconscious body here by themselves, though he knows asking such a question would bode no real answers.

/|\

The shadows beyond the bounds of the cave grow longer as the day wanes into evening. Arthur watches as Merlin rides towards the setting sun, finally stopping to make camp for the night as his horse begins to slow with exhaustion.

“Why do you behave civilly towards me?” Arthur speaks up, breaking the silence that has filled the cave as Arthur viewed the crystal and Maelwys busied themself with sorting out a meal. At their puzzled expression, Arthur continues. “Your kind have been punished under my family’s ruling countless times, often wrongly so – yet you hold no grudge.” He keeps his eyes on Merlin while he speaks, before finally looking up to the figure that sits across the cave from him. “Why?”

“I do not know whether you are a moral man,” Maelwys says, walking towards Arthur with a shallow, wooden bowl in hand. “I only know that you have a false perspective that has prompted a hatred of an evil that does not exist. Hatred of an art that is neither good nor bad, but instead only is. I have no reason for harboring ill intent against a man who has been kept from the truth for far too long.”

“What is this truth you speak of?”

“You shall learn soon enough. For now, eat.”

Maelwys sets the bowl within Arthur’s reach, and he sees it to be filled with stew. He looks at it with doubt in his eyes, neglecting to touch the food. Instead, he returns his gaze to Merlin, who takes his belongings from the horse’s luggage before moving on to gather firewood.

“Watch closely, Pendragon,” Maelwys says from her side of the fire, spooning stew into her mouth.

Arthur looks to her, and then the crystal. He only sees Merlin gathering wood for fire, though, and looks to the person across from him, puzzled. Maelwys only nods towards the crystal.

The king watches on and picks up the crystal to look closer, wondering what he’s meant to be seeing. Merlin eventually forms the collected wood into a pile amongst kindling, then fetches his bedroll off of the horse and leads it to a nearby stream for a bit of water.

After feeding the horse, Merlin returns to the unlit fire. Arthur watches, waiting for Merlin to develop a flame with some of the smaller sticks and branches, but he makes no motion to.

Instead, he turns his gaze to the tent of wood, and it lights, a twin flame in each of his eyes as they flare with a color Arthur can’t identify through the crystal’s blue hue.

Arthur drops the crystal, looking for Maelwys frantically, only to find the cave empty. He had not noticed them slip out, he realizes, now calling out their name.

The figure in question steps into the cave’s mouth, looking at Arthur questioningly. “You disturb my time with the stars,” they say. “What for?”

Arthur stands. “What is this?” he cries. “What do you mean to do to me with this manipulation? To— To M— To my servant? Do you mean to hurt him?”

Maelwys shakes their head, finally looking something other than calm as they stand against the night sky. “No, I have told you already, I mean no harm,” they say. “What you see is but the truth.”

“No,” Arthur states, “Merlin is too good a man; he does not have magic. I would know.”

“What you say is true, he is too good a man – too loyal to you to push you to reason. But the man you know as Merlin is both a good man and magic itself.”

“Magic itself, what does that mean? Stop this!” Arthur calls. “You’ve. . . you’ve done something to this crystal. You lie; this cannot be true!”

Maelwys purses their lips. “Neither the Crystal of Colwyn nor its kin from the Crystal Cave can so easily be tampered with. Surely you know this, having possessed the Crystal of Neahtid?”

Arthur remains silent, gaze fixed on the dark sky beyond Maelwys’ shoulders.

“Magic users have waited long enough,” Maelwys continues. “Having watched you and your servant for a full moon, I know you are mistaken regarding magic, Arthur Pendragon, and will see reason no sooner if one does not interfere. I will not let my intentions be hindered by your ignorance. You will learn this with your own eyes.”

“If you bear such knowledge of this ‘truth’, why don’t you simply tell me yourself!”

“I have waited my entire life for the allowance of magic; my patience will not wane now,” Maelwys says.

Arthur bows his head, anger still present but draining. “It’s true you have waited long enough; you have waited far longer, really, and for that I am sorry,” he says solemnly. Genuinely.

The conference withers there, in the dim firelit cave as the sun’s time expires. Arthur sees his servant settle for rest in his bedroll, but finds he can do no such thing. His body trembles with worry while he observes the man he’d grown so fond of, more so than ever in the latter months. Though now thawed, the chill bite of winter had led him to find warmth in his and his servant’s late, firelit exchanges. Despite Arthur’s hopes, these exchanges sparsely went beyond converse, save the two men’s gazes landing on one another for a few moments too long – or perhaps, not long enough.

Arthur ponders the idea of the one he trusts most having lied to him from the beginning. If it is true, does Merlin truly think so lowly of his king? Of his friend? Though it stings, Arthur loaths himself for his friend would be right in doing so. Why hasn’t Arthur repealed the law? Has Merlin felt unsafe around Arthur for these many years?

No, Arthur has confidence in the smiles he shared with Merlin, the ones Merlin echoed back at him warmly, even in the cold, even in the rainy nights of miserable hunts as they settled their bedrolls closer together than any of the other knights. Surely the truest piece of what the two of them formed is genuine – that comfort that Arthur can’t help but indulge in, showing in the lingering stares and warm smiles and brushing hands that prompt rosing cheeks, creeping all the way up to the ears, in Merlin’s case.

Arthur looks to Merlin, who is drifting into sleep now. He knows as much by the way Merlin’s shoulders lose the tension they carry during the day’s waking hours. That’s what they always do when Merlin is at last asleep, even if it takes a long while for him to be. Arthur knows that.

He looks at Merlin, at his limp shoulders and unclasped hands and lidded eyes and parted lips. Arthur looks at Merlin’s lips, and he thinks to himself that they could never say an evil incantation or curse or anything of the sort.

Whether Merlin bears such power or not, Arthur feels the same. He only worries that favoring – that trust – is not shared.

/|\

“Why am I beginning to hear him?” Arthur queries the next morning.

The sun has risen, its expiration date mended once again. He still sits on the stone floor within the invisible force, having slept in its bounds only some short time earlier. Grasses and flowers dot these floors of the cave, though Arthur swears they were not there when the moon reigned the sky, nor yesterday’s sun. The small creek of falling water looks clearer now as well. Arthur thinks it almost crystallized, though it does still flow freely.

The fire long dwindled, having dimmed into nothingness during the night, still sits between him and Maelwys, who presses several picked flowers beside the falling water at the far end of the cave.

“As he grows nearer, the bond grows stronger,” Maelwys answers.

“How is that?”

“We reside far from Camelot, and viewing someone who is so distant comes with lack,” Maelwys replies. “As he nears, the crystal’s power to see what is occurring around him grows broader.”

“So, you are capable of giving real answers, then,” Arthur quips.

Maelwys only smiles lightly in response before returning to their flowers.

As the day goes on, Merlin merely treks on through the mountains with his horse, stopping now and then to determine where to go next. How he makes this decision, Arthur doesn’t know, but he has faith in his servant, as the man moves at a quick cadence.

He moves on and on through the landscape save a stop at a broad stream. Merlin walks his horse to the water’s edge for a swill, before kneeling down to get one for himself.

Cupping the water in his hands, he splashes it upon his face, running it through his unruly head of hair that had grown through the winter. He looks down, and Arthur can’t see his face, but he can see the slump in his shoulders. Not like the ease of them when he rests, but instead, a solemn drop of them.

When he looks up, Arthur sees water droplets beading down Merlin’s cheeks and thinks nothing of it – until Merlin weeps, putting his head in his hands as his shoulders shake.

Arthur feels something dark within him, clawing at his empty stomach and sore heart and heavy throat. He looks away, wishing Merlin, brave dollop head he is, would just go home, where Guinevere and Gaius are. Where chores and the flowers are. Where it’s safe.

He also wishes the crystal had just stayed silent. Wishes Merlin’s broken sob hadn’t filled the cave with such ease.

Arthur looks back as he hears Merlin speak, gaze risen to the sky, “If you are watching, you need to let him go. If you harm him—” His head dips for a moment before he takes a deep breath and looks back up. “If you harm him, you will not be pleased with what greets you when he is found, and I will find him.”

The servant gathers himself up so soon, Arthur is certain the man has practiced it countless times, and the ache in him does not ease. Merlin splashes his face with water once more and sits upright, looking out at the water.

“Does he—” Arthur begins, looking to Maelwys, finding that they had already been looking at him. “Does he know you have been watching him?”

“I did not think he could,” the sorcerer says, “but it seems to be so.”

Arthur returns his gaze back to where it had been, upon Merlin. Through the blue haze of the crystal, it nearly glissades through the cracks of his awareness, but he watches helplessly as the tip of a sword lowers itself warningly upon Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur tenses, his eyes wide with helpless panic, but takes note of Merlin’s calm nature, who bows his head. Almost with annoyance, it seems.

Arthur looks away from the crystal again, eyes fixing around the cave in search of Maelwys. When his gaze lands on them, he’s bothered to see how relaxed they are, even as he begs for their help.

With his supplications falling on deaf ears, he stops his pleas and turns his attention back to Merlin, who remains composed even as he kneels beside the water, a sword to his neck.

“Do not move, we only seek your belongings,” a voice from behind Merlin states.

“I can’t allow that,” Merlin says stiffly, his eyes fixed on the creek before him.

“Allow? You haven’t much allowance to grant,” replies the same voice, now amused – likely the swordsman, as the blade jars as the man chuckles.

“Do not make this difficult,” quips another.

Merlin continues with a steady voice, “You are clumsy.”

Arthur can see the men now, and his breath catches in his throat; there are eight of them. Perhaps Merlin could outwit a handful of bandits, but few could escape near ten. Certainly, no unarmed man.

The blond turns his focus to Maelwys once more, his appeals reprising. “Please, help him,” he says. “Do not drag him into this; he has done no wrong!”

“Emrys can handle himself.”

“Who—?” Arthur begins, before deciding it is not important. “He has no training!” he cries. “End this madness and help him!”

With no further words from Maelwys, Arthur turns to the crystal. He clutches it in his hands as he takes in the scene before him, praying desperately to the gods that Merlin complies with what the bandits want. That Merlin makes it out unharmed.

The man in question turns his eyes towards the shining blade on his shoulder, but he does not move except for the bringing of fingers to his neck. When he takes them away, they are darkened.

“Your lousy excuse for a swordsman nicked my neck,” Merlin says, almost teasing.

Arthur grimaces, thinking to himself, Why provoke them?

The mentioned swordsman sneers, straightening himself and edging the blade into Merlin’s form. “Watch your tongue, or it won’t just be a nick.”

Merlin laughs this time, and Arthur’s stomach twists. What are you doing, Merlin? he wonders desperately. Run!

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Merlin says, tone serious now. “Please, just let me be on my way. I bear nothing of value.”

The swordsman shakes his head. “Really?” he muses. “And I am to take your word?”

“Better than taking a life.”

“I disagree.” The man raises his sword, and Arthur closes his eyes.

“Really think you can hurt me with that, do you?”

Merlin, you utter idiot!

“I s’pose at least I’ve got one,” the swordsman replies, gesturing to Merlin’s empty hands.

Merlin’s face straightens at this, and he sighs, his gaze downcast before he stands himself up to at last face the eight of them.

“I have no need for one.”

Before Arthur can begin to wonder what the hell that means, Merlin’s eyes are turning something bright that he can’t quite pin through the blue haze of the crystal. The same brightness he’d held in those eyes when lighting the fire. He nods his head, and all eight men are soon soaring beyond the crystal’s view; Arthur hears their bodies hit the soft earth. Merlin approaches one, checking the man’s neck, presumably for a pulse. He is apparently satisfied with what he finds, as he just as soon hurries over to his horse.

“I have places to be,” Merlin says grimly with a burdened sigh.

“Stop these preposterous falsehoods!” Arthur exclaims to the sorcerer, standing upright in the limited space he has. “Merlin is no sorcerer! He won’t even swat the stable flies; he would not keep this from me. I demand you stop showing me these. . . these utter lies!” He moves against the confines of his space, pushing with all his valor against the invisible wall, though his muscles grow weaker the further he moves. His actions are in vain, as he eventually drops to the floor as he is overcome with exhaustion.

He goes on to suggest he be let go before his men who, unlike Merlin, are trained for this – and not incapacitated, as he is – find them.

Maelwys purses their lips, seemingly to hold in a laugh, and shakes their head. “Emrys, who I’m certain will be the one to find you, is far stronger than any of your men,” they say. “But I am hopeful he will not harm me when I show him my reasoning.”

Arthur grows upset at this claim, taking it as an accusation against Merlin.

But the sorcerer only raises their hand. “Calm yourself, Pendragon.” Suddenly, the Pendragon in question feels as though his body is being pulled down into slumber. Within a moment, everything goes dark, and he falls out of consciousness.

/|\

When Arthur wakes, he is unsurprisingly in the same position as he had been, his body growing quite sore now. The shadows outside have diminished in the mid-noon light. He looks around the cave for the sorcerer, only to see he is alone, save the flowers and grasses – which he’s sure there are more of now. The flowers bloom more vibrant and abundantly, and the water falls clearer than ever, sparkling even in the sparse light of the cave.

He looks to the crystal and sees Merlin walking along a cliff that is lined with treetops, higher in the mountains and closer to Arthur than ever. He calls out the man’s name, but it only bodes Maelwys returning into the cave.

“You wake,” they say simply before walking to the crystal and picking it up. “He is close.” And then the crystal is set aside, beside the water where it had been when Arthur arrived here.

“What are you doing?” he says as it is taken out of his reach. “I need to—”

“Emrys will be here soon. Very soon,” Maelwys replies. “Nevertheless, I thought you did not believe what you saw?”

“Well—" But Arthur does not continue, unsure of what words to speak, and Maelwys smiles modestly. “Why do you call him ‘Emrys’?” he asks instead after several moments in silence.

Maelwys sits in their spot across the fire from Arthur, though now they rest on a bed of grass instead of cold stone. “For that is his name,” they state.

“No, his name is Merlin,” Arthur replies, accentuating the man’s name in the way he invariably always has, and surely always will.

The sorcerer shakes their head. “That may be true, but that is only his mortal name. The Druid prophecies speak of him as Emrys.”

“And how might you know the Druid prophecies?” Arthur queries. “I was under the impression they were kept silent.”

Maelwys does not reply.

Arthur pauses for a moment but then looks at the sorcerer curiously. “You are a Druid?” he finally says with disbelief. “They are peaceful people, they would not condone abduction.”

That earns him a pointed look, but still no response. Instead, Maelwys goes outside. For what, Arthur could figure doubtlessly: to avoid the conversation at hand.

The minutes go on silently, and Arthur grows impatient. That is until the flowers and grasses and water of the cave flourish more than ever. Petals and vines climb up the walls before his eyes, and the water nearly emanates light of its own. Butterflies, grasshoppers, and ladybugs now dot about in the cave, seemingly coming from nowhere.

He looks to the mouth of the cave expectantly and feels as though he stares at it for many eons before he sees Merlin’s figure step into it. Merlin, who’s slung with a satchel of things Arthur doubts are purely medical, and whose eyes frantically look around the cave before landing on his king. He calls out Arthur’s name, and Arthur does likewise, attempting to stand up as Merlin runs to him, only to realize his legs remain weak.

Merlin stops short at the invisible wall holding Arthur inside. “It’s a spell,” Arthur explains breathlessly, but just then Merlin bears through it, as though walking through nothing but a bit of harmless rainfall.

“Are you harmed?” he asks frantically, kneeling before Arthur and putting hands on his arms and shoulders and face and everywhere he can check for wounds before resting them either side his king’s face. “Why can’t you stand?!”

Arthur puts his hands over Merlin’s, pulling them down from his face to hold them in his lap. “Merlin, I’m fine, only tired from trying to get through the spell,” he says. “They’re outside, they’ll be back soon. You must go.”

“No,” Merlin says definitively, shaking his head. “No, not without you. I am going to get you out.”

“How did you get through the spell?” the blond suddenly wonders.

“Must only work on you,” Merlin replies, gaze not meeting Arthur’s.

“Merlin,” Arthur addresses, and the man looks to him. “I know,” he says, voice quiet. Merlin looks at him questioningly, but before he can reply, Maelwys returns.

“Emrys, you have made it.”

Merlin’s face twists into something Arthur does not recognize before he turns to face the sorcerer – or Druid rather, Arthur now knows. “Let him go!” he says simply, and then there is a beat of silence.

“It is time he learns the truth. Magic is not evil, and you must be the one to show him as much.”

Arthur watches as the two figures only stare at one another, but their lips never form any words.

After several moments, the Druid speaks out: “It is only right we share these words out loud, Emrys; allow Arthur to hear.”

Merlin shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says with a shaky voice. “I will speak with you, but please, just do not make him see me as this. Let me take him from here.”

“Merlin,” a voice sounds from behind.

The man in question turns at the sound, looking with glossy eyes at a worried king.

“I know,” the king repeats.

“What?” Merlin says in a small voice. He whips around to face the Druid once more. “What did you do?!” he shouts accusingly, voice withering further with each moment.

Maelwys looks solemn. “I showed him the truth. Magic must be safely practiced; the king needs to understand that it is not inherently evil,” they say. “I knew he would see reason upon seeing whom he trusts most bearing magic.”

“The Druids do not pardon these actions, surely?” Arthur watches as Merlin’s figure turns towards the small waterfall, seemingly finally taking note of the crystal, cast aside at the back of the cave. “You steal from the Crystal Cave,” he says in a voice of thorns.

The Druid looks down, the well-meaning smile still on their lips fading. “It may be returned now. I only needed it impermanently.”

Merlin speaks something quiet as if to prevent Arthur from hearing it. Whatever it is that he says, the Druid before Merlin flinches back from their shaking smile. “My Lord, surely there is no need for that?”

Merlin shakes his head before going on, “You have been the one watching me? I could feel someone was, and when Arthur went missing, I was sure it was related.”

“I needed to see what was going on, if the persecution of magic was to end or if— if someone needed to interfere.” Maelwys pauses a moment, a visible lack of confidence as they choose their next words. “We have waited long enough!”

“People like you are part of the reason we must!” the brunet retorts. “How do you expect him to accept you when you spy on us? When you abduct and trap him? When you steal from the source of magic itself and are rejected even by your own?”

“But surely you want recognition for all that you have done to protect the kingdom? To protect him? Surely you want the crown to approve of magic just as much as I?” the Druid cries, and there is desperation in their voice.

“How is he to approve of magic when you use it against him like this? There are other ways to go about this!”

Merlin turns from the sorcerer to Arthur suddenly, before looking between the two indecisively.

Finally, as tears spill, he whips around to face the sorcerer with a raised hand. He holds it there, trembling as he hesitates.

“Merlin,” murmurs the king. Lifting his own, Arthur takes the hand that still remains at Merlin’s side. “They have not harmed me. They have done wrong, but as have I. There is no need for you to follow suit.”

“I know,” Merlin says. A beat of silence and Merlin reciprocates the hold Arthur has on his hand and lowers the other that had been lifted towards the Druid. His eyes remain locked on the Druid as he repeats, “I know.”

“You will leave these lands,” Merlin says after a moment of silence that feels like eons. “Don’t ask me to spare you twice.”

“I lie beyond the borders of Camelot,” Maelwys points out, “and I only wanted to help our people.”

“I understand,” Merlin speaks, his voice dismal, “but my caution stands.”

Arthur looks past Merlin to Maelwys as he speaks up, “I will see to it that the ban is lifted.” He looks aside, gathering himself before continuing. “I am truly sorry for how overdue it is.”

Maelwys nods, looking from one man to the other, and then Arthur blinks, and they are gone.

Merlin turns to Arthur jauntily, hands trembling as he returns them to either side of the man’s face. He looks in Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur returns the favor, before Merlin pushes himself into his king, arms thrown with abandon around the man’s neck.

Arthur stiffens, and Merlin quickly pulls away.

After a moment, Arthur wonders aloud, “Is this you?” He gestures to the abundant flowers and luminous water and diddling bugs.

Merlin doesn’t look away from Arthur as he speaks. “Yes.”

Arthur takes in a shaky breath at the admission, nodding to himself as he looks away from the brunet in front of him. They sit in silence for a long while, Merlin observing Arthur and Arthur doing anything but.

“Do you trust me?” Arthur finally queries, voice wavering as his eyes remain fixed on the trees beyond the mouth of the cave.

Merlin states as if this matter weaves the fabric of what they share, “I trust you with my life, Arthur.”

“But you didn’t share this with me.”

“The lying, the self-preservation. . . it is all I’ve ever known,” Merlin says. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, or to put you in that position, burden you with that conflict. If you legalized it, I would tell you; if you didn’t, I would not.”

Arthur finally turns to Merlin, and he does not look away. He thinks of the lingering gazes they shared that held for a bit too long, though, again, perhaps not long enough. He places a hand either side of Merlin’s neck, tracing his thumbs along the man’s rosy cheeks. Leaning forward, Arthur pauses, only a breath away.

“May I?” he puts forth.

Merlin nods and drifts into Arthur, opening to him and joining their mouths in a way they had each only thought of. They sit opposite one another, pulled together not only by Merlin’s arms but also by something beyond that, as though Merlin’s magic flourishes beyond anything it ever had as it, at last, unites with its reason of being.

When they part, though only enough to reclaim their lost breath, the pair notice the cave thrives with more life than it ever had before, a rainbow of butterflies cascading around the sorcerer. Arthur smiles at this and at said sorcerer’s blush – the one that always steals all the way up to his ears.

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbles, a sheepish smile at his lips as his gaze turns downcast, doubtlessly – and futilely – to avoid his blush being noticed.

Arthur wonders aloud as he looks at the beauty around him, “How could I not see it before?”

“You saw what you wanted to, I s’pose,” Merlin replies, looking at Arthur without realizing the rosiness still reigns strong on his face.

“Oh,” Arthur suddenly says with remembrance, reaching into his pocket. “I, uh. . . I got some of these for you.” He takes out the crumpled yellow flowers he’d plucked on Merlin’s behalf the morning before, now limp in his hand.

“You got flowers for me?”

It’s Arthur’s turn to flush, now. “I just heard Gaius telling you to fetch them, and I knew you were a bit busy, so—”

Arthur stops short as Merlin looks to the flowers, face still as pink, and places his hands over Arthur’s. His eyes glow in what Arthur can at last see is gold, and when he removes his hands, the flowers are upright again, spines tight with life.

Something warm is within Arthur as he takes Merlin’s hands back into his, something warmer than all the smiles and held gazes and firelit exchanges even put together ever emanated because he knows Merlin feels the same as he – trust, devotion, and appreciation, an amorousness weaved with magic that neither of them can quite place, but finally grant is between them.

*

thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! if you have any thoughts or just liked what you read, I adore reading comments <3 /pos (no obligations of course, typing & forming thoughts can genuinely be tiring /gen)

some mutuals who I think had asked to be tagged (I can’t recall which of you bahaha) - @tcs-main @tireddruid & @oncefutureemrys 

[crowclubkaz]

Blood in the Sand (Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth)

read it here on ao3

Bounty hunters don’t work for free. This has been something Din Djarin has been firm with throughout his life – yes, some jobs pay in favors rather than in credits or beskar, but they pay none the less. There are some jobs he takes on because he owes someone something, some jobs he takes on because he can’t stand to see innocent people hurt.

Mos Pelgo has neither credits, nor beskar, nor does the Mandalorian owe them anything. And yet, when a distress call is sent from the town to him, he goes without hesitation. Not because he expects something in return. Not even because he knows the place is filled with nothing but innocents. He goes because of Cobb Vanth.

The distress call had been unclear, rushed and hurried and desperate, and most notably, not from the town Marshal, that much Din can tell. But the people of Mos Pelgo remember the Mandalorian that had slain the Krayt Dragon, the knight in shining armor that had bartered peace with the Tuskens, and so they know that fearsome reputation or not, he is a friend to them. A friend to Marshal Vanth. And although the call is sent out in vain, he is the only person they know to call. A small place in the middle of Tatooine has no desire to deal with the New Republic, lest they have their lives overtaken by pilots in orange.

Before Din’s ship even touches sand, he knows exactly what sort of trouble he’s in for. While Stormtrooper armor might bleed the white snow of places like Hoth, it sticks out clear as day against the browns and beiges of Tatooine. What Stormtroopers are doing in Mos Pelgo of all places, Din doesn’t know – but that doesn’t matter. Their presence means nothing good, only brings with it death and destruction and forced submission. And while one or two Stormtroopers can be ambushed perfectly easily, even by the townsfolk of as small a place as Mos Pelgo, the twelve that Din can see sitting straight along the road through the center of town alone tell him why this is a problem much better suited for a specialist.

Ask questions first, shoot second has always been Din’s motto – he likes to know why he’s shooting before he has to. Wants to make sure nobody innocent is getting hurt before he so much as reaches for his blaster. And while he doesn’t often give Stormtroopers the benefit of the doubt, he does this time. He does this time, because the last thing he wants is anyone getting caught in the crossfire of a fully-armored shootout. It’s just being safe.

The troopers are on him before he’s so much as reached the first building in the town.

“Mandalorian,” Din hears one of them say, and he can’t discern whether it’s spoken with shock, hesitancy, or as a precursor to being shot at.

Din is silent as two troopers approach him, blasters both held across their chests.

“State your business.”

His business. Ridiculous.

“I’ve come to see an old friend,” he says, because it’s not untrue, and it’s the truth that is least likely to result in an all-out firefight. Din wants to speak to Vanth, first. Wants to understand what’s happened, needs to decide what the best course of action is with the most information possible.

“This is an Imperial outpost,” one of the troopers informs him. It makes Din tense, makes him straighten impossibly so.

“And there are still residents here,” Din continues. He can see people staring out of the windows of their homes, with so much hope in their eyes that the Mandalorian is here to save them. But they stay quiet, and stay still, because Stormtroopers aren’t known for their patience or consideration for life.

The two troopers glance at one another, before speaking again. “Who are you here to see?”

At least they’re smart enough not to dismiss someone dressed entirely in beskar steel immediately.

“The Marshal.”

It’s the soft chuckle that one of the troopers makes that has Din turning his head slightly in their direction. Din has been grateful for his helmet more often than not, for the protection and anonymity it offers – he’s grateful for it now, too, because were it not for his helmet, the sharp danger in his eyes would have given away too much.

Though the other trooper doesn’t laugh, there’s a clear amusements in his voice when he speaks. “There are no Marshals here. This village is claimed by the Empire.”

Din’s blood runs cold in a heartbeat, at the notion that Vanth might be—no. No, he isn’t. Din would know if Cobb was dead. He doesn’t know how he’d know, but he would. Or maybe that’s just lingering hope.

“Cobb Vanth, then,” Din corrects, managing to keep his voice steady, emotionless.

One trooper looks ready to threaten Din off, so entirely unconcerned by what irrelevant, useless citizen of this pathetic town the stranger is here to see. But the other cocks his head a bit, before he nods. “Vanth,” he says, and there’s recognition there. Din considers that a good thing. For a moment.

“Isn’t Vanth the one we made an example out of when we arrived?”

And Din goes still. Silent. He fires his blaster square in the trooper’s chest before either of them have even realized Din’s hand has so much as moved.

It ends the way Din had hoped it might. With twenty-two Stormtroopers dead, before a single one of them can make a distress call. No civilian casualties, or even injuries. It’s a good day. When the fighting is done and the noise has all stopped, one lone man dares to venture out into the streets, as though to make certain they’re all safe. And when he’s determined that they are, the rest of the townspeople follow hesitantly out. Some cry in relief, some kick the bodies of the troopers, already taking armor off of them.

The lone man – Din recognizes him vaguely from the battle with the dragon – steps forward, to bow his head and run a litany of praise. “Thank you,” and “we weren’t certain you had heard the call, let alone that you would come,” and “those Imperial bastards have been ravaging the town for weeks.”

Din nods in his understanding, but his mind is elsewhere. He waits until the man has seemingly finished, before Din puts his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Where is Marshal Vanth?”

The relief and gratitude on the man’s face slips into something much more somber, and he drops his gaze to the sand. “Terrible business,” the man mutters, with a shake of his head. “Terrible, terrible business.”

“Where?” Din asks again, and it’s clear it isn’t a friendly query. The man points to a house that looks like many others around it, unremarkable and undistinguishable, and Din goes to it without hesitation.

The inside is as plain and simple as the outside. It would be nearly impossible to decipher who it belongs to, were it not for the red scarf laying across the nearby table. The house has so few rooms that it doesn’t take long for Din to find the single one that’s occupied.

Inside, Cobb Vanth lays on a bed on his side. An older woman, one Din doesn’t recognize, sits behind him, intently focused on the work ahead. When she hears someone enter the room, she gasps, and stands quickly, as though to give Din some show of respect.

It’s only then that Din understands what ‘being made an example of’ looks like. Cobb is shirtless, and his back is a mess of angry, bloody lash marks, some so deep that he thinks he might see muscle. They look a few days old, at least, and that they’ve been well-tended to, but they look painful. It takes Cobb a few moments before he turns his head over his shoulder, his gaze so defeated, like he’s expecting to see a Stormtrooper standing there to finish the job. But he doesn’t. He sees Din, and the way Cobb’s face lights up makes even the brightest sun in the galaxy look dim.

“You came,” he breathes, moving to sit up, but crying out in pain and laying back down when his back protests to the movement. Din moves forward instinctively, kneeling down by the edge of the bed, a firm hand resting on Cobb’s hip to keep him from moving further. Once Cobb catches his breath, he swallows hard, and turns his head to look at the woman. “Give me a few minutes, Retta,” he says, with that soft, charming little smile. She looks at him wearily, but it isn’t because she doesn’t want to leave Cobb alone with the Mandalorian. “I’m not gonna bleed out in the five minutes you’re gone,” Cobb offers instead, and she seems to relax more at that, before excusing herself from the room.

Though, when she’s gone, the first thing Cobb does is move. “Help me up,” he says, and Din would protest to it, if he didn’t know just how stubborn Vanth was. So he offers what help he can, until Vanth is sitting at the edge of the bed, and Din stays down on one knee on the floor. Cobb is pale, in pain, looks broken in all sorts of ways, but has that look about him that still says I’m the Marshal, I’m fine, wrap me up and I’ll be good to go. It wouldn’t surprise Din if those were the first words out of Vanth’s mouth after he’d been abused so badly.

“What happened?” Din says softly, hands resting on Vanth’s knees, rubbing slow, gentle circles with his thumbs. A soothing gesture, he hopes, and it seems to work, because a bit of the stiffness in Cobb’s shoulders seeps out of his muscles.

“Troopers came through the desert, looking for a place to set up a new Imperial base. I don’t give a damn what the New Republic says, those Imperial bastards are still everywhere, if you know where to look,” Cobb breathes, with a shake of his head. “Guess they thought it’d be easier to turn a town into their little outpost instead of starting fresh. So they came in and took over. Didn’t have the firepower to stop ‘em.”

Briefly, Din feels a stab of guilt. That maybe if Cobb had still had Fett’s armor, he might’ve been able to save himself and his town. But that isn’t true, and Din knows it. It took one, fully-experienced, fully-armored, pissed-off Mandalorian to take care of the troopers, and Cobb couldn’t have managed it alone.

“Played along, for a while. Didn’t want anybody getting hurt, or worse. But I been a thorn in their side since day one,” Vanth chuckles, and lightly, Din does, too. They’re both troublemakers, for the right causes. “Managed to duck ‘em for a few weeks. But then they started going after the little ones, trying to poach ‘em, get ‘em to train to be troopers. I wasn’t putting up with that. So when I tried to stop ‘em, they pulled me out into the middle of town and—” Cobb stops, gesturing vaguely to the mess at his back. “Guessin’ you can figure out the rest.”

Din exhales slowly, head dropping a little. “I’m sorry,” he says, after a few moments. But it only makes Cobb raise a brow. “For what, huh? Unless you sent ‘em here yourself, you got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t have left you vulnerable.” Whether that meant letting Vanth keep the armor (which Din couldn’t do), or staying behind to protect Mos Pelgo himself (which Din also couldn’t do). But there must’ve been something he could’ve done to stop this, and he didn’t. And it makes him hurt. Makes him hurt to see Cobb hurt.

Cobb brushes his hands down over the sides of Din’s helmet, pulls him in a little closer until Din can rest his head against Cobb’s chest lightly. “Ain’t your job to keep me safe,” he offers softly, because it isn’t. Cobb can take care of himself, thank you very much. And when he can’t, well—that’s life.

Another moment of heavy silence passes by, before Din reluctantly pulls away from Vanth’s touch, and goes to take his gloves off instead. “Lay down,” he instructs, as kindly and gently as he’s capable. And Cobb does without disagreement, because sitting up hurts too damn much right now. He lets out a relieved exhale when he’s back laying down, facing the stone wall ahead of him, listening to the Mandalorian shuffle around behind him.

“This’ll hurt,” Din warns, before he’s bringing the wet cloth the woman had been using to clean Vanth’s wounds to his skin. Cobb inhales sharply, but it isn’t an unbearable pain. “You even allowed to go taking your gloves off?” Vanth teases lightly, because Cobb Vanth could be broken and bleeding, but he’ll always be charming. Din doesn’t respond, but Vanth likes to think he can tell that the Mandalorian is smiling beneath that shiny helmet.

The movements are slower and more tender than Vanth ever expected a bounty hunter to be capable of. And when the water in the bowl has run red, and Cobb’s wounds are as clean as they can be, Din reaches for the cloth to wrap the wounds back up. His work there is just as steady, just as soothing, and Cobb’s eyes briefly flutter shut whenever he can feel Din’s skin brush against his own. “I’ve taken care of the troopers here,” Din explains as he works. “If you dispose of the bodies, I doubt anyone else will come looking for such a small outpost in the middle of a desert.”

And if they do? Din will make certain that he’s one call away. One signal, one click, and he’ll be there.

“Then I guess I owe you twice over, don’t I? For the troopers, and for playing medic,” Cobb hums, and he hates owing people, but he doesn’t mind owing Din.

“You owe me nothing,” Din says quickly in return, and he means it. He means it. And that doesn’t sound like the kind of tone Vanth was to argue with, so he doesn’t.

When his back is bandaged securely, Din runs his fingers over the layers of cloth strips, wishing he could heal it all with a simple touch. But he can’t. He can’t do anything to make this right.

But he can give Vanth something else.

With Cobb still facing away from him, Din’s hands go to his helmet. And Cobb holds his breath when he hears the thing come off, closes his eyes tight, even though he can’t see Din from where he’s laying, anyways. It just feels—respectful. Right.

Cobb is no stranger to touch, of course. He’s spent a few too many nights alone in the Cantina, after all, just looking for a good time. But when Din’s lips brush so lightly over Cobb’s shoulder, the first piece of exposed skin he can reach that isn’t bloodied, Cobb swears he could damn near cry. It’s such an intimate thing, so much more intimate in ways Vanth can’t even begin to explain.

“I’m sorry,” Din says again, his lips brushing Vanth’s shoulder as he speaks. Another kiss, then, to Cobb’s bicep. And as Din raises up on his knees, he can see that Cobb’s eyes are shut, and the warmth that fills Din is so overwhelming. Everyone he’s ever met has asked about the helmet, has all but begged him to see beneath it. And Din knows Cobb wants to see, too. But Din’s comfort and his Creed matter to Vanth, and he puts that before his own desire, even at his weakest.

Vanth is trembling lightly by the time Din kisses his cheek, and every part of Cobb wants to turn and catch Din’s lips, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t let himself push so far, because this intimacy is a gift he’s being given, and he knows better than to push his luck, or worse, be ungrateful.

“It isn’t my job to keep you safe,” Din agrees, so desperately softly. “But I’d like it to be.” And Din kisses Cobb properly, then, feels those rough lips against his own, and they melt into one another. But Cobb is still hurt, and Din is hyper-aware of that, so he pulls back long before either of them will need to start gasping for air, even when Vanth chases after the kiss in desperate for more.

No one’s ever offered to keep Cobb safe before. He’s always been something of a lone ranger, always keeping other people safe, always the first line of defense. And Maker, he wants to keep Din safe, too, but there’s really not much he can do for a man that’ll jet straight inside of a damned dragon without telling anyone about it first. Maybe the best that they can do is… protect each other. Or do their hardest.

“C’mere,” Vanth says, gesturing with his head to what little space is left in front of him on the bed. And armor and all, Din lays down with Cobb, and brings his hand up to brush over Vanth’s cheek. Cobb chases the touch like he needs it to survive, eyes still shut so tightly, just trying to get a feel for Din without really seeing him. He nestles in closer against all of that beskar, cool to the touch even under the hot suns. It settles and soothes him, makes him relax more than he has in months, let alone since the Stormtroopers invaded.

“Cobb,” Din half-whispers, in an attempt not to disturb the peace he’s created. “You can open your eyes.” Vanth recoils the barest bit, like he’s absolutely shocked, like even though he’s been given permission, he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. It makes Din smile, and he rubs his thumb over Cobb’s cheek. “You can. It’s okay.”

So, he does.

And he studies Din’s face for a long, long time. Takes in every inch of him, like he’s worried he’s gonna have to memorize this now, because he’ll never be able to see it again. “Huh,” Cobb says, after a moment. “Brown eyes.” He doesn’t know why he’d been expecting green.

“Brown eyes,” Din chuckles softly with a nod, still so unused to being... seen. Once the initial shock of getting to see Din has left Cobb, the barest hint of a smirk tugs at his lips. “Knew you’d be too damn handsome for your own good,” he says, just to see if he can get Din’s cheeks to go pink. And they do, a bit. It’s rewarding as all hell.

And this time, it’s Vanth that kisses Din first. And he goes slow, takes his time, brings his own hand up to brush through Din’s hair. It’s soft. Perfect. Just like everything else about him. Cobb knows in that moment that he’d do anything Din ever asked of him, and Din knows he’d do the same in return. Amongst all of the blood, and the sand, and the pain, they’ve found… this. Whatever this is. It’s more than either of them think they deserve, but neither of them are going to complain about having it. And as much as they both wish it hadn’t taken a public lashing to get here, fate isn’t always the kindest thing.

When they pull away, Cobb’s panting a bit, and Din’s trying not to. Can’t let Vanth see him breathless, otherwise his ego might swell too big for his own good.

“Think I could get used to keeping a Mandalorian around,” Cobb smiles.

Din mirrors the expression. “Think I could get used to staying.”

[writtingfiction]

Sylvan x blythe pleaseeeeeeeeee anything u want

Oh lord, if you leave it broad like this I will try too hard to think of what I could do, and when I do find out something to with it, it ends up being long...

pairing: Sylvain x Byleth

words: 2.6 k

Sylvain knows what he said to Byleth years ago doesn’t paint him in a very good picture, even though he said he was kidding, he knew that she didn’t think he was. Maybe that’s why he didn’t see her as often as he did after that. He wasn’t surprised with the lack of her presence despite her being his professor. Sylvain envied Byleth for her lack of crest until she got to the monastery, almost wishing he had the same life. However, the grip on his heart when he learned that she went missing during the battle against Edelgard’s forces, made him want to weep.

The shock and relief Sylvain felt when seeing Byleth again, his chest heated, finger gripping his lance harder and his mask ever steady on his face. He couldn’t show just how much her presence means to him, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy to see her. It’s when he gets the chance to see her up close that he realizes just how much he has changed since then.

The teal hair practically shines as the sun rises. She is as graceful as she was 5 years ago. She’s able to dodge the thieves attack smoothly. It’s almost as if she never vanished so long ago. When Byleth makes eye contact with him, he can only smile. However, when she approaches him during the heat of battle to check on him, he struggles to pull out words.

“Professor!” He grins as wide as he can. “Still looking as pretty as ever.” He gives her a quick wink. Sylvain doesn’t acknowledge the slight disappointment in her eyes when she turns back to fighting the thieves.

—— —

Sylvain hummed as he sharpened his blade. It’s been at least a month or two now since they’ve taken back the monastery without Edelgard knowing. Nonetheless, the further they went on their mission to take her down it wouldn’t be long before they found out. The various shouts he heard throughout the monastery told him that they were going out again. Letting out a tired sigh before he got up and joined his friends.

“Sylvain, there you are. I was just about to look for you.” Ashe said.

“Ashe, my knight in shining armour.” Sylvain said light hearted. Ashe can only grin wider.

“Y’know, have you kept up with your dancing skills?” Ashe said out of curiosity. “Professor did have you win the White Heron cup.” Sylvain could feel a groan in the back of his throat. Did he want to admit he did keep up with his dancing skills in private? When he knew no one would bother him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, my friend.” Sylvain said. Ashe let out a laugh.

“I’m just saying, I have a feeling the professor might put you on dancing duty.” Ashe spoke and Sylvain felt the embarrassment climb up his chest.

“By the Gods, I hope she doesn’t.” Sylvain said.

“Hope who doesn’t what?” Byleth spoke. Both of the young men jumped.

“Professor!!” Ashe said. Smiling ear to ear. “Just discussing the battle plans for the upcoming battle.” Byleth nodded.

“I’m glad you were. In fact, Sylvain, I wanted to ask you if you still remember the dances from the White Heron cup? It has been 5 five years after all.” Byleth said. Sylvain wanted to eat his own armour.

“Of course I do, professor. How could I forget dancing with someone as beautiful as you?” Sylvain said, pulling out his charming lines.

“Do you want me to make you wear the outfit again? I’m sure there’s an extra outfit around here somewhere…”

“NO! I mean, no. That won’t be necessary.” Sylvain said. The former blue lion students could see the mischievous smirk on Byleth’s face fade ever so slightly.

“A pity, but I hope the armour is easy to move in.” Byleth said, waving the two boys along to follow her. “You’ll be doing a lot of supporting.” Sylvain let out a nervous laugh. He wasn’t this nervous for an upcoming battle for years and he didn’t like what it meant.

— — —

The sounds of panic shouting and rushed footsteps of a scout climbing the stairs to the counsel room should have been their first sign of how bad the news was going to be. The door burst open and Dimitri almost has half a mind to throw his lance at the scout who’s already winded.

“Your highness…! Byleth…! The empire… the empire is here with forces!!” The scout breathes out barely. The entire room is quiet, it takes a moment for the news to settle in before everyone looks to Byleth. Their trusted professor and now tactician to lead them through this. Sylvain sees the gears turning in her head, she wasn’t expecting this, at least not so soon.

“Ready the forces, take what civilians you can and escort them to the back of the monastery. Edelgard is not among them?” Byleth speaks. The scout nods.

“The emperor is nowhere to be seen. It’s only a small force however, General Randolph is leading the forces. We have about four hours.” Sylvain sees Caspar tense, he doesn’t know why but there must be a connection.

“Then we win this one. Ready who you can to fight, the rest can protect the civilians. Make sure anyone who can’t fight stays away from the scene of the battle. Ready what you can of the ballistae and the magic, we will need them.” Byleth casts out orders for the scout who’s only able to nod and run out the door. Byleth then turns to her former students. “I want the rest of you to prepare, I will call a meeting at the edge of the gates in two hours to propose a strategy. You’re dismissed.” Sylvain is almost too happy to leap out of his seat as Ingrid calls out Caspar for his tenseness from earlier. Sylvain wasn’t the only person to notice then.

“Wait—Caspar, do you know this General?” Ingrid said, raising from her seat. There was anger ready to be released behind her voice. Caspar on the other hand only gave a sheepish smile.

“General Randolph is my uncle through marriage, that’s all. It will be odd to fight against him is all.” Caspar said. There’s a heavy tension through the room. Annette speaks up.

“He is your uncle?!” It’s more out of surprise than anything.

“Can we trust a former black eagle?” Felix snarls. Dimitri stands and speaks.

“I will not have a traitor amongst my inner—“

BANG

Byleth’s hand hits the table. Everyone is quick to look over her and fall silent. Byleth stares at them all, nothing to give away what she felt. It was almost as if everyone has first met her again.

“I will not have animosity and infighting among you. If you have a problem, I will address the issue but I will not allow you to fight one another, is that clear.” Byleth said coldly and clearly. There were silent nods from everyone. “So, does anyone here think that Caspar has told the empire about us being here?”

No one spoke.

“Does anyone think that Bernadetta said anything to the empire?”

Nothing reached Byleth’s ears.

“Then you are dismissed. I shall see everyone in two hours by the front gates to reconvene.”

Sylvain walked out of the room, heart in his hand. He doesn’t think he had been so scared before by someone. He spares glances towards his friends and he can see the lingering fear among them. Dimitri almost seemed less scary even for a moment. Caspar and Bernadetta must have been horrified when Ingrid had called out Caspar like that, never mind the quick judgemental comments coming from Felix and Dimitri. He thinks he can hear Bernadetta cry as he heads down the staircase.

— — — —

Sylvain inhaled sharply as he muttered the words to a spell under his breath. Fire licked at his palm and he could feel the heat wash over him. It reminds him of the first he had cast the spell, dark and cold in the well he was thrown down into by his brother. The fire in his palm grows brighter and bigger. His eyes lift from the flame to the dummy in front of him. He is ready to cast the flame upon the poor dummy but loses his focus when Byleth interrupts him.

“Sylvain,” Byleth calls to him. The flame disappears as he looks at his former professor. “Time is up. Are you prepared enough to fight?”

“Yes, always,” Sylvain says with conviction. He could almost see the smile on her lips.

“Walk with me, we can flag anyone down as we make our way towards the gates,” Byleth said. Sylvain nods and walks with her.

The two of them converse with ease talking about his skills in magic and how he has improved within the last five years. Something seems to make his heart race the more they talk. He thinks it’s the battle that’s coming soon, but there’s a feeling that maybe, just maybe it isn’t that.

“Everyone here?” Byleth asks towards the group, and with a quick look around, everyone was in fact there. A small frown is on Sylvain’s face as he takes the mental note that Dedue is not there. “Good. Now, let me start with our defences and how things will unfold…”

— — — — —

Even with knowing the plan was to cast fire down upon the shrubbery, he couldn’t help but run towards her. Byleth was struggling against a heavily armoured enemy. He saw how she had cast magic against the enemy but had missed. Perhaps it was due to the exhaustion and trying to keep the plan together. Or, maybe because she wasn’t able to keep up with her former students turned friends as they rushed forward.

Byleth sidestepped the shining silver axe that came down towards her. Sylvain grimaced the way it had barely missed her. His arm raised and curled his fist into his chest as he chanted the words for the spell of fire. His palm warmed up before the heat crawled up his fingers, wrist, and arm. A red sigil appearing in front of his body glowing a bright red, a small but bright flame licks at his hand just as the sigil disappears. Just when the heat becomes unbearable he extends his hand towards the enemy, the small flame grows bigger and bigger heat reaching his face with how large the fire became. With one word the fire is sent towards the enemy, singing the grass as it flies through the air before hitting the heavy armour melting it against the enemy’s skin.

Sylvain could see the relieved sigh escape her chest. She turns to face him and he hears her say ‘thank you' but it’s short-lived as he sees a sniper release an arrow from the distance. He’s moving before he can say anything. His voice is stuck in his throat as he reaches her, pushing her away from where she stood as an arrow hits his shoulder. There’s just enough force from the arrow to knock him off his feet and send him to the ground. Sylvain’s hand goes to his shoulder grasping the arrow tightly.

“Sylvain!!” Byleth cries out.

His head swivels towards her, eyes just barely catching the second arrow coming towards him. A groan comes the back of his throat as he rolls onto his side not hindered by an arrow. The second arrow just misses him, hitting the dirt where his head was. His chest is beating against his rib cage. His eyes are wide as he realizes how he barely dodged death. Firm hands grab at him, lifting him up to his feet. Sylvain is moving swiftly in what he assumes Byleth’s arms and his head is spinning.

Sylvain locks eyes with Byleth and her lips are moving but he can’t hear anything. He could probably guess at what she’s saying as she’s tugging on him. Follow her? He’s taking steps forward and it seems to calm her a bit as she drags them towards the middle of the battle. He can feel the faint pulse of aching in his shoulder but it doesn’t hurt. The adrenaline must be coursing through his veins to hide the real pain.

Sylvain stays close to her throughout the rest of the fight, and before he knows it, the fight is over and he’s rushed off somewhere to be taken care of.

— —— —

He’s stuck with doing nothing for a solid two days straight before he’s cleared for the battlefield after his third day of rest. Sylvain lets out a pained sigh as rolls his shoulder, eyes barely lifting to the doorway when hearing footsteps approaching his room.

“Oh, Professor! Thanks for stopping by.” Sylvain says with a large smile.

“You–How’s the injury?” Byleth said.

“It’s healing well, I’m being cleared for service tomorrow. Besides,” Sylvain pauses, a smirk on his lips and a wink is sent her way. “I’ve got this scar to show off as a medal for keeping you safe.” Sylvain can see her brows furrow as she frowns.

“Didn’t you want to kill me?” Byleth says in such a way it makes his stomach twist. He looks down to the ground.

“I certainly meant it when I said it…” Sylvain plays with his fingers, an old habit he did when he was nervous or felt vulnerable. “But, when the thought came to mind that you could have died, I reacted without thinking. That doesn’t mean that I never stopped being jealous of you, though. You got to live your entire life without the knowledge of your crest, meanwhile, I went through so much trouble all because I knew and everyone around me knew. My brother giving me the most trouble.”

“I remember five years ago with the incident about the lance of ruin,” Byleth said. Sylvain lets out a dry laugh, hands curling into fists.

“Yeah, he was not happy to learn that I had a crest. He got cast aside, almost treated like an outsider. One winter, we were out and you know what he did? He pushed down into a well.” Sylvain explained and he could see the way Byleth grimaced. “Even as a kid, I understood why he felt to act as he did. Even all the girls that throw themselves at me as the years went by. They don’t care about me, all they want is the crest and nobility status that comes with it.”

“You’re wrong…” Byleth said. Sylvain shook his head.

“Yeah, yeah, I get you. Even though it might be a bit late to admit but, their empty praise is best served somewhere else. Besides, it was unreasonable to resent you. I’m really sorry professor and thank you for everything. Seriously, thank you.” Sylvain looks to Byleth and he sees something. A sparkle in her eyes betrays something but with all the time he spent around people and knowing their true intentions he still couldn’t tell anything about her.

“You’re welcome, take care of yourself properly now. We’ve got some dancing lessons to catch up on.” Byleth says it to lighten the mood and he can only laugh. Heart beating a little faster in his chest as she giggles with him.

“You got it, professor.” Sylvain gives her a smile, a real genuine smile. Byleth smiles in return, before waving goodbye but not before saying;

“You should smile like that more often, you look relaxed.” To say his heart was beating against his chest because of her this time wouldn’t be a lie.

[bigsnzstanacct]

King’s New Allergy Part 4

This is wildly overwritten but at least I’m writing...? Here is the link to the other chapters of this story lmao. Of course it is also on le blue forum. After this chapter there is one more to conclude the story (which is already partially written!) and then there’s a chance I’ll eventually write an aggressively porn-y epilogue. okay byeeeeeeee!

------

My nose. My damned nose. By all the gods old and new, my insatiable, insufferable, intolerable, insistent, itchy, tickly, twitching, torurous nose!

“So the… th-thehhhh… the harvest in the W-weehhhhh… Western… -sniff-”

I was fighting.  I was fighting as hard as I’d ever fought anything. Harder. But to do battle against a swordsman, a sorceror, a monster, a ghost… that was child’s play. For that I had tools and training. Years of training in weapons and fighting. For this meeting too: years of training in diplomacy, in leadership. But none of that training involved a struggle to the death against your own damned nose!

“In the W-wehhhh… weeeeeeehhHHHH…”

Through narrowing eyes, I saw their faces: full of disapproval, fear, hands itching to clap to their ears, legs twitching to hide under the table, as though I really were a storm unto myself, and in taking cover, they might be spared the worst. Perhaps if I simply allowed the sneeze to come, it might not be so monstrous but… I could not. I could not bring myself to succumb so easily, to give in, to be weak. I chanced putting a finger beneath my nose. It was a desperate failsafe that had served at least a few times, but in truth I could never resist for long. I could no more resist these violent eruptions than the sky, overcharged with energy, could resist the lightning arcing across the sky, or the terrible roar of the thunder in response.

“Oh gods… I’m sahhhh.. s-ssaahhhhhh… s-sorreeehhhhhHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRSSSSCCCHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! AnothhheeEERRRYYYYYYYYAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! hehhhh… hh-hehhhhhh… HUUUH! HHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

They came, thick, fast and violent. Each one felt like it took all my strength, as though I couldn’t help but through the full weight of my body—no, the full weight of the castle herself into each sneeze. And then, for a moment…

Bliss.

No itch, no tickle, no torture. As terrible as they were, as much as they terrorized my meeting, my castle, my citizens, my countryside… there was a guilty, fiendish part of me that felt such magnificent release and relief with each great roar that was loosed from my mouth and nose. Drained, too, of course. Exhausted as though I’d climbed a mountain after practically each sneeze, let alone a whole terrible fit of them like I’d done. But also, utterly and simply delighted.

And then I opened my eyes and the embarrassment flooded in, and then, barely a split-second later, the tiny, teasing, barely-perceptible blossom of the itch that presaged another sneeze. The urge to sneeze again was following closer and closer on the glorious feeling of release and relief. When this all started I could go half the day without a sneezing fit. Then hours. Now barely minutes. But perhaps if I didn’t think about it, if I just barrelled through and ignored the tickle… maybe it would leave me alone.

“My apologies again, gentlemen.” I said, and quickly, before anyone could comment upon my nose: “Now, the Western harvest is among the best we’ve had in some years, which means our levy at the current rate should be -sniff!-” the itch already was worming its way up. But I could hold out still. I could ignore it.

“At the current rate should be more than sufficient to provide for capitol needs, y-yes Minister?”

The Minister of the Exchequer tried to discreetly rub at his ears, but it was obvious what he was doing, trying to clear his head from my sneezing long enough to focus on what I was saying. I couldn’t bear it.

“Yes! It will be sufficient, I don’t need you to check my arithmetic. You may repohhh… re-re…” I gave a hard sniff, and allowed myself  a quick rub at the underside of my nose with the heel of my palm. It was an embarrassing, almost childish gesture but I was far beyond caring about small embarrassments. I had much, much larger mortifications to be concerned with.

“Youmayreportbackifneedsbe!” I barrelled out, knowing the tickle was already roused, and at any moment could turn the act of speech into feat as tricky as any in my storied questing career.

“What is the next item on the ahhh… hahhh…” my eyes swam, unfocused for a moment. Hands crept up towards ears, dread lining in every face of the council. I could feel my knights tensing behind me, as though bracing for an explosion, hoping not to be knocked off their feet. The sneeze wasn’t even ready, it would play with me for several more moment yet. It reminded me of nothing more than sparring with the quartermaster as a boy: putting up a valiant fight, certain I was on the edge of victory… only to find he was only playing a game with me. He would always win.

“The next agenda item!” I said, slamming a fist down on the table. I wasn’t angry with the council, and I hope they knew that, but. It was all so damned frustrating… I couldn’t speak without terrifying my council, not with my words but with the threat of my nose. Of all the mortifying.

“Well my lord, we have not admitted petitioners in over three weeks, owing to your condition. I was informed the Royal Physician as well as the, ah, King’s Right Hand will be pursuing some possibilities for treatment, but the peo---”

“Damn the conditiiIiiiHHHHHH… HHIIIHHHHHH!!” May noses and sneezes be damned by all the gods old and new! The urge was already prickling in my nose, fanning its way towards inevitability, as though to mock me for cursing it. By all the gods, I should be able to see my people, to hear their complaints and all because of my god’s damned lack of control, I couldn’t even do that… I felt furious as a boy, looking up at the quartermaster teary-eyed with rage at losing, at humiliation. And here I was again, losing. And to a thrice damned tickle in my thrice damned nose…!

My nose, on which the whole room hyperfocused, as intent upon it as I’d ever been on any foe on the battlefield. Every twitch garnered a flinch, every skipped breath a skipped heartbeat. My damned sneezes could be heard throughout the entire castle, throughout the entire town. I was just waiting for someone to announce they’d heard me sneeze at the furthest edges of the regions, echoing off the Black Mountains or the White Cliffs, resounding across oceans…

With all that, being so close to my sneeze must have been a form of auditory torture. And I couldn’t put my advisors through that. Not any longer. And not with the vague but unmistakable sense I felt that what was beginning to well up in me would be a fit to rival any I’d suffered since I came down with this accursed, irreparable allergy, this implacable need that seemed to be unmoved by any force physical or magical, on earth or in the realms above. I was going to sneeze, and the fit would leave me exhausted and the whole castle ringing, I knew. But the urge itself was small now, my winds gathering strength for the one man hurricane they would turn me into. What a curse, to make of a king a slave to his own body. I was disgusted with myself. And yet, I could no more stop the force building within me than I could will the rising sun to set or still the flowing tide.

This council meeting was accomplishing nothing. And dammit, I needed to sneeze.

Abruptly, I pushed back from the chair. Everyone rose with me. “Ladies and gentlemen, you must excuse me, I’m a-afraid… oh I…” I was doing my best to keep up a kingly facade but already I was faltering before the effort of damming back the torrent of sneezes that seemed to be pressing up against each other, jockeying for position, each demanding to be the first to erupt out of me. “oh gods, I have to sneeze. It’s going to be a terrible fit and I… Iahhhhhh… I m-muuhhhhh… I must r-repair to my… my chahhhhHHHHH… hAHHHHHHHHHHHH… w-with m-mehhhh…!”

I ordered my retinue to follow me, but I’m sure a number of them did so quite reluctantly, and frankly I couldn’t blame them. What I felt coming seemed like a sneeze to beat all sneezes, an itch to beat all itches, nothing which could soothed, calmed, or controlled by a little finger under the nose, a few rough rubs. I’d asked my former manservant more than once about his… powers. How he felt all the hidden powers of the earth welling up through him, the connection to the secret side of everything, how he could make it shimmer and dance. I felt the same sense  of something beyond myself intruding upon me, but it was not under my control. I was beneath its thumb, dancing like a marionette on a string in miserable abasement to, of all things, a tickle in my nose.

“Someone… someone please… huhhhh… p-put your f-finger… under…”

It was pathetic. At least I’d managed to get well out of the way of the council chambers before I succumbed. I’d only embarrassed myself like this once or twice before, but if this went on much longer, I’d have to appoint a knight to do this for me full time, to press and pinch and wrangle my nose in a way my own hands could no longer suffice. Perhaps that way I could at least forestall the sneezes long enough to do any of the duties of a king.

But for now, my only goal was fighting off the absolutely monstrous fit I felt brewing for a few more moments, until I could at least reach my chamber. At least then I could succumb in private, although such succumbing was never private. Before the curse even, I blushed to think a vigorous sneeze might echo through the castle, and I never could dam them back. But under the curse now… all of the castle, all of the city heard my every falter. The sound of my failure resounding back at me from every brick in the kingdom.

The Captain of the Guard slid a thick finger under my nose, and ever so imperceptibly the urge diminished. He pushed upward, hard. And all I could do was blink at him in acknowledgement. At this point a single word would send it all crashing down.

“Knights dismissed! I will escort the King further.” I heard his voice ringing out, and I was as grateful as I’d ever been for him. At least the knights would be spared the very worst. The captain alone would be with me to the eruptive end.

“Not much further now, sire. Please, hold out!” And there was an uncertainty or even... a fear in his voice. It wasn't as if I'd never heard such fear from the Captain of the Guard before. We had quested together, season after season. But this tone of voice ought to be reserved for a onrushing army or a sleeping dragon. Surely there was no reason to steel himself so before my nose?

“T-t-traahhHHHH… tr-trying…” I choked out, scrunching my nose as aggressively as I could, as though if my nostrils recoiled from the irritation, I might dodge the sneeze—no, sneezes—altogether.

And suddenly, unimaginably, the urge… exploded.

It was as if I had never needed to sneeze before in my life. Tears sprang to my eyes, and the simmering flame of the urge became a wild forest fire. Helplessly, I jerked away from the Captain, scrubbing desperately at my nose even as the heavy breaths ripped themselves from me…

“HHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH… HUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

“My King, not yet!” the Captain insisted. Not to be deterred, he came up behind me and tried to guide me, but I was surrendered to the sneeze, overpowered by the urge, defeated by the invisible twinging need. He was practically pushing me as the sneeze swelled and swelled.

“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH… UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

It swelled more and MORE, feeling more ferocious than any of my previous sneezes. I felt like a volcano on the precipice of eruption, as though my winds were swirling and turning and twisting and braiding their way towards tornadic devastation, as though I were not only a a lightning strike but indeed a whole storm set loose to wreak havoc across the land.

“Nearly there, nearly there, please sire you musn't give in…”

But it was too late.

“AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” I exploded, and it was as though… some sort of… power erupted from me, from my mouth and nose from… from everywhere. The sneezes had always been incredibly loud but now tapestries on the wall flapped, armor rattled, it sounded as though something fell but I couldn’t tell because before I could so much as think, the next sneeze was already erupting: “HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOO-AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUHHHH!!!! AARRRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! HehHHHHHHH… HEEEEEYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTSSSCCCHHHHHHHHHEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!! YYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTSSSSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWW!!!”

On and on and on the sneezes came, more and more violent, “volume” not even describing what I felt bursting from me. Somewhere, dimly, I heard the sounds of something falling over, and yet still the steady pressure of the Captain at my back, finally…

“Sir, your chamber… We must not let them see you!”

Whether I was able to exert some minimal effort even subdued by my sneeze attack, or whether the Captain just shoved me, somehow I stumbled into the chamber, still sneezing relentlessly, barely heard the door slam behind me, helpless to the urge. My whole world narrowed to my nose, and it was as though some block within me surrendered and the sneezes roared out of me, louder and more violent than ever before again and again and again…

I could not tell how long it had been when the fit finally ended. I felt… amazing. Warm and sated. Entirely itch-free, as though I’d never need to sneeze again in my life. Practically glowing. Maybe that was it? Maybe that monster of a fit had at last blown the insufferable urge away for good? But the moment of euphoria lasted barely an instant. I heard a… squeak? and I opened my eyes to find… him. The sorcerer. His robes and hair disheveled, and then, the room… The bed was without sheets. The mattress ripped, feathers piled against the stone wall, piled up with the rugs, half my clothes, my pillows, my chairs…

“Wh-what… what did I… what did I do?” I asked, panting and mortified.

He stood, mortified, as red as I’d seen him in years. His mouth agape. “I—I… I—I have to go!” He exclaimed, and rushed from the room.

Had I hurt him? Scared him? Surely he of all the denizens of the castle had no reason to fear… anyone. But as I cast my eyes across the disheveled, half-wrecked room, I began to see what he saw. Nothing to fear. But something to pity. An out-of-control freak. Certainly no King.

And even then, with a trickle of fear running down my spine… I began to feel the urge to sneeze again, sputtering back to life. I sat on my bed, feeling the weakened timbers sputter and creak with my weight, head in hands.

“By all the gods…”

[transbuckaroo]

pain, applause

hello. my name is andrew, and i wrote a short lambden fic a few days ago. this will be based on the “following the thread” quest from “the witcher 3: wild hunt” developed by cd projekt red. the characters are based on dev patel as sir gawain in the 2021 film “the green knight” as directed by david lowery, and paul bullion in the upcoming 2021 seaon 2 of “the witcher” as directed by stephen surjik. i haven’t written very much these past two or three years, but i am proud of this finished product. please keep any comments/criticisms kind. thank you, enjoy!

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The moment Aiden realized how well and truly fucked him and Baby Steadfast were, he was already surrounded on all sides. He could sense them. His medallion hummed gently against his chest with the signal of danger with every step he took. If he could get out of this clearing, he thought, just into the tree line to stay hidden. It wasn’t far; he could make it, just keep going. The Cat kept his hand at the ready to make quick work of grabbing his battle axe and kept his breaths even as he walked. Aiden knew what was waiting for him. It seemed the fox did as well. Always intuitive, the little one.

Jad Karadin came out of the trees in front of him like a shadow from an alley, looming and dagger drawn in his right hand. Aiden slowed his pace, too exposed, ears picking up the slide of multiple steel swords off to the left. Then two figures emerged from behind Jad, appearing as if they had come directly from within his body. Lund first, after came Hammond. Baby laid back his ears flat, centering himself lower to the ground in a defensive position. He placed himself between the three and Aiden as he went.

There was no running from them. These people were never meant to be his enemies; Jad was supposed to be his brother especially. If anyone here was supposed to be on his side more than anyone, it was Jad. An elder Cat, someone Aiden was supposed to be able to look up to as a mentor. Jad had broken the mold. Had children, a wife, a life away from being a Witcher. Beyond it. He had proof that there was more.

These things didn’t matter anymore. Whoever Jad Karadin was supposed to be was pointless now. Because he was an evil man today. He and whoever else followed him here.

Aiden drew his axe, pulling a deep and centering breath as he went. There were more of this group, hiding somewhere in the thick of trees, awaiting their moment. This was only to end one of two ways. There would be no other option besides these. For a split second, Aiden found himself missing the presence of a certain Wolf over his right shoulder.

Lambert. Lambert wouldn’t let him get hurt. He would protect Aiden here and now, and the Cat wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. In fact, Lambert would have already drawn his sword and made a calculated advancement on their enemy. He would have won, too, because Aiden has never seen him fail a task when he gets that crease between his brows as they furrow in his determination. Lambert, with his fiery curls and attitude to match. Lambert, with his impossible wit and unrelenting promises made to Aiden that have never broken. Lambert, the little brother of Kaer Morhen, baby of the lot of them.

Lambert, who Aiden swore to see back in the valley in Kaedwen where the Buina and Gwenllech rivers part in Daevon so them and Baby Steadfast could finally make the trek up to Kaer Morhen together.

The heat in between Aiden’s shoulder blades told him he wasn’t going to make it up to the keep this year.

“Aiden,” Jad spoke, knuckles white around the hilt of his dagger. Aiden snapped back into focus. He didn’t even dare to blink. “You know why I’ve come?”

“I didn’t kill the Duke’s daughter. I couldn’t save her. I tried.” The contract Aiden had held just months ago in the start of spring. A young girl, cursed, incurable despite the Duke’s pleads and Aiden’s best attempts to reverse it. She had succumbed to her circumstances. Aiden was paid for his efforts, bowed his head with sorrow as the Duke grieved, and went on his way.

“I’ve come to hear otherwise. You’ve botched it, boy. People are angry with the results of your work and lack thereof. You fucked up, and you’ve not shite to say for it.”

“I didn’t botch anything, I did my job. Not everyone gets a happy ending, Karadin. You’re a Cat. A Witcher. You should know.”

To be completely honest, Aiden hadn’t a goddamnable clue how he was going to get through this. Maybe he could take them. Most rivals don’t tend to waste time talking through events, let alone listen to their target. This time, maybe this time, Aiden could walk away with a mere banishment from the city. Possibly, hopefully, he could meet Lambert in time in the valley.

“You’re right,” said Jad, some semblance of resignation on his face. It wasn’t real, his tone sounded fabricated. “Aiden. Not everyone gets a happy ending.”

The arrow came right in that moment, whizzing through the air and lodging itself into the ground by Aiden’s left foot. He startled, stepped back, whipping his head around to try and follow its trajectory. Someone was up high. Someone was in the trees. Jad brought a sniper with him. Of course he did. Oh, of course that motherfucker did. This horrid, abomination of a man. The tree line was too dense, impossible to know where in the leaves the arrow came from where Aiden was standing in the field. He had only tried to look for a moment though before the sound of running footsteps came too close for comfort. And fuck, he could only gain so much momentum with his axe from this angle but he had to try.

Aiden spun back around on his heel, hands braced on either end of the hilt of his axe, prioritizing blocking the blow and creating distance before landing a strike of his own. Jad was successfully pushed back at the chest. Sent fumbling backwards to regain his footing. He growled in anger at the same time Aiden swung at his accompanying attackers, just barely missing them with the blade of his weapon. Steel struck and sounded a metal clang through the clearing. Aiden grunted with the effort of three-and-a-sniper against one, swinging his axe to catch a sword under the head and vaulting his enemy away. Distance was vital, energy was crucial to use sparingly.

“Baby!” He shouted towards his fox, whom of which was bee-lining for the trees where the arrow had come. “No! Run home! Home! Go home!”

It was something they’d agreed upon once. Home. They knew what home was, who home was. Where home was. The valley. Lambert. The point they meet and part at every year, the small town the Wolves have passed through many times in prior years. It was an easy place to go. That was where they found home, him and Baby. Lambert was home. Baby Steadfast knew this command well and clear as day. Go home. Go find Lambert; he’ll know what it means for the fox to show up without the company of his Cat Witcher. He’ll spring into action.

All it took was one incorrect turn, expose just a little too much of something or other, at just the right moment. It wasn’t because he’d called out to Baby; he knew how to give direction without faltering in his task. It was fucked luck. Terrible, awful, shit luck. All he did was avoid another two arrows in the ground, one grazing his cloak as it went.

Jad caught him in his right side with his dagger, blade plunging in deep and ripping a pained and surprised shout from Aiden’s throat. All the way in and right back out. Aiden staggered, snarled, and lunged at the man in front of him. Jad was a monster on this day, and Witchers know damn well to dispose of those. His side was on fire. The younger Cat swung, but Jad ducked underneath the blade. As Aiden turned with the momentum, one of the others kicked a boot into his chest and sent him backwards into Karadin’s grasp. The dagger entered the same area as before as Jad grappled an arm around Aiden’s throat. He was stuck. He was bleeding horribly. Baby Steadfast had gone to get Lambert. There was no way they would find one another in time.

With a strong shove from the man behind him, the dagger dislodged, and in the same moment whoever was at his left ripped his axe out of his hands. Aiden tried to spin around to face them as he propelled forward, but only managed to end up on his back on the grass. It was still cold with morning dew. Aiden could see the fog of his breath as he fell.

And in the most startling of realizations as Jad came to kneel over him, Aiden realized he was going to die. Without Baby. Without his dignity. Without Lambert. Without telling Lambert how much he truly and purely loved him.

He thought he had more time. Had it all planned out. They would meet in three weeks hence, and the night before they would make the ascent to the keep for the winter, Aiden would tell Lambert that he loved him in their room. This incredible, selfless, beautiful Wolf. Part of him even believed Lambert might say it back. He would feel the same. They were just like comfortable lovers already, what with the way they shared beds and blankets and curled up in the night to sleep, the way they helped wash and put up one another’s hair, cooked for each other, looked out for each other, lost all sense of personal space with each other. Melitele, the two of them even refused to separate their bedrolls while they camped out during their travels. They called each other “pup” and “kitten” respectively, dressed wounds, mended clothes and armor, cleaned weapons, hunted together, laughed and smiled and hugged and shared stories. Oh, Lambert was beautiful. Of course Aiden was in love with him. To expect anything else were a fool’s game.

“Oh, kitty cat,” he heard from above, and focused his eyes on Jad. The coldness of his gaze, so detached and unaffected. The only indication he’d ever been in a fight at all was the way his chest pulled bigger breaths than before. “Don’t go and cry now, will ye? This is just the natural order of things.”

Oh, Gods above, Aiden was crying. Silent little tears slipping free from the corners of his eyes, sliding down into his hair that lay fanned out in the grass below. Without dignity indeed. Wounds screaming in white-hot pain, vision blurring with tears that he could not control, heart aching, voice beyond him.

“Please,” the younger Cat spoke in a soft, quivering voice. He blinked hard once, twice, willing the tears away. They did not relent.

“Please.” He was being mocked. Then someone spat from out of his sight right into his hair. It smelled of salmon and tobacco. This time Jad’s dagger entered slowly, and new hot tears fell from Aiden’s eyes with the hurt of it, hand coming to grab his wrist in a feeble attempt to stop him. It did nothing. If anything it encouraged the man.

Aiden couldn’t grant him the final victory of looking away from Karadin’s eyes. Even as the blade ripped out of his body once more. Karadin spoke again. “You beg me to spare your life. Your pathetic little life. Insignificant, worthless, liar’s life. You were never going to change; your batch was doomed from the start. Your death is hardly any repayment, but it is the best we can do to provide peace and closure for the Duke and his people. A life for a life. It is but the way of the world, Aiden. Certainly you understand.”

Oh, he understood. A life for a life was the most polite way to speak of revenge. Talk of debts and dues, exchanges of wins and losses. A life for a life meant a day of reckoning to come. Lambert, kind as Aiden ever saw him, would cash this in as quickly and mercilessly as he could. He was coming no matter what. If he was unable to save Aiden now, he as sure as all things was going to tear apart whoever hurt him. What a gorgeous soul he was.

The fourth and final stab, a telling sign of Karadin’s assassinations. Aiden couldn’t fight it this time. A cluster of wounds just under the right side of someone’s ribs, always in four, always fatal. Aiden choked out a cry of searing agony, feeling the blade twist inside of him with force, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw so tightly he should have broken a few teeth. It twisted again as it was taken out, and all Aiden could do was let the fat tears roll as it happened. He felt Jad grab his medallion from under his shirt and opened his eyes as it was ripped off his neck and placed into a pouch at Karadin’s hip. Proof of death. The easiest form of it, but still worth enough to get paid. Hired by anyone associated closely with a Duke, Jad was sure to be rewarded handsomely for his work.

“Now,” spoke Jad. Aiden’s eyes were starting to get heavy, chest heaving, vision spotting behind the blur of tears. “You’ll be gone in moments, boy. A few minutes and this will be over. The pain will dull just prior, don’t fret. I will not seek out your fox nor that Wolf you travel with, but should they come I will be ready. Goodnight, Aiden. Sleep well.”

Then Jad started to walk away. Hammond and Lund went with him. Aiden could only lay there in the grass, sending his apologies to Baby and Lambert skyward and hope they would understand. He never meant for this to happen. If there hadn’t been that damned sniper, then maybe he could have taken them. But there was no time to dwell now. Darkness crept in, and Aiden’s breathing slowed, and it went dark once and for all as he bled out. He had failed. He was sorry. He could only imagine how horrifically pathetic he appeared. Perhaps he could be forgiven in time by his fox and his Wolf for never coming home.

In some months, when the snow lay thick on the ground, white and untouched blanketing where grass once resided, there would be the choking gasp of a man within the Brokilon Forest. Waking from a healing sleep induced by an old magic, cast by resident Dryads within the cover of trees that towered above. Known by many as the forest of death, breathing life back into someone who simply had not been due to die.

“Sir Witcher Aiden,” said a calming voice, a person standing kindly to the side. Her palm lay gently at the crown of his head, soothing. “We welcome you back to the living world. It has been some time.”