#ignore the fact that I don’t know how to spell safety

[pawfulofwaffles]

Still trying to figure out my design for Mark. He has woodchip hair kinda

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Sixteen: Wishful Thinking

Chapter WC: 10,811

Chapter Tags/Warnings: minor blood/wound care, major grief/mourning themes

A/N: A lot going on in this one, but I couldn’t stand to break it into two chapters. This is one of the heaviest chapters so far, but also one of the sweetest. Hopefully that makes up for it somewhat!

And just getting it out now that I don’t plan on talking about Satine much in this fic, so please don’t set your hopes too high lol.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

You’ve never met Duchess Satine Kryze, but she must be a beautiful and formidable woman to have such a hold on Obi-Wan after all these years.

He's always spoken of her with the utmost respect and detachment, but you can sense the truth that lies beneath. It doesn’t surprise you that he's the one who has been sent to Mandalore in the wake of the attack on a Republic cruiser by a Mandalorian saboteur, leaving you in command of the 212th.

It does, however, annoy you.

Though, not in the way you expect. In your youth, you were jealous of her, the thought of Obi-Wan being with another woman had caused an ugly, green-eyed monster to rear its head within you. As time has passed, and especially since your conversation in the gardens, that feeling has faded. Replaced by something else entirely.

Concern.

You've had a bad feeling about the situation on Mandalore ever since Obi-Wan told you about his assignment, and it's one that's been difficult to let go of. Obi-Wan is a good man, an excellent General, a brilliant tactician and negotiator. But as his history with the Duchess, and yourself, has proven, his ability to remain objective when it comes to the safety and welfare of those close to him is sorely lacking.

Your worry is compounded by the fact that the 212th is being called into action. A force of Separatist droids has sprouted up like weeds on Null, a short jump from Mandalore, and the Third Army is being sent to deal with them. As a Jedi, you can't ignore the call to arms, but as a friend, you're hesitant to leave Obi-Wan without the support of the 212th. You can only hope that he will have the clarity of mind to focus on the bigger picture, rather than the smaller, more personal details.

Not that you were unfamiliar with such distractions.

Null is a lush planet, filled with dense tropical forests and dramatic mountain ranges. It's also the home of one of Dooku's many retreats, an extravagant manor built into the side of a mountain, with a sprawling view of the valley and city below. A city that's now crawling with battle droids. An orbital bombardment is out of the question, and the Separatist defenses are proving difficult to penetrate.

So, instead of a quick, clean victory, it's going to be a messy, bloody slog.

You sigh and look down at the tactical display, your brow furrowed. You'd woken early this morning, arriving to the strategy room long before everyone else, and you've spent the past few hours pouring over the reports, trying to come up with a plan of attack. And a plan for how you can get inside the castle and deal with Dooku once and for all.

Yaddle's message is still fresh in your mind, her voice still ringing in your ears. Her words are still etched into your heart. You know what you have to do, and the temptation to do so is growing with each passing day. With each new casualty. With each loss.

But there's still the war to contend with, as well as the possibility of failure. If you attempt to go after Dooku and fail, if he gets the upper hand and kills you, the galaxy will lose a Jedi Master. And if you manage to kill him and survive, you will lose the moral high ground. The Order could brand you a murderer, and that would spell the end for your career, your life, and your friendships. There would be no going back.

No, it's not worth the risk.

At least, not yet.

You're so lost in thought that you don't hear the door slide open behind you, nor do you hear the footsteps approaching. It isn't until Rex clears his throat that you realize he's standing behind you.

You don’t startle, and it should surprise you, but it doesn’t. You're too used to Rex's presence by now, the warmth of his energy in the Force as familiar as the sun rising over Coruscant each morning, and the normal tension that comes with someone stepping into your space is absent. Instead, a sense of calm washes over you. 

Your shoulders relax, your heartbeat slows, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. You don't turn around, not yet. You continue staring at the hologram of the valley, letting the feeling settle in.

It's strange. You'd expected this closeness between the two of you to fade once you'd returned to Coruscant. But it hasn't. If anything, it's grown stronger, and it's no longer something that only occurs in the safety of an empty meadow or a darkened hallway, away from the prying eyes of the Jedi Council and the GAR. Now, it's everywhere. In every moment. No matter what the two of you are doing.

You've tried not to read too much into it, tried not to dwell on the implications. But deep down, you know the truth. Rex isn't just a distraction. He's something else, something more.

But you're not ready to admit that. Not yet.

But that doesn't mean that you're not happy to see him.

"Good morning, Rex," you greet him, a hint of amusement in your tone, and you move your fingers across the display, changing the angle of the hologram. "Come to save me from myself?"

"How did you know it was me?" he asks. His voice is low, his tone teasing. He's close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end.

"Don't tell me you were trying to sneak up on me," you tease, glancing over your shoulder and giving him a wry smile.

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. "I haven't forgotten what happened the last time I tried."

You smirk, remembering the incident on Felucia. It feels like a lifetime ago that you were holding him at the end of your blade, your eyes locked on his. There's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes now, but the memory still stings. You can still see mark on his pauldron under the layers of blue paint, a reminder of your recklessness, your paranoia.

"Neither have I," you mutter, and then you turn back to the hologram, tilting your head and studying the display. "What brings you here so early?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I’m always the first one here," Rex says. He steps around to the side of the holotable, leaning against the edge. His head tilts as he regards you, his hands behind his back, and his eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail. "You look like you haven't slept."

"I've had a lot on my mind," you admit with a sigh.

A slight frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, his gaze flickering to the table between the two of you, before returning to yours.

"Anything I can help with?" he offers. "Or, are you just trying to show the rest of us up by coming up with the perfect plan before anyone else arrives?"

You chuckle and shake your head, the corner of your mouth turning upwards. "Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid."

"I see," he replies, and a hint of disappointment flashes across his face, before vanishing. He nods at the holotable, and then, hesitates. "Do you...do you want to talk about it? Maybe it'll help. Clear your head."

You pause, considering his offer, and then, decide against it. You can't bring yourself to tell him about Yaddle, about what she said, not yet. Not when the wound is still so raw, so fresh. And while Rex is an exceptional listener, and you know he would offer his full support, you're not ready. Not for the conversation that will inevitably follow. 

So, instead, you give him a grateful smile and shake your head. "Thanks, but I'm okay."

"Alright," he concedes, though he looks unconvinced. 

You're grateful for it. You appreciate his understanding, his willingness to respect your boundaries. It's a relief, really. There's no awkwardness or discomfort. It's natural. Easy. And that's something you've rarely found outside the Jedi Order. Or inside it.

"Well, hopefully this helps, then." 

Rex moves his hand from behind his back and reveals a paper cup with a lid. Steam wafts from the opening, and you immediately recognize the scent of fresh caf. You perk up, your eyes widening.

"Is that...?"

"Freshly brewed?" he finishes as he sets it on the holotable in front of you. "Yep."

“For me?” you ask, even as you reach for it, wrapping your hands around the cup and reveling in the heat. You lift the cup to your nose and inhale deeply, the smell sending a shiver down your spine. “Really?”

Rex chuckles and shrugs, lifting up his own cup to his mouth. “Oh, well I was going to give it to Cody, but…”

Your jaw drops and your eyes widen, and he smirks before taking a sip, the teasing glint in his eyes telling you he's enjoying your reaction. You roll your eyes, and a soft laugh escapes your lips, your cheeks warming.

“But you like me more?” you challenge, and Rex snorts, nearly spilling his caf. He covers his mouth and swallows hard, shaking his head at you as you raise an eyebrow at him. "That's what you're going to say, right?"

"Yeah," he rasps, clearing his throat. He sets his cup on the table and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sure. That."

"Good," you say, smiling sweetly at him. You raise your cup to him in a salute. "Because I like you more than Cody, too."

“I heard that.” 

You both straighten and turn as Cody strides into the room, a datapad in his hand, and the two of you exchange a sheepish look. You feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach, and Rex lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping.

Cody raises his eyebrow as he walks around the holotable, glancing between the two of you. He looks like he's about to say something, but then shakes his head, his expression softening, and he turns to the display.

"What are we looking at?" he asks.

"A nest," Rex replies, his voice gruff, and he crosses his arms over his chest, any trace of amusement gone.

You're surprised at his sudden change in demeanor, and a part of you wants to laugh at the absurdity of it, but the other part, the one that's still slightly worried about being caught fraternizing, even if it's Cody, stops you. Instead, you nudge Rex with your elbow, giving him one last smile before you go over to stand beside the commander.

As you move, you take the first sip of your caf. You brace yourself for the bitter taste, but it doesn’t come. In fact, it tastes almost exactly like how you prefer to prepare it for yourself. You can’t help the noise of surprise that escapes you, and you eagerly take another sip.

Rex watches you from the corner of his eye, his mouth quirking into a half-smile, before turning back to the display.

Cody doesn't miss the exchange. His eyebrows raise, a curious look on his face, but he doesn't comment. Instead, he points to the map on the holotable.

"So, a nest, huh?" he asks. "And what kind of bird are we hunting?"

"A Krayt dragon," Rex says, and you snort, earning a glare from the captain. He huffs and continues, "A squadron of vulture droids, most likely from Count Dooku's estate, launched an attack on the nearby city and decimated the local forces. They're holed up in the surrounding mountains, and they're not giving up easily."

"Dooku's estate, you said," Cody repeats, and a thoughtful look crosses his face. "We'll have to deal with that later."

"Yes, we will," you mutter. He hums in return, and the three of you stand in silence, studying the display. The battle droids are well fortified, their numbers impressive, and you have a feeling that it's going to be a difficult fight.

You take another sip of your caf, savoring the rich flavor, and the caffeine courses through your veins, sending a jolt of energy through your body. It's enough to wake you up and sharpen your focus, and you can't help but smile. You look over at Rex and nod, mouthing a silent 'thank you'.

He ducks his head and turns away, but you can see the color rising in his cheeks, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He lifts his hand to his face, scratching the back of his head, and you have to stifle a laugh.

The doors slide open, and Anakin and the rest of the battalion's commanding officers file in, filling the room with a low murmur of voices. As they take their places around the holotable, Rex ends up next to you again. 

"You're welcome," he murmurs, his mouth barely moving. He doesn't look at you, keeping his eyes fixed on the map, but his arm brushes against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

You hide your smile behind your cup, warmth blooming in your chest, and you take a moment to bask in the sensation before you shift, putting some distance between the two of you. The last thing you need is for someone else to notice the tension between the two of you, especially now that the room is full.

You're not ready to explain this...whatever it is, to anyone.

"Alright, everyone," Anakin calls, clapping his hands together. He steps forward and leans over the holotable, examining the map. "Let's get started."

The meeting passes quickly, and before long, the two of you are walking side by side through the corridors toward the hangar bay. The troops have already begun boarding the transport ships, and the hum of engines fills the air. Rex is at ease, his stride relaxed, his hands clasped behind his back. You, on the other hand, are anything but.

Your feet are dragging, a heaviness weighing on your shoulders that grows with every step. You're exhausted, and the thought of another battle, another confrontation, makes you want to curl up and sleep for days. The stress is beginning to wear on you, and the lack of a good night's sleep isn't helping. 

Still, there's a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you that this is your chance. That this is the opportunity you've been waiting for. To finally confront Dooku.

"So," Rex begins slowly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Is there any way I can convince you not to go on this mission?"

You huff a laugh, and you shake your head. "I wish."

"I had a feeling," he sighs, and his gaze returns to the corridor ahead. "You have that look on your face. Like you're ready to jump out of an airlock."

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me, yes," he tells you. He stops, turning to face you, and he rests his hand on your shoulder. He squeezes gently, and you find yourself leaning into it, savoring the contact. His thumb brushes against your collarbone as he leans forward, his gaze softening. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'll be fine," you assure him, and a half-smile tugs at your lips. "Don't worry about me."

"You say that," he chuckles, his tone rueful, and his grip on your shoulder tightens. His eyes search yours, and the humor fades. "But I do. And I know something's wrong."

"I..." You start, but stop, biting your lip. You take a deep breath and look away, your heart hammering in your chest. "I don't know what to tell you."

"You can tell me the truth," he says gently. He tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze. "What's going on? Are you...is it the nightmares?"

"It's not that," you sigh, and you rub the back of your neck, your eyes drifting towards the floor. 

You don't want to lie to him, not anymore, but you're not sure what to say. The truth is, it's more than just the nightmares. It's everything. The war, the Order, your past, your future. You've been struggling with it all, and it's getting harder and harder to keep it together. To maintain control. To hide your emotions. To ignore the growing desire for justice, vengeance, satisfaction. 

You let out a shaky breath and shake your head. "It's just...a lot."

"Yeah," he nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and then clears his throat. "Can I...is there anything I can do?"

"Not this time," you answer, a sad smile on your face. "But thank you."

"Alright," he sighs, resigned. Rex drops his hand and looks around, taking in the bustle of the hangar bay. His eyes linger on the transport ships, a distant look on his face. "You think we have a chance?"

"At taking out the vulture droids or taking out Dooku?" you ask, and his gaze returns to you. He offers you a wry grin.

"Either. Both."

You shrug. "I think we'll be fine. As long as we stick to the plan and work together, we should have no problem destroying the droids. As for Dooku..."

"Yeah, that's the hard part, isn't it?" he chuckles, and you nod, the corner of your mouth pulling into a small smile.

"It is," you agree. "But with a little luck, we might be able to capture him."

"Right," he says, rolling his eyes. "Luck."

"Well, we have to stay positive, don't we?" you tease, nudging his shoulder. He chuckles and shakes his head, and the two of you share a smile. It fades quickly, however, replaced by a somber expression.

He glances around, making sure no one's paying attention, before stepping closer. His gaze meets yours, and there's a seriousness in his eyes that wasn't there before. He opens his mouth, then closes it, hesitating, before trying again.

"What would you do if we did?" he asks quietly. "If we had him."

"I..." you start, but then trail off, considering the question. You don't have an answer. Not one you can speak aloud. There are so many conflicting emotions, so many feelings, swirling inside you, and it's hard to separate them. To pick out the right ones. The good ones. The ones that matter.

But underneath all of that, buried beneath the surface, is something else. A burning desire for revenge. For justice. And it's a desire that you're struggling to contain, to control. Every day, it grows stronger, demanding release, demanding action And every day, you deny it. Ignore it. Push it down. But it never goes away. Never disappears.

And it's becoming harder and harder to keep it in check.

Now, you're afraid that if you do catch Dooku, you won't be able to hold back. That you'll lash out and do something terrible, something unforgivable.

You've never admitted that to anyone, not even Obi-Wan. You know he's under the impression that you've released most of the darkest parts of yourself into the Force, but that's far from the truth. You can't help it. You're only human, after all. 

And like any other human, you're capable of horrible, terrible, things. You know that better than most.

 But Rex...he might understand. He's seen first-hand what Dooku is capable of, the pain he's caused. If anyone could understand, it would be him.

You look up at him, your eyes searching his, and he stares back, his expression solemn, his brow furrowed. He doesn't pressure you, doesn't push, just waits patiently, giving you time.

"I don't know," you finally answer, and the lie burns your tongue, the words coming out thick and heavy. You swallow hard and look away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You can tell me," he says softly. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah," you nod, forcing yourself to smile.

"Good," he murmurs. "That's good."

There's an awkward silence between the two of you, and you stare at the ground, unsure of what to say. You can sense his eyes on you, and the intensity makes your stomach twist. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a chill runs down your spine. You cross your arms, rubbing your palms up and down your sleeves.

"Just..." 

You take a shaky breath and raise your head, meeting his gaze. His expression is gentle, kind, and it helps. It gives you the courage to continue.

"Just stay close to me, okay?" you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. You clear your throat and force a smile, and it hurts. Everything hurts. Your chest is tight, your throat dry. "Please."

Rex's frown deepens, and he opens his mouth to reply, but he's cut off by a voice echoing down the hallway.

"Rex! Where are you? We're ready to launch!"

He sighs and looks away, running a hand over his head. "I gotta go."

"I know," you tell him, swallowing past the lump your throat. You take a step forward and reach for him, resting your hand on his arm. "Be careful out there, okay? Don't do anything stupid."

He scoffs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and he looks down at you. "Who, me?"

"Yes, you," you tease.

"I'm always careful," he retorts, and the two of you exchange a knowing look. You squeeze his arm and let go, stepping back, and his eyes linger on yours.

"Rex!" the voice calls again, more insistent.

"Go," you say. "Before Fives comes looking for you."

Rex smirks, and then gives you a nod. He turns and strides down the hall, and you watch him go, your heart aching, a strange feeling twisting in your gut.

You can't name it, can't put a word to it. It's not quite worry, not quite fear, not quite sadness. But it's all of those things, and more. A feeling of loss, maybe. Or regret. Or guilt.

Rex reaches the end of the corridor, and he turns, glancing back at you. You give him a small wave, forcing a smile, and his gaze lingers, his eyes searching yours. Then, he turns, and he's gone.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, staring after him.

Dread.

The feeling is dread.

Null, 21 BBY

An explosion rattles the ground beneath your feet, and you dive for cover, the deafening sound of blaster fire echoing around you. You roll behind a pile of rubble and lean against the stone, catching your breath. Across the dust-filled courtyard, Rex is hunkered down behind a broken statue, his blasters in his hands.

You lock eyes with him and he nods, holding up his hand, the signal to wait. You nod back and turn, peering around the edge of the stones, looking for an opening. The courtyard is crawling with battle droids, their laser fire tearing through the air, and it's impossible to tell where the droids end and the Republic troops begin.

A clone runs past, his armor streaked with blood, and a battle droid lunges out of the smoke, grabbing him. You reach out, calling upon the Force, and the droid flies through the air, slamming into a wall. The clone stares at you, and then nods, rushing back into the fray.

Another explosion rocks the courtyard, and the ground trembles, chunks of stone and dirt falling from the sky. You grit your teeth and push off the ground, leaping to the top of the rubble, your lightsabers igniting. A storm of bolts comes flying at you, and you deflect them, sending them back at the droids.

"General!"

You glance over your shoulder, and a squad of clones come running towards you, their weapons raised. They're led by Waxer, and they're covered in dust and dirt, but otherwise unharmed.

"Waxer, nice of you to finally join us," you shout, and the clones laugh, ducking behind the debris.

"Well, we couldn't leave our General hanging, now could we?" he retorts. He peers around the stones, scanning the courtyard, and then looks back at you. "Commander said you were having a rough time, thought we could give you a hand."

"How kind of him," you deadpan. You jump off the rocks, landing next to the clones, and you take a deep breath, letting the Force flow through you. Your skin tingles, and your muscles tense. The world around you slows to a standstill as your heart beats faster, pounding against your chest. You can see every detail, every movement, every particle.

"Any sign of Dooku?" Waxer asks.

You grit your teeth. The Force ripples around you, telling you what you already suspected from the moment you landed on Null. Dooku is gone, if he ever was here. Another lie. Another dead end. Another wasted opportunity.

"He's not here."

"You're sure?"

"Positive," you grunt, and everything comes rushing back. The sound, the smell, the taste of smoke and blood and sweat. It's overwhelming, but it's familiar, and your senses adjust quickly, settling back into their normal rhythm. "Looks like this is a vacation home, not a military base."

"Great," he sighs. He raises his blaster and fires, taking out a pair of battle droids before ducking back behind cover. "Well, at least the vultures are taken care of."

"That's one good thing, I guess." You crouch beside him, your brow furrowed, exhaustion tugging at your limbs. "Now, we just have to clean up this mess."

Rex darts across the courtyard, his blasters firing, and a stream of red light follows his movements. He slides to a stop beside you, and he leans against the rubble, his chest heaving. His helmet tilts towards you, looking at you over his shoulder.

"Good to see you, General," he pants.

"You, too," you reply, giving him a tired smile.

"Did we miss anything?"

"Not really," Waxer tells him. "We were just about to start mopping up."

The three of you look over at the troopers now pouring into the courtyard in a sea of blue and orange, their numbers quickly overwhelming the droids. It's a chaotic scene, with blaster bolts flying through the air and smoke filling the space, but the tide has clearly turned in the Republic's favor.

"Come on, then," you say, and you rise, stretching. Your muscles ache, and your knees protest, but you ignore them. "Let's get this done."

You turn and lead the way, jumping into the fray.  Within minutes, the last of the battle droids fall, their smoking corpses littering the ground. You stand in the middle of the carnage, surveying the damage. There are scorch marks everywhere, bodies strewn across the stones, pieces of broken droids scattered about.

It's a mess, but it could have been worse.

Much worse.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, centering yourself. You deactivate your lightsabers and tuck them into your belt, a weary smile on your face. It's over. Finally. You'd been fighting for hours, and you're ready to rest.

"Good work, everyone," you call out, raising your voice so it can be heard above the din. "I think we're done here."

There's a loud cheer, and the troops start gathering their gear, cleaning up the battlefield. Rex approaches you, and the two of you stand together, watching the men work.

Rex lets out a loud sigh, and he takes his helmet off, wiping the sweat from his brow. His blond hair is matted with dirt, and his face is covered in grime. He glances over at you, and his eyes crinkle with a tired smile.

"Well, that was a fun morning," he chuckles, and the clones in the near vicinity laugh at the quip. Waxer gives him a good-natured slap on the back as he walks by, and you snort, shaking your head.

"Glad you enjoyed yourself," you retort, and his smile widens.

He turns and gestures to the castle looming in the distance. "Do we still want to take a look around?"

"We might as well," you say, shrugging. "It's not like we're going to get a chance like this again."

Rex nods and pulls out his commlink, tapping a button. A voice crackles to life, and he begins issuing orders, the clones splitting off into teams and heading towards the estate. He watches them go, and then he looks over at you, nodding.

"Ready when you are."

You take a deep breath and begin walking, Rex falling into step beside you. The estate is sprawling, a series of towers and spires rising up from the valley floor. It's surrounded by a high stone wall, and you can see turrets peeking out from the battlements. You've never seen a more dreary, impenetrable fortress.

The main doors are open, and a squad is standing guard, their weapons raised. As you draw nearer to the entrance, a sense of anticipation settles over you, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. 

Your hand drifts towards your lightsaber, and your fingers tighten around the hilt. You can sense something, but you can't put your finger on it. An energy, an electricity, a presence, but it's faint, just out of reach. Something inside you wants to run, either away or toward, and you can't tell which.

You hear a grunt beside you, and you glance at Rex. His face is pinched, and for the first time you notice him limping, his left leg dragging a bit behind his right. Concern flares inside you, and you stop, turning towards him.

"You're hurt," you accuse, and his eyes widen, his jaw clenching.

"I'm fine," he insists, but his voice is strained, and the pain is clear in his eyes. You shake your head and grab his arm, pulling him to a stop. Whatever is behind those doors can wait.

"Rex, what's wrong?" you ask, and he sighs, his shoulders slumping.

"Just a little bruised," he admits. 

You arch an eyebrow, gesturing to his leg. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," he insists. "I'll be fine."

"Uh huh," you murmur. You step closer and lean forward into his space, looking into his eyes. He avoids your gaze, his cheeks reddening, and you narrow your eyes, sensing the truth. "Rex."

"What?" he grumbles.

"You should see a medic."

"I will," he promises, and his eyes dart over to the others, before returning to yours. "Later."

"Liar," you grin, and his lips twitch. You roll your eyes.

The two of you watch as the troopers file into the estate, disappearing from sight. When they're gone, he lets out a breath and looks at you, the tension in his body easing. You're grateful for the quiet, the stillness, the opportunity to collect yourself.

But it's also a relief to have him all to yourself, without the constant pressure of the others, the expectations and attention. And you can tell he feels the same.

"I am a liar," he admits sheepishly. He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, a shy smile spreading across his face. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Maybe," you tease, and his grin widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Sit down. I'll take a look at it."

"You don't have to," he starts, but you shake your head, cutting him off.

"No arguing. Sit."

Rex grumbles but does as you say, letting you lead him over to the half-shattered fountain in the center of the courtyard, the water long gone. He lowers himself to the ground, hissing in pain, and you kneel beside him. Together, you remove the armor from his leg, setting it aside. The fabric of his bodysuit is torn, and underneath is a nasty-looking gash, a mixture of dirt and dried blood caking his skin.

You bite your lip, worry bubbling inside you. You've seen worse, much worse, but there's something about seeing him hurt that makes your heart clench. You know you're being irrational, that the injury isn't serious, and that the medics will be able to treat him. Still, it hurts. To see him in pain. To feel his pain.

"It's not that bad," he mutters. He's looking down at you, his brow furrowed, and he gives you a reassuring smile. "Honest."

"Uh huh," you say, unconvinced, and he huffs a laugh. You reach out, tentatively, your hand hovering over his leg. "This might sting."

"I can handle it," he tells you. You raise an eyebrow, and he gives you a crooked grin. "Probably."

You roll your eyes and move your hand closer, your fingers gently brushing the swollen skin. Rex sucks in a breath through his teeth, and you wince as you're hit with a jolt of his pain, sharp and sudden.

You breathe deep, steadying yourself, and then you press your hand fully against the wound, letting the Force flow through you into him.

You're far from adept in the healing arts, one of many weaknesses in your skill set, and you're no healer, but you can do this much. It's not a particularly complex injury. The tissue needs to be repaired, the pain reduced, and if you syphon some of your own energy, it's not as difficult as it seems. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

Still, it's not easy. The injury is larger than you thought, and the pain is intense. Rex tenses underneath your touch, his leg twitching, and you can hear his teeth grinding. His jaw is clenched so tightly, you fear his teeth might crack. You blindly reach up with your opposite hand and rest it on his knee, trying to steady him.

"Easy," you murmur. His hand settles on top of yours, your fingers intwining. You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, his thumb stroking your knuckles. "Almost done. Just breathe."

"Right," he says, his voice strained. He lets out a shaky breath and nods. "Keep going."

You let out a breath of your own, and you continue the work, draining your energy into him. After a few more moments, the wound is closed, the pain reduced, and you withdraw your hand, pulling back the fabric to examine the newly healed skin. It's a little pink and raw, but it'll do. He'll need proper medical attention, but for now, it'll keep him on his feet.

"There," you say, and Rex lets out a soft groan, the tension in his body fading. He looks down at the wound, and he turns his leg side to side, admiring your handiwork. "Good as new."

"Wow," he breathes. "That's...impressive."

"Yeah, I'm pretty great, aren't I?" you tease.

"Yeah," he nods. His hand is still holding yours, his fingers lightly tracing your knuckles. "You are."

The sincerity in his voice surprises you, and your cheeks warm, your heart skipping a beat. You swallow hard, and you give him a weak smile, trying not to read too much into his words.

"Thanks," you murmur. You let go of his hand and sit back, and he sighs, his eyes never leaving yours. You shift under his gaze, unsure of what to do, or say, and then, his expression changes, his head tilting.

"Why don't you do that more often?" he asks, and you frown, confused. He gestures to his leg. "Heal."

"Oh," you reply, just as a wave of exhaustion washes over you. You try to suppress a yawn and fail. "It's not something I like to advertise. I'd rather not burn myself out."

Rex raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to elaborate. You hesitate, biting your lip. It's not something you're proud of, and it's not something you talk about often, but for some reason, you feel compelled to share.

"I'm not particularly skilled in the healing arts," you admit. You look away, your brow furrowing. "Some can draw on the Living Force, use its power to heal others. I can't."

"But you did just now," he points out carefully.

"I did," you acknowledge, and a wry smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. You turn and meet his gaze. "But it took a lot out of me, and I don't mean that metaphorically. If I'm not careful, if I'm not prepared, it could kill me."

Rex's eyes widen, and a look of panic flashes across his face. His hands clench into fists, and he shakes his head, scowling.

"Don't ever do that," he orders, and you chuckle. "Seriously. Don't. Not for me."

"If I didn't, you would have been laid up in the infirmary for a week," you tell him, trying to sound casual, but your tone is anything but. Your words come out more harshly than intended, a bit more bitter. "Besides, I wanted to. You're worth it."

Rex stares at you, stunned, a flicker of something passing over his features. Surprise? Confusion? A hint of fear? You're not sure, but it makes your stomach twist, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of your gut. You swallow hard, resisting the urge to look away.

"You shouldn't have," he tells you, shaking his head. "You could have-"

"But I didn't," you interrupt, and he sighs, the corners of his mouth turning down. You stand and brush the dirt and debris from your robes, clearing your throat. "And if you ever tell anyone I did that, I'll deny it. Got it?"

Rex snorts, the scowl vanishing, and slowly rises to his feet, testing his weight on his injured leg. He stretches and rolls his shoulders, his neck cracking, and then he nods. "Got it."

"Good," you huff. 

You watch as he reattaches his armor, your arms crossed over your chest. He seems to have forgotten about the estate, about the mission, his mind on other things. His expression is thoughtful, his eyes distant, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking. What he's feeling. Whether or not he's upset with you. With himself.

You know you've worried him, that he's afraid of what might have happened, but you don't regret it. Not one bit. He needed your help, and you gave it. It's as simple as that. Besides, you're a Jedi, aren't you? Isn't this what the Order teaches? That compassion and generosity are the most important aspects of your duty, your life?

Still, there's a nagging voice in the back of your head, a voice telling you that what you did was selfish. That you did it for yourself, not for him. That you did it because you care about him, because you can't stand the thought of him being hurt.

And, the truth is, it is. It is selfish, it is reckless. 

You're not a healer, not really. You don't know how to channel the Living Force, how to heal the wounded, or cure the sick. You only know how to take, how to absorb the pain and suffering of others and give something of yourself in return, and you've never done more than a handful of healing sessions in your life. You're a warrior, not a physician. 

And yet, here you are, playing medic, because it's Rex. Because you can't help yourself.

Rex finishes buckling his armor and looks at you, his expression unreadable. You meet his gaze, and a moment passes between the two of you. An understanding. A realization. Something is changing, something fundamental, and neither of you knows what to do about it. But you don't need to. Not yet.

"Listen," he starts, his voice soft. "I—"

"Sir!"

The two of you flinch, startled, and you turn towards the source of the voice, your hand drifting towards your lightsaber. Fives and Echo are jogging across the courtyard, their blasters raised. You relax, and Rex lets out a sigh, running a hand over his head.

"Yes?" he calls.

"General," Fives pants, and he skids to a stop, his helmet under his arm. "Sorry to interrupt, but we found something."

"What is it?" Rex asks, frowning. 

Fives glances at you, and a grim expression settles on his face. He shifts from foot to foot, his eyes darting between the two of you.

"It's...just come see."

Rex nods, and he gestures for Fives to lead the way. The trooper hurries off, and you follow, Rex at your side. The four of you weave through the rubble toward the castle, Fives and Echo in the lead, Rex and you a few steps behind. You feel a chill creep up your spine, a sense of unease filling you, and your hand rests on your lightsaber, your thumb brushing against the hilt.

As the doors loom overhead, Rex looks over his shoulder and meets your gaze. You shake your head, a silent warning, and he nods, his expression hardening.

Whatever it is, it's not good.

You pass through the archway and into the darkened hall. The interior is massive, a high vaulted ceiling overhead, with ornate columns rising from the floor to the roof. The walls are lined with marble, and the floor is polished black stone. There are statues lining the walls, and they look like they were once pristine, but now they're covered in soot, and chunks of the ceiling have fallen, smashing the art. The place smells like smoke and death.

"This way," Echo says, gesturing to the left. The group turns and heads down the hallway, your footsteps echoing around you.

As you move deeper into the castle, the air becomes thicker, the smell of smoke and dust growing stronger. The hallways narrow, and the walls become rougher, the marble replaced by stone. Torches flicker along the walls, casting eerie shadows across the floor.

Your uneasiness only compounds the further you walk, and a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. You're starting to feel sick, the sensation only growing stronger with each step.

You glance over at Rex to find him already watching you, his brow furrowed. He slows, letting the others get a few paces ahead, and he leans towards you, his voice low.

"What is it?" he asks. "Do you sense something?"

"I do," you whisper. You rub your temples, your eyes drifting closed. "But I can't put my finger on it. It's..."

"What?" he prompts.

"Dark," you say. "Very dark."

"Shit," he breathes. His hand reaches out, hovering near your shoulder, as if he wants to comfort you, but he hesitates. "Do you want to go back?"

"No," you murmur. You take a deep breath and open your eyes, meeting his concerned gaze. "I'll be fine."

"Alright," he says, though the worry remains in his eyes. He steps back, putting a little distance between the two of you, and he nods towards the others. "Let's catch up."

You nod, and the two of you resume walking, following the clones through the gloom. The air is getting colder, the scent of smoke growing stronger, and you can hear a low hissing sound, like gas escaping from a broken pipe. You grit your teeth, doing your best to ignore it. Whatever it is, whatever is making you feel so ill, it's coming from up ahead.

After what feels like an eternity, the four of you come to a stop outside a massive wooden door, and Fives looks back at Rex, gesturing towards the handle. The captain nods, and the trooper takes a deep breath, reaching for the knob.

"Ready?" he asks.

"No," you answer, and the three of them chuckle, the sound echoing around you.

Fives nods and pulls the door open, and a wave of cold air rushes out, blowing through your hair and making the torches flicker. You shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin, and a lump forms in your throat.

There's a long, winding staircase leading down into the darkness. The walls are covered in soot, and the stones are slick with ice. The air is frigid, and your breath mists in front of your face. You can hear the sound of dripping water, and the scent of dampness and decay fills the air.

"I don't like this," Fives mutters, and Echo grunts in agreement.

Rex looks over at you, and a wry grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. "What do you think, General?"

"It's creepy as hell," you deadpan.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he chuckles, and he steps forward, placing his foot on the first step. "Come on, then. Let's get this over with."

You follow him into the stairwell, and the rest of the squad falls in line behind you, the four of you descending into the darkness. The light from the torches quickly fades, and the only sound is the scrape of your boots against the ice-covered stone, and the occasional drip of water.

The further you go, the worse the feeling gets, and the air grows colder, the smell of rotting wood and mold invading your nose. You feel like you can't breathe, like there's a hand gripping your throat, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"You sure you're alright?" Rex asks quietly. He doesn't turn to look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the steps, his fingers gripping the railing.

"No," you murmur, and he frowns, glancing at you over his shoulder.

"Do you want to go back?" he asks.

"Not unless you do," you reply. "It's just..."

"Yeah," he agrees, nodding.

The stairs eventually level out, and the path opens into a cavernous chamber, the ceiling soaring high above your head. The walls are covered in stalactites, and the ground is slick with ice. You can't see beyond your hand, and you stumble forward, your foot sliding out from under you.

"Easy," Rex murmurs, grabbing your arm, steadying you.

"Thanks," you grunt, and you let out a shaky breath, trying to get your bearings. You draw your sabers, the yellow blades illuminating the room, and you hear the sound of the others' flashlights flicking on, the beams of light dancing around the space.

"What the hell is this place?" Fives asks. His voice is hushed, but it echoes around you, the silence deafening.

"I don't know," Rex whispers. He lets go of your arm and walks forward, his eyes scanning the room. You stay close, not wanting to lose him in the darkness. "It looks like some sort of dungeon, or..."

"A tomb," you finish, and he looks back at you, his brow furrowing.

"Yeah," he agrees. "It does."

You step forward, your gaze sweeping the area. The ceiling is high, the walls covered in icicles. The ground is smooth, with a layer of ice coating it, and you can see a path leading deeper into the cavern. You feel a tug, a pull, and your pulse quickens.

"Rex," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says. He follows your gaze, and he sighs, his expression grim. "I know."

You nod and begin moving forward, the others falling in line behind you. Your footsteps are muffled by the ice, and the air grows colder, a chill settling over the room. The light from your sabers doesn't seem to reach the walls, and the darkness presses in on you, like a living, breathing thing.

"General," Echo says, his voice low. "You don't think this is a trap, do you?"

"I don't know." You shrug, and the three clones let out a chorus of sighs. You turn and look back at them, arching an eyebrow. "If it is, it's not a very good one."

"True," Fives agrees. "Maybe Dooku isn't as smart as we thought."

"Or, maybe he's playing a different game," Rex says, his tone grim. He glances at you, his eyes lingering on yours. "Just...be ready."

"Always," you assure him.

You continue through the cave, the air growing colder, the ice thickening beneath your feet. The path twists and turns, and the ceiling lowers, until you have to duck to avoid the icicles hanging above.

Finally, the path opens into another large chamber, and you come to a stop, taking in the sight before you. The ground is littered with debris, chunks of stone and rubble scattered around the space. A row of unlit torches lines the walls, and you can see a series of steps leading down into the center of the room, the ground cracked and broken.

And there, in the middle of the chaos, is a pedestal.

You frown, stepping forward. There's something on top of the pedestal, but it's too far away to see clearly. You reach the edge of the broken ground, and you stop, peering down.

"What is that?" you murmur.

Rex comes up beside you, his brow furrowed. "Looks like a...box."

Your blood runs cold, and you turn, your hand twisting. The torches ignite, filling the room with light, and you see the box, the ornate wood gleaming in the torchlight. Its surface is scorched and dented, and it's covered in ash, but there's no mistaking it.

"Get out," you say, your voice hoarse.

"What?" Fives asks. "But we—"

"Get out!" you shout, and they flinch, stumbling backwards. "Now!"

Rex hesitates, his eyes darting from the box to your face, and you stare at him, your hands clenched into fists, the blood roaring in your ears. After a moment, he nods, and he raises his hand, signaling the others to fall back.

"Yes, sir," Fives murmurs, and he turns and begins marching back the way you came. Echo gives you a long look, his eyes lingering on yours, and then he, too, retreats. Rex doesn't move, and you turn, glaring at him.

"Go," you order.

"You told me to stay close to you, remember?" he retorts, and his voice is laced with anger, his jaw clenched. "Well, I am. And I'm not leaving."

You sigh, a headache building behind your eyes, and you shake your head. "Rex, I—"

"No," he growls. "Don't. Don't push me away."

"It's not—"

"You're not going through this alone."

"But—"

"I don't care."

His voice echoes around the chamber, and you swallow hard, the air rushing from your lungs. You stare at him, at his unwavering determination, his absolute refusal to back down, and a part of you wants to push him, wants to shove him away and send him back to the others. He's disobeying your orders, he's questioning your authority, and you should be angry. You should be furious.

But instead, you feel relieved.

You turn back towards the pedestal, the box gleaming in the flickering light, and a cold weight settles in the pit of your stomach.

"Alright," you sigh, deactivating your sabers and shoving them into their holsters. "Fine."

Rex's expression softens, and he reaches for you, his hand settling on your shoulder. You lean into him, his warmth comforting, and he squeezes gently.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

You nod, and the two of you begin the descent, slowly making your way down the broken path. The ground is slick with ice, and your feet slide a few times, Rex's grip on your shoulder tightening to keep you from falling. You finally reach the bottom, and you approach the pedestal, a lump forming in your throat.

You stand over the box, and you run your fingers along the surface. It's warm, and there's a faint vibration, the Force humming with energy.

"What is it?" Rex asks, his voice quiet.

"It's..." You trail off, and you swallow hard. "It's what I found when I went out that night."

He frowns, and then recognition dawns on his face, and his eyes widen. "You mean when you were attacked?"

"Yes," you whisper.

Rex is silent, and you stare at the box, a wave of emotion welling up inside you. Anger, sadness, grief. They mix together, churning in your stomach, and you clench your fists, the nails digging into your palms. You can feel the darkness swirling around you, a miasma of pain and fury, and it threatens to drown you. But you can't look away, can't turn your back.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs.

"Yes," you repeat, and the word comes out thick, the tears burning hot. "I'm sure."

"Then, it's him," Rex whispers, his voice laced with sympathy. He steps closer, his hand settling on your back, his thumb rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. "Isn't it?"

"It is."

You reach out and place your hand on the lid, and the wood is smooth and cool under your fingertips. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself, and then, with a single, smooth motion, you lift the lid. The hinges creak, the sound echoing around the chamber, and a cloud of dust swirls in the air.

The inside of the box is lined with a velvet material, the fabric faded and worn. The scrap of her robe is still there, along with the datapad, but that isn't what makes your heart seize in your chest. 

It's the lightsaber.

You recognize it immediately, the sleek, silver hilt a stark contrast against the crimson fabric. It's the same design, the same length, the same width. You've seen it a hundred times, a thousand, more than you can count. But the last time you saw it, it was in her hands, a blaze of green light. Now, it sits, cold and lifeless, and the ache inside you only grows.

And when you reach out, your fingers brushing the blade, the hum that vibrates up your arm is unmistakable. The same hum, the same vibration, the same power. Her power.

"Is that..." Rex breathes, his eyes wide.

"Yes," you choke out, the tears spilling over.

You can feel his presence behind you, his energy warm and steady. But even his strength can't shield you from the anguish that bubbles up inside you, a deep, primal wound reopening. It's a wound you've spent the past ten years ignoring, pushing aside, burying deep, but now it's tearing you apart, the pain consuming you.

Your hand encloses around the hilt, pulling it to your chest. The metal is cold, and you can feel the steady, rhythmic pulse of the kyber crystal inside, a faint echo of her Force signature. It's been so long since you've felt her presence. Since you've been able to sense her power, her wisdom, her kindness.

It's like a knife to the heart, the wound reopened, bleeding anew.

Rex's hand grips your shoulder, a comforting weight, but the sorrow is a tidal wave, drowning you. It's all too much. The memories, the guilt, the regret. They crash over you, threatening to drag you under, and a sob tears from your lips. You're falling, the darkness consuming you, the void swallowing you whole. You're spiraling out of control, the pain overwhelming, and you can't stop it, can't hold it back. All you can do is cling to the hilt, to her weapon, and hope she can forgive you.

But as you fall to your knees, Rex is there. His arms wrap around you before you can hit the ground, a cry ripping from your throat, and the two of you sink down together, your head pressed against his shoulder.

You bury your face in his neck, the tears flowing freely, your body trembling. His hand finds yours, the one holding her lightsaber, and he entwines his fingers with yours, his other arm tightening around your waist. He's whispering something, his voice soft and soothing, but you can't make out the words, can't focus on anything but the pain. And as Rex holds you, your face pressed against his neck, you let go.

You let the emotions wash over you, the grief and the agony and the remorse. You let the darkness consume you, and you let yourself feel the pain. Because this is what she would have wanted. This is what she would have told you.

To let go. To release the past. To find peace.

So, that's what you do. For the first time in ten years, you let yourself mourn.

You mourn the loss of her, the emptiness in your life, the absence of her guidance, her friendship. You mourn the future that could have been, the bond the two of you shared. The connection that was severed, the wound that will never heal.

It's the most painful thing you've ever experienced, and the agony is a physical thing, clawing at your chest, tearing through your heart. It's the most intense emotion you've ever felt, and it's excruciating, but you don't pull away. You don't hide from it. Instead, you cling to Rex, his arms a steady, reassuring weight around you, and you let yourself feel it. All of it.

"I'm sorry," you gasp, your voice muffled against his armor. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he murmurs, his voice strained, and his fingers tangle in your hair, holding you tighter against him. "It's not your fault."

"I couldn't...I wasn't...I tried to..." You can't get the words out, can't form a coherent sentence, and your head throbs, the pain blinding. "I couldn't save her."

"You did everything you could," he says. "You didn't fail her. You didn't fail anyone."

You want to believe him, to let his words soothe the ache, but the sorrow is overwhelming, the guilt crushing. And, even as you cry, a part of you feels guilty for showing him this side of you. For letting him see the weakness, the vulnerability. But the truth is, you've been weak for a long time, and he's been there every step of the way.

He's seen your worst, and yet, he's stayed.

"I miss her," you sob, the tears burning hot. "I just..."

"I know," he breathes. His cheek presses against the top of your head, his fingers stroking your hair. "I'm so sorry."

You don't know how long you sit there in the icy cavern, Rex's arms wrapped around you. You cry until there are no tears left, until the sobs turn to hiccups, and the hiccups turn to shuddering breaths. And all the while, Rex is there, his grip never loosening, his voice never wavering.

When the last of the tears have dried, you slump against him. Your body feels heavy, drained, and the lightsaber is a dead weight in your hand, the cold metal leeching what little warmth you have left.

You lift your head, and Rex's gaze meets yours. You're surprised to see his eyes are wet too, his lashes clumped together. His nostrils flare, and he lets out a shaky breath, trying to keep his composure. He gives you a weak smile, and you swallow hard, the words getting stuck in your throat.

"Thank you," you finally manage, and the words come out thick, the tears welling again. "I...I don't know what to say. I didn't expect—"

"Hey," he murmurs as his thumbs wipe away the tears, his touch gentle. "You don't have to say anything. I understand."

You nod, and he pulls you against him, his head resting on top of yours. The two of you fall into another silence, your arms wrapped around each other, the lightsaber clasped tightly in your fist.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps fills the cavern, and you hear the others calling out, their voices echoing around you. Rex pulls away, and he looks over his shoulder, watching as the troopers approach. His body shields you from view, protecting your privacy, and a wave of gratitude washes over you.

"Not yet," he says, his voice stern, and the footsteps stop, hesitating. "We need a few minutes."

"General," Fives calls. "Are you alright?"

"She's fine," Rex answers for you.

"Are you sure? We heard crying."

"She's fine," he repeats, his voice hardening. "Just...give us a minute."

You close your eyes, exhaustion tugging at your limbs, and you rest your head on Rex's shoulder, letting the sounds of his voice soothe you. The others are talking, whispering amongst themselves, but you can't make out the words. You're not sure you want to.

You don't know how long the two of you sit there, but eventually, the voices grow quiet, and you hear the troopers walking away, their footsteps fading into the distance. When they're gone, you open your eyes and stare at the ground, the tears drying on your cheeks.

"You didn't tell them," you say, your voice quiet.

"No," he admits. "I didn't."

"Why?"

"Because," he murmurs. He turns, his hand reaching up, his fingers tilting your chin towards him. Your gazes meet, his eyes soft, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. "You deserved a moment alone to grieve. Without the others staring."

You nod, and a weak smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, the tears welling once more. He cares so much, cares more than he should, and it warms your heart despite the cold surrounding you.

"Thank you," you whisper, and the words come out strained, your voice cracking.

"It's the least I can do," he replies. Rex lets go of your chin, his hand falling back to his side. "I wish I could do more."

"You're already doing more than enough," you tell him, and you mean it. If not for him, you would have lost yourself completely. The thought terrifies you, but also warms you. He's saved you, time and time again, without even realizing it. "I couldn't have done this without you."

"You could have," he says, his expression earnest. "But I'm glad you didn't have to."

"Me, too," you murmur.

The two of you stay there for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound the faint drip of water. The air is frigid, the chill seeping into your bones, and you shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin.

"Come on," Rex says. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, his hand trailing down your arm and coming to a rest on your elbow. "Let's get out of here."

"Yeah," you agree, and you let him help you to your feet, your legs shaking. You brush the dirt and grime from your clothes, and then look down at the box, your mouth pulling into a grimace.

"I can't believe he kept it," you mutter, placing the lightsaber back inside, the scrap of fabric on top of it. The lid falls shut, a loud thump echoing around the chamber.

"I'm not surprised," Rex replies, his tone laced with bitterness. He shakes his head, a scowl on his face.  "He likes his trophies."

"He's sick," you mutter. The rage is starting to burn inside you again, the pain giving way to anger, a familiar, comforting emotion. "Do you think this was his plan all along? To lure me here?"

"Maybe," he admits, his eyes sweeping the area, his expression hardening. "But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that you have your evidence. You can finally get justice."

"Justice," you repeat. The word tastes like ash in your mouth. You shake your head, your lips pulling into a thin line. "All I want is revenge."

"Revenge won't bring her back," Rex murmurs. His hand rests on your lower back, his warmth seeping through the fabric. "You need to be smarter than that. We can't—"

"I know," you interrupt. "I know we can't."

"If it was up to me..." He trails off, his jaw clenched, his fingers flexing against your spine.

"Yeah," you sigh. You reach out and pick up the box, the weight of it heavy in your arms. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and then glance up at him, a wry smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "Wishful thinking, right?"

"Wishful thinking," he echoes, and the two of you share a chuckle, the tension in the air easing. 

Rex looks at you, a softness in his gaze, and a strange feeling passes between the two of you, the understanding, the acceptance. This war is not about justice, it's not about peace. It's about survival, and the two of you have to fight tooth and nail just to stay alive. But the fact that he's fighting with you, the fact that he's by your side, means everything.

"Come on," he says, and he gently guides you towards the path, his hand lingering on your back.

You nod, and the two of you begin walking, your footsteps echoing around the chamber. You follow the path, Rex's presence steady at your side, and the darkness recedes, the torchlight growing brighter. You can feel the weight of the box in your arms, the pulse of the kyber crystal, the whisper of her Force signature.

Yaddle.

Your Master. Your family.

Gone.

And the one responsible, just out of reach.

But if you can make the Council listen, maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to bring him to justice.

Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.

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[hard-core-super-star]

Hiya, may I request something for Kate bishop.

(Peter could be rs cousin or something.) Reader (who is spiderwoman and dating Kate), Kate and Yelena help Peter Parker (T. Holland) with the villains from the other earth's and as a result green goblin ends up killing aunt May and she seeks out revenge for may and almost kills green goblin but Yelena and kate stop her. (Oh, and Peter is the only one who is forgotten)

no such thing as good grief [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x parker!reader

summary: you always knew being a superhero came with a long list of dangers but it turns out you weren't quite ready to deal with someone else suffering for your mistakes.

warnings: major character death; heavy mentions of blood + injuries + grief; a huge serving of angst with a side of hurt/comfort, a dash of humor, and a sprinkle of plot; weird descriptions of fight scenes

wordcount: 3.2k

a/n: i probably should have rewatched no way home for this but shhh. any inconsistencies are just part of this other timeline because i said so and the MCU timeline is incredibly messy anyway. i very clearly got way too attached and wrote way too much but whoops, hope you enjoy <3 [also yes, may is R's mom in this but somewhere along the way, i resorted to just calling her 'may' instead 'mom' because I didn't want it to get too repetitive]

* * * * * * *

Nobody ever said being an Avenger was easy.

Especially now that most members are either dead, retired, off-world, or just simply unreachable. Nobody wanted to address the fact that the safety of planet Earth now rests solely in the hands of a bunch of college students and a Russian ex-assassin.

Of course, there’s still Dr. Strange and his merry band of sorcerers, including Wong, but it seems the only thing that man can successfully protect is his massive ego. It’s harsh, sure, but that doesn’t make it any less true. 

Although, maybe you’re just bitter that Stephen’s soft spot for your cousin ultimately got you tangled in a mess you had no business being in. 

A crack in the multiverse is bad enough but it being caused by one of Stephen's failed spells is even worse.

And of course, Peter's seniority when it comes to being part of a superpowered team means when he calls, you answer. There’s also the fact that he’s family and your mom would absolutely lecture you if you ignored him…again.

You really wanted to sit this one out but there was no way your girlfriend was going to let you. You tried all the tricks you knew to convince her but ultimately, her and Yelena ended up dragging you out of your apartment to help Peter fix his multiversal disaster.

“So, your plan to defeat these villains is to…not defeat them?” You question. “In what universe does that make sense?”

“Don’t be a jerk, y/n/n,” Kate mumbles.

You playfully roll your eyes at the archer’s words, biting back a comment about how rare it is to see her actually attempting to focus on forming a plan. She’s gotten a lot better at not rushing into situations but old habits die hard.

“Actually, it’s May’s plan,” Peter says. “I know it’s unconventional but I think it could work. We’re the good guys, right?”

Yelena shoots you a look but you just shrug in response. Fighting with him will only lead to more problems that you’re not sure you’re qualified to solve. Actually, none of you are qualified for any of this.

Webs, arrows, and strong punches are not going to get you out of this one.

You swallow down your hesitation and give Peter a small nod. “Right. What do you need us to do?”

Step 1, according to your annoying Spider-Cousin, is to pick up a few materials for him while he takes the misplaced villains to Happy’s condo. You don’t love the idea of being an errand girl but you already agreed to help and there’s no way Kate will let you take your words back.

Her loyalty is as admirable as it is annoying. But at least you get to spend time driving around New York with your two favorite people. And by driving you really mean sitting in the backseat with Kate while Yelena complains about how much harder it is to drive a car than a motorcycle.

Step 1 takes about an hour to complete and it’s not until you’re all heading to Happy’s place that your girlfriend decides to question you and your lack of trust in Peter’s plan.

“Since when are you so cynical?” She asks, her arm loosely wrapped around your waist.

“Me?” The question catches you off-guard and you turn your face away from the car window to look at her instead. “I'm not the one shooting arrows through people’s limbs.”

“It’s not like I’m killing people.”

“Neither am I,” you reply with a shrug. “I'm just saying to send them back to their universe.”

“So they can die,” she says, her tone making her statement sound more like a question than anything else.

“Well…yeah.”

It sounds brutal when said out loud but it’s the logical choice. Keeping them in your universe isn’t an option and there’s no telling what kind of damage Peter’s plan will have on those other timelines.

“And you don’t think that’s cruel?”

“Should I?” You look away from Kate’s eyes before you get distracted from the conversation at hand due to the puppy-dog look they’ve been carrying the past few minutes. “Yelena, you wanna help me out here?”

“You’re gonna get the heartless Russian assassin to help you prove your point?” She asks with a chuckle.

“Ex-assasin,” the blonde corrects her. “And I am not heartless. But y/n is right. What is that stupid saying? Something about a circus?”

“Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, so if you’re so against this plan why did you agree to it?” Kate finally asks the million-dollar question.

The answer is a lot more complicated than one would think and you’re not in the mood to explain why the plan being your mom’s idea means so much to you. So, you take a page out of the archer’s book and reply with a stupid joke instead.

“You think May would have been fine with me letting Peter run around on his own?”

Yelena’s reply is just as witty as yours. “I am only here because someone has to babysit you while y/n babysits Spider-Boy.”

“You guys are jerks.” There are notes of humor in her voice that she tries to wipe away with an overdramatic pout.

You chuckle and lean in to kiss her, ignoring Yelena’s complaints about how annoyingly in love you two are.

The moment is a welcome respite from a chaotic and difficult situation.

A situation that only gets worse with every minute that goes by.

The three of you finally arrive at Happy’s condo and are led inside by your overly chipper cousin. You try to ignore the way the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the mere sight of the supervillains scattered all around the living room.

You’re probably just being paranoid. That’s what you tell yourself until Peter lets it slip that he’s not the only person watching over the time-scattered villains.

You grab a hold of his arm and lead him away from Kate and Yelena, more for his sake than yours if you’re being honest. “What do you mean my mom is here? Why the hell would you bring her into this mess?

“I didn’t do anything!” He responds. “She wanted to help. You know how she is.”

If you had a nickel every time he used that excuse you’d be as rich as your girlfriend.

“This is different, Pete! It’s not just her bringing us snacks while we fix our web shooters, this is serious.”

“Which is exactly why she should be here. We need all the help we can get to do this. You have no problem with Kate being here, why is May different?”

It takes you a second to be able to reply, your brain not fully computing his audacity to make such a flippant comparison. “Because she’s not a superhero, you dimwit! She’s the only family I have left, I am not letting her get hurt because you convinced her to help us.”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all, relax. She can take care of herself.”

All you can really do is groan since it’s obvious no amount of arguing will get him to change his mind and help you convince May to go home. There’s also the fact that she probably wouldn’t listen to you even if you managed to get Peter on your side.

“Fine. Just tell me what to do so we can wrap up this shitshow.”

You ignore his very obvious sigh of relief and focus on lending the helping hand you promised earlier. Help that makes you ignore your growing unease and leaves you unprepared for the violent turn things take.

You’re not even sure how it happens.

One second you and Kate are arguing about how Sandman’s powers even work while Yelena and May help administer Dr. Ock’s cure and the next you’re watching Green Goblin turn the rest of the misplaced villains against all of you.

Your one and only thought is on getting your mom out of here unscathed but it quickly becomes clear you won’t be able to just swing her to safety. There’s no plan, or even time to think things through, there’s only a tense atmosphere and an inkling that things won’t go well no matter what you do.

Green Goblin’s taunts ring in your ears right as Electro blasts Dr. Ock out the window. Kate shoots you a look you can’t ignore and you hold on to the silent promise that she’ll be okay without you.

You dive out the window without a second thought, barely managing to shed your hoodie and reveal the Spider Suit hidden beneath your clothes. (Peter can keep all his fancy little upgrades, nothing beats the classic suit in your opinion)

You manage to help Dr. Ock before he slams into the ground with equal parts teamwork and a staggering amount of webs.

He assures you he’s fine once you manage to get onto a nearby roof, not so subtly doing his best to get rid of a few webs that are stuck to his clothes. You shoot him an apologetic smile before jumping off the roof and swinging back to the now blacked-out building.

You ignore the swarm of cop cars and news vans that litter the front of the building and impulsively divide to crash through a window into the lobby, figuring it’ll be faster to find May and your team this way.

You jump onto your feet after your literal crash landing only to find Kate and Peter in the middle of fighting Green Goblin. A part of you screams to run and find your mom but then Osborn kicks Kate’s bow out of her hand and your body reacts faster than your mind can even comprehend.

“Hey, asshole!” You shoot a web at his leg and yank him backward. “Get your hands off of her.”

He stumbles but doesn’t fall the way you anticipated. Instead, he turns to look at you, that chilling smirk still plastered on his face. “What is it with you Parkers and your savior complex?”

Your first instinct is to run at him but you catch the archer’s look as she runs to help a badly injured Peter. If it’s a distraction she needs, that’s exactly what you’ll provide.

“It’s part of our charming personality.”

You shrug and shoot at him again, managing to pull his focus toward the barrage of webs you send his way.

You expect to keep him occupied until Peter and Kate catch their breath but instead, May rushes out of the stairway, a bleeding Yelena trailing behind her, and she injects the so-called cure into the back of Osborn’s neck.

The cure doesn’t work. All it does is send the Green Goblin into a fit of rage.

You urge May to run in between Osborn’s taunts directed mainly at you and Peter. She doesn’t listen and you’re too distracted to notice the deadly glider that hovers just outside the window.

By the time Kate warns you it’s too late.

The blast it creates when it crashes in sends you flying onto the ground. All the air gets knocked out of your lungs from the impact but you don’t get time to lay there and recover.

You somehow manage to get back onto your feet right as Osborn sends a bomb flying your way. You just barely manage to web it and throw it to the side before it goes off, sending bits of debris raining down onto all of you.

There’s the distinct sound of Kate’s boots running toward you, Yelena’s Russian curse words, and a part of you that tells you to go check on May. There’s no chance in hell that you’re letting Green Goblin get away though so you swallow down your pain from aching joints and bleeding cuts and run after him.

You arrive outside just in time to watch him throw another bomb that you’re too slow to stop.

The explosion throws you back onto the ground and you groan as you land on a piece of glass. You’re breathless and bleeding and it’s only then that the guilt crashes into you at once.

This time, your attempt to stand is far less balanced and you stumble onto a familiar frame. “Hey, hey, easy. There’s no rush, babe.”

You happily accept Kate’s embrace, the familiarity of her comforting touch soothing some of your pain. “You okay?”

“Yeah, nothing some band-aids and a nap won’t fix.”

Hearing the usual humor in her tone brings you back to reality…which brings your mind back to your mom and the way you so recklessly rushed outside without knowing if she was injured. “How about Peter and May? They okay?”

Your girlfriend’s silence never means anything good and in this context, it makes your heart drop to your stomach in an instant. You’re about to question her again when Yelena’s voice stops you.

“We need to get out of here before the cops arrive…again.”

You push your injured body away from Kate’s, searching for the answer you don’t want to hear. “Kate…”

“I’m sorry.” She avoids your eyes as she responds. “Peter tried but it was already too late. She’s gone, y/n.”

You don’t hear anything she says after that.

It’s strange the way the world slows to a stop around you while your overwhelmed brain tries to process the Earth-shattering information. Strange how a second ago everything seemed to make sense and now you’re left gasping for breath, reaching for answers you know don’t matter.

The how, the why, the what. None of that matters. 

May is dead.

And there’s nothing you could have done to stop it despite the powers, and the gadgets, and the hours of training.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye before she-

“y/n, it’s not your fault.”

“Listen to Kate Bishop, she’s finally right for once.”

“Hey!”

Their attempt to comfort you turns into chaotic bickering but you don’t pay attention to their words. You can’t think about anything except the gaping hole in your chest that had once been full of May’s knowing looks and thoughtful words.

Kate’s right.

It’s not your fault. Or May’s. Or even Peter’s. There’s only one man to blame for this. 

And you’re sure as hell going to make him regret his choice to mess with your family.

“y/n.” Kate’s voice manages to cut through the hate-filled fog that’s starting to cover your mind. “y/n, don’t.”

You don’t listen to her words, you don’t even take in the way she so easily knows what you’re thinking, you just do what you’ve always done: keep moving.

You successfully escape your girlfriend’s embrace and start running. You’re not sure where you’re going or how you’re going to find him but the plan will come later. Right now, you just need to do something before the grief consumes you.

Kate yells after you but there’s no way she’ll be able to chase after you. Especially once you start swinging from building to building.

The hours pass by in between blurs of rain, tears, and the occasional wall you end up crashing into. Your phone blows up with missed calls and countless texts but you don’t care.

The entire world could crash and burn without you for all you care. The light within your own world has already been extinguished. 

Your search ends up leading you right to the Statue of Liberty where you’re not at all surprised to find a chaotic battle going on. Maybe you should have checked your phone to get caught up with the plan but that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that you’ve finally found what you’ve been looking for. And your mind is dead-set on your objective.

You ignore the rest of the fights going on, including the look of pain and relief on Kate’s face once she sees you swing past her, and hone in on Peter.

You're still bleeding and there's a sharp pain in your leg you can't ignore but your injuries don't matter. All that matters is avenging May.

You land next to Peter without a word, the venom in your eyes saying more than your voice could. You're both fighting for the same thing but you have no doubt he's still pulling his punches.

Something you have no intention of doing.

“Well, well, well, look who decided to join the fun,” Green Goblin taunts. “Too tired of running after your dead parents?”

“Shut your mouth,” you reply as you step toward him. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

That only makes him laugh. “Trust me, pain makes you stronger. You'll see, all I have to do is take away your pretty little girlfriend next and you'll understand.”

There's no hesitation left in your body once you hear those words.

You lunge forward, tackling Osborn to the ground. That stupid smirk doesn't leave his face even while you rain down punches on him.

“Come on! Is that all you can do? What's the point of two Spider-Idiots if one is too weak to fight?”

You know he's only taunting you. Trying to push your buttons and get you to break. Too bad that's exactly what you want to do.

Every time he pushes you back, you kick him back twice as hard. You stumble and get punched in the face enough times to make your ears ring but you don't dare stop.

You don't even think.

You just punch and punch and punch until Osborn’s on the ground, his witty mouth finally silent.

Seeing him like this only serves to remind you of what you've lost, of the pain that's taken hold of your every thought and move. You lift your hand to shoot a web at his forgotten glider when a voice stops you dead in your tracks.

“y/n?”

The mere sound of your name coming out of Kate’s mouth in that desperate tone is enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You already know what she's going to say so you speak up first. “I have to.”

“No, you don't. You've done enough, okay? You can walk away.”

You look down at your hands, at the bloody mess you've left behind, and the tears start falling before you can stop them.

The hand that pulls you up doesn't belong to the archer but it's full of an understanding only Yelena could be capable of. “Go on, Spider-Boy and I got this.”

You nod, too numb and overwhelmed to fully accept the weight of what you've done. Of what you almost did.

“Kate?” You call out as you finally turn around to face her.

“I’m right here.” She greets you with the same soft look and warm smile you fell in love with, nothing but compassion in her gaze.

You all but collapse into her waiting arms, your shoulders slumped as you finally give in to the all-consuming grief that lingers in every breath you take.

The sounds of the chaos around you fades into nothingness.

All you can hear is Kate's soft reassurances and the steady beat of her heart. You don't need anything else than that right now. Despite how strong the urge for revenge had been.

You just need your girlfriend…and a long nap.

Peter watches the scene with a small, albeit sad, smile on his face. There's a weight on his chest that even fixing his mistakes won't take away.

But at least he knows you won't be alone. The spell will make you and everyone else he loves forget about him but at least you'll still have Kate.

It'll be hard but he has no doubt you'll be able to rebuild and find the light inside of yourself that May always believed was there. Flickering underneath all the pain of your past.

Now you and Kate can shine together.

Without him and the chaos he unnecessarily brought into your life.

[prince-liest]

Dr Prince! You have very effectively infected my brainslug with ‘Lady’s First’ (fire name, btw. the meaning hit me in the face when typing this and you would only know when checking the spelling) I can’t stop thinking about it.

Sorry beforehand, this may bully your inbox with a wall of text.

There are so many things I want to write and analyse about this, but right now I’d like to focus on Vox:

(also: feel free to ignore this if my insane ramblings go off the rails, lol, they tend to do that)

So I find it fascinating how both of them interact in this. Clearly they were talking about emotional and personal things way more than male Alastor. It’s very hard for me to put into words, not gonna lie. Vox, I feel like, has experienced a very different kind of ‘hell-socialisation’ in this version. Since it’s not ‘my gender is eldritch monster’ Alastor he’s looked up to but Alastor the woman who also happens to be the mighty Radio Demon, things turned out very different. 

We can all agree that friendships between men and friendships between men and women are different. We can’t forget that Vox is also playing a role here. His presentation is carefully crafted to be the ‘man’s man’. He is all ‘I’m going to present as toxic masculine as I have learned men to be during my lifetime’ -> probably very much imitating the way that his boss used to present. Because that’s what a man does, of course(lol)! The competitive edge, so to say, is missing that would be present between ‘old-boy’ male friends. This is laced with the fact that Vox is also queer as Hell and not immune to his own upbringing. So he was able to clock Alastor’s insecurity IMMEDIATELY and tried his best to dispel them (even though it was for different reasons than one might think initially). Because he’s probably been subject to the same thing when he was alive. (Again, ignore if I’m being stupid about this, it’s just my own interpretation and I’m INSANE)

Also it kinda feels like talking about feelings is something that comes more naturally to Vox and thus, things like him being transgender and them having talked about his vast collection of dildos beforehand is interesting but I also can’t quite put my finger on WHY, exactly. Is it because a male Alastor would have absolutely snooped around Vox’s room as well, taken note of the dildos and just not given a shit? I don’t know! And Vox being so soft and considerate throughout the whole thing hit me in the face out of left field, not gonna lie.

Now, coming over to Alastor for a moment. You can almost see the gears turning in her head that led to this decision. All the little hints beforehand and the interactions throughout. As you said: socialisation as a woman dictated to her that if she wants to have a meaningful friendship with a man, it is expected of her to give herself over. She clearly likes Vox enough but I think there are also other layers to this. There is also that “choosing a partner” vibe. She is just as curious and wanting to try things as her male counterpart. She also already knew she probably wouldn’t enjoy sex but she’s not above trying it out nevertheless -> combining all the things: Vox being a friend that is near and dear to her heart that she also doesn't feel ‘weaker’ to, if that makes sense. Vox can’t ‘take’ her power or perceived status away the same way a non-Overlord would in this scenario. I interpret/project a lot of “men sleeping around are heroes, women sleeping around are sluts” into this. Then there is Vox being trans and having had very similar socialisations during his lifetime. It almost created a safe space for Alastor. If it was going to be ANY man she was ever going to try this with, it would be Vox. (Of course that notion of ‘safety’ is a very flimsy and badly worded descriptor that goes out the window the second we bring hypnosis and the fact that they are DEMONS in HELL into the mix but I’m very bad at describing my thoughts in this otherwise) 

Phew. ok, so that was so many words to say: I love this stuff! 

Now I wish that it was a series but my brain already can’t comprehend how this masterpiece even saw the light of day so….

Thank you so much for this!

HENCHY THIS ASK WAS SO LOVELY <3 No apologies, I love long comments (though for continuous conversations I tend to start putting things under a cut, haha).

I think you're very on-point with a lot of this, especially with Vox feeling like a safe enough option that Alastor was able to get far enough as to try this in the first place. And it's not just because she thinks Vox understands where she's coming from, having experienced life "as a woman" (in Alastor's eyes, though that's not precisely actually true to the trans experience), but also because they're from similar enough time periods that she thinks Vox has a proper understanding of how things should be. Vox in this fic has been historically actively more respectful to Alastor in a very gendered way because he's socially canny enough to pick up on the fact that Alastor expects him to be, and he cares enough about what she thinks of him to continue behaving that way even decades after they met when it's not actually the 1950s anymore.

Chivalry is dead, but they're both in hell with it!

And talking about his feelings comes more naturally to Vox in this fic because he's talking about them to a woman rather than another man, so a lot of society's "men shouldn't have soft squishy feelings (unless it's to their mother or female significant other)" bullshit doesn't register, especially to a guy who, y'know, has a vested interest in performing masculinity "correctly." If that makes sense! >:D

Anyway, thank you so much! I didn't expect the sheer amount of interest and positive response that this fic would garner and it has brought me a lot of joy. I'm really happy that you enjoyed it!

[sunnydayroleplay]

Okay! I finally slept and got a plot >:3 My poly ass is very lonely right now, how about MC is dating both Shaun and Jack? Maybe even Ian if you wanna go that far. It can be whatever, angst, fluff, smutty. I don't care. I'm lonely T-T

Hi! Sorry this got to you so late! I'm slowly getting through all my requests right now! Been very busy lately. Such a cute idea, I've thought about it before! It's gonna be rather fluff, soft, and vanilla because I'm in a rather good mood todayyyy! Spicy, but not overboard~ Just a dip in the water! With that said, let's write it! Contents Inside: Shaun x Reader x Jack, Slightly suggestive themes/Vanilla, Flirting/Pet Names, Mentions of Ritual/Spells/"Witchcraft", Over all a very wholesome post!

Those under 18, DNI. Though this is a relatively SFW post, the game it is based off of is a NSFW 18+ game/community only. It jeopardizes not only your safety, it jeopardizes mine, those involved, and the creator(s) own 'morals'. For 18- friendly/SFW posts/art, check out my art page: @feralhalfnhalfcreamer

______________________________________

At first, you kept Jack to yourself.

You didn't tell anyone that you even knew a Jack, let alone that you had a new boyfriend.

After-all there would be a lot of questions from your friends, and even more phone calls from your ex Ian.

You didn't really have the energy to explain that you can see a blue haired sweet clown man, but no one else could.

And also the fact that you have had sex with him on multiple occasions.

That was until Shaun moved in for the time being.

You were hanging out in the kitchen making some lunch.

Shaun was always one for ghosts, and horror, and some witchcraft, so he should totally understand where you're coming from.

"You're seeing a what now?"

"A-And you're dating it?"

"He's not an it, Shaun!"

"So...Lemme get this straight. He CAME OUT OF your T.V, and slowly but surely, you guys start to date. And he's a clown??"

"Pretty much!"

He wasn't trying to downplay what your thoughts, beliefs and sights were, but it was just a bit confusing.

If not a lot.

You gestured Jack to come over, which just looked rather odd from Shaun's perspective.

You told Jack to carry you, and the sweet clown man put you on-top of his shoulders.

"What the actual fuck?"

Now, since Shaun can't actually see Jack, and their Sunshine doesn't know how to fix that, the two of you would get down and dirty in the realm of spells.

Random rituals Shaun wrote down in this special book of his, or anything the two of you could come up with.

You spent time with Shaun more often, and that was something Jack didn't quite like.

Now, in Nick's situation (supposedly), Jack made his way to torment Nick for being a little bit too friendly. In the end, he tortured Nick so much by his pres

We can only assume that Jack can manipulate who he wants to be seen by.

Specifically those who are trying to take his Sunshine away.

And right now, Shaun is one of them.

With the amount of time you’ve been spending with him is not something he likes.

“This is the man you’ve been swooning over?! I thought we discussed this, no more clowns!”

“First Ian, now a literal clown!”

Starting off, Shaun and him didn’t exactly get along.

Whenever Shaun would start conversation, Jack just walked away or ignored him.

But eventually it has to get tiring.

The more time you spend with Shaun, you found yourself to be so much more fond with him.

Jack could say the same thing.

Shaun was a..new comfort to Jack.

He enjoyed that he could make terrible puns with Shaun to “torment” you with.

He didn’t try taking away his Sunshine in the end after all (ish), he just tried making you visible.

Eventually, I don’t know how, you all decided collectively to get together.

Now, since you’ve officially have two new boyfriends, there’s a lot of changes.

Jack would have to wake the both of you up in the mornings now..

“Mmph.. a few more minutes..”

“Wh-What they said..-“

“Rise and shine already! Breakfast is almost ready!!!”

You had twice the protection!

Jack had someone else to also give all of his love too.

Of course you had your occasional fight, but what healthy relationship doesn’t?

You guys were all happy in the end.

Whenever you were sad Jack would be comforting you on your left side, and Shaun would be there with all your favorite snacks, the two telling you how much they love you, and that it’s going to be okay.

You’d listen in on their conversation from the kitchen. Shaun telling Jack all about movie and film production, and Jack telling him about his time as an actor.

It was surprising how much they had in common.

Both somehow into acting/the acting process..

They both wanted to kill Ian..

They both loved you!

What more is there to ask?

[gracelesslady23]

The Gift

For as long as he remembers, whenever he is given a moment alone, James will sketch and scribble, quill flying over scraps of parchment or the margins of books. Anything to get the ideas out of his head onto paper, whether they are small or big, useful or merely amusing, game changing or tiny tweaks to existing items.

He never thought much of this ‘gift’ as his parents called it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any clue how to bring his myriad ideas to fruition. And as he grew, he learns that his gift isn’t even particularly impressive, in fact mostly results in him being marked out as weird or silly by the neighbourhood children. Not like his humour or bravery or skill on broomstick, which never fails to make a good impression on his peers.

So, without much fanfare, James starts to hide away his drawings and notes, although the ideas never do stop coming even once he starts Hogwarts.

Overtime James becomes lax, he neglects to guard his scribbles as closely. Until one day in the middle of second year, he lends Sirius a book over the winter holidays forgetting to erase his scribbles in the margins before he does so.

James tries not to panic when he realises his mistake. Its too late to do anything about it, James is already at his parents’ house and Sirius already in London with his family. But he can’t help but chew his fingernails to the messy stumps with worry about it, regardless.

When Sirius enters their usual compartment for the train ride back to Hogwarts, James nervousness intensifies. Will he even still want to be friends with James after this. All James’s previous friends had found the behaviour odd and childish. The idea of Sirius feeling the same way hurts.

But Sirius greets him, Peter and Remus as usual and their conversation continues as it would on any other day. James begins to relax.

It is not until later that night, just before they turn in, Sirius takes the borrowed book out of his trunk to hand back to James. The nervous churning of James’ stomach returns.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Sirius says, tone unusually cautious, before his releases the book back into James’ hands.

He thinks perhaps Sirius had vanished his doodles and scribbles himself therefore saving James the embarrassment of having Sirius read them. It would make Sirius a better friend then the neighbourhood children James grew up with, which obviously James already knows, but… James doesn’t feel as happy about the prospect of Sirius simply ignoring James’ scribbles as he thought he should.

In the safety of his four poster bed, James opens it, heart thundering in his chest.

Sirius hadn’t erased anything.

But he had added to it.

Lines and lines of elegant script: complex spells in latin, mysterious potions and rare magical herbs, exclamation points and question marks, jokes and asides.  

James loses hours to the pursuit of Sirius’s additions. Laughing at Sirius’s remarks and gasping at his brilliance. It is as if a fire has been lit beneath his own mind, his thoughts running a mile a minute building and building off Sirius’ work.

When James emerges from his bed the next morning, Sirius is waiting for him. After his long night, James is up later than usual and Sirius is already dressed for the day, his hair impeccable, his uniform artfully dishevelled.

“So?” Sirius asks. He stands stiffly at the end of his own bed as if unsure of his welcome in James’s space.

Words fail him, but his muscle memory doesn’t. James strides forward capturing Sirius in one of their not uncommon embraces, only this time James holds him tighter and more warmly than ever.

“You are brilliant.”

Sirius scoffs into his hair.

“I’m not the one who came up with it all. If anyone is brilliant here, it’s you.”

James squeezes him even more tightly to his chest, burying his head into Sirius’ neck. His eyes growing misty behind his glasses.

James might have once thought his gift was useless, but with Sirius’s practicality layered in elegant script over his messy scrawl, James can’t help but think, his parents may be more right than they are wrong when they called it a gift.

[whispersinthedawn]

The Last of a Dying Breed (4)

“Your first prophecy, wasn’t it?” Apollo said noncommittally. “It seemed an appropriate time to visit."

Percy straightened up. The fluttering of the heart almost convinced her to ignore the god’s continued refusal to look at her, and she eagerly asked, “Did you hear it?”

“It’s not that monumental an occasion,” Apollo ridiculed. 

Percy couldn’t help it.

Her face fell.

It wasn’t anything as repentant as regret that crossed Apollo’s face, but a certain acknowledgment of the hit certainly lingered.

He abandoned the sacrificed cloth to tell her somewhat awkwardly, “The first time is always a surprise. Afterwards though, once you’ve become accustomed to identifying the signs, you’ll find it much easier.”

At Percy’s continued silence, he joked, “At least you didn’t topple onto the ground and break your nose. That would have been an embarrassing beginning to your career, indeed.”

“Instead of the ground,” Percy bit out with a scowl, “I fell into another world altogether. And it was green.”

“Oh,” Apollo exhaled before recovering and saying genially, “Discovered that so soon?”

Percy narrowed her eyes. Call her suspicious, call her precocious, call her prescient – but she could certainly identify the wariness creeping into the god’s every non-existent pore.

In fact, unless she was grossly mistaken, the god’s skin grew clearer, his blue eyes brighter, his pink lips fuller, and his cheekbones shaper. Even his white shirt and golden vest seemed to gain a just-pressed crispness, and the tips of the leather shoes peeking out from underneath flared trousers commenced gleaming in the sunlight.

“Yes,” Percy said guardedly. 

“Well, aren’t you the advanced learner?” Apollo joked. “How was it?”

“I’d have rather been present to hear my first prophecy than been flung into Alice’s Wonderland.”

Apollo crossed the distance between them and took a seat beside her.

Percy stiffened.

She wasn’t entirely certain about her current state of emotions regarding a particular god, but she definitely knew one thing – proximity was dangerous.

No god should ever venture quite so close to her.

Should never sit on her bed.

Bad things happened to people who hosted gods in their bedrooms.

She – didn’t think Apollo would hurt her. Not his Oracle. Not a child in his care. But an illogical sense of safety was nothing compared to the years of warnings, of memories of petty anger, of moments she knew Apollo had spent considering very grievous harm her way indeed.  

Apollo took no notice of her reservations. “I hope you were careful to not touch anything.”

“Why, would it be taffy?” Percy inquired sardonically, doing her utmost to conceal the hummingbird fast beating of her heart. “Sticky and burning hot?”

Apollo chuckled. “Something of the sort. But I’d be more concerned about entangling your own string with the hot sugar. Some things are not meant to be touched by mortal hands.”

“There was a darkness,” Percy said abruptly, avoiding his knowing gaze. “I tracked Alana’s thread – and it ended in a sphere of absence.”

Apollo ran a gentle hand across her head, startling Percy. She turned astonished (terrified) eyes his way, only to find him looking at her with a kind of melancholy.

She changed the subject. “Can you find out what prophecy I made? Only, Alana wouldn’t tell me. And no one else was there.”

Apollo shrugged. “I don’t particularly care enough to find out. Either way, she’s a child of Athena on a quest for her mother, yes? Details are irrelevant.”

“I didn’t tell you that,” she whispered. She hadn’t even known that.

The waves lapping at her feet crashed against the shore with growing fury until they'd transformed into the crashing heralds of a hurricane. 

“That you were drawn to the end of the threat need not be a confirmation in itself,” Apollo commented idly. “But that she refused to reveal the prophecy is quite telling.”

At Percy’s determined incomprehension, the god spelled things out dryly, “She’s about to die.”

The burning brand of Apollo’s hand on her head was the only thing that kept Percy from toppling off the bed.

Horror left her dumbstruck, frozen, blind to anything but the void at the end of Alana’s string.

“Are you sure?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yes,” Apollo answered.

A million futures in which Apollo broke the exact same news to Percy coalesced in that one moment to create a terrible symphony of echoes.

He’ll die.

She won’t come back.

A storm took them.

At least he buried his enemies.

Landslide.

A nature spirit.

You’d expect him to know how to swim before embarking on a cruise.

Yes.

Percy trembled in her seat.

Scores of anonymous women stretched out in a vast human chain anchored into the naval of the world.

The wind tossed Percy around, froze her tears into ice crystals that poked her eyes out, whipped leaves around that sliced her tongue out.

You’re the Pythia. What did you think it meant?

He always comes for the first death.

The belief in that statement roused Percy out of the fugue she’d fallen into. She sprang to her feet. “That’s alright. I’ll just have to go after her and stop this.”

Apollo raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Stop her how?”

“Chase her back and drag her back!” Percy cried out.

What did it matter how she managed it, as long as Alana lived? How could they all know the demigod had walked to her death and do nothing to stop it? This wasn’t what Percy had become the Oracle for.

Her sacrifice was meant to protect the people at camp!

“It’s not your business if she does,” Apollo pointed out.

“What do you mean, it’s not mine?” Percy exclaimed. “I sent her on a quest that would spell her death! And I must have threatened some pretty dire repercussions indeed if she chose to go ahead anyway.”

Because Alana had known.

Amidst the mountains of your birth will you face your death.

Alana had known and gone ahead anyway.

“So?” Apollo asked in incomprehension.

“So,” Percy spelled out frustratedly, “I sent her to her death. Obviously, I have to bring her back – alive.”

Apollo laughed. “What, you propose to go on a quest to protect someone from a quest you’ve given?”

“Yes.”

Apollo’s laughter petered out abruptly. “You do not go on quests, Persia,” he told her flatly. “You assign them. You're the one they come to when they need to embark on a perilous journey.”

“Send them to their deaths, you mean,” Percy snapped.

“If that's what lies in their fate,” was the callous answer.

“Am I to just sit here knowing that if I’d just had the decency to keep my mouth shut, they’d be alive?” Percy demanded, horror sinking its roots so deep she feared she’d never be rid of it.

“You can stand if that makes it better,” Apollo offered, cruel in his indifference.

***

Previous | Next

[vampiresuns]

I never do things like these, but fuck it. I will this year and if authenticity be corny, then I accept it whether I like it or not. so here are 30 things I have learnt in my 30 years to say goodbye to a lousy one.

Until you recognise them, you will relive those patterns that haunt you in your relationships. Not in every relationship, but they will be there. You have to face them, it’s the only way to break the spell.

One thing skincare jargon influencers and capitalism make you forget about sunscreen and sun damage is that your skin is a literal organ. The ageing is inevitable, the skin cancer and other afflictions are not.

Unlearning your self-fulfilling doom prophecies is the hardest thing you will ever do, but nothing else will ever be more rewarding.

Signs from the universe do exist. In the form of discomfort, one too many coincidences or something that can only be explained by your specific spiritual or religious practices. But they exist.

That something is personal to you doesn’t mean the other person meant it to be personal. People often act more out of ignorance and self-centring than will to cause you harm, but there are people who will absolutely volunteer you as collateral damage of their own lives and reactions. This is unfair and not your responsibility to carry.

From where you can, learn and grow. From where you cannot, learn to forgive yourself and let go. If you don’t learn how to exist with yourself, there will be no way of comfortably existing ever, at all.

Where you did not cause harm or are being treated unfairly, you are not responsible for the shame, guilt and responsibilities they put on you.

Learn how to prioritise what’s important to you and what isn’t.

Other people are allowed to have their own priorities, and you can respect them while also recognising they are incompatible with yours. Which is to say, people will offer you things, loves and places in their lives. You do not have to say yes simply because you’re offered. You can choose.

Self-centred thinking or actions aren’t inherently immoral. In fact stop thinking about attitudes as inescapable character flaws. There is a difference between an attitude towards something, a feeling, a characteristic, a choice, and a predisposition to. I know figuring this out can be hard, specially to those of us who are ND, but it's not impossible.

But not because things should not be thought of as moral or immoral all the time like we're in a race against catholic guilt does it mean they cannot cause harm. The point is, it is often not personal, and when you personalise it you forget that you are the grand architect of your own avenues and the captain of your own ship.

Your idea of what love is, feels like, and what kind of love you want in your life will change. Things will die and grow apart because of this. Let them.

Your flaws and vulnerabilities are your own, and no one has the right to exploit them.

If you’re afraid of the deep waters, you’ll never cross any river at all. Do it afraid, do it weird, because while being unprepared is very much a possibility, fear is neither a good advisor nor the golden ration of safety.

Being willing to meet the world with curiosity is more important than anything else in your life ever, if you ever want to exist with one another. Curiosity can coexist with caution.

Sometimes you’re the problem. Sometimes everyone is. Sometimes no one is. How important this will be depends on your priorities (see #10), but if you don't like being the problem take action or grieve it to make your peace with it. Managing your flaws, learning from them, not being sunk by them and even changing them completely or using them as strengths is possible.

The people who are meant to love you won’t think loving you is hard. The people you are meant to love won’t be a fuss for you to do so.

But love is no panacea. Intensity of feeling does not replace communication skills and some basic consideration.

The if you love something set it free, if it comes back then it yours, applies to many things, but mostly I’ve found out it applies to things you forgot you were passionate about in your pursuit for conformity.

It also applies with people, but not in the we think: What no one tells you is that learning how to receive is also a skill, what no one tells you is that if you don't give people the space to choose you, it won't work out. Learning that is also a skill.

You are worth the time it takes to grow, even when you don’t believe it. It is best to have people you can rely on when you need a reminder or someone to hold that strength for you, until you remember yours again.

That no one is responsible for your life, problems and issues but yourself is about autonomy and agency, not about how no one will ever help you. People will, but your life and your thoughts and your wants are your own and your responsibility to learn how to communicate.

And speaking of being responsible for your life, wants, actions and feelings, learning how to be so will bring you a stupid big amount of peace of mind in the end. The complicated or unwelcome feelings will still be there, but they won't be forever.

No disappointment lasts forever. Eventually your priorities change.

Seriously tho. Learning how to be comfortable with your own agency and autonomy is, perhaps, one of the most important things to ever learn and go through.

Whatever you are, procure it is authentic. Being genuine is more important than being liked. Sacrificing who you are for the things you wish you'd have is rarely worth it.

If you think you’re wretched, get some sleep or get out of the house and get moving. If you think the world should be burnt in fire and drowned and salted after it dries for no apparent reason, it’s either hunger of overstimulation.

When you settle for agreements you can’t sustain or compromises that hurt you, you’re telling yourself you don’t matter.

Some people don’t deserve an explanation, your time, a reaction or your consideration. Learning how to identify them is not easy but it will also save you a lot of peace of mind. "Shut the fuck up" doesn’t just apply to talking to cops.

For your life to be a garden you can tend to into the future, some things must die. Let die what must die, it'll eventually pass. If Death, of any kind, is anything, it's being efficient. Bury what must die and let it be transformed into something else.

Everything in this list that is applicable to the behaviour of others, can be applied to the behaviour of the you because for other people you are the Other. And yet, see all the numbers above, because there is a difference between ‘other’ as in someone who is not anyone else, and alienation.

May I never forget these lessons and may I always carry them with me. May you also, if any of them apply to you or help you.

Wishing all of us a better 2024.

[jameswilsonsupremacy]

the 2023 trans kid’s spelling bee

(**originally written in April of 2023, can be watched here.)

first contestant.

your word is… eradication.

definition: to do away with as completely, as if pulling up by the roots. eradication.

eradication. E-R-A-D-I-C… I see…

…increased death rates for transgender people all across this country.

I see my entire community go into a unified state of pure panic.

I see a group of people doing whatever we can to calm each other down because we are terrified.

terrified of how we are silenced despite our screaming,

of the deconstruction of the very little rights we have,

of becoming the next dead kid in the news.

but who are we kidding, it won’t be our names to identify us.

only our gender.

because the people marked in red cheer on the spoken words

transgenderism must be eradicated from public life entirely.

and the people marked in blue are not doing enough.

yet it isn’t about red or blue or any of the other colors that honestly seem to replace the blood of american citizens,

because political parties seem to be much more important of an identifier instead of the human lives at risk of unimaginable loss.

still… it IS imaginable.

because we are seeing the start of mass destruction of an entire human race.

i watch people debate what step of genocide we are at because everything is moving so quickly;

so quickly that i am afraid that i could have missed the important news deciding my safety in this country.

i witness the hope drain from the eyes of my siblings all over the country

and i pray that my own ambition continues to stay alive.

because i honestly don’t know how much longer i can fight this;

i don’t know how much longer i can fight to find more reasons to survive.

they claim that it is to ‘protect the children’,

but what about the countless children who now watch in fear of the horrific outcomes?

what about the children just like me who never really got to be a kid

and now i’ll be eighteen in October with a childhood full of fighting to prove the fact that i am allowed to be alive.

it‘s not my traumas that made me trans;

i fear the person who helped me grow into who i am today.

the first girl i ever told took advantage of me to the point that i am still stuck

picking up the shattered pieces of myself that she selfishly demolished.

i cannot truthfully respond to the question of who first knew i was trans other than myself

because i know she supported me endlessly as i figured myself out.

and while i sometimes wish i could have hidden myself in the closet to hide it from her,

i know her toxic leechings of my confidence cannot shake who i am.

pressuring someone back into the closet does not erase their identity.

taking away our rights and our freedoms will not erase our identities.

forcibly outing trans people to try and ‘shame’ us socially will not stop us from being ourselves.

i try to find the radiant examples of trans joy but i am struggling.

i am struggling to smile at the progression in the world because there is far too much regression for it to be okay.

i would never wish a fraction of my distress on anyone.

but i’m in a safe state, Michigan, so i shouldn’t worry, right?

no.

this is not an individual state issue,

this is a human rights issue and i will scream it until my throat is red and raw and feels as if there is blood coating

every inch of it.

because i will not stop begging for people to realize that we are under attack

and i am scared.

i cannot just ignore that fear but i will pretend that i am confident in my safety

because my cis friends and my cis family will never understand what it feels like to see people cheer over the extermination of your own kind.

sorry.

the eradication of my kind.

so let me spell it out for you… eradication.

the–mass–GENOCIDE–of an entire population.

eradication.

-L.R.K.

[actual-changeling]

Hey, have you seen pen`s recent post about her own experience with suicidality? Do you feel differently about your own post now? Where do we draw a line between advocacy for accurate and respectful depictions of mental health problems and policing other people’s writing and by extension their experiences? I agree with many of your points, but I also feel like there really is no one right way of writing about things like that and people don’t owe us their life stories, so maybe in this case “don’t like, don’t read” is the right way to approach it? Dunno, just my two cents.

Hi anon!

I have not and I will not look at it because it won't change anything. I'll put the rest under a cut, I am tired of the drama, too, and I will tag it "too tired to care" for those who wanna block anything related to it.

This might end up sounding a but rough or angry but it's not, definitely not at you, anon, I am just trying to be as direct as possible.

I have said before in my posts, several times, that I do not care about her personal experiences, the way she writes it is ableist, dangerous, and outright horrible in some ways. There is nothing that justifies that. Which, btw, I did put in one of my posts that writing inaccurate portrayals to cope is alright and I thought it would go without saying that this stops mattering once it starts being harmful.

I don't care if she wrote it to cope. I don't care about her. Her content is still harmful, it is still triggering, it is still dangerous (especially considering how many minors follow her).

If she has personal experiences with topics like this she should know better than to write content that endangers other people. The fact that she continues to do so time and time again and ignores any and all feedback she gets means it is no longer accidental ignorance, it is intentional bigotry.

If you write something to cope and it is hurtful/harmful, fetishizing, or offensive in some way then keep it private. Do not publish it. THAT is the point. Taking responsibility and making sure your writing is safe for people to read. Everything else belongs in therapy.

And if any of her followers are reading this I am politely asking you to stop quoting me out of context and twisting my words, it is not my fault that you are incapable of applying common sense and seeing nuance, this isn't preschool, I will not spell everything out for you.

Once again, on the off-chance you are reading this pen, please block me because you still have not done so and I would like to not see your content in any shape or form for my own mental and physical safety.

[sepublic]

I think a defining issue/arc of Willow’s is definitely Denial; Repression, willful ignorance, etc. There’s the obvious example in Understanding Willow, in which she outright declares “Out of sight, out of mind” and purposefully turns over her memory photos with Amity to not face the trauma. And then of course, her Inner self insisting on destroying those memories outright, after being prompted by Amity’s fire spell; Inner Willow replacing the repairs Luz and Amity have done with new damage to undo that.

You can even see it in a smaller joke like in Escape of the Palisman; Willow and her friends are stepping on bones, but as she herself happily declares, as long as she doesn’t look down, they’re not bones! Then there’s stuff like Willow insisting that she wants people to see the real her, with adversarial examples like Hermonculus or Boscha, but also with friends like Amity. Ignoring how she actually feels for the sake of peace (“This is fine”), but eventually having to acknowledge those feelings and have others realize them as well.

And of course, the most symbolic gesture; The fact that Willow is taking photos in the human world. She’s designated herself as the photographer, and is gleefully commemorating and immortalizing past experiences in physical form. Before, she outright denied and even destroyed photos of past memories, because of the regret and pain attached to them; But now, Willow is happily making the most of a bad situation.

She’s accepting and making new memories and moving forward, and cherishing them, just as Willow decided to hold onto the memories she had with Amity regardless of the trauma. I think Willow definitely denied and regretted her time with Amity in hindsight, for a while; But after reconciling with her, Willow was able to come to terms and accept what happened, and still appreciate the good parts of the past. And for months, Willow was trapped in the human world, estranged from her home and dads;

But she didn’t let that stop herself from having fun. And, obviously that’s all anyone could do in such a situation to survive; But I think Willow really is becoming the kind of person who’s just glad it happened at all, and wants to hold onto that as a meaningful part of her, instead of leaving it behind. She’s embracing memories and what she gets from them, and choosing to preserve that, and it’s a rediscovered sentimentality that I think speaks to Willow’s bravery in facing mistakes and disaster and learning, continuing to move on instead of being afraid to step forward. 

There’s a bit in Any Sport in a Storm in which Willow DOES make a bad call as a leader, in trusting Hunter; She shouldn’t have done that, she shouldn’t have tried, she’s a Half-a-Witch Willow and should’ve stuck to what she knows. There’s definitely a lot of Regret to Willow, in conjunction with her Denial; She shouldn’t have tried and Willow shouldn’t have dared, which fits someone whose core trauma was being so horribly betrayed and hurt for ‘stepping out of her league’. So it really comes to this sort of Acceptance, that yeah she’ll mess up, yeah there will be times that don’t work out, some things will suck. 

But in the end, she’s choosing to live with this and whatever bad memories she might have, so she can appreciate the good. Willow’s choosing to grow from these experiences no matter what, she’s not afraid to try new things and experiment, fuck around and find out, and speak for herself. No more safety in the familiar, not only is Willow glad to have had these memories at all, but she’ll keep making them because of that.

Even when Belos potentially ruins the human world for Willow (because of course he’d try to drive this foreign witch away), Willow nevertheless thanks the human world for the memories it gave and promises to come back for more regardless. And that says a lot, that Willow won’t led bad memories estrange and ruin something for her.

Boscha is her bully and tied to Grudgby, but Willow still enjoys sports and Flyer Derby. Her mistakes as a captain doesn’t ruin the Emerald Entrails for her; Amity’s mistakes won’t ruin the happiness of Willow’s past. And the circumstances of entering the human world, Belos inflicting death on Flapjack, won’t ruin this curious place for Willow either. It’s not that she’s denying the bad; Nor is she resigned to agonizing over it. Rather, Willow is accepting it so she can still appreciate the good. She’s so used to people telling her no, she can’t do or be this, so this time Willow is reveling over how nobody can stop her.

(I wonder if this arc of facing what happened is tied to her glasses changing; Going from their regular color to gold, as if to signify a new level of sight in looking at the past and future, and ensuring she can continue to do so with photos.)

[magpiesbones]

Oh no I have had a Thought about witch hat themes okay so. Hear me out.

the first part of Witch Hat was setting up the world and characters, and now we’re Firmly into the second part, which is showing how these systems fail, and who they fail.

and every single time a system fails someone, it is because knowledge was withheld.

coco’s mom? Coco didn’t have the knowledge of what she was doing or know to be careful. I’m not sure if this was an intentional parallel, but to apply Olruggio’s fire metaphor from ch43, Coco was touching real fire because she didn’t know it would burn. Coco is a child but she has sense and, had she known What That Spell Did I have no doubt she wouldn’t have done that or would have done that with safety measures on.

Qifrey’s Whole Deal? Caused by forbidden experimentation which it is both unknown and forbidden to heal. His lack of knowledge of both exactly what happened to him and exactly what is going to happen to him is causing him to implode.

Coco’s fever? Only helped by creating an accommodation so that Tartah could access knowledge that he could not get due to his disability. And then they were stopped from self medicating by An Actual Nurse who is presumably more knowledgeable than two teenagers, but still. Still!!

Richeh and Eunie’s Romonon arc? Saved by knowledge of the self and healing from past educational abuse. Richeh learns that she can do things her own way and therefore gains emotional knowledge, and so does Eunie even though he’s a wolf for like half of it yes I know this one’s a bit of a reach

Coco and Tartah verbally express regret that they could not give Coustas more knowledge than they did aaand this is in fact where my ability to put relevant details stops actually

What about the brimhats who possess the forbidden knowledge and are obviously Not Good?

okay but like. Do They Though? Do they actually possess a significant amount of forbidden knowledge or are they just ducking around with things they don’t understand? If the cat-headed witch knew a significant amount of forbidden magic I’m almost Certain he would have figured out a way to remove the cat head. Also hm basic osha compliance would have gained you significantly Less fuckups. Like Yes they know more than Coco, but do they know what they are fucking around with? Not really.

i got kind of distracted by my argument so this isn’t as poetic as it out to be but witch hat constantly reinforces that people benefit from knowledge, and suffer from ignorance.

[writer-akihiko]

Hello! Can I ask a headcanon between dorm leaders with S/o that somehow getting hypnotized by their stalker (ex: like the sea witch hypnotize prince erik). I want to see how they gonna save her. Thank you~ Have a nice day/night!

Dorm Leaders + Hypnotised!MC

I took inspo from your sea witch and Prince Erik example, so there's the notion of a marriage proposal between you and the dorm leader

Warning: Yandere tones, Poisoning, Mentions of Torture but not explicit

One day, on the day of your awaited date, your lover stood there and wondered why you were late. He had prepared everything for this day because today, he held a box containing a singular ring, as you had described it as the way most people in your world proposed marriage.

What he didn't expect was for his lover to look at him with utter fear as he opened your room door...

Malleus Draconia

He didn't comprehend that you were hypnotised, since he was focused on the fact that you were crying at him in fear, muttering about a monster arriving

He doesn't know what to do, he gets on his knees, begging you to look at him

He's quick to get angry at your reluctance, forcing you to look up at him

It was then he noticed a difference of your eye colour. It was a shade duller than its original colour... Which he gathered were traces of hypnotism magic

His anger vanished, reserving it for the caster of the spell

It didn't take him long to dissipate the magic. He was a powerful magician after all

However, his methods rendered you tired and sleepy. He caught you, holding your much smaller body against his own as his eyes softened at your sleeping form

"Lilia, call for Vice Dorm Leader Viper," He said, cradling you against his chest. He pressed his lips on your forehead, wishing well dreams to you. "The caster is one of his students. No doubt, the caster learned from Viper to get to YN..."

"Bring him to me alive. He'll burn for his crimes."

Riddle Rosehearts

He's immediately angry at the situation, which doesn't help your fear

Trey snaps him out of his rage, but it was futile once you yelled "Stay away from me!" To Riddle. He'd be lying if his heart didn't break a little

You were in hysterics, and Riddle had no choice but to use his magic on you. Even if wasn't sealing away any magic, it would restrain you enough for him to inspect you

Riddle's magic prowess wasn't enough to identify the exact magic, but he told Trey to take notes of anyone could use controlling magic

Seeing that you weren't hostile around Ace and Deuce, you were left in their care

On the other hand... Cater and Trey found the caster. With Riddle's unique magic, it broke the spell

Riddle was more than angry at the caster, but your safety was first. He had to deal with the caster in a more... secretive way

"YN, oh YN..." He held you close, although he kept you in the hug since he didn't want you to see his tears. "You're back..."

"The person who did this to you will face punishment for breaking my rules..."

Kalim Al-Asim

He panics at first, but then he turns to Jamil, begging him to take a look at you since something was clearly wrong with you

When you called him scary and a monster, he was in denial, muttering about how you were sick, and just needed rest

He wasn't rational about it, trying to figure out why you were sick through normal medicine but it wasn't working

He was desperate, causing you to run away from him. Under your hypnotism, you ended up in the arms of your stalker

Jamil was quick to report your disappearance, and Kalim did not wait for a single second to rescue you

Kalim's connections made it easy to find a person that was able to undo the spell on you, although you had to undergo intense recovery as well

Kalim rubbed your tired hand, marvelling at the fact that you accepted his proposal. It was a desperate one, not as he imagined but happy tears fell at your sentiment. "YN... you don't have to apologise for the mean things you said. I know it's not you..."

"The culprit will be punished severely! He harmed the future bride of the Al-Asim family after all!"

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew it was the influence of magic when Jade reported the oddity to him. He knew, and yet...

It hurt. It hurt when you said those hurtful words to him. In his heart, he forgave you but he was focused on saving his future wife

Times like this, he was glad he chose to invest in those magical orbs that spied on you in secret

Floyd was a winning key. The caster was no match for him, although Floyd had to be lightly told off to not immediately kill on-site

Once the caster was brought, it was a matter of getting the teachers to remove the spell. Azul, for as much as he wanted to do it himself, wanted you to be safe. It was better to be safe than sorry

Oh, the joy he had having to punish the caster since the student was also part of the Octavinelle dorm...

You were well-rested, although you were still comforting your soon-to-be husband Azul as he still cries over your well-being. "YN... You're safe and that's all that matters..."

"That student is already suffering at the hands of the twins anyway... So don't concern yourself with him."

Idia Shroud

Initially, Idia thought you stood him up. If it weren't for Ortho, he wouldn't have searched for you

He wished he didn't, because the words you said stung. He kept his tears in though. It wasn't your fault nor the right time

He knew what was going on. He didn't have the latest technology spying on you for nothing

He had ignored those devices since he was so nervous about his proposal, but he wished he hadn't

Even though Idia wasn't the strongest magic user, he knew his way around magicians, particularly his influence around the other stronger students like Malleus

The spell was removed, and you were safe. Idia ignored any further punishments to the caster, since it was a later problem...

Idia held his breath as you got up, steadying yourself from your recovery. "YN... I'm sorry that I wasn't fast enough... Thank you for trusting me..."

"Oh? The caster? He's burning in the River Styx. Where people like him belong..."

Leona Kingscholar

He never planned this to happen! The one thing he puts effort into and it's ruined by some lowlife!

He doesn't care about the insults you say. It filters out. He's used to it. Somehow... your insults linger a little longer than the ones from others...

He doesn't deal with you. He needs to find the person who did this and he needs to find them NOW

If it means turning them to sand, so be it. He wanted you back, no. He needed you back

With Jack's sense of smell, it doesn't take long for him to command the entire beastmen gang under him to find the caster

The caster ends up in his claws, primed for him to rip him to shreds... The spell reversal was quick, and Leona held you close to him. It was tempting to slip the ring he got onto your finger...

He kept the ring next to you, as well as a photo of you both. Once you woke up, he'd say all he meant to say that night. "YN... I'm gonna have to leave your side for a while."

"There's prey I have to hunt."

Vil Schoenheit

He felt like screaming and pulling his hair out when he found you in such a state. No... No, he, as a queen, must keep his composure

He turned away before any of those hurtful words reached his ears. He couldn't bear it if he heard such things from you

He called for Rook immediately, trusting his abilities to trace back your doings before the spell took place

Vil, on the other hand, took up his magic pen to conjure up a poison much more lethal than the one he submitted to become the dorm leader...

Epel, he had to admit, had the intimidation that caused the caster to reverse his spell. Vil spent time pampering you, even when you were recovering... It was as if he was your Prince curing you from the evil curse of the apple...

He brushed away your hair, pouring you a new cup of tea. You were quite weary after the whole ordeal, but you couldn't stop looking at the twinkling ring on your finger. "I'm glad it suits your taste, my sweet potato..."

"If I'm not mistaken, that rotten stalker should be rotting... on the outside too, with that new poison I made..."

[devildomdisaster]

hi! How about this situation: Diavolo, Barbatos and Mammon smell blood on the MC. They think that she is injured and are trying to somehow find out what happened, but in fact, MC is just having her period. Just ignore it if you are uncomfortable writing about it

I'm definitely not uncomfortable. I actually really like this idea. Got a bit carried away so I’m going to do these three in individual posts but I’ll link them all here as I post them.

Part 2 Barbatos, Part 3 Mammon

Content warnings: Periods, Blood, demons who are sometimes stupid when human biology is concerned.

Diavolo:

It’s no secret that Diavolo gets himself and others into sticky situations. Normally there’s not much to worry about, after all, it’s hard to injure demons. With the exchange program, his ‘fun’ curses and spells have a new more vulnerable element. Humans are far more vulnerable to injury than demons and sometimes this fact slips Diavolo’s mind.

Diavolo considered his latest bout of shenanigans benign. It was just a little shipwreck in a bottle curse. Meant to transport everyone to an old shipwreck in a stormy sea. The idea was to work together to fix the ship and sail to safety in order to break the spell. Not even Diavolo himself knew exactly what curveballs the spell would throw at them. But that's what made it fun!

Once the spell was broken the brothers, who were still grumbling about being pulled into another one of Diavolo’s schemes, left to change out of their ocean-soaked clothing. Diavolo had invited you to stay for tea, assuring Lucifer that he would personally walk you back to the house of lamentation later. After changing into some dry clothes and sitting down for tea Diavolo noticed the smell of human blood. His eyes flashed to you in concern. Why hadn’t you told someone you were hurt? The strength of the smell meant it was no small amount of blood, and it was still fresh, meaning you were still currently bleeding. Did you not realize you were hurt? Is this the notorious human shock preventing you from feeling your injuries?

He’s on his feet in an instant, circling you, looking for any obvious wounds. His quick movements startle you into dropping your teacup, splashing hot tea across the table and onto the floor. He pulls you to your feet, ignoring the spilled tea and beginning a more intensive search by pulling at your sweater to encourage you to take it off.

“D-diavolo! What are you doing?!”

“Don’t worry Mc, you’re injured but we’ll take care of it.”

“Injured? Diavolo! What are you talking about?”

He pulls at the hem of your sweater again. “You smell like blood. You must have been hurt on the shipwreck.”

Your stomach drops. You knew your period was due soon, but you didn’t expect it for another few days. Sure enough, now that you are paying attention, you feel the tell-tale gush of blood between your legs. It’s a gross, shudder-inducing feeling and all you want is to get cleaned up before you bleed through your pants. But Diavolo is still trying to search you for injuries.

“Mc, I know you’re in shock, but you’ll have to help me. We need to find where you’re bleeding from.”

This is mortifying. Diavolo won’t stop. He thinks you are somehow bleeding out from a nonexistent injury.

“It’s not- I’m not hurt Diavolo!” you say pushing his hands away from you.

“Mc,” he says sternly “you are clearly bleeding. I can smell it. It’s possible you are still in shock and haven’t noticed yet. But you are bleeding. Quite a lot from the smell of it.”

“It’s just my period, Diavolo!” you shout.

His hands hesitate, then fall to his sides. You think, for a moment, that he gets it. It’s finally sunk in that you’re not hurt. But Diavolo still looks confused.

“Mc, I don’t understand. You are bleeding, correct?”

“Yes, Dia.” you sigh.

“Humans are usually in distress when they bleed.” He says as if there is no argument to his statement.

“Usually yes. But in this case, it’s normal.” You can’t believe you are explaining this to the future king of the Devildom. “This time it’s just my period,” he still looks confused so you try again. “My menstrual cycle. It happens every month. When I don’t get pregnant my body flushes out my uterine lining. It’s normal. Healthy. It’ll stop on its own in a few days.”

“You aren't injured?”

“No Dia. But it’s sweet you're so worried.”

He has so many questions after you're done explaining what a period is. Diavolo doesn’t have a lot of contact with humans, so he’s never heard of this before. “Let me get this straight, human females just bleed for up to seven days monthly? With no injuries?”

“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. Not all, but most females. Pretty much anyone with female anatomy unless they’re on certain forms of birth control.”

“Does it hurt?” His voice is full of concern. Hands holding your hips, eyes searching your face for any hint of discomfort.

“Sometimes. More for some than others.”

“And for you now?”

“No, I'm alright. But Dia, I'd like to get cleaned up...again. Before I bleed through my clothes.”

Diavolo chuckles, “It might be a little late for that, my heart.” You groan, realizing he’s right and you’ve already bled onto your pants. “Worry not, we demons are quite proficient at removing blood stains. In the meantime, you are welcome to use my bathroom while I fetch you some fresh clothes.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

~

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights. 

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

~

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter). 

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking. 

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly. 

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

~

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened. 

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

~

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second. 

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King. 

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year. 

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

~

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

Head over to This List to see what I’m working on next, and cast your vote!

[artzee-bee]

End of all things [1] | Chat Noir x witch!reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug (Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir)

Summary: Y/N had been Chat Noir’s friend and moral support for a long time now. Even though she had magical powers too, she never liked getting involved with akuma attacks, but now, as Hawkmoth’s gotten control of the miraculous of creation, she couldn’t stay indiferent anymore. She had to save her friend and Paris!

Genre: Mostly angst? A little fluff

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death/dying

A/N: This was requested, but as I was writting it, it got very long and I’ve decided to post it in 2 parts. I’m not gonna post the request just now, so as to not spoil the rest of the story but Part 2 will be coming out on friday!!!

Part 2

~~~

Chat was pacing around the room, waiting for you to be done with your potion. You had heard from your parents that there had been a new akuma attack today, but as the news reported, the two parisian heros took care of the problem in no time. For this reason, Chat’s presence at your house felt unusual. Normally he would stop by when he needed to rant, when he was in need of comfort and reassurance but the fight today went well, so what could possibly be bothering him?

“Ok, I’m done” you said, screwing the cap on the little bottle and placing it on your shelf “Wanna talk?” you asked, to which Chat gave you a shy smile

“Yeah, a little”

You made your way to your bed, motioning for him to follow you. You got under your covers and passed him his favorite plushie, a cat to no one’s surprise

“So what’s up? Is it about the fight today?”

“Well no it’s more like a...personal problem?”

“Oh…”

“Claws out” in a rush of light and electricity, the infamous hero vanished before you, transforming into Adrien Agrest

“Well, what is it?” 

Adrien revealed his identity to you months ago. You first met him as Chat, but when you really got to know each other, he decided you needed to know all of him. Well, he needed you to know all of him.

You listened to him rant until way past midnight. Until you were both too tired to stand up straight, so you laid down in your bed, covers up to your necks, muffled stories told in between yawns. You listened carefully, giving him your full attention. He fidgeted with the collar of the stuffed toy and you used your magic to make 2 hot chocolates. Eventually, everything that needed to be said, was said. You offered Adrien to watch a movie, since that always cheered him up, but he refused

“It’s late and I have a photoshoot early in the morning. My makeup team will be angry with my dark circles anyways, better not make it worse” he joked

Adrien transformed back into Chat and you cast a safety spell on him, which you did every time he left your house late at night. He always teased you about being ‘too protective’, but deep down he found it sweet how much you cared and wanted to know that he would get home in one piece.

“Night Chat” you said, wrapping your arms around the hero

“Good night Y/N!”

The next few days went by quietly. You hadn’t run into Adrien at all, but you texted a bit back and forth. Sunday evening however, things took a toll for the worst. You turned on your tv, ready to catch up with your show when you heard Nadja Chamack’s voice doing the news report

“It seems as though Rena Rouge and Chat Noir are struggling to stay on their feet! They have taken shelter under a fallen bus, leaving Ladybug alone to defeat Hawkmoth'' your pulse skyrocketed. As you watched the screen you could see Chat and Rena off to the side, struggling to catch their breath. Rena seemed to be in pain while Chat was trying to help. Ladybug was using her yoyo the best she could in order to protect herself from the supervillain, who was wielding his cane like a sword over her head. The fight was clearly going in Hawkmoth's favour! You grabbed your jacket and ran out the front door and onto the empty streets of Paris, towards the Eiffel Tower, where the fight was taking place. 

People screamed at you from their balconies to go home, warning you about the fight and the danger you were putting your life in but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how they needed you. Chat needed you! Every late night talk and every inside joke shared between you two replaid in your head like a broken record. Behind Chat’s tough mask, his alter ego of hero and protector, was the fragile figure of Adrien Agreste. The young blonde boy who cried during romantic comedies, who liked to have his hair braided and forgot how to speak when someone complimented him. If you didn’t help, the heros would loose and he would most likely die! Alongside Ladybug and Rena who, even though you didn’t know their real identities, were still young girls. As you ran down the street, you heard kids crying inside one of the homes. You ran past but at the last second you heard Nadia’s voice coming from their tv

“Ladybug was akumatized”

You approached the Eiffel tower from the side, where you could see everything going on. In front of the tower, right next to Hawkmoth, stood Marinette Dupain-Cheng, dressed in a tight, dark red suit, darker than Ladybug’s. Black butterflies replaced the dots of the heroine's suit and the purple butterfly mask of Hawkmoth’s control was shining over her face. Marinette was Ladybug! She did, in fact, get akumatized. On the other side, you saw Rena and Chat, struggling to stay up right. They were obviously in a lot of pain and extremely tired, but Hawkmoth was merely mocking them.

“After all this time” Chat spoke up, but his breaths were shallow and rapid “I thought you’d know one thing about us! We don’t give up without a fight. Never will. Especially not against you” and with that, the two ran at each other.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, you know?” he said “We don’t have to fight to death. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. All you have to do is give me your miraculouses willingly. The town will be safe, you will be safe! It’s the most heroic option you’ve got. You won’t be any good to Paris if you are dead”

You knew this was not just another fight between them. This was it. Either the heros won or everything they’ve worked for would be lost. Hawkmoth would win and get his hands on both miraculous and god knows what kind of destruction that would bring not only upon Paris, but the world. You focused all your energy in one spot in the air, right between where Chat and Hawkmoth were supposed to clash but before they could reach each other, you sent a wave of energy that blew both of them apart, like a bomb. Hawkmoth flew back into the Eiffel tower while Chat hit the pavement with a thud. Confused and certainly disturbed, both of them began looking around for an answer as to what happened when, finally, Hawkmoth’s eyes landed on yours.

“Aha, miss Y/L/N. What a spectacular honor to finally meet you!” you didn’t reply, instead you stood tall, maintaining eye contact

“I know a lot about you. Seen a lot. Felt a lot of your emotions. None of them can compare to the powers I’ll have with the two miraculouses. With Ladybug’s earrings and the guardian under my control, I’d say my mission here is almost over’’

“Y/N get back!’’ Chat screamed but you were too involved now to run. This was your fight too.

“It is time you give up Hawkmoth. Paris is not yours, neither are the miraculouses. We will destroy you, no matter what it takes!”

“Listen to yourself, kid! <<Destroy me>>? The most you can do is pull a rabbit out of your hat…” before he could finish his sentence, you snapped your fingers in his direction and instantly, the ground around beneath Hawkmoth and akumatized Marinette, fractured. From within the cracks, many tangled plants came out, encapsulating the 2 villains. You sprinted towards Chat and Rena, ignoring the signs of struggle coming from the prison of weeds.

 Alongside the two superheros, you hid inside a corner coffee shop, which was now empty.

“Y/N, you need to leave!! You are putting yourself in too much danger!” Rena told you, as she collapsed to the ground from exhaustion

“Stop with that already! I am here and I’m not going anywhere!”

“Yes you are!” Chat looked at you. His voice was calm and yet, his eyes were filled with disappointment “You are not a superhero. This is our job!”

“You need help”

“No we don’t!” Chat had never, in all your years of friendship, raised his voice at you, let alone yell “ You need to stay safe! You could die! Hawkmoth doesn’t care about anything if it helps him get what he wants! I am ready to take that risk. Rena is too” you both turned to the red headed hero, only to see her slowly nod “But I can’t allow you to take it”

“You can’t tell me what to do”

“I don’t want you to die!” he screamed again “I love you and I will never forgive myself if you don’t come out of this alive!”

Before you could say anything, you saw Hawkmoth and his minion, through the cafe window, cutting through the last of the plants and escaping your trap. You grabbed Chat’s arm and pulled him to the floor, from where you could not be seen

“We’re in this together now” you said in a stern voice, looking the blonde kid right in his eyes “Whether you like it or not '' this time, he simply nodded.

You stuffed your hands into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out 3 little bottles, containing a mate, green liquid. You had prepared one for each of the heros, now you’d only need two.

“Here, drink this!” You handed each of them one “Regeneration potion. Should put you back on your feet.” as soon as they finished drinking the brew, you could see color coming back to their faces

“Where’s Marinette’s akuma??” 

“Her necklace” replied Rena “It’s a gift from her kwami”

“Got it. You deal with Hawkmoth. I’ll bring Marinette back!”

Chat and Rena exited through the front door, grabbing Hawkmoth’s attention. He called out to Marinette to attack, but before she could take a single step in your direction, you had snuck up behind her. Using a simple invisibility spell, you managed to exit unnoticed behind the two heros. It finally felt like the fight had truly begun. From the corner of your eye you could see Chat and Rena doging Hawkmoth’s attacks while you, were doing your best to get your hands on the stupid necklace! Even though she couldn’t see you, Marinette seemed to almost always know what your next move was. She would expertly block all your attack and would keep you an arm’s length away at all times. Finally, you had enough and in one swift motion, you pinned her back to your chest, ripping the necklace away. A wave of black and purple took over the both of you and when it vanished, all you were left with was a half unconscious Marinette in your arms. You dropped her to the ground slowly as she was coming back to her senses. You wanted to talk to her but your thoughts were driven away as you heard Chat scream bloody murder.

On the opposite side of the platza, you saw Hawkmoth rip Chat’s ring off his finger, forcing him to detransform. The exhausted figure of Adrien Agreste fell to the ground with a thud. Hawkmoth had, indeed, gotten his hand on both the miraculouses.