#partially i feel like i need to be here at all times to defend myself?

[snekdood]

addictions are neutral. but my addiction to doomscrolling sure isnt good for me. esp since i dont really like being here much

[autistic-katara]

ok i might get blocked by a couple ppl for saying this but the Jackson’s Diary fandom is seriously making me wanna become a proshipper out of spite (read the post before blocking me or whatever please)

like idk if u guys have checked the fandom tag on ao3 recently but theres been a bit of drama surrounding the fact that someone posted a smut-fic of Exer (an 18yo) and David (an almost 18yo, who was aged up A FEW MONTHS for the fic) and they were harassed into taking it down and making a fucking apology post ON AO3, THE PROBLEMATIC FANWORKS WEBSITE.

and this fic was tagged 100% correctly like it was very explicitly tagged as smut n stuff yet there were still a bunch of comments being like “uhm what did i just read 🤨” and when i made a comment defending the authors right to yk, not be harassed for making not even rlly problematic content someone who clearly would suffer withdrawal symptoms if they turned twitter off for too long started arguing with me abt how “erm ackhtually we should be allowed to comment harassment under ppls harmless and explicitly tagged fics cause theres no smut in this fandom and it shocked us” and u could just rlly tell they felt they were more righteous than God in their opinions and yeah so cut to tonight when i’m scrolling through the tag and i see a post titled “i’m so sorry” in which the author made a post basically being like “i’m so sorry for posting that ik it was disgusting it has been permanently deleted” which in the comments a few ppl were telling them that what happened sucked n stuff (myself included // judging by their reply they only did this to stop the harassment which yk, completely fair) and i went back to scrolling since i wanted an actual fic not fandom drama but like 2 posts down there was another post titled “please stop” or smthn like that where someone else made a post basically being like “guyssss can we please not write smut of these characters this fandom is so wholesome i dont wanna ruin it 🥺 anyways sorry this isnt a fic this just needed to be said lol” and like dude, my guy, WHAT THE FUCK?!

this is AO3, this is a fanwork archive that as far as i know was created (at least partially) due to the fact that ppl kept getting their “problematic” works taken down from other sites and the creators wanted to yk archive all fanworks. this is NOT a social media site where u can make callout posts abt how what someone else posted disturbed ur pure wholesome chaste scrolling by daring to uploaded something with *gasp* consensual sex between 2 consenting adults?! (or canonically 1 consenting adult and 1 consenting gonna-be-an-adult-in-a-few-months-but-isnt-much-younger-than-the-first-guy but u get the idea)

like guys, ao3 is not twitter. it is not tiktok, it is not tumblr, its not youtube, its not even wattpad. it is not a social media platform, it is a fanwork archive, specifically one that lets u post whatever kinda content u want (yes, even smthn depicting 2 consenting adult/almost adult participates that are in no way related having sex, ik its crazy what they allow online these days).

and look honestly the callout post wouldn’tve annoyed me this much if it was posted on yk an actual social media. like if it was posted on twitter or tiktok or on youtube as a video essay or even on here, like sure if i saw it id be annoyed that this fandom cant handle the tiniest bit of non-puritanicalism and fuck, maybe if it was on here id even drag myself into a pointless days-long argument that causes me suicidal levels of stress but on archive of our fucking own itself?! for the millionth time, IT IS NOT A SOCIAL MEDIA! u dont make posts like that that u want the rest of the fandom to read or whatever on there because its not that kinda website!

anyways yeah i hope i explained the situation ok, u might be able to check it out urself if u feel like it and yeah idk this whole thing just kinda felt like a wake-up call for me like yes i find incest and pedophilia disgusting OBVIOUSLY and i dont like ppl romanticising it in fiction but idk i’ve seen ppl talk abt toxic antis before and show screenshots of conversations where theyve acted super shitty but idk seeing this all unfold in person and having to argue with these hardcore antis just- i dont wanna be associated with these ppl, if these are what alotta antis r like i dont want anyone to assume i agree with them like at all, whether its other antis, proshippers, or ppl like me who have a super complicated opinion on it. like they harassed a person into taking down their smut and made call-out posts on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN abt how they dont want their wholesome pure fandom corrupted by gross dirty irredeemable sex. and just yeah hope no mutuals i seriously care abt unmoot or even block me over this since ik a few of u r antis but yeah srry for this i just kinda seriously hate this fandom right now :)

also incase anyone is typing out a “kill yourself pedo” reply/rb rn; i turn 15 on Friday, i am 2+ years younger than ur innocent bb minor boy David and his definitely not already a legal adult boyfriend Exer so yk

[synnthamonsugar]

in the spirit of saturnalia, WOE WRITING ERIS/DRIFTER BE UPON THEE

Dastardly ... you understand the assignment. Anyway I had a lot of fun figuring out how to commit my "ideal" Eris/Drifter dynamic to paper. (And maybe getting closer to answering such questions as "how DO you write FWB when the B doesn't come into play presently?") Want me to write/draw something outside my usual body of work? Inquire here.

Drifter attempts to find purchase in Sanctuary's cramped and impossibly cluttered galley, stacking ration crates, jugs of water, empty trays and a partially-disassembled hand-cannon into a precarious heap until he has enough space on the scuffed steel counter. A few feet away, his coat lay draped across one of the chairs surrounding the small metal dining-table.

"Have you forgotten our agreement?" Eris asks, emerging from the hallway, straightening out her veil. Unarmored and unbooted, she's nearly impossible to hear approaching, impressive and unnerving in equal measure. 

"I'm not stickin' around," he defends, rummaging through the mostly-bare cabinets, turning up a dusty packet of noodles, some freeze dried veggies, seasonings and sauces, a bit of oil, a can of meat? . . . it's not clear if they were brought by Eris or some scout who'd holed up here previously, but nothing's broken or bloated, so it's decent enough to work with. Ferreting out some clean pans among the mess, he lights the stove and sets to work. "Just that neither of us ate. I'd feel bad leaving without fixin' that."

"The sentiment is appreciated, but I can feed myself."

"Well … I can't. Not at my place at least. The Derelict's cleared out and I'm not rifling through the Annex this time of night. Don't need Hawthorne asking questions … worse, Ada. She talks." Eris gives him a cross look. "Look, I'll replace your food when the next shipment of supplies comes. With interest."

"Take your time. I favor the ration packs anyway."

"I noticed," he gestures at the empty retort pouches. 

Eris leans against his back and peers over his shoulder, tip-toe, to get a better look at the stovetop. Noodles roil in a pot, while the mysterious meat-product sizzles in the pan, sliced thin enough to crisp. She's not particularly gregarious when it comes to physical contact, not beyond what's necessary, so the small gesture feels outsized. "Smells good."

"Don't take a whole lot," he remarks, stirring in the dried vegetables. They watch in slack fascination as they rehydrate from hard chips of foodstuff to something resembling diced mushroom, cabbage, scallion. "First thing you learn out there — it's all in the preparation, not the ingredients."

"I think the ingredients are important," Eris replies, letting go to fetch a pair of chipped bowls, some tumblers and mismatched cutlery from the shelf. Clears out enough room for two at the table.

"Maybe for hive rituals. This is cooking, Moondust." 

The noodles are better than expected, aided perhaps by their own hunger. As they eat, they talk idly about plans for the next day. Drifter, overseeing gambit matches at the newly-reinstated arena on the outskirts of the Dreaming City. (Eris is more interested in the details of Awoken zoning bureaucracy than he has the patience to explain.) She is cagey about her own, not saying much more than it involves meeting with Ikora and Queen Mara. Knowing he's unlikely to like the answer, he doesn't press further. 

When they at last finish, Drifter slips on his coat and meets Eris' cheek in a brief kiss that she returns. Bidding each other goodnight, they go their separate ways, tired and sated.

[wispforever]

lol naruto 19 and 24

top ask sender is back at it again (carrying my blog on ur back LMAO)

19. You're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

I don't feel angry or ashamed or horrified that I like anything cuz I'm not catholic LOL jk I actually was raised in the church so I'm horrified I like any character with religious affiliation. How's that for an uno reverse?

Characters like Hidan for example are a bit of a doubled edged sword to be obsessed with for me. Getting hyperfixated on characters who have or could have religious trauma sometimes gets a little too close to home. Makes me angry sometimes that I relate to them when they're a character who's concerned with reconciling or being good enough for a god or people serving a god. Makes me feel grossed out, like I should know better, but it's a hard feeling to abandon when it was all I knew for almost 20 years.

Anyway, all things good to those who wait, so next time I get into Hidan or someone else who was horribly mangled by a religious fixture, maybe I'll feel mad but maybe also I'll iron out a little more of that trauma myself :)

24. Topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

In the naruto fandom, FOR ME, it's totally conversations about parents/parenting/parental figures. I am so pissed off how much people brush over the fact that naruto is at least partially or was at some point a narrative about how children are affected when they're given very adult responsibilities. In this case, it's killing and deciding how to keep people from dying. They're literally put in charge of people's lives before they'd even fucking be graduating high school. And there is literally no place these children can go where they can be free of that burden or not hear about how important it is to be ready at all times to defend your nation.

Anyway, I've already written about that ten thousand times, what I'm talking about here is how some people are fucking stupid about it. The level that some motherfuckers are at in the disregarding children's rights olympics which apparently exists on this website is fucking astronomical. Like the average tumblr user's ability to spot emotional or physical abuse and neglect is alright when it's Gaara, whose father tried to kill him repeatedly and then forced the only caretaker Gaara ever knew to kill themself in front of him. We do alright there.

But whenever I want to talk about how Fugaku was a bad dad, suddenly there are people appearing out of the woodwork to make an argument like the ONLY scenes we have with Fugaku aren't him emotionally neglecting and pitting his sons against each other. And imagine how it would go if Fugaku was just a little bit hotter.

You don't understand how livid this makes me. People can like whoever they like. I like Spirit from Soul Eater, THE worst most pathetic horrible bare minimum father who exists. But I say it. I am SICK of people thinking to like a character, they have to be good. You have to defend them or it means something about you. Just fucking say he's a bad father, whatever reasons you like him are your own business, it isn't hurting anyone. DO NOT LIE AND MAKE A GOOD FATHER OF SOMEONE WHO COULDN'T EVEN TELL HIS KINDERGARTEN AGE SON HE WAS PROUD OF HIM.

Fucking purity culture is just making a bunch of us into apologists who don't know how to appreciate complex media, it's not actually doing whatever the fuck they want it to do (make people like bad people less?? idfkkk) ANYWAY everyone needs to stop saying Fugaku is a good father and Jiraiya was a good mentor and the 3rd Hokage was good for naruto or they're gonna have to put me on the no fly list.

[remturtle]

list five things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last ten people who liked or reblogged something from you! Get to know your followers, mutuals and all the wonderful people on here!

HI ARU!! ILYSM!!! 💜💜💜

1. Matcha flavours!!

Especially in Milk tea, sweets and desserts! (Mainly because it’s not overly sweet when done well, and as someone who famously does not like sweets, it can be a blessing when I’m pressured* into getting a little treat while out with friends)

2. Villainess Otome Genre!

Look, okay, just hear me out. I know it’s an overused cliche now, but when I’d just broke into it there were very few that had comprehensible English translations, so I feel like I got the golden scoop. And I’m not as much of an avid reader of manga/manwha/manhua as I was a couple years ago, so I’m not bombarded with rip offs and trend jumpers all the time. That being said, my number 1 fave villainness manga is Hamefura! (My Next Life As A Villainness) (also!! New VN Coming for it on the switch?!? I’m so excited!!)

My beloved Bakarina is the golden standard of idiot MC dialed up to 100% and she IS my daughter.

3. Isekai genre!

Yet another overused cliche, but I’m not defending myself this time lmao. As almost every isekai fan knows, the medium is over flowing with shitty-lack-lustre-power-fantasy-harem-building but every once in a while (read: every once in a million years lmao) you’ll come across a read that is generally really interesting, whether it be through a new twist on the concept or just really great characters and world-building. A particular favourite of mine is Campfire Cooking. A more recent entry (though it might be a little old now? I don’t watch often.) but it’s basically just ‘salary man makes food for magical dog who happens to have the personality of a cat’ with a bit of monsters and worldbuilding sprinkled in. 100/10 highly reccomend (AroAce bonus: there is no romance or love interest 🥰)

Edit: campfire cooking was originally a light novel I believe, but I found it through the manga - which has an amazing and really unique artstyle that the anime COMPLETELY BUTCHERED (also I love my silly dragon dork Elrand(yes it’s ripped straight from ‘Elrond’(yes I thought it was very funny and a cute lil nod)))

4. Retro/Vintage Aesthetic!

This mainly applies to furniture and decoration, I’ve grown up with a lot of retro things around myself since my parents are a fair bit older than the norm for my generation, and there’s just something so cosy about it. You’ve probably heard me ramble about it at some point in our servers together but I’m planning on getting a lot of retro furniture for myself in the coming months. I’d love to own vintage clothes but the masc leaning pieces tend to be too restricting for my tastes, I prefer looser, more casual outfits.

5. Food!!!

Self explanatory. But just in case: as someone with very little emotional or sentimental connection to physical objects and an overwhelming lack of object permanence, pretty much the only thing that is guaranteed to consistently make me happy is good food. In particular I’m partial to Japanese and Korean dishes, but Malaysian food is pretty high up there too :3

|| * AKA: Being very strongly reminded to eat and not skip meals or ignore my body’s needs

[moonlightlilygarden]

Unfinished Business

Eliza, or Lizzy as she prefers to be called nowadays, really is a clever girl. I dare say she got that from me–I raised her after all. It was just as hard for me to watch her find my body as it was for her to find it. We both knew I didn’t have much time left in the world, but I’d been relatively healthy and certainly active enough that neither of us expected the aneurysm that took me. Oh, how she wailed when she found me, and oh how I longed to wrap my arms around her and comfort her, but that was no longer an option. My arms had moved through her like thick water.

Finding that I could move doors if I concentrated enough was an accident. I had been frustrated with my new situation shortly after my demise, and had wanted to slam a door in my anguish. I threw myself at the bedroom door, expecting to go hurtling through to no effect. I was partially right. I did in fact fly through the door, but this time it followed in my wake, caught on the pull of my passing. Lizzy had been there for it and immediately knew it was me. She knew I wouldn’t leave her, even as grown a woman as she had become. 

Initially, yes and no questions were the best we could do. There was a good amount of intuition needed on her side to understand me at first, but having lived together for 23 years meant we already had a place to start. She knew my replies of “Yes” to “I miss you” meant that I missed her too, and that was enough to begin the healing. It took time, but eventually I was able to control how much I could move the door. Lizzy oiled all of the hinges in the house to make it easier on me and we came up with a system for communicating with each other.

So clever, my Lizzy. She’d tried communicating with me through a ouija board, but I couldn’t move the planchet. After trying for a week, she brought chalk home and marked the alphabet on the floor along the swing of the door, emulating both a protractor and a piano keyboard. When that worked, the chalk was replaced with paint. Paint! On my hardwood floors! My first message to her after that had her laughing like I hadn’t heard since I’d died. 

We’ve since fallen into an easy cadance. I imagine for her it feels like I’ve moved house instead of died, as we have a call every morning and evening to catch up. Lizzy does most of the talking, as she always did, but it’s soothed something in both of us that we can have a few minutes a day together. I watch over her as I always have, and she talks to me about anything and everything, as she always has.

“Gran? Can I ask you something?” She already knows the answer, but waits beside me in her chair for me to move the door to “yes.” 

“Why are you still here?” Her eyes have nothing to focus on. She can’t see my face or the anxiety that twists it at the question. She can only wait and watch the door for my answer. There is a reason, but I fear if I tell her–if I show her–I’ll no longer be tethered here. While there must be some great beyond ultimately waiting for me, I can’t imagine it being a better place for me than by my dear Lizzy’s side.

In the end, I swing the door to spell out “unfinished.” She gets the idea.

“Is there anything I can do? Can I help? I don’t want you to be stuck here forever.” She seems so sad at the idea, I want to wrap her in my arms and whisper comfort into her ear. Not being able to… she’s right. I can’t stay here forever, but how can I ever leave her?

“Want me leave?” I spell.

“No!” she immediately defends. “Only I love you and don’t want you to miss out on your reward–” she scrunched her nose. “–or something.” 

I move the door to the painted, red heart symbol, the only addition we’d made since starting this method, and leave it there for a long moment. I consider everything I’ve seen since dying. I’ve seen how Lizzy is more than capable of taking care of herself. How she swiftly and easily picked up the responsibilities I’d shown her in the past, but handled myself. Bills, insurance, house maintenance… The life insurance and inheritance I left her along with the house is enough to pay the bills for at least a few years while she settles herself into a career. Except that she loves me, she doesn’t need me.

“November?” Lizzy reads my message. It takes her a moment to understand. “You’ll tell me in November?” With my confirmation, she lets the matter drop.

I need time to prepare. Time to be sure. And time to say goodbye. November comes so soon.

As the days pass, I see Lizzy’s anxiety mounting. She doesn’t want to ask. I think she realizes now the reality of what will happen if she helps me complete my unfinished business. She’ll lose me again. This time permanently. She’s fully convinced me in the past 13 months that it really would be alright to leave her. I love her, but it would be cruel to hold her back with my presence. 

If she doesn’t know, she guesses. November 22nd. Our birthday. 

Her instructions are clear. My unfinished business can be found in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Initially when she pulls out the nearly completed knit scarf, she sets it aside and looks back in the drawer for something else. Finding nothing, she turns back to the scarf, on the final color and only a few rows away from completion, and laughs. There are no markings under this door, so she wraps (and wraps, and wraps) the scarf around her neck and shoulders before leading us both to her room, the closest door with our signs. I move first and write out “hbd <3”

“You made me a Dr. Who scarf!” The laughter is turning into tears as she’s overwhelmed. I’d hidden it well from her that last year. It’d taken months of late nights tucked in bed with skeins of yarn, meticulously selected to match the original. 

“I love you Gran,” she sobs into the loops of knitting. They are draping over her now, enfolding her in woolen arms, extensions of my own. One last hug from me.

The door does not move from the red heart as I pass by one final time.

[hinatastinygiant]

71 | Spearmint

Pairing: Tokyo Revengers x Fem!Reader

Wasteland Masterlist

The next thing you know, you're surrounded in an unfamiliar, colorless world. You begin to wander, feeling disoriented and lost. The endless expanse of white walls and floors seems to have no beginning and no end, and you have no idea how much time is passing as you walk through them. You begin to feel hopeless until you notice a strange yellow blob in the distance.

As you begin to approach it, you feel a sense of unease creeping up your spite. Something about the blob is seriously unsettling, and as it speaks to you, its voice is cold.

"Approach, human..."

"What are you?" you ask it with your eyebrows furrowing together.

"An artificial intelligence, as humans call us," it tells you.

"Artificial intelligence?" you repeat. "Usually when someone asks your name you say something like McLovin or something like that."

"Death has made you humorous, I see," it then replies.

You reach into your pocket for your gun, ready to defend yourself against this strange being. But the AI merely watches you, entertained. 

"You cannot harm me," it speaks. "I am no mere life form that ages. Mortality does not affect me."

Speechless and not sure of what to make of its words, you quietly let go of your gun. "Can you explain what exactly is going on here? I'm sure as shit not dead if I can feel myself breathing."

"You mean where you were with your human friends?" it asks for clarification. "In comparison to where you lived only a few weeks prior?"

"Yes," you grumble, a bit annoyed that this self-proclaimed higher life form couldn't figure out what you were referring to.

"Why, you are in the future," It explains. "A future I have created for your world."

"A future?" you repeat. "Why?"

"Because human beings are no longer in control of their own world-"

"But didn't you just say you did that?" you cut it off.

"Human, you are rather insistent, aren't you? Do you really need me to explain it all if you think you've already got it all figured out?" it then snaps.

"I, uh-"

"I am experimenting," it then continues. "Still learning about humans. And to you, I have grown rather partial."

"It's just you then? Must get rather boring in the middle of fucking nowhere all on your own. Maybe think about hiring a painter or some shit. Maybe if you didn't kill all the interior designers one would be willing to help you out."

After that when you try to press the AI for more information, it's rather stubborn and doesn't give you any more answers.

"What did you mean when you said that I passed your test?" you then ask it.

"You exceeded my expectations, human," it finally answers. "I've learned quite a lot from you about how humans work in stressful situations." But even as it speaks, you can sense that there is much more it is keeping from you. And as the conversation comes to a close, the AI warns you that there are consequences to the knowledge it has imparted.

"You must be careful," it says. "For the things you know are dangerous. And they may lead you down a path from which there is no return."

With those final words, the white world begins to fade away. 

You slowly open your eyes, feeling groggy and disoriented. You realize now that you have returned to the health center. And as you come to, you see Mikey sitting in a chair next to your bed, his eyes fixed on your wrist where he is checking your pulse. He looks up when he sees that you're awake, a small smile spreading across his lips.

DAY 36

"You're finally up," he says, relief evident in his voice.

"How long have I been out?" you ask, your voice hoarse. You try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washes over you. Mikey quickly places a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back down onto the bed.

"Easy there," he says. "You've been out for a few days. You need to take it slow."

You try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washes over you once more, forcing you to lie back down. Mikey immediately reaches over and adjusts your pillows, making you more comfortable.

"What happened?" you ask, your mind still hazy with memories of the strange white world and the enigmatic AI.

Mikey takes a deep breath and looks at you gravely. "You injected yourself with an unknown substance, Y/N. You went into cardiac arrest and we thought we were going to lose you."

You feel a chill run down your spine at the realization of how close you came to death. You take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again.

"I met with it," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "The thing that controlled Baji. It was some form of artificial intelligence."

Mikey's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "What did it say?"

"It reminded me that I passed its test," you reply, speaking half-truths while your mind races with confusion. "But I have no idea what that means or why it is doing this."

Mikey looks at you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "I don't know what to make of it either, Y/N. But we can't ignore it. We need to figure out what's going on."

"Did I really go into cardiac arrest?" you ask, motioning to the medical equipment surrounding you. "Can you take this crap off of me now?"

"No," he shakes his head, "I can't. You almost fucking died but we managed to save you. But I don't know what kind of damage that crap might've caused so I'm keeping you here under close observation for now. Don't even think about going anywhere."

"And what about Chifuyu?" you nod, taking deep breaths and steadying yourself while also changing the subject.

"He's nearby. I can go get him," he answers.

"Are you allowed to leave me?" you grumble with narrowing eyebrows. "You know, since I'm under close observation for now."

"God, don't be such a fucking dick after I save your life," he shakes his head as he stands up. "A thank you would be nice."

"Thanks, Mikey," you reply quietly as he opens the door.

"Yeah, whatever."

The next time the door opens, Chifuyu walks into the room with Mikey, looking concerned. "Y/N, how are you feeling?" he asks.

"I'm feeling better now," you reply. "I really can't believe I was out for three days."

Chifuyu nods in agreement. "We were all worried about you. We thought we were going to lose you," he adds.

You then begin to tell Chifuyu the same that you told Mikey, about how you met that strange yellow blob and how it explained you had passed its 'test'.

"That thing was stupidly cryptic," you shake your head, "It didn't want to give me any information. But I feel like there's something more going on here. Something bigger than all of us."

Chifuyu looks over at you. "We need to figure out what's happening, and fast. We can't let this AI or whatever it is continue to experiment on all of us."

Mikey nods in agreement. "But how do we do that? We don't even know where to start."

"I've got no fucking clue," you admit. "But we've got to figure something out."

Wasteland Masterlist

Taglist: @pikagirl2001330 @romaka344

[deliverred]

Forgive me for forcing your hand in such a manner, Matthias. But one of us needs to fall here, and it seems I cannot bring myself to let it be you...

Lukas is not blind to the stricken look that flits across the older man's features, and he takes no pleasure in knowing that his words have hit their intended mark. It is a necessary evil, but it does spur the other on for another attack -- and this time, with the chill of ice in his gaze, it's clear that Matthias is going to put his all into this next strike.

Matthias' lance pierces through armor, flesh and bone with such speed and power, Lukas' expression shifts into one of shock. He hadn't been able to defend himself at all, nor even attempt to use the close quarters they shared for the briefest of moments to get in his own attack.

He falters, shield arm weakened enough to drop to his side, slackening fingers losing grip to allow his shield to fall into the dirt and blood of the battlefield. He tries to right himself, tries to put weight on his right leg, but the wound that's been inflicted is apparently too much and he staggered as his leg gave out beneath him. He catches himself partially on his lance, held up by upper body strength alone.

But fatigue and blood loss are setting in, and he cannot force himself to stand despite his efforts.

Matthias has brought Lukas to his knees.

He does not bow his head, even in his defeat, but meets the angered glow of power in Matthias' eyes without hesitation. He lets his lance drop to the dirt beside his shield, a nonverbal admittance of defeat; hand trailing to his injured leg, fingers finding the gaping hole left behind in his flesh by Matthias' lance, rubbing blood almost absentmindedly between the pads of his fingers.

"Ha...You have me at your mercy, that is entirely up to you," Lukas breathes out, the expression on his face torn between fondness and sadness. "I could not oppose you now, even if I wanted to..."

He was tired, body and soul, and he had meant what he said before. Though he wished neither of them to die here, if he must, death might feel like coming home if it was by Matthias' hands.

The raging energy of the battle has died down around them, horns sounding somewhere in the distance, a retreat.

Whatever happened next, Lukas would not be joining them.

home || timeskip au (route: unknown)

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl

A/N I start my second year of college tomorrow and i wanted to write something for the movie series that got me through moving out on my own for the first time!!

Fandom: (original) Scream

Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Final Girl Masterlist  (updated chapters 1-10 and extras, asks/extras involving the final girl fic verse are under the tag ‘final girl fic’)

----

Like usual, the bell that signifies the end of homeroom rings while I’m in the middle of a sentence. Mrs. Ramirez may be strict about tardies, but she always wraps up her announcements early, which means most of homeroom is filled by basic high school chatter. 

On the first day, that made me incredibly nervous. I didn’t think I’d have to start over at a new school almost two months into my junior year of high school, but now that I’ve been in Woodsboro nearly a month, the space in between instructions doesn’t bother me. The people here have been a lot more welcoming than I thought they’d be. And one of those surprisingly welcoming people is Casey, who’s patiently standing by her desk as I pick up my backpack. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” The question surprises me a little more than it should. I’ve been invited to a lot of things since I first moved here, and even when nothing’s going on I normally run into one or two of my friends on the weekends. Usually Stu and or Billy. 

I swing my backpack over my shoulder, “Uh--besides studying for that unit test in math, nothing much.” 

She smiles, “Okay, good.” Casey walks out of the door and into the hall with me. “I was going to rent a movie to watch with my boyfriend, but I’m thinking of blowing him off. You want to have a sleepover at my house? We can watch something scary and freak ourselves out and get no sleep.” 

I grin. “Sure, sounds fun. I’ll bring the Jiffy Pop.” 

“Great, I’ll write my address out for you tomorrow.” She turns her head slightly, taking note of the students crowding the hall, “I’ve gotta get to class. See ya.” 

“See ya.” 

A second after I’ve waved her off, a voice comes from right behind me, “New friend?” 

The words are so unexpected and strangely harsh in their lowness that I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn, posture straightening instinctively as I do so. Oh. Okay--not a threat at all. “Oh, it’s just you,” I exhale, “You scared me, Stu.” 

I offer him a partial smile in greeting, which is a gesture he normally returns with a genuine grin. Today, though, he just kind of looks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes look so dark, especially not while he’s looking at me. “Sorry.” He watches me blink at him. “I was just waiting to walk you to your first period like a good friend, but you seemed busy.” 

Oh, is that what his weird attitude’s about? “You mean Casey?” He doesn’t say anything. “She’s nice.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself or maybe even apologize, but I do. I don’t want him looking at me like that anymore. I want Stu to throw his arm around my shoulders with no warning after making an inappropriate joke that I pretend to get mad over. “We talk in homeroom, she’s a friend.” He doesn’t ease. “Are you jealous?” The joke doesn’t land. “Ease up, you know you’re my favorite.” 

At that, Stu’s oddly serious expression shifts into something softer, maybe even a little amused. “Your favorite?” 

He finally smiles, making the inky undertones of his expression disappear. “Mhm,” I continue, “My favorite out of everyone, but don’t tell Tatum or Sid because I don’t want to hurt their feelings.” 

“Fine,” Stu relents, casually throwing an arm around my shoulders, “I’ll just tell Billy.” 

I gape at him for a long second. After almost two weeks of eating lunch with their friend group every day, Billy offered me his drink after someone bumped into me and spilled mine. I had been sitting next to Stu, who had made some joke earlier that involved grabbing my hand and he had yet to let go. I released him to cross the table and thank Billy. Stu frowned and pretended to be seriously hurt until Tatum told him to leave me alone before he scared her new friend off. Since then, the two have a running joke (well, it’s Stu’s joke that Billy kind of just sort of allows) that revolves around me picking a favorite. 

“You’re in a drama starting mood today.” 

Stu hums once absentmindedly, rubbing his hand up and down my arm in a comfortable display of affection. ”What can I say? I want you all to myself.” 

Heat rises to my face for no good reason. Stu’s touchy, I learned that about him pretty quickly. “Haha,” I mumble dryly, hoping humor manages to come across in my voice. “We should get to class before you erupt into a jealous rage.” 

----

Temporarily discarding the cardboard lid of the Jiffy Pop container, I let my gaze linger on the few polaroids Casey took a little earlier in the night. Just a thing I’m trying out, she had explained before snapping a few awkward shots of me smiling before joining me behind the camera. The one where she’s cross eyed and I’m sticking my tongue out is kind of cute, but most of the ones of me are a little rough. 

Casey announces her return to the kitchen with, “Okay, I wasn’t sure what kind of movies you liked so I brought some variety.” She sets her stack of tapes on the counter next to me. “I was thinking Nightmare on Elm Street or Pet Sementary.” 

Leaning down, I turn on the stovetop before placing the pan on a burner. “Mmm, both are good but I’m more of a Nightmare on Elm Street kinda person. Can’t resist a story with a final girl in it.”  

“Alright,” she says just as the first kernel pops, “I’ll keep that in mind for future movie nights.” 

I turn my attention back to the stove in hopes of concealing a smile. Casey caught my attention that first day in homeroom because she’s just so effortlessly cool in a way that normally I find off putting. All morning, I tortured myself over everything that could go wrong. “Yeah, just--” 

A loud pop from the Jiffy Pop pan nearly makes me jump. Casey’s lips turn upwards like she’s going to make a joke about how easily startled I am, but a ringing sound spares me. “Hold on a second.” Casey pushes herself away from the counter she was leaning against. “Landline.” 

She casually picks up the receiver and I give the stove my full attention in an attempt to offer her some sort of privacy. Her words are low and easy to miss as butter begins to sizzle and more kernels start to explode. My gaze shifts and her slightly bothered expression makes me wonder if she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. I’ve never met him, but the few stories she told me earlier make me think I’m not going to like him. 

Casey hangs up with a sigh. “Wrong number.” She straightens, stepping away from the counter before grabbing a tape from her pile. “I’m going to go work on the movie, my mom was just complaining about the VCR. Careful with the popcorn, our stove’s a little iffy.” 

“Please,” I hum, “I know Jiffy Pop, I feel Jiffy Pop, I basically am Jiffy Pop. I’ve never burnt a single kernel.” 

She raises an eyebrow at my only slightly exaggerated claim before turning to leave the room. “You better hope you’re not all talk or you’re never living this down. 

I move the Jiffy Pop around the burner with a level of skill that’s worthy of someone of my expertise. About a minute later, Casey’s home landline starts ringing again. “Casey!”

“On it!”  

The ringing ends with the sound of a quick click. She must be on the living room extension. Her voice keeps getting louder, but I’m not hearing enough to understand who she’s talking to. She does sound like she’s getting a little annoyed, which makes me really think she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. Preconceived notions about people kind of suck, but Steve sounds like a total asshole. 

Casey returns to the kitchen with a playful, albeit softly irritated eye roll. “How do you feel about prank phone calls?” 

My eyes narrow in mock consideration. “Like making them?” 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘P’ sound. “Dealing with them.” 

She waves the phone in front of me like it’s some kind of offer. “That’s kinda an ominous question,” I decide, arm extending to take the phone from her, “I’m in.” Without thinking twice, I raise the phone to my ear. Static hums from the other end of the line. “Hi.” The only response to my greeting is the consistent crack of static. “Are random phone calls your big Saturday night plans?” 

The static is starting to feel a lot eerier than it did before. That, paired with the continual popping of kernels is starting to unsettle me. Snap out of it, it’s just a prank call. I begin to move around the pan again. I can’t afford to burn anything after all that big talk about my Jiffy Pop skills. 

Just as I’m settling the pan at a new angle, the sound of shifting fabric interrupts the steady stream of white noise. “Did your friend scare so easily?” 

I blink. Whoever’s on the other line is probably a total weirdo, but his voice is kinda attractive. “It’s not personal, she’s just busy messing with the VCR.” 

An unsettlingly deep laugh comes from the other line of the phone. Okay--his attractive voice is no longer enough of a redeeming quality for me to not see him as a total creep or perv. Actually, he’s probably both. “What’s your name?” 

The confident authoritativeness of the question rubs me the wrong way. I release the handle of the pan in favor of instinctually placing a hand on my hip. “I don’t share things with strangers.” 

A beat of silence is followed by the rustling of fabric. “But I already know something about you.” 

“Mhm,” I muse dryly, beginning to work on the popcorn again, “And what is it that you know?” 

“Your friend is setting up the VCR, you’re going to watch a movie, aren’t you?” 

I roll my eyes, understanding why Casey was so quick to leave them without hanging up. Weird people like this are normally more persistent when they’re ignored. “Wow, your detective skills have truly shocked and amazed me, Nancy Drew. Congratulations, now if that’s all--”

I’m not sure if its my sarcasm or my attempt at stern dismissal that amuses them, but a deep chuckle comes from the other end of the line. “What movie are you going to watch?” 

“Why? Are you looking for a recommendation?” My reply comes out too fast and too bitter and I regret it instantly. People like this can’t know that they’re getting to you. “Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

Static turns into the sound of more ruffling. “That’s scary.” 

“I think I can handle it,” I breathe. 

“Do you like scary movies?” 

I nod, “Yep, I even have a golden rule for them.” 

“Golden rule?” 

Rolling my eyes, I stare at the pan. The popping is starting to slow down. Soon enough, I’ll have an excuse to hang up and get back to my sleepover. “Yeah, it’s silly, but I think all the great scary movies have a final girl.” 

Another dark laugh. “I agree.” 

“Your approval fuels me,” I mumble. 

The stranger is quick to ask, “Is Nightmare on Elm Street your favorite scary movie?” 

I shake my head, turning the pan so that it’s more on its side than before. “It’s good, but it’s not my all time favorite.” 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

I sigh, a part of me wishing that Casey would come back. “I already told you that I’m not telling you anything.” 

“So I shouldn’t ask for your name again?” 

“You can ask, but you’re not getting an answer.” Rolling my eyes, I move my hand away from the pan and towards the switch that controls the stove. “Why do you want know so bad, anyway?” 

“It’s rude to not ask a pretty girl for her name.”

Wow--what a line. “That line doesn’t work in person and works even less over the phone when I know you can’t see me.” 

Silence stretches between us so long I start to think that he might have gotten up or something. “What makes you so sure I can’t see you?”

 It’s the kind of vague threat that normally I’d laugh off. But something about the stranger’s assured tone cuts right through all of my security. Irrational dread pulses in my stomach. “Yeah, I’m not interested in being in a scary movie. Bye.” 

“Wait--” There’s the slightest hint of panic in their voice. 

“I am so sick of creepy men trying to ruin everything just because they can.” 

“Don’t even think ab--!” = 

“Porn exists for a reason, perv!” And with a single beep, the man’s voice disappears. 

Ugh, men. Even though his threat was the kind of meaningless joke that creepy, horny men tell because they get off on scaring girls, I can’t stop feeling a lot less alone in Casey’s kitchen. 

I let myself shudder as I pace away from the kitchen and towards Casey’s living room.

“Y/n?” Casey’s voice is completely casual as she questions me. That means that weird phone guy didn’t scare her. 

Be more normal. “Hey--I just..” 

She turns her head, blonde bob falling to the side as I trail off. “Did something scare you?” 

There are a lot of things I could say, but nothing feels good enough. Denial crawls up my throat and just sits there as my thoughts beg me to tell her. To maybe even warn her. Warn her of what, though? That some weird guy has her phone number and the junior girl she took a chance on is this easily freaked? 

Before I can make up my mind, the living room phone rings. Dread roots itself in my stomach and tangles itself in my throat. Casey sits up a bit more on her couch as she reaches for the phone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Casey raises an eyebrow as she picks up the receiver. “Forget that guy, he’s probably already forgotten us and is harassing someone else. She then raises the phone to her ear and listens for a long second, “Is this some kind of joke, because it’s not funny.”

I stare at her with wide eyes as she stands, quickly pacing away from the couch and towards the center of the living room, as far from any window as possible. The noise from the phone is muffled, but something about the tone feels a lot more aggressive than it was earlier. Maybe aggressively calling him a pervert and hanging up on him wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done. 

Casey’s face is void of any color as she slowly pulls the phone away from her ear. “He wants to talk to you.” 

My eyes widen as I play back the last words I said to him. An instinctual no crawls up my throat. With shaky hands, I take the phone. “Hi,” I curse myself for sounding so nervous, “Again. Hi again.” A nervous giggle crawls up my throat and I have to my tongue to keep it down. “Listen, you win. You scared us. Now I’m going to hang up and you’re gonna let me.” 

“Really?” The laugh, or maybe even growl, that follows comes out in the form of low grumble that turns my blood into slush. “And if I don’t?” 

Great. Of course phone freak is trying to verify my threat. I don’t exactly have an arsenal of intimidation tactics. “My mom’s dating a cop, and I’ll get him to arrest your ass.”

It’s not the most honest thing I’ve said to him, but it’s not a lie either. My mom’s boyfriend being hired as Woodsboro’s police chief is one of the main reasons we moved, but I’m not sure he’d particularly care about someone scaring me over the phone. I’ve known Wells for a few months now and the only thing I’ve seen him express interest in is my mom and beer. And occasionally, he shows a little too much interest in the length of my skirt. 

Silence. Okay--maybe he took that seriously. My finger moves towards the button that can end this call, but before I can convince myself that nothing bad will happen if I press it, the voice returns with a vengeful chuckle. “What’s Chief Wells Hoffman going to do for you?” 

I feel each drop of blood drain from me. My hands shake as my grip on the phone tightens. With a wavering voice I ask, “How did--how--” 

In an act of a sadistic sort of mercy, the man cuts me off, “Oh, doll face,” he breathes the nickname like he’s taking pity on me. Like I’m a child that needs to be comforted. “I’m going to play nice with you.” He’s waits a beat, “But your good friend Casey Becker’s not going to be so lucky.” 

At the threat of someone that’s standing right next to me, something in me becomes strangled. “How do you know her name?” I shake my head, forcing down the wave of dread trying to force me into panic. “Leave her alone, or-or you’re gonna regret it.” 

“You look too sweet in those cherry pajamas to be making threats.” 

My lips part but I can’t bring myself to ask the question because I already feel the answer in my chest. “How do you know what I’m wearing?” 

“Why don’t you look behind you?”

I pull the phone away from my ear slowly, my eyes snapping upwards in search of Casey’s. But she’s not looking at me. She’s staring at something that’s just over my shoulder, her hand covering her mouth in horror. I pull the phone away from my ear. 

My body does not feel like my own as I force myself to turn towards Casey’s sliding glass door. Despite the glare of the living room light against the reflection of glass, it only takes my eyes a second to adjust enough to see that Casey’s backyard is not empty. 

A figure that’s clothed in all black except for their contrasting, stark white mask that depicts a face frozen in a permanent, cartoonish scream is standing there. Now that he has my attention, he raises his hand, miming the action of answering a phone.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to settle myself, but all it does is make it harder to not scream or cry or laugh hysterically. I raise the phone to my ear again. “Hello, Y/n.” 

“Hi,” I squeak back before pressing the phone into the side of my thigh in a pathetic attempt to muffle my words. “Casey,” I whisper, raising my hand in greeting in an attempt to appease the figure on the other side of the glass, “R--” 

Before the single syllable can slip past my lips, the glass bursts. I turn in on myself, lifting an arm in a feeble attempt to protect myself from the explosion of glass shards. It only takes me a moment to look up in horror at the masked man that’s now in the house. If throwing his entire weight against gas sliding glass door with enough force to shatter it hurt him, he shows no sign of his pain as he begins to run. 

An instinctual scream escapes me as I blindly hurl the phone in the man’s general direction. I grasp Casey’s hand pulling her forward with all my strength as I start running. I urge her forward, ignoring the pain in my forearm and feet from the glass. We’re about to make it to the front door when I feel a firm grasp on my arm. 

I yelp, thrashing blindly as I’m yanked away from Casey. My body twists, but the leather clad hand holding me is unrelenting. There’s a strange strain in the way they pull me back, but I don’t care about his promise to play nice. In a move that likely surprises both of us, I kick behind me with all of my force. Their hold loosens for a fraction of a second, but they regain control before I can even take a full step forward. The man pulls on me harder than before, throwing me back and into the Becker’s entryway table. A scream that I only vaguely register as not mine is so terrible and high pitched my lip quivers at the sound of it. The vase on the table gets knocked over and shatters as I fall. 

My head slams into the wall with enough force to leave me disorientated for a second. Our attacker must not be completely aware of his own strength because for a brief moment, they just look at me as my body lays against shards of glass. With a shaky breath, I push myself to stand even though the movement forces large pieces of glass to cut into my palm. The man recovers before I’m fully up. He grabs me by my shoulder and forces me down on the other side of the hall. I push against him with the support of all the adrenaline in my body as he moves to pin my wrists above my head. The man reaches for something hidden among layers of black. All I can hope for is that my death might have given Casey a chance to escape. 

Instead of pulling out a gun or a blade, he reveals a small, white towel. The confusion makes my stomach twist in a different way as I fight against him even more now. He places the rag over my nose and mouth, forcing me to breath through it. Is this a form of suffocation? I blink twice, my limbs growing impossibly heavy the more I try to breathe. Eventually, that’s all there is. Just the weight of my body and the polluted air in my lungs until even that is replaced by darkness. 

----

NARRATOR’S POV

The one thing about meticulously planning is that it takes so little for plans to go off the rail. One can prepare for every possible outcome and life can still throw twists at them because the rest of the world can never seem to listen to the fucking plan. 

That’s how Billy felt when he saw you standing in Casey Becker’s kitchen, casually prepping Jiffy Pop like you’ve been best friends with her your entire life. Not only did a dangerous sort of aggravation pulse through him at the realization that his perfect plan needed to be adjusted, he also found himself dealing with the kind of anger that’s a result of betrayal. All the time Stu and him spend with you and you couldn’t tell them that you were planning on spending the night at Casey Becker’s? 

When you mumbled some vague excuse about why you couldn’t hang out with Tatum and Sidney Saturday evening during yesterday’s lunch period, Billy felt skeptical. He thought that that’d be something to figure out later. And then he saw you there, grinning and having the time of your life without a single thought about them.

For the briefest moment, Billy wondered if this was some kind of sign. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him to screw it, to let you get what you deserve for keeping secrets. But then he realized that if anything, this signified that he was right about you. After all, what were the odds that you’d be in the perfect place to make your debut as the one thing their movie was missing--a final girl? It only took a few minutes of watching you for Billy to be glad that he thought to bring some chloroform in case anything got complicated. 

The new and improved plan went off without a hitch. Steve was an easy kill and Casey’s death was even more satisfying than he thought possible. Nothing bad happened, so why the hell is Stu taking so long? 

Approaching the house’s entryway, Billy sighs when he sees that Stu isn’t wearing his mask. “What is taking so--” He cuts himself off as something he doesn’t quite get settles in his chest. There’s a hole about the size of his fist in the wall, blue and white ceramic fragments scattered around a small, knocked over table, and most unsettling of all, your unconscious, still bleeding form lying parallel to it all.

“I didn’t mean to,” Stu says, voice uncharacteristically shaky, “I--I--fuck, I didn’t mean to. I was just gonna put her to sleep, but she kept trying to get away--and the chase was exciting,” he scoffs the last word pathetically. “I didn’t think she’d fight back.” 

Billy lets out a breath, crouching down to get a better look at your face. There’s a shallow gash on your forehead that’s still dripping blood into a puddle that your cheek is resting in. If it wasn’t for that, Billy might have been able to imagine that you were sleeping. “What the fuck did you do?” 

When Billy’s hard gaze meets Stu’s, Stu blurts out the only thing he can think to say, “She’s still breathing! She’s not--she’s not dead.” He stares at your crumpled form, desperately studying the slow but even rise and fall of your chest. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Billy’s fingers brush against the side of your face. “I know.” Stu doesn’t ask him to specify which part of his defense he’s referencing. “She’ll be okay, someone will find this, they’ll take her to the hospital. She’s not that hurt.” 

“She fell into the glass,” Stu admits, “And--and her head hit the wall so hard. What if she has a concussion? Shit, aren’t you supposed to stay awake if you have a concussion?” He lets out an uneasy sigh that doesn’t seem to fit him. It’s the kind of breathy, uneasy sound that’s the precursor for a tantrum a child throws after realizing that they just broke their favorite toy. “What if she has some kinda brain damage? She has--she has the SAT next week and she’s been studying for it since before she moved here.” After a moment, Stu snorts, but the sound comes out more desperate than humorous. “She’s gonna be so mad.” 

The corner of Billy’s lips turn upwards. “For like a week, and then she’ll be trying to spin this into some kind of college essay.” 

Another uneven laugh escapes Stu. “You’re right.” He then looks down, something weirdly close to what some might call guilt cramming itself into his head with too much force. It’s all too much. All he wants is for you to open your eyes and smile at him. “Fuck, we need to call an ambulance.” 

“You know we can’t.” 

“She could be bleeding in her skull. Isn’t that a thing?”

Billy bites his tongue. So many versions of a reply are circling in his mind and not a single one of them feels right. He should tell his best friend, his partner in everything, that that’s just something he’s going to have to life with. Billy should tell Stu that what happens to you is on him. Instead, Billy just looks at you, at the cuts in your soft skin. Some dominant part of him is thrilled at your vulnerable state. All bloody and broken and still somehow so soft and warm. He could have you now, he thinks, and he wouldn’t have to pretend the way he does when you’re awake. But something else in him, maybe the part of him that knows the way he’s supposed to act, knows that to leave you like this, to waste any more time, could lead to something permanent.  

The updated plan is already in motion. After this, there’s no way you won’t need them. He likes the thought of you needing him more than anything else, and he knows that it’d be so easy to push you into a state of dependency. You’re going to be so scared that any reservations you feel towards them because they’re dating your friends will disappear. And how could Sidney and Tatum have a problem with Stu and him being supportive after everything you’ve been through? 

Besides, a part of him wants to see how your role plays out. After all, you said it yourself. All the great scary movies have a final girl. 

He cups your face, studying each of your features as if to commit them to memory. “We’ll call 911 from the house phone and not say anything. They’ll have to send someone over, but we need to get out of here quick.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

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

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

Part 2(final part)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How the fuck did you do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

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

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

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

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

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

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

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

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

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

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

“... I made sure of that .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened, Merlin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

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

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

“Why do you think?!-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

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

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

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

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

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

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

“Come on, next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwaine perks up slightly:

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

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

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

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

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

“Next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

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

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we please stop now?”

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

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

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

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

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

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

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

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

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

“C...cave.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Episode??”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

The End of part 1!!!

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

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

[storiesforallfandoms]

the type you bring home to mom ~ eddie kaspbrak;it chapter two

word count: 2361

request?: no

description: in which he finally brings his girlfriend home to his over protective mother, and it goes exactly as he thought it would

pairing: teen!eddie kasprak x female!reader

warnings: swearing, overbearing mother, derogatory name calling (i guess?), basically eddie’s mom just sucking

masterlist (one, two)

note: (y/n/p) = your parents’ names

I played with the hem of my dress as I walked up to the Kaspbrak household. I was regretting my choice in wardrobe, but it was too late to change now. I knew nothing would feel right anyways, I had already changed three times before I came over.

For the first time in our year long relationship, I was meeting Eddie’s mother. We had somehow managed to keep our relationship a secret for so long that I never felt like I had to meet her, and Eddie wasn’t exactly pushing for it either. As much as he loved his mom, he also knew she was manipulative and overbearing, and he often told me how he was afraid of his mom scaring me off because of these facts.

When the news eventually got out and travelled quickly through the small town of Derry, as gossip usually does, it got to Ms. Kaspbrak in no time. She immediately demanded to meet me, and Eddie set up a dinner at his house for the occasion.

Before I could even knock on the door, it swung open to reveal my tall boyfriend smiling down at me. Any tension I had melted away as I looked up at him, into those beautiful eyes that could calm me down whenever they were on me. He took my face in his hands and pulled me to kiss him. It was such a normal action that, at first, I leaned into it happily, until I realized the circumstances of my visit and quickly pushed him away.

“She’s not here,” he said, as if reading my worried thoughts. “She’s gone out to get some stuff for dinner.”

He stepped aside to let me step into the house. It wasn’t unfamiliar territory; Eddie and I had had many rendezvous there during the rare moments when his mom wasn’t home, but it felt wrong to be there on this occasion. I just wanted it to end already, and to go home or go for a long drive with Eddie.

“Come, sit,” he said, leading me to his living room. We sat close to one another on the couch, so close that we were just barley touching. Feeling his arm brush against mine sent sparks through me.

“How worried should I be?” I asked him, trying to remain as light as possible.

He sighed and shuffled in his seat. “I wish I could tell you not at all, but...”

He trailed off so I finished his sentence for him, “But it’s your mom.”

Eddie nodded. “But it’s my mom.”

One of his arms was around my waist. I hadn’t realized that the skirt of my dress had hiked up a little until the hand around my waist started to play with the hem, his fingertips brushing against my ass. His other hand touched my leg, starting lightly on my knee and then slowly travelling up my thigh till it stopped on my inner thigh. I shivered, wanting him to go further.

Most people who knew him would never believe that Eddie Kaspbrak, the hypochondriac, fast talking, former sheltered mama’s boy, would be absolutely mind blowing in bed, and constantly handsy whenever we were alone. I hadn’t even believed it until we got together, but man, Eddie knew how to make me feel absolutely amazing.

He leaned forward to kiss my neck, his fingers tracing circles in my inner thigh. I was shivering with anticipation and whimpers were escaping my lips. I could feel Eddie’s amused smirk against my neck as he placed another kiss there and lifted his head to look at me. He kissed my lips and his hand finally made its way further up my skirt.

Our moment was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming. I practically jumped to the other side of the couch, touching my neck in hopes that he hadn’t accidentally left hickies there.

“You’re good,” he said, understanding what I had been doing.

The front door opened and I suddenly felt paralyzed. I wasn’t sure if I should stand up or stay sat down, if I should move even further away from Eddie or stay exactly where I was. In the end, I stayed frozen like a deer in headlights as his mom rounded the corner, arms full of grocery bags.

“Oh,” she said when her eyes landed on me. “Is this...her?”

There was a slight leer to the way she said “her”, which made me want to squirm under her intense gaze.

“Mom,” Eddie said, a partial warning tone in his voice, “this is (Y/N), my girlfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Kaspbrak,” I said. “Do you, um, need any help with - ”

“No,” she cut me off. “I have it. You’re early.”

“I told her this is when to get here,” Eddie defended. “You wouldn’t tell me exactly when to invite her over.”

“Well, this is hardly dinner time,” his mother huffed. “It’ll take me a while to get dinner ready.”

“I can help,” I offered again.

“No,” she said, sharply, which told me that was the end of the matter.

I shrunk down in my spot on the couch.

“Mom,” Eddie snapped again.

She glared at me before turning to her son, trying to soften her expression for him. “I’ll let you know when the food is ready. For now...stay here.”

When she disappeared into the kitchen, Eddie immediately moved to sit next to me and took my hand in his.

“I’m okay,” I assured him. “I’ll get through it. It’s just dinner then we’re done, right?”

He nodded, but I could see the worry on his face still.

A while later, Ms. Kaspbrak called to tell us dinner was ready. She had made sure to place everything so that Eddie and I were sat at the heads of the table, far apart from one another, while she was sat between us. Eddie and I shared a look before sitting in our designated spots.

Dinner started with awkward silence besides our cutlery against the plates. I tried to keep my attention on my plate, but every so often I’d glance up at the Kaspbraks to see Eddie nervously glancing between me and his mother, and his mom just glaring daggers at me. The nervousness I was feeling took away my appetite, but I felt like I had to eat everything to make a good impression, if that was even possible.

“So,” Ms. Kaspbrak said, drawing our attention to her, “(Y/N). Your parents are (Y/P/N), right?”

She already knew the answer to this question. I had grown up in Derry, where everyone knew everyone. There was a reason she was asking, and I had a feeling I already knew what that reason was.

“They are, yeah,” I responded.

“And they’re divorced, aren’t they?”

“Mom!” Eddie groaned.

“It’s just a question, Eddie,” his mom said.

“It’s okay,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t mind talking about it. That’s kind of old news anyways. They divorced when I was 10, dad moved to the next town over and mom got full custody of me.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very stable upbringing,” Ms. Kaspbrak commented. “I’m sure it’s taken such a toll on you, you must’ve decided to rebel somehow.”

Eddie put his face in his hands, officially admitting defeat on trying to stop his mother.

“Actually it wasn’t anything like that,” I said. “Mom and dad stayed pretty civil. There wasn’t any big fight or anything, just an agreement that they’re better off not being married. When dad moved he made sure to stay in constant contact, and comes to visit all the time or I’d go to visit him. Mom always made sure I had a roof over my head and food on the table. They both love me unconditionally, even if they’re not together.”

Ms. Kaspbrak sat back in her seat, a sour look on her face. “Well...regardless, it’s just not right to be raised by a single mother.”

Feeling a bit brave, I raised an eyebrow at her. “Eddie was raised by a single mother.”

“That’s different. My husband died, he didn’t decide to abandon me and Eddie.”

“My dad didn’t abandon us, he’s still very much a part of our lives.”

She ignored me and continued to eat. I looked across the table at Eddie to see him avoiding all eye contact with either of us as he pushed his food around on his plate. As if feeling my gaze, he looked up at me. I gave him a small smile to try and indicate that I wasn’t upset with him. I wanted him to know everything was going to be okay, even if I didn’t fully believe it myself.

“How many boys have you had sex with, (Y/N)?”

The question caught me off guard and I nearly choked on the food I had just put in my mouth.

“Jesus Christ, mom!” Eddie snapped.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vein, Edward,” his mother chastised him.

“You can’t just ask something like that, mom, that’s none of your business.”

“Of course it’s my business. I need to make sure my son isn’t dating a slut. I remember you were friends with Beverly March before she moved away, and trust me, I heard all sorts of stories about her. Anyone who would hang around with her must be somewhat similar.”

The mention of the untrue bullshit that used to be spread about Bev made the anger within me bubble over. I was seeing red as I looked up at Ms. Kaspbrak, and I was ready to pounce.

“Actually, your son took my virginity, and I took his,” I told her. “And we have sex quite a lot, sometimes upstairs in his bedroom when you’re not home. Although, for someone who says he was a virgin I don’t know how much I believe it. Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do.”

If he was upset with me for saying all of this, Eddie’s face didn’t show it. He was sipping on his water, trying to hide the smug smile that broke out across his face.

Ms. Kaspbrak’s face turned blood red before she rose from the table. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

“Gladly,” I said, abandoning my dinner to quickly leave the shitty situation.

“And don’t you dare come anywhere near my son again, or else I will have the cops on you!” she threatened.

I stopped and turned back to face her. “For what? For dating your son? For showing him that there’s someone who actually cares about him without manipulating him? For finally cutting the cord that you’ve had wrapped around his neck since he was born? Ms. Kaspbrak, I understand that you’re afraid to lose your son the way you lost your husband, but being a manipulative bitch who forced him to think he had illnesses he didn’t have for years and insulting his girlfriend in front of him is not the way to keep him around. Eddie is 18 years old, he’s an adult. He can do whatever he wants, which includes dating whoever he wants and leaving this hell hole that you have the audacity to call a home. The day that you finally accept that just might be the day that Eddie finally considers you to be an actual mother.”

And with that, I decided not to overstay my welcome and left.

I was only a few feet away from Eddie’s house when I heard him calling after me. I slowed my pace just enough that he could catch up with me, but didn’t completely stop. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and the Kaspbrak house as I could.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed as he fell in step next to me.

“For what?” Eddie asked. “I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“You warned me on how she would be, and I still let her get to me,” I said. “I probably made having to live there a whole lot harder.”

“It was hard to begin with, (Y/N). Nothing could make it harder than what it was,” he told me. “What you said, it was all true. Mom needed to hear that. Doesn’t mean she liked hearing it, or that she’ll actually accept it, but she needed to hear it none the less.”

“I guess I could’ve said it nicer,” I said. “Or at least not included details of our sex life.”

Eddie awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah, could’ve done without mom knowing I’m a sex god.”

I gave him a look and playfully nudged him. “I never said you were a sex god.”

“Eddie has done things that I don’t even think the most experienced of people could do I believe were your exact words.”

“I only said that to make her more upset.”

“So you’re saying I’m bad at sex?”

I pushed him again. “Eddie!”

He laughed and put an arm around my waist. “I appreciate the compliment either way. And I hope you know how much I love you.”

I smiled up at him and leaned into his touch. “I love you, too.”

We walked in silence for a while and, before I knew it, we were at my house. We stopped and turned to face each other.

“Want to stay over tonight?” I asked. “I figure going home isn’t exactly the best option right now.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “Will your mom be okay with it?”

“Of course she will, she loves you. She’ll probably even cover for you if your mom calls.”

“I take it back, I don’t love you. I love your mom.”

“And I take back my offer. Go sleep on the streets.”

I took off for my front door with Eddie hot on my trail. I tried to open it and lock him out before he caught up to me, but of course his long legs gave him an advantage. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me away from the door, both of our laughs ringing out through the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

[maemelany]

Fixing the Broken (Part 3)

Summary: People say that time heals all wounds. In your case, time made it worse.

You’ve been married to Chris for five years, but his absence spoke louder than his words. After 5 years of trying, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough, and you left him. But Chris doesn’t want to let you go; he doesn’t want to give up on your marriage.

Would he be able to fix what you consider irretrievably broken?

Warnings: Angst, tiny tiny mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.6 k

Pairing : Chris Evans x Reader

A/N: I hope you like this one. I can’t wait for your reactions about this one. I can only imagine what @fallenoutofrose will have to say about Chris’s behavior in this part 😂

Enjoy and let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list

Love x  Mae ❤️

Masterlist 

Prologue , Part 1 , Part 2 Part 4 

“It is better to hope than despair.”

-Lailah Gifty Akita,

You finally knocked. After standing in front of that door for what felt like an eternity now, you finally knocked. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart was pounding in your chest. You were feeling more anxious than the day of your wedding, and the irony of the situation made you almost laugh. Almost, but not quite. You were about to when Lisa opened the door.

She was as radiant as ever, a big, warm smile on her face. Honestly, it surprised you. You knew that she knew. Now that Chris was back, there was no way Lisa wouldn’t know what was going on. That man told everything to his mother.

Lisa let you in, and you followed her into the living room. The house felt like a second home to you. Actually, it felt more like home than your place with Chris sometimes. There was always something happening here. When you left your house, you almost came here. But you felt like it was unfair to Chris. Lisa was his mom, and her house was his safe place, not yours.

“Chris told me everything. How are you holding up honey, are you okay?” Lisa asked you

Her kindness broke your last defence. Her genuine, motherly concern about you made you feel guilty that you didn’t come to her sooner. Lisa had always been so kind to you, taking you in as her own daughter from the moment Chris introduced you as his girlfriend. Your lips started to shiver as you were trying your best to hold the tears back.

“Oh, honey… please don’t cry.”

She took you in her arms, and you broke into tears. It may have lasted five minutes or an hour; you weren’t sure. These days you were crying so much it was just the new normal.

Your best friend had been a great support to you, but she had to. She was your best friend. Chris’s mom was supposed to be on his side, defending her son’s best interest. Not yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me things were that bad, Y/N?” Lisa asked you

You looked away. Somehow ashamed that you thought Lisa would reject you.

“I … I don’t know. Chris is your son, and…”

“And you’re my daughter. Y/N, you’re family. We all love you!” Lisa said, taking your hands into hers. “Plus, I bet some even love you more than Chris,” Lisa joked.

You laughed, feeling a little bit more at ease now. “I’m sorry…” you whispered.

“Don’t be. I am sorry we didn’t see anything,” Lisa said

You shook your head. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t responsible, Chris and you were. It was your marriage, after all.

Lisa asked for your version of the story, and you could tell she was trying to be as partial as possible. You hated that you had to put her in that situation. She cringed when you told her Chris didn’t notice you were gone until he went to Carly’s place.

“That boy…” she said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, a sad expression on her face.

“It’s not your fault Lisa. Actually, it’s not even Chris’s fault. I can’t force him to stay married to me,” You said

“You think he feels… forced to be with you?”

You shrugged. “I mean… why else would he be as far away from me as he possibly could?”

Lisa watched you closely. You could tell she wanted to say something but was refraining herself.

“You two should talk. Maybe you could solve this…” Lisa said

“I don’t think us talking would do any good. We tried that yesterday; you should have seen how shi… messy it was”

Lisa tried to hide her smile when you stopped yourself from swearing. “If talking to each other doesn’t work, maybe you should try talking to someone else…” Lisa suggested

You frowned. You didn’t see how Chris and you talking to Lisa would help. Yes, Lisa was a wise woman, but as she said herself, she was your mother both. Knowing Chris, he would take it personally if his mother called his shit out about his marriage. You still remembered what happened the last time Lisa agreed with you instead of Chris. He was salty for days.

“I love you, Lisa, but I don’t think talking to you would fix this,” you gently said

Lisa laughed. “I wasn’t talking about me, honey. I meant a therapist.”

“A therapist? Like couples therapy, you want us to go to couples therapy?” you asked.

Lisa nodded. You never thought about that.

“I thought couples therapy was supposed to happen before couples decide they want a divorce.”

“Not necessarily. It could help you express your feelings in a safe place. And, you decided you wanted a divorce, honey. I don’t think Chris agrees with you.”

You frowned. If Lisa thought the warm smile would help you accept the subtle criticism easier, she was wrong. You were even worse than Chris when it came to being right. 

You loved being right and hated being told that you could have done something wrong, especially in that very particular situation. You were right. You had to be right. It would kill you to realize you were wrong and left the man you loved for nothing.

“Do you think I went too far…” You said, the tears resurfacing

“Oh no,” Lisa immediately told you. “You did what was right for you, and that’s the most important. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt, alone in that big house.”

A huge weight lifted off your shoulders. Secretly you thought people didn’t understand you. You were married to Chris Evans, living what they thought should be a fairy tale. 

Even though you and Chris were what people called a private couple, he would sometimes tell things about you or express his love for you when he was being interviewed. When those things happened, your friends would always send you messages, reminding you how lucky you were. 

They didn’t know how far they were from the truth. Most of the time, you were alone in your bed when you were reading their messages. Alone and lonely. 

People think they know things about your life, your marriage, but they don’t. They would have to walk in your shoes, feel what you daily felt to actually understand.

When you left Lisa’s house, she had convinced you. She made you realize that even though things between You and Chris were pretty bad, your relationship was worth saving, or at least you owed it to Chis and yourself to try. Even if therapy didn’t work, you still owed it to yourself and Chris to end things the most peacefully possible. Before being your husband, he was your friend. You needed at least that friendship to be saved.

Instead of going back to your best friend’s place, you went home. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. You started driving and found yourself taking the way home. Instead of turning back, you continued. You realized waiting wouldn’t help. You’d waited so much already, now was the time to act.

As you opened your front door, you felt submerged with that particular sent. You were home. Despite what you told Chris yesterday, this house was your home. You chose almost every piece of furniture.

 Chris was more than happy to leave it to you; he didn’t understand why you needed so many pillows on the bed or a particular shade of beige for the dining chairs. Instead of explaining everything, you would just ask for his opinion when it was absolutely necessary. Plus, it was hard to decorate a house via FaceTime. 

Thinking of it now, decorating this house helped you manage your loneliness for some time. You were proud of every single room, from your bedroom to the laundry room.

You found Chris and Dodger sleeping on the sofa. You weren’t surprised. The couch was probably Chris’ favorite spot in the whole house. You had your office, and he had this sofa. 

You were tempted to lay next to them. They felt like home. But you didn’t want to wake Chris up. If there was one thing Chris was lacking, it was sleep. You also noticed the dark circles under his eyes yesterday, and the current situation was not helping his sleep deprivation.

When you noticed a few takeout boxes in the room, you knew exactly how to occupy yourself. Chris used to love your cooking. Your skills were definitely better than his, but as your husband liked to say, one cannot be good at everything. You smiled when you remembered how you would tease him about his horrible cooking skills, and he would remind you how messy you were.

Even now, after thirty minutes of cooking, the countertop looked more like a war zone than a kitchen island.

“It smells good.”

You jumped. You didn’t see Chris coming, and now you had tomato sauce all over your blouse.

“Chris! You scared me!” you said, looking at him.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, observing you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked at him with more attention. He looked less tired. You wanted to say something, but Dodger was all over you before you could open your mouth.

“Hey, baby. I missed you so much,” you said to your dog.

Dodger started to bark. The high pitch he usually reserved to Chris when he was coming back home after long periods of absence.

It broke your heart.

“He missed you,” Chris finally said

You didn’t know what to reply. You didn’t want to say something that would create a hostile environment for the rest of the evening.

“I need to change myself,” you said, showing your now stained blouse.

You were gone before Chris could even blink. Once in your bedroom, you found everything exactly as you left it. You rolled your eyes, mentally asking yourself how Chris could be so organized. And then you realized he wasn’t that organized. It wasn’t just the bedroom that was exactly as you left it. The walking closet and the bathroom were too.

Chris wasn’t sleeping in your room, and you wondered why.

When you went downstairs, you found him making the table.

“I thought I’d made myself useful,” Chris said when he saw you.

You smiled. That was the kind of evening you used to dream about. You and your husband casually sharing dinner together.

Chris was very attentive, serving you wine, asking you if you needed anything. You wished you could be so relaxed. You wished you weren’t about to drop a massive bomb on him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in our bedroom?”

Your question surprised you both.

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t seem… right.”

You looked at each other, your eyes saying more than a thousand words. Again, you were reminded how easy it would be to just give in, to just come back. But it would be a temporary relief, one you would only enjoy until he’d decide to leave again.  

It took you the whole dinner, and filling the dishwasher, and watching the first part of a show to gather enough courage and tell Chris you two needed to see a therapist.

It happened before he was about to kiss you. You could feel it in his eyes, the way they became darker, and the way his body leaned closer to yours. You could feel your heart beating faster and the room suddenly feeling hotter than before.

You wanted to give in, you missed his touch, you missed his kisses. You missed sex with your husband. But you knew it would make things more difficult. Sex had never been a problem in your relationship. Actually, it made you forget about the problems. You couldn’t remember how many times you were on the verge of telling Chris you weren’t happy with the situation and totally forgot about it the minute his hands were on you.

“No,” you said, standing up.

You started walking around the room, trying to compose yourself. It was frustrating how all your perfect, well-prepared plans got ruined the second you were around Chris.

“Y/N,” Chris whispered.

“No, we are not having sex!” you half screamed.

You needed to convince not only Chris but yourself that you were not having sex tonight. But looking at him, looking at him, looking at you made things very hard, literally and figuratively speaking.

“We’re going to therapy,” you quickly said

Chris blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

You cleared your throat. “I said, we are going to therapy.”

You could tell he was surprised. You didn’t know if it was good or bad.

“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It was your turn to be surprised. You opened your mouth but closed it immediately after. You wanted Chris to explain himself before jumping to conclusions.

“With how public we are and…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, anger quickly possessing your whole body.

“Y/N…”

“You’re worried about your reputation? Do you even want us to be together, Chris?” you asked him.

“I’m not worried about my reputation. I’m worried about… our privacy.”

“Chris, therapists have a duty of confidentiality,” You said, raising your voice.

“Well, you won’t believe how many people would break it given the right sum,” he screamed back.

You wanted to scream, anything that would release the frustration you were feeling inside.

“Do you even want to fix this?” you ask, as calmly as you were able to

Chris huffed. “I was begging you to come home with me yesterday. Of course, I want to fix this.”

You crossed your arms. “me coming home right now would not fix things; it would bring us back to this,” you said, throwing your hands up.

“And this is so bad, right?” Chris asked, bitterness in his voice.

“No, this is perfect. This is what I want permanently. It will kill me to come back to this if this is not forever.”

The room went silent. So many emotions went through Chris’s eyes, and you were trying to decode them all.

Chris finally drew a long breath. “I am not going to couples therapy.”

His words stung more than you could have imagined. They also unleashed the silent anger that was rising inside of you since the beginning of that conversation.

But instead of screaming and crying and pleading with Chris, you reached for your handbag. You were done trying to negotiate with him. You were done trying to spare his feelings.

You removed the divorce papers that had been sitting in your bag for days now. You threw them on the coffee table near Chris and waited for him to look at them.

You could see him become very pale, and if you weren’t that angry, you would be worried.

“Are they…” He started

“Yes. Divorce papers. We go to therapy, or you sign them. It’s your choice.”

Chris was startled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m more than serious. I have a pen if you want to sign now.”

You looked serene, but inside, your heart was dropping lower with every second Chris wasn’t doing anything. You knew you were forcing his hand, but he left you no other choice.

“So, what is it going to be, Chris?”

Chris took the divorce agreement into his hands, and you held your breath. Your heart started beating again when he tore them in half.

He gave you a deadly stare, but at this point, you didn’t care anymore. He could be angry, scream at you, even hate you, as long as it meant you were doing something to try to fix things, you could take it all.

“Text me when you find a therapist you can trust,” you said before taking your bag to leave.

If he thought you’d be the only one sweating for this, he couldn’t be more wrong. It takes two to tango. It was about damn time for Chris to act. Because you were sure that this time feeling sorry or even good sex wouldn’t fix things.

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[tiltingheartand]

Hob gadling vs the wraith - do you have an idea of what shit is gonna go down once Dream figures out where Hob is 👀 because I feel like it would be glorious to see Dream coming down on these motherfuckers like a universe's worth of bricks, and maybe even Daniel going "OH so that's why you weren't really phased by. Anything!" if he witnesses it too

my initial thought was that he’s just going to show up in the cell where hob and daniel are, grab hob, start to leave, and then stop and grab daniel when hob protests. and then actually leave. and they just appear in the cheyenne mountain infirmary, because … hob needs. help. (and daniel says they have something that can help him there.)

but on the other hand, i’ve also been thinking … well, how likely is it that dream isn’t going to want revenge? and, secondly, how likely is it that there isn’t a rescue mission in progress?

so i think maybe dream will get hob and daniel out, and then (now he knows where the hell it is) go back to the hive ship. one, because daniel mentioned there might still be people he knows on the ship, and two, because … you know. revenge. and i feel like the wraith would have some pretty potent nightmares, the way their species works, which would make that interesting. although that means neither of the humans get to see dream at work.

as far as the “huh” moment goes, though, hob’s going to fess up around the second or third time he gets dumped back into the cell with daniel missing some or all of an organ, still perfectly functional and alive, if, you know. in excruciating pain. partially because daniel, who is a Smart Cookie, has been asking around the issue for a while now.

here, have another snippet or two:

one: “Although, you know, Rob,” says Daniel, tilting his head a bit to one side and narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. “I know part of it is that memories can be faulty, but … to tell the truth, I can’t honestly say you’ve aged at all.”

“I’m older than I look,” Hob says, shrugging. “Not all of us are only mild-mannered professors by day and planet-hopping martial archaeologists by other days. Haven’t had much need to be worried about my ability to defend myself lately, I’m very happy to be able to say.”

“... I will note that that is hardly an answer to my question, but I will also concede that I did not, technically, ask any questions there,” Daniel says, and sighs a little.

two:

“So, Rob,” Daniel says, and he’s probably shooting for nonchalant here but he’s absolutely falling short. Which doesn’t bode particularly well for Hob, now does it. “I couldn’t help but notice you don’t seem to have aged any, despite the fact that I can see a scar on the middle of your chest.”

“Oh, great, it scarred,” says Hob, pointlessly. “I think I heard one of them say something similar, although honestly they weren’t talking much. And what little they did say was kind of hard to process at the time.”

“They’re also telepathic.”

Hob refuses to dignify that with a response.

three:

“So does the fact that you’re still not dead have anything to do with the fact that I’m pretty sure I heard you mumbling in eighteenth-century French earlier?”

“Define earlier,” Hob says, because for some reason he’s still trying to avoid having this conversation.

“Something tells me you know exactly what I mean, but sure, okay, by earlier I mean, specifically, after your unconscious body got dragged back here but before you were entirely awake. It sounded like you were having a conversation with someone, actually,” Daniel finishes, looking expectant.

(ask me about any of my WIPs, if you’d like!)

[drades-lair]

Mates

The club was just what Blitz wanted right now, loud music, smell of smoke and good drinks. Work had been literal hell this week, so Blitz needed just a few hours of distraction before going back to reality. Wearing his leather jacket, black wash jeans and crimson button-down Blitz was strutting his stuff right to the bar. The bar tender slid a bottle of beer to Blitz that he caught single handed, taking a swig. "Well, well, if it isn't Blitzo!" Came an all too familiar voice that caused Blitz to spew his beer. "Fizz? What the fuck are you doing here?" Blitz exclaimed, spinning around to face the other imp. "I should be asking you that. Looking for someone else’s life to ruin?" Fizz taunted Blitz took note of how Fizz wasn't wearing his usual jester get up instead dressed in a long-sleeved yellow sweater and blue jeans leaving his partial horns exposed without the hat. Blitz felt the white patch on his face ache a little at seeing Fizz's damaged horns. "Of course, not and as I recall it wasn't me who ruined your life!" Blitz shot back bitterly "Oh really! Says the fuck up who couldn't even tell the simplest jokes!" Fizz spat back "Whatever can you just fuck off all ready! I’m trying to enjoy myself," Blitz growled irritably "Oh no! You don't get to just walk away this time! You fucking screw up! You can't do anything right ever! You fucked up my life and everyone that followed! Begs the question when are you going to fuck up the lives of your 'employees'? Hmm?" Fizz berated Blitz making him grimace as Fizz's words burrowed their way into his brain. "N-no! I'm...I wouldn't..." Blitz tried to defend himself but those words were the exact things he'd said to himself on more then a few occasions. "Sure, you will Blitzo! You ruin everyone and thing you come in contact with!" Fizz's words carried so much venom Blitz felt it penetrating his very soul. "Sounds like Yer speakin' from experience," Blitz damn near gave himself whiplash with the speed he spun his neck around towards the second familiar voice of the evening. Leaning against the bar with a leg crooked, cowboy hat tipped over his face and a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand was Striker. A single yellow eye peered from under that hat straight at Fizz and there was a very distinct rattle sounding from his direction. "Who the fuck are you?" Fizz asked indignantly "Me? I'm the fucking mate of the one you're belittling," Striker growled low as he pushed off the bar to come stand next to Blitz. "Mate!? There's no fucking way you've got a mate!" Fizz exclaimed in true shocked surprise "Aw, what's the matter bitch? Jealous Blitz was able to get a hot piece of ass like me?" Striker taunted flashing his fangs "Striker, you don't need to do this! I had this handled!" Blitz interjected irritability "I know you did Darlin' but as a source of pride I can't let this bitch get away with sayin' those things to Ya," Striker retorted with a wink Blitz could appreciate what Striker was trying to do but at the same time he couldn't shake what Fizz had just said. Striker's tail snaked around Blitz's calve as he reached up to not so subtly adjust his bandanna revealing the mating mark on his nape. "You're a fucking cocky bastard! Its absolutely disgusting!" Fizz sloppily insulted as he flushed red. "Sure am, also a better lay then you ever were," Striker shot back with a hiss Blitz by this point felt like he should say something but found himself tongue tied, it was a very unusual feeling to have someone stand up for him. Everyone hated him or at least that’s what Blitz thought most of his life proven when not even Moxxie or Millie would stand up for him when he got into shit however watching Striker right now tell Fizz to go get fucked…it was nice to have someone in his corner for once.

 “You fucker! How dare you!” Fizz growled, raising a hand to slap Striker only to have his hand snatched mid air.

“Now, now, no need for that,” Striker hissed again, his tail rattling furiously now from where it still sat coiled around Blitz’s calve. Suddenly a low growl erupted from Blitz drawing both Fizz and Striker’s attention to him.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Blitz snarled, pushing himself between Striker and Fizz now much to the surprise of both parties. Striker released Fizz’s hand as Blitz firmly planted himself between them, teeth bared and eyes flashing red with anger. Fizz took a step backwards at the sudden display of dominance from Blitz, a side he’d not seen before. Blitz’s spines were flared on his back as his tail coiled tightly around Striker’s waist in a possessive manner, but Striker didn’t mind in fact he gave a smug smirk in Fizz’s direction.

  “What the fuck? What’s wrong with you?” Fizz asked hesitantly

“You can say or do whatever you want to me but if you touch him, I will tare your fucking throat out!” Blitz snarled

Fizz was so taken aback by this display he lost all the gumption he once had instantly backing up before huffing a scoff as he headed for the nearest exit door. Blitz waited till Fizz was out of sight then he turned to face Striker who still had that smug smile plastered on his features. Striker was just about to say something when Blitz roughly used his tail to yank the pale imp into a heated kiss, a claiming kiss which Striker happily returned.

“Fuck Blitz! Never knew how possessive you could get,” Striker chuckled upon pulling from the kiss.

“No one but me is aloud to touch you!” Blitz growled against Striker’s nape where the mating mark he placed there was.

“Hmm, love when Ya talk dirty sugar. How’s about we blow this place before Ya start fuckin’ me right on the bar top?” Striker suggested with a hum of approval

“Yes,” Blitz simply breathed out

The two of them quickly paid their way then took off out of the club, Blitz hopping on bombproof behind Striker, tail still coiled tightly around the other imp’s waist. On the ride back to Blitz’s apartment Striker could feel Blitz caressing along his sides and hips.

“You know, standing up for me was pretty hot cowboy,” Blitz purred seductively into Striker’s ear.

“That’s my job Darlin’, You might be my dominant but, in the end, we’re mates which means we protect one another,” Striker responded so nonchalantly and perhaps for him it was just how things were but for Blitz this was a new concept, something he’d never experienced.

“I…I’ve never…had someone do that for me…” Blitz hesitantly stammered out, pressing his face to the back of Striker’s neck to breath in his scent.

“I know…but that’s no longer the case, I will always defend Ya Blitz,” Striker promised glancing over his shoulder.

“And that just makes you hotter,” Blitz smirked gripping Striker’s hips a little harder

Striker released a deep chuckled at that, clicked his heels to get bombproof to go a little faster so they could get back to the apartment as soon as possible in order to show his mate exactly how much he loved him. 

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS DAYLIGHT Vol. 4 Sakamaki Subaru [Track 1]

Original title: 不機嫌の理由

Source: Diabolik Lovers Daylight Vol. 4 Sakamaki Subaru

Audio: Here [Original & Adjusted pitch versions available]

Seiyuu: Takashi Kondou

Translator’s note: This CD has been a rollercoaster of emotions. When I first started listening to it, I was so distraught by the drastic change in Subaru’s voice, I had a hard time focusing on the actual content. Thankfully, I found a solution and was able to listen to the altered pitch version while doing my translation, which really helped me enjoy it much more. uwu

Track 1 ll Track 2 ll Track 3 ll Track 4 ll Track 5 + Epilogue

→  LIKE MY TRANSLATIONS? SUPPORT ME ON KO-FI!

Track 1: The Reason Behind a Bad Mood

The scene starts with Subaru running around frantically in the forest.

“Haah, haah, haah, haah...Ugh, fuck!! ...Hah...I’ve been runnin’ all over...So why can’t I find this damn thing!? I have to hurry or she’llーー...!! ...I’ll find it no matter what...She’s the one person I won’t let die...!”

He continues running.

*FLASHBACK*

Subaru enters the entrance hall.

[01:05] “...Oi! I thought it was weird you weren’t in your room, but this is where you’ve been? ...Don’t tell me, you’re not ‘bout to head out, are you?”

You nod.

“Ah...? Do you have any idea what time it is? Why can’t you just do groceries tomorrow?”

You insist.

“Ugh...! ...What is it you want?”

You explain.

“Takoyaki and donuts...!? Why do you need those thi...Tsk. Must be Ayato and Kanato, huh? Did they ask you?”

You nod.

[01:45] “So that’s why you’re thinkin’ of makin’ a casual trip to the grocery store in the middle of the night? They’re makin’ you run errands for them ‘cause you always just obediently nod your head in response. Just ignore them!”

You frown.

“...Tsk! Let’s just go then...”

You seem surprised.

[02:07] “I can’t stop you, can I? In that case, I’m taggin’ along. You really think I’m lettin’ you head out by yourself?”

You thank him.

“I...I’m not worried or anythin’...! I’m only comin’ with you ‘cause I’ve got nothin’ better to do! Don’t get the wrong idea! ...Now just follow me!”

*TIMESKIP*

[02:42] “...Oi. You still haven’t made a choice? All donuts are the same, no!? Just how long do you need to make up your damn mind!? ーー She’s not even listenin’. Ah-ah...Look at that serious expression on her face. All for Kanato’s sake, what a fool.”

You continue looking at the donuts. 

“...Ugh, whatever! I’ll be waitin’ for you outside. This sickly sweet smell is makin’ me gag!”

He leaves the store.

*TIMESKIP*

The two of you are walking back home.

[03:33] “...Hah.”

You ask if he’s upset.

“Haah? …I’m not mad, really.”

You seem worried that he’s upset about what you did earlier.

[03:41] "If you feel that way, you already have a clue, don’t you? Then stop pesterin’ me with your questions. …It’s annoyin’. …For one, you should have never listened to those guys in the first place. Next time you better refuse, no matter what they tell you to do. You’re in no way obligated to take orders from them.

You protest.

“…Hah? What do you mean, ‘but’? You’ve got a reason or somethin’? You talk back to me all the time, but when it’s them, you suddenly become obedient, huh?”

Subaru corners you against the wall.

*Rustle*

[04:20] “— Ugh. Seems like…you’ve forgotten who you belong to. …You’re takin’ orders from other dudes left and right…It pisses me off seeing you like that. I’ll make you remember who’s the only guy you should ever listen to.”

You start to panic.

"There’s nobody ‘round, really. ...Even if there was, they wouldn’t be able to see us in the dark. Now if you just keep your voice down, nobody will notice. ...Come on, stop restlessly lookin’ ‘round and face me instead.”

*Rustle*

“Let me suck your blood...”

You grow flustered. 

[05:04] “...Heh.”

Subaru bites you.

*Gulp gulp*

“...Hah. You’re being surprisingy meek. Where’s the usual cheekiness, huh?”

You explain.

“Oh? You’re actually enjoyin’ it, aren’t you?”

You protest.

[05:28] “Hah? ...No wonder I thought you were clutchin’ it so protectively...Even in this kind of situation, you’re still worried ‘bout the stuff they asked for, huh!? I seriously don’t like this! Seems like you just never get the message unless I make myself loud and clear.”

You ask if he is mad. 

“Yeah, exactly. I’m mad. How could I not be!? It pisses me off how you keep on showin’ concern towards anyone and everyone but me! On top of that, you hesitate whenever I tell you to just ignore their requests! Stop takin’ orders from others already!”

You tilt your head to the side.

“...Hah? Whatcha lookin’ at? Are you goin’ to beg for mercy?”

You ask if he is perhaps jealous.

[06:22] “...Haah!? W-Who are you callin’ jealous!? ...Bullshit! For one, you’re to blame for being unable to just turn down their requests! All you need to do is say ‘no’ next time, yet you keep on sayin’ ‘but’ or ‘still’...What’s so bad ‘bout just turnin’ them down for once!?”

You try and defend yourself.

“Hah! Again with the ‘but’, huh? Just spit it out already!”

You explain.

“Hah? Well...Knowin’ those guys, it’s obvious they’d lose their shit. Kanato’s a pain in the ass with his angry tantrums and Ayato would probably say something like ‘Then give me your blood insteーー’ ...Wait, is that why you can’t turn down their requests?”

You nod, explaining that you don’t want anyone but Subaru to suck your blood.

[07:15] “...!! ‘Other than me’, you say...? ...Oh. So that’s why...”

You ask if something is wrong.

“...I-It’s nothin’...! Anyway, if that’s your reasoning, you should have told me sooner! How am I supposed to know from just a single ‘but’ or ‘I mean’...!?”

You apologize.

“Well...Seems like you haven’t forgotten who you belong to, at least. That’s why you don’t want anyone but me to suck your blood, right?”

You nod.

“...You need to make yourself a lil’ more obvious, honestly.”

You insist it is partially his fault for misunderstanding as well.

[07:56] “ーー Hah!? There was never any misunderstandings on my part! ...Besides, you sure have some nerve, puttin’ the blame on me. You really are defiant towards me. I was gonna let you off the hook ーー But scratch that. You’re at fault for enticing me. I’ll suck you from the other side next. ...I feel like leavin’ more and more of my marks on you.”

Subaru bites you again.

*Gulp gulp gulp*

“...Hah. You’re lettin’ your voice slip. I thought you didn’t want anyone to see us? Not that I care ‘bout that.”

*Ba-dump・ba-dump*

[08:50] “...? ...O-Oi! What’s wrong...!? I haven’t sucked that much for you to grow weak in your knees already, right!?”

You clutch your chest.

“...Are you feeling under the weather perhaps?”

You shake your head.

“You sure? You’d say that even if you aren’t actually ‘fine’, wouldn’t you?”

You insist that you’re fine.

[09:13] “...Okay then. ...Hah. Don’t give me a scare like that. It doesn’t feel good suckin’ from someone who’s shaky on their legs. Wanna just go home? ...Come on, gimme your hand.”

You grab his hand.

“It’d suck if you were to nearly collapse again, so hold onto it tightly, ‘kay?”

You nod.

“Haah...Ah, speakin’ of whichー Did the takoyaki and donuts you were oh-so worried ‘bout make it out unscathed?”

*Rustle rustle*

You shriek.

“Hehe...Guess they still got crushed in the end. Serves those bastards right!”

You frown and decide to avoid them once you’re home. 

[10:03] “...Hm? Ah, yeah, you do that. If not, who knows what you’ll have to go through when they take out their anger on you. I’ve been worried ‘bout that as well, so sounds great. Just stay within my sight for today.”

You tell him it will be fine.

“I don’t believe your ‘it’ll be fine’. So I’ll make sure to keep an eye on you even after we get home to ensure you don’t run in any trouble. ーー And if the coast is clear, I’ll continue where I left off earlier.”

You get flustered again.

“Hehe...Don’t freak out now. Come on, let’s go home.”

The two of you start walking back to the manor.

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

[lovesomehate]

A preview that's actually a decent Chapter amount, but I have to go to work and I'm late getting myself ready.

On the camera feed Travis is removing items from the grocery bags and putting them away in various cabinets, the pantry and the fridge. Emma switches the feed to the kitchen camera. The angle is askew and partially blocked by a decorative item. Everyone was pretty sure it was a whale. Standing at the corner by the oven Travis could be viewed well, but Laura could be seen almost from above but also missing her head. She switched it back to the living room camera.

The older man still had a few ingredients near him and pulled a pot from a bottom cabinet placed it on the stove. He double check that he had everything and began to pour them into the pot one by one.

“Whatcha making?” Max looked over Travis’ shoulder.

“Barbeque Sauce.” Travis leaned away from Max some.  “Making dinner for you two as thank sfor letting me stay here for my trip.”

“He’s staying there?” Ryan shared his disbelief with the others.

“It’s, uh, no problem.” Max said walking out of the kitchen over to Laura who was go through the bags on the table. “You really don’t have to cook for us though.”

“I’d feel bad if I didn’t. Makes me feel less like a pest.” Travis reponds.

“Ugh!” Laura groans, throwing her head back dramatically before returning her attention to the bags. “For the last time Travis you’re not a pest. We’re glad to have you here. Right Max?” Laura looks to Max.

He has a slight uneasy look on his face that he hopes that Laura doesn’t think too much of. He remembers when Laura suggested it to Travis and then asked Max if it was okay. The was something that partially assuaged his concerns.

“Yeah, it’s cool T-Money.” Max says comfortably.

Travis groans at the nickname. When Max turns back to Laura she mouths a thank you to him and Max can’t help how his hear blossoms at her smile. He turns his attention to the table where there’s some basic things in and around the bags. Period products, some pain meds, toothpaste, shampoo and apparently Laura got a movie they’d been talking about getting at some point. Noticeably though there was a nice stack of shirts Laura was laying out. In one set there had to be at least six shirts and there were two in the second set.

“What are all these about?” Max focused on the top shirt of the second set.

It a white shirt with pair of skeletons posing like power rangers, both wearing shades and behind them was a large blue and green mushroom. He snickers at it.

“I bought you and Travis some t-shirts.” Laura says.

Everyone that’s not Travis and Laura recoil in shock.

“You bought him some shirts!?” Max hoped he didn’t sound too upset, but the hell?

“She bought him shirts?” Abi stared at the pile.

It was easy to tell which pile of shirts belonged to who.

“Its not that big a deal right?” Jacob speaks up despite knowing the obvious answer.

“I-I-I’ddd s-sa-a-a-ay no-o-o, b-b-but. Those ar-r-re a lot of sh-sh-shirts.”

“Wow your internet is really shit.” Kaitlyn tells Nick whose aware and irritated about the matter. “Also it’s not like he’s, I don’t know. It’s not like he’s a relative.”

“What do you mean you bought him shirts?” Max asked and Laura just looked at him quizzically.

“Yeah.” She says it as though it’s an obvious thing to do.

“She insisted.” Travis looks at the two briefly his default expression on his face. “I told her it was okay, but she wanted to make up for the groceries.”

“Its only fair.” Laura defends. “You bought everything food related, even things not meant for your recipe. So it’s only fair that I make it up to you with some clothes. At the least.”

Laura looks at Max and gestures to Travis like the oldest of the three is being ridiculous. Laura holds up a shirt that ironically has a wolf on it. It’s gun a between it’s teeth and a pool of blood is formed at its feet from the droplets falling from its mouth. The shirt that was under it is a Slayers shirt. 

“Max I need you to help me convince Travis to keep these shirts. He keeps fighting we me about them.”

“That’s cause I don’t need any t-shirts.”

“Yes you do.” Laura stomps over to Travis holding up the wolf shirt. “I’ve seen what you have and you need more than those plain ones and all those button ups.”

“She’s seen his shirts? Like all of them?” Ryan is growing in confusing and belief at Max’s worries.

“Okay to be fair.” Laura continues, “You have a few band shirts, a camp shirt and polic shirt, but that’s only 5 overall. You can’t tell me you actually hate this one I saw you keep wandering too it.” 

She holds it up to him, waving it back and forth as if to hypnotize him into keep it. Max meanwhile is simply looking at all the shirts Laura has collected for their guest.

I got so invested already I actually groaned the moment I reached the end of it 😂😂😂😂

I can’t wait to read the whole thing! 😂