#they’re both capable of biting your honour it’s just a matter of wanting to

[bensonsknuckles]

in part inspired by this brilliant post, we all know that benson is a bad dog, but i think it is also important to understand that, at his core, randy sees himself as a bad dog, too. he’s just a dog contained to a cage of his own making. biting is his instinct, and he cannot forgive himself for it. he has tasted blood and knows it is something he will do again if not constantly vigilant against his own nature, so he has decided to become his own jailer instead. randy may be small and frightened, may only ever have known the bars of his cage, tail between his legs, but he knows he has teeth.

benson, on the other hand, is a kicked stray who has grown hard and weathered from too many nights on the street, a race dog run to the bone and discarded. he’s just trying to survive for the most part, but sometimes he gets that half rabid look in his eye that says he’ll take even the slightest provocation as an invitation to violence, and he’ll like it. because biting back, whether it be at the hand that feeds or beats, means being the one in control for once in his life. he’s spent enough time cowering under boots, and if he’s always going to be looked at like a beast, he may as well fucking become one.

[xivu-arath]

part one of a second chapter to my idea of the sith warrior ending up in zakuul Very Early

There are a thousand myriad differences between this empire and her own, and Rkorya reaches for what is still familiar as she’s escorted into the vast, glittering throne room. Force-users line the path towards the throne, and there, inexorably, is the Emperor, like a star pulling this strange court into orbit. It’s difficult to not focus immediately on him, but she deliberately looks past, pausing at the sight of three well out of the way of both the throne and guards. All human, and all strong in the Force, but what matters is that they watch her approach with flat eyes. What she can sense of them – difficult, with so many here, and with the Emperor blotting them all out if she doesn’t put effort into focusing – is tinged with surprise, unease, anger.

The Emperor may have requested – invited, demanded, she’s not quite sure yet – her presence but her arrival is an unpleasant shock for them, and they resent it.

That, at the very least, is familiar ground. Infighting and bitter politics she knows well enough, and the Emperor may be overwhelming, untouchable, but those around him aren’t.

She can carve a place out here, if she tries.

This time when she kneels it is practised and smooth, as if she hasn’t been calmly escorted into an empire she’d never even heard a whisper of until now, as if for once she isn’t fairly sure she has no chance of fighting her way out of this.

“Rise,” the Emperor says, and watches her get back to her feet with a cool smile. Already, this body seems more animated, more worn than that of the Voice, and she’s jarred by the idea that he is far more of a person here. “And welcome, outlander, to my true empire – the Eternal Empire, Zakuul.” How eternal, she wants to ask, why abandon the Sith, and what am I doing here but she bites her tongue. This is not an audience, for all that it looks like one. This is a performance, a declaration, the ushering in of a new unknown factor into Zakuul’s schemes.

Her time with Baras has taught her some things, it seems.

“You honour me, my emperor,” she says, and catches the narrowed eyes and focused scrutiny of the others, wary resentment coiling in the Force like smoke, and his own flicker of something very much like satisfaction. “I came at your request, but I did not come alone. Are my people welcome in your... empire as well?” Rkorya doesn’t know what her options are if they’re not, or if she even has any. The thought of leading her crew here to be executed is a chilling one, and she can imagine it all too easily. At the very least, it keeps her awe in check.

“But of course. Everything that you have earned thus far, you may keep,” he says. It is almost kind. “You have fought well for your empire, but it would have wasted you in the end. You will find a different fate in Zakuul.”

With anyone else, she would have protested fiercely – after all, she was raised for the Sith Empire, had sworn her life to it as soon as she was old enough for the vow to have meaning – but here the reflexive anger is cut off by the unease of hearing the Emperor say it. She compromises by staying silent and stifles her confusion as best as she can. Surely she’ll have a moment to try to make sense of this, and now is not the time to seem weak. “You will know true power, far beyond what your master would have trusted you with. He would have turned upon you in the end, out of fear of what you would become.”

That cold smile again, reminding her of distant stars – brilliant and untouchable. “It has been centuries since I have been capable of fear.”

It is a chilling reassurance, but the awe runs beneath it still because here she stands, found worthy, chosen above all others. If only she knew just what she had been chosen for.

“You have questions. They will be answered, in due course. You require time to adjust – my children will aid you in this.”

“Your – children,” she repeats before she can think better of it, not sure if she’s heard correctly. He doesn’t seem to take offence at the interruption, but then, the restraint he’s shown so far is beyond anything she’d expect from a Sith.

“Surprised, outlander?” one of the men nearby says, voice jarringly scornful, and she wheels around to glower at him, head held high. Now that she has an opportunity to study them openly, she can see it – all three of them, men and woman, have something of the Emperor’s features.

Clearly they’ve inherited something of his strength in the Force as well. She can’t be sure, but the men feel like they could hold their own against her, and the woman would have been one of the strongest she’s ever met, if they were anywhere else. Here, though, she’s merely a small moon held in orbit.

“My sons, Arcann and Thexan, and my daughter, Vaylin,” he continues, ignoring the tension between them. “They are my legacy of my time in Zakuul, after I grew tired of the Sith.” It was her loyalty which brought her here, and though she reflexively wants to bristle, to snap questions, to demand explanation for what all of this means, she holds back once more. This might well be a test, and Rkorya doubts that time has made him more lenient towards failure.

It makes bearing up against the arrogance of his children no less difficult. One of them – either Arcann or Thexan, though she’s hardly inclined to try to tell them apart at the moment – is all but sneering, with the other looking merely tense, and Vaylin bored.

She had earned her place within the Empire, and she can do the same here. The Emperor – their father – has acknowledged her. One day, they will have to do the same.

Such an assurance does little to help with the urge to fight all three of them, but for once she doesn’t have to struggle against her own temper. There is too much at stake here to lash out wildly, no matter how tempting it is. In a way, that indignant anger is a comfort, something familiar to focus on even as everything else continues to tilt dizzyingly away from what she thought she knew. That the Emperor has children, has lived and cared enough to bother with some kind of lineage, is just another strange, unavoidable truth to add to the pile.

Another unavoidable truth – he had been silent in the Empire, her Empire, for years, hadn’t lived openly or had a family for centuries if not longer.

She can’t avoid letting that thought come to its natural conclusion, reaffirming his every dismissive word. It comes over her slowly, not like the easy flare of anger that she had learned to kindle as a child, but a feeling both cold and heavy. She imagines both her hearts slowing, just for a moment, beneath its weight, and then pushes it down and away.

Perhaps he senses something of her thoughts. “They have proven themselves worthy of my attention. Worthy of this empire I have built... but you have the potential to join their number.” They all stir at that, Vaylin crossing her arms, the twins frowning. “Out of all the Sith in the galaxy, you have both the power and will to become something more. That is why I have chosen you, and brought you here.”

“I am honoured, my emperor.” Sincerity so raw that it scrapes her throat as she says it.

He looks down on her, and Rkorya feels suddenly how pretty and meaningless all of this is – the glittering throne room, the countless guards and droids who marched her in, the towering spires her ship docked at. She doesn’t care about this empire, and whatever power it could offer her is a distraction at best. Perhaps, in a saner and pragmatic moment, she will appreciate its armies and fleets, the protection that Zakuul can offer, but right now, the Emperor is all that matters, and that for all his power, all his knowledge, here she stands, somehow deserving.

“I look forward to seeing what can be made of you.”

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Magic Reveal fic we deserve, in which Merlin gets as angry as he deserves to get:

Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5

Don’t get me wrong I LOVE a magic reveal with a Merlin who feels bad about lying. I love a reveal with Arthur being furious and Merlin crying but then they talk it out and all is well. I think it's pretty in-character for Merlin to want to see Arthur come to his own conclusions about magic, without being influenced by Merlin’s opinions

BUT I also kinda wanna see Merlin get angry? Like, why should he feel bad about hiding himself in a kingdom where "himself" gets him nothing but a pyre?? Yeah, he and Arthur are close, but unless you've lived with a secret like that (one that will get you shunned, hated, or even killed) then, and I CAN'T STRESS THIS ENOUGH, it doesn't matter How Close you are with someone, how certain you are that they would never hurt you, or care either way, it will almost ALWAYS be scary to tell them. So like. Let Merlin get angry:

I'd say Arthur has been king for maybe a year at this point. He's still a new monarch, still a lot on his plate, BUT also still plenty of time for him to have repealed the ban on magic, or at least started working on it.

But he hasn't.

Granted he hasn't executed anyone in a while (banishments and prison time are the norm, executions are only used nowadays for high treason). BUT the law still remains, it's still technically punishable by death, to be a sorcerer.

Arthur and Merlin have little hunting trips, when Arthur is getting too stressed and losing too much sleep, when he trains the knights too hard and snaps at even Gaius, Merlin (or sometimes even Leon, if they're both being grumpy arseholes) insists that they leave the city for a day or more, to go hunting.

The council have been told it's so the King can keep up with his fitness, can keep familiar with his lands, and keep his skills sharp (he only has enough time to train with the knights a couple times a week nowadays, a far cry from the several hours he used to do every morning without fail), and that keeps them satisfied.

The Gang (the Knights, Gwen, Gaius, and Morgana (she's good in this because that's what I want let me have this)) know the truth, that sometimes the two of them just need a few days to goof off and be themselves, to finally get some time to relax. They'll grab a couple hares and maybe a stag on the way back if they can, so they can at least pretend that's what they've been doing the whole time.

These trips can last anywhere between a day, to two weeks, and Arthur leaves the same set of instructions with the council and the knights every time:

"The safety of Camelot’s people is your highest priority. I leave Sir Leon in charge of everything to do with the knights, patrol, and should any form of conflict arise. If there is an emergency, you are to consult the Inner Council (I don’t know if that's a thing but let's say it is; its The Gang), and send a squire on horseback to fetch me immediately. There's one boy in the troupe who always manages to track me the down the quickest, so make sure he's the one sent, Sir Leon knows who I speak of."

(He's improved over the years, but Arthur is still very... cagey, when it comes to compliments, and his trust. Leon will never mention it, but the fact that Arthur leaves the safety of the kingdom to him, without hesitation or worry, makes him feel greatly honoured. That is the highest form of trust Arthur is capable of giving.)

~

ANYWAY I feel like most of this has just been backstory so let's get into it:

Normally it's Merlin or Leon who demand that the trip needs to happen.

This time

It's Arthur.

Arthur has tried to ignore it (he's trying to get better but he's not great with emotions and stuff, the big dummy) but Merlin has been in a sour mood for weeks now. He's been quiet and withdrawn, snappy, and has been avoiding Arthur whenever possible.

At first it was easy to ignore, when it started a few months ago it was barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know the two of them Very Well, but in the last few weeks it's become a problem.

Arthur reckons a trip might do them some good. Merlin can relax, and will either get over whatever is bothering him, or be comfortable enough to talk to Arthur about it.

So they head out. Merlin doesn't seem too happy about the trip but he doesn’t complain.

(Odd in itself, if Merlin is unhappy about something he usually makes it known.)

The first couple of days are... odd, to say the least. It seems that every time Arthur notices Merlin relax, he quickly tightens up again. One short, joking conversation is followed by a few more hours of painful, awkward silence.

Arthur comes to the daunting realisation, that if he wants to help is friend (and the love of his life but like... baby blondie has hardly reached that conclusion himself, he might need a bit more time on that) is to confront it head on.

So they're settling down in the evening. The fire is roaring, the horses have been fed and watered, dinner has been eaten, and the two of them are sat at opposite ends of the fire (Very Odd, they're usually glued at the hip, especially when it's just the two of them).

Arthur looks at his friend properly for the first times in a while and he Does Not Like what he sees.

Merlin is visibly exhausted, big bags under his eyes, and his skin paler than normal, scowling ever so slightly into the fire. Shoulders tense, and hands gripping each other until the skin on his knuckles is white. And despite all that, Arthur thinks that Merlin looks more sad, than angry.

Maybe Merlin notices Arthur's staring, they hold eye contact for a little while before Merlin becomes sort of... resigned?? To the fact that he's gonna have to have this conversation whether he wants it or not? He goes to say something but before he can, Arthur interrupts him:

"So Merlin. How do you think I'm doing so far?"

(Which is a stupid thing to say, really. But Arthur is, as we've already established, extremely emotionally constipated, and he figures that finding out what's wrong with Merlin indirectly, and then subtly fixing it behind his back, is a far better idea than asking him to his face.)

Merlin clenches his jaw and looks away it this, his reply and his body language clearly sending different messages:

"You know what I think. You're going to be a great king."

Arthur thinks : "(Going to be? I've been king for a year, there's been no war and far fewer attempts on my life than when I was a prince. There's been a good harvest, all diplomatic meetings have gone well, and more peace treaties, and trade agreements, have been signed in the last twelve months, than in the ten years before it. I know I can still do better but... does Merlin not think I'm good?")

Arthur says : "Going to be? I think I'm a pretty great King already if I do say so myself."

"Then why ask? Besides. There are a few things you haven't done."

Merlin's tone is biting, even though he tries to force it out casually. Arthur notices. ”There are a few things you haven't done”... that means something specific.

"Hmm. I suppose. What things did you have in mind then, Merlin?"

Arthur also tries to sound casual, but the question comes out very pointed

Merlin desperately doesn't want to say it out loud, in fear of revealing too much of himself, so he goes with the vague answer of:

"Promises were made. I guess I just figured you weren't the type to break them, that's all. I'm sure you'll get there in time."

Merlin sounds sort of hopeful there. But the sort of hope that he's been living with for years, the sort of hope that has a layer of sadness and resignation laying over the the top like a tablecloth.

Arthur notices:

"Promises?" He doesn’t want to talk too much or too loudly, in fear that Merlin realises that he's speaking openly and clams up again.

Arthur has realised, over the last year or two, that despite their closeness, despite the endless conversations they seem to have, he doesn't really know all that much about Merlin. He knows he doesn’t spend as much time picking herbs, or in the tavern, as he and Gaius would claim. He doesn't know his favourite colour, or season, or holiday. He doesn't know when abouts his birthday is, or what he likes eating. He doesn't know much about his childhood, he's never mentioned his father.

(Despite all this, he's still in love with the idiot, but again, a revelation for another time.)

Merlin responds "To the druids. You promised they would be welcomed, that magic would return. I know your opinions on magic-"

(The manservant visibly shuffles at this, uncomfortable.)

"-but I figured a promise is a promise. Keeping your word had always seemed so important to you. Before."

Arthur notices the past tense. Like Merlin doesn’t believe that Arthur holds importance to his word anymore:

"I'm not my father Merlin. There have been no executions just for the sake of it since I took the crown."

Merlin’s reply comes quickly, in a harsh tone:

"Yes I know that. But your fathers law still remains. It's technically still punishable by execution just to exist as a sorcerer in your kingdom."

(Arthur notices the thinly veiled disgust in Merlin's voice when he mentions Uther. Arthur knew that Merlin disliked the previous king, but he didn’t think he hated him that much.)

Merlin is getting more and more visibly frustrated at this point. Both at Arthur, and the topic of conversation, but also at himself, for letting himself become so worked up over something he'd sworn to keep Arthur away from.

"You really didn't like my Father did you Merlin?" He says it with a chuckle, trying to keep the conversation light and casual.

(This is NOT a conversation that should be light and casual, his friend is in pain, and revealing more of himself than he ever had before, this should be serious. But Arthur isn't quite sure how to do that, so inappropriately light and casual is what he goes for.)

Merlin responds with a quiet, but forceful:

"I hated him. I still do. He's your father, I know that you're not him, and I know you can't help your heritage. But I'll never forgive Uther for what he did. And I'm not angry that he's...gone."

Arthur's very much taken aback at that. He knows everyone has... strong opinions on Uther, but they've never voiced it in front of him.

"Why?? I mean I know he put you in the stocks a couple of times, but so have I to be fair. Why do you hate him so much?"

(This is the point Merlin gets angry. Or angrier. This is when he stops trying to hide it, stops trying to hold it in. Arthur hadn't gotten angry at Merlin for talking about Uther in such a way, he was just curious. Merlin had been planning on telling him the truth at some point anyway, so he might as well do it now, with no one else around, and Arthur in a goodish mood.)

Merlin jumps up, clenching his fists and staring Arthur in the eye for the first time since the start of the conversation, breathing deeply.

Arthur is taken even further aback at Merlin's sudden unwillingness to hide his true reaction to the topic at hand, but he doesn't say anything, and just waits for Merlin’s response

"Why?? Why do I hate him? Maybe because he was blinded fear and selfish hatred."

Merlin stops and looks away, but doesn't sit down, still tense.

I imagine he's waiting for Arthur to say something, but he doesn’t, opting to wait for Merlin to carry on himself, unwilling to remind Merlin exactly who he was talking to, and about what.

After a few moments of silence, Merlin continues, getting angrier with each word as he paces:

"Your father, the Great King Uther, murdered thousands of people. He committed genocide, because he insisted on blaming other people for his own mistakes. He didn't pay attention to the fine print, and killed his own wife and in return, he executes THOUSANDS of MY people. Just for daring to exist. He was so full of hatred, but he, of course, was infallible so it MUST have been someone else's fault. He was incapable of admitting his own mistakes and the injustice that went unpunished is indescribable, he was a tyrant, and a murderer, and I'll never forgive him."

(Arthur knows the truth about what happened to his Ma in this story, I don’t know how, he just does. And it's a topic of conversation he avoids like the plague.)

At the end of his little outburst, Merlin stills. He is shaking as he glares at the floor, and is more furious than Arthur has ever seen him before.

The King notices the little slip up.

"Your people?" He says, so quietly it's a wonder Merlin hears it.

Merlin freezes at this, at the realisation that there's no real way he can play this off. He was planning on telling him at some point anyway. They're miles away from the city in the middle of a large, barely tamed forest. If he needs to run for his life, he could get away easily enough.

"Yes Arthur. My people. You really should've let me speak first."

Arthur is reminded of the fact that Merlin had opened his mouth to say something, before he'd interrupted him at the beginning of the conversation. It felt like it was hours ago now, but it was really only a few minutes.

The King isn’t nearly as shocked as he thinks he should be. He knew there was something odd and secretive about Merlin, and he'd considered that he might have magic in the early days, but that hadn't been a genuine consideration for years.

He wants to be angry, and selfish, and furious at Merlin for lying to him all this time. But after hearing Merlin’s little speech, does he really have any right to? 

Yes, Arthur hadn't executed any sorcerers, but he also hadn't changed the law. He hadn't stood up to his father and he certainly hadn't tried to stop the executions before he was King himself. Can he really blame Merlin? For being scared? For being angry?

"You're a sorcerer." It's not a question. It's a statement. In his mind he knows the truth, but it needs to be confirmed, out loud, by Merlin himself, before they can move the conversation on.

"Yes."

And that's all he says. Arthur waits. And when he's tired of waiting, when he realises that Merlin isn't just gonna carry on talking this time, he speaks up:

"And?"

"And what, Arthur? What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry I lied? Yes, I feel bad for lying to you, but I'll never apologise for protecting myself in a kingdom that would see me burn. And I would do it again in a heartbeat"

Arthur nods. He's tense, but he notices that he isn't scared and he wonders why, after all, as far as he was aware magic had only (almost only) caused him pain and fear. 

(In the back of his mind he knows why he's not scared. Merlin doesn't have an evil bone in his body, and he's met the druids, he knows that some magic users are peaceful.)

He looks up at Merlin to see him staring at him, a sort of challenging look on his face, like he was daring Arthur to prove him right. Daring him to be selfish, and angry, and just like his father.

But when Arthur looks deeper. Really Looks at Merlin. He sees the fear, Arthur has no doubt in his mind that Merlin could escape, or even fight him off, now, if he needed to. But Merlin is scared.

If that wasn't enough to break Arthur's heart, the quick glance that Merlin throws to the space a few feet from Arthur's side, is.

Arthur looks over slowly, eyebrows furrowed, to see what Merlin glanced at so fearfully. His heart shatters when he realises what it is. Arthurs sword, sat underneath his bag, just out of his reach. Merlin thinks Arthur is going to kill him. Merlin is scared. Of Arthur.

Arthur looks back at Merlin, disbelief and gut wrenching sadness on his face. He resists the urge to jump up (knowing it would just panic Merlin) as he speaks, trying to keep his tone calming, but it comes out rushed and desperate anyway:

"I'm not going to hurt you Merlin, I swear. I'm...sorry, if my actions and words have led you to believe that I would EVER see any harm come to you."

It's over the last minute, the anger and fear from Merlin, that forces Arthur to realise the legacy he's dealing with. That Uther had done so much damage, had struck so much fear into Merlin, that it didn't matter how close they were. Any subtle, deliberate ignorance of the law wasn’t enough. Any small compliments, or defence of Merlin, wasn't enough.

As long as the law remained, as long as Arthur left his fathers legacy intact, with not even a small attempt to dismantle it, Merlin would be scared of him.

Merlin relaxes only slightly at Arthur's words, gulps, and glances once more at the sword before sitting down again. He’s still tense as he stares into the fire once more.

"All these years you've been putting your life at risk, to stay at my side. You could've quit at any time. You could've stayed in the relative safety of Ealdor, but you didn't. Why? I want to know everything Merlin. You... you mean a great deal to me, and it pains me to see you in fear. And I know it's no one’s fault but my own, and I want to fix it. So the whole story, from the beginning, I want to know."

It's Merlin’s turn to be taken aback now. In his mind, everything he's said and done in the last few minutes should be making Arthur angry. The disrespect of Uther, the tone of voice he had taken, the shouting. All of that even before the admittance of his greatest secret. But still Arthur wasn't angry, he was confused, and maybe hadn't quite processed it yet, but mostly he was just sad, sad that Merlin had to be angry on his own. Sad that Merlin had to be fearful on his own.

So he does. He starts at the beginning. His mother sending him to Camelot so Gaius could train him. Saving Arthurs life that first banquet. Saving his life again a few days later. And again. And again. And again

He talks about all the small insignificant magicks he did: cheating at dice games and keeping Arthur's bath water warm and making sure the fire stays lit through the night and helping the knights sleep when they're out and about.

He talks about all the big magicks he did: killing Nimueh and being the last Dragon-Lord and Balinor being his father, and all the great battles he had won and all the times he'd saved Arthur when Arthur hadn't even realised he'd been in danger.

He talks about everything in between. About every lucky fallen branch and every lucky rockslide and every lucky solution that wouldn't have worked without Merlin... nudging it in the right direction.

He talks and talks and talks until his throat is sore. And Arthur stays silent, unwilling to interrupt, listening intently and saving any questions and queries until the end.

After an hour or so, Merlin hesitates, but Arthur can tell that there's something else. Something he's not saying. Something that in Merlin's mind, is the scariest truth of all. So he stays silent, and waits for Merlin to continue:

"The old man that you think killed your father. Dragoon, the sorcerer who kept popping up but was never in the same room as me? That was me, in disguise."

He looks nervous at this and looks up at Arthur. Before, he'd been explaining everything with a blank but resolute look on his face, still staring into the fire (that hadn't been fed in well over an hour, but was still going strong).

Arthur just looks surprised, he'd never considered that Dragoon had been anyone but himself.

"I tried Arthur. I may have hated your father but I tried to save him. But the pendant around his neck stopped it from working and healing magic has never been my strong point anyway. I really did try."

Arthur nods at this. He figured there had been no reason for the old sorcerer to kill his father, and after consulting Gaius and realising the truth about the pendant, he didn't blame him. Though he never told anyone, not even Merlin, why would he? His manservant had never even met the guy.

"I know. I'm sorry, it can’t have been easy, thinking I blamed you for his death all these months. I'm sorry Merlin."

Merlin looks surprised but quietly grateful. Over the course of the last hour of explanation he had slowly become more and more relaxed, realising that Arthur really meant it when he said he wasn't going to hurt him, and just wanted the truth.

Merlin was still scared, and a big part of him still believed he'd probably be banished at the least at the end of this conversation. But it still felt good to get it off his chest.

"But you still haven't answered my question. Why? We didn't know each all that well those first few weeks. Months even. We practically hated each other at the beginning. But you stayed anyway. Despite hating me and despite being in constant danger. Why?"

Merlin once again hesitates at this. He tried his best but even after all these years, he's not quite sure how to navigate conversations about destiny, especially his own, and especially how it's tied so intrinsically with Arthur’s.

Instead he says:

"What do you know about Emrys?" He really needs a starting reference for this part of the conversation, and at this point, the best way to get it is to ask directly.

Arthur goes to question why, but Merlin has been nothing but honest and straight forward with him, so he trusts that it’s important, and answers truthfully:

"Not much. A few Druids have mentioned him to me before. Apparently they've been seeing him in prophetic dreams for centuries, the Druids have quite a few "seers" in their ranks. He's meant to be some great sorcerer, whose destiny it is to bring Magic and peace to Albion, with some King or other at his side. I never payed much attention to it, I hardly believe in visions of the future."

Merlin nods at that:

"You've got most of it. Emrys is meant to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past, present, and future. When Uther started culling sorcerers, an astronomical amount of magic was poured back into the earth all at once. The Triple Goddess took that magic and put it all in one place, in one unborn baby, in the hope that said baby would grow into his power, and restore balance and compassion to the world. The Druids call him Emrys but it's just a title, like King, or Sir, not his real name. He, and the Once and Future King, are meant to rule with the support of one another, uniting all of Albion under the King’s rule, and bringing magic back into the land. Emrys and the Forever King, two sides of the same coin, their destinies interwoven."

Merlin goes silent at that, and Arthur thinks he knows where this is going, but he Needs the confirmation:

"What's that got to do with anything?" is quietly muttered.

"You're the Forever King Arthur. And I am Emrys. Though it's weird enough when the druids call me that so just... let's stick with Merlin alright?"

"All those times you said I would be a great King, all those times you had unfailing faith in me, was because of destiny?"

Arthur tries not so sound hurt, but he’s never cared for, or believed, in destiny. Up until now he'd thought Merlin had had faith in him as Arthur, his friend, not as some prophetic Once and Future King that Arthur was afraid he would never be.

"At first, sure. I was angry, that my destiny had been decided for me. That I couldn't just ignore it because if I did then the world would never know peace. I never asked for that responsibility I just wanted... I just wanted to keep my mother safe. I wanted to learn how to be a physician and use my magic to help and entertain and brighten the world. Just a little bit. And suddenly I had this big important role to play. I hated it. But I did it anyway, kept you safe. And then I got to know you as a person and you weren't your father. You Love Camelot, you Love your people, you're a good man who does everything in his power to help those around him, even if they don't deserve it sometimes. And suddenly, having my destiny be to help you to greatness... well, it didn't seem so bad anymore. Maybe it was your destiny to be that Great King from prophecy, because you were already a good man."

Arthur is speechless at that. Tears gather in his eyes but neither of them mention it and he doesn't let them fall. Merlin had been almost as nice as that in the past, but never so fully, and with the weight of the truth behind it, it seemed much more meaningful.

Merlin gives him a sad smile before he continues:

"I'm your servant until the day I die Arthur. I have faith that one day, you'll do the right thing."

Arthur suddenly remember the whole point of this conversation. That Merlin was upset and angry that he hadn't repealed the ban on magic yet, that Merlin was still waiting on him. Waiting on him to do the right thing. Waiting on him to fulfil his destiny.

~

Maybe they head straight home? Merlin walks into Arthur's chambers the next morning to find him already up and pacing, making a start on the repeal?

Maybe Arthur demands they go to the closest Druid settlement so he can consult them on how he should go about it? Merlin’s knowledge of magic is great and all, but neither of them were alive before the purge, neither know how it would work practically.

All I know, is whenever Merlin first comes across Arthur working on the repeal, determination in his eyes, he cries a little. That everything he sacrificed is finally paying off.

I also know, that the first time Arthur timidly asks Merlin to show him something magical (maybe that's straight after this tiring conversation, or maybe its days later, back in the safety of Arthur's locked chambers) Merlin cries even harder, Arthur is still scared of magic, how could he not be. But he loves and trusts Merlin more than anything in this world, and he wants to learn to not be scared anymore.

~

THIS IS COMPLETED!!

All 5 parts have been posted:)

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific, let me know✌

[bonniebird]

Feel free to use prompts:

"A vampire, like a lady, never reveals his true age."

"Boy Scouts and vampire slayers should always be prepared."

"Death to all vampires?"

"Do you have any idea how rare love is? In a thousand years, I have found it but twice, and when I have, I have honoured it."

"Do you smell that? It smells like death and fungus. It's Vampire B.O."

"Drink this (Character). Become one of us."

"First rule of being a vampire is realising how awesome you are."

"Good night, blood sucker!"

"Having a vampire in our band's awesome!!"

"Humanity is a vampire's greatest weakness. No matter how easy it is to turn it off, it keeps trying to fight its way back in. Sometimes I let it."

"I have never met a vampire personally, but I don't know what might happen tomorrow."

"I think he is a good guy. But at the end of the day, he's still a vampire."

"I think I should warn you all, when a vampire bites it, it's never a pretty sight. No two bloodsuckers go the same way. Some yell and scream, some go quietly, some explode, some implode, but all will try to take you with them."

"I told my mother I'm a vampire."

"I told you. I'm a vampire!”

"I took mythology a lot more seriously since I’d become a vampire."

"I tried to eat that guy…do you realise that? Do you know what it's like for me to want to drink blood? Do you know how disgusting that is? I'm a vegetarian!"

"I'm (Character), surfboard shaper and vampire hunter."

"I'm a vampire. I haven't had a cold in five centuries."

"I'm going out to get a bite to drink."

"I'm like Superman, but with fangs and oddly impaired morals."

"I'm not human. And I miss it. I miss it more than anything in the world. That is my secret."

"If there's one thing real vampires seem to have in common, it is their reluctance to tell the world about who, and what, they are." "If you need me I'll be in my coffin." "Into every generation comes a vampire." "Is it not enough to have a long and happy life with me?" "It's all an act. Being a vampire is miserable. I would give anything to be human."

"It's not the size of your fangs, it's how you bite."

"Kiss me or kill me. We both know you're only capable of one."

"Look at your reflection in the mirror. You're a creature of the night Michael, just like out of a comic book! You're a vampire (Character)."

"Loving the monsters always ends badly for the humans. It's a rule."

"Mother made us vampires. She didn't make us monsters. We did that to ourselves."

"People have been after me for a thousand years, but I'm always one step ahead."

"Perhaps one day, in a year or even in a century. You'll turn up at my door and let me show you what the world has to offer."

"Relax. I haven't killed anyone in…too long."

"So how can we tell if they’re a vampire?!”

"The only person worse at being a vampire than me is you."

"The pleasure I'll get of watching you suffer is greater than any pain I'll ever feel."

"The strength of the vampire is that people will not believe in him."

"There's no set-in-stone way to be a vampire, especially with the evil ones."

"They’re one of them! They’re a vampire! And don't tell me it doesn't make her a bad Person."

"This is vervain. Fresh Vervain.”

"Vampires are real. They're usually not the cape-wearing, "mwah-hah-hah-ing" types, but rather people with ordinary jobs who just happen to consume blood."

"Vampires occur everywhere, but in busy cities no one notices."

"Vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires … How avant-garde!"

"We've located the nest of the vampires deep within this abandoned slaughterhouse. It's also haunted… by cannibal pirates. It's built on an ancient Indian burial ground… where they used to burn witches."

"Well, tonguing with vampires is obviously a great warm-up exercise."

"We’ll get to know each other later. We’ll have aeons of time for that!"

"When other little girls wanted to be ballet dancers I kind of wanted to be a vampire."

"You better get yourself a garlic t-shirt, buddy, or it's your funeral."

"You're a monster. You deserve to die."

"You're a monster."

"You're a vampire, sweetheart. I don't think you'll ever be okay again."

"Your life is pathetic. Your after-life doesn't have to be."

“(Character) thinks you're a vampire.”

“A 3,000-year old vampire wants to suck my blood. Must be Thursday!”

“Are you a vampire? you have to tell me if you are!”

“Are you drinking… from a blood bag!”

“Can't believe you’re a vampire!”

“Death is scary. I've been avoiding it for a thousand years.”

“Do you have fangs? You look like you have fangs.”

“Do you know what it's like for me to want to drink blood?”

“Don't ever invite a vampire into your house. It renders you powerless.”

“Don’t eat me, (Character). I’m basically a good kid.”

“Every human needs a vampire.”

“From the very first moment that we met, you reminded me of what it was like to have my human heart. The problem was, it was only a memory. All I had was my darkness to give you in return.”

“Great! The blood-sucking Brady Bunch!”

“He said ‘I want to drink your blood?’ You heard him specifically say ‘I want to drink your blood?”

“Hey, you just shut your nasty mouth, mister! You might be a vampire, but when you talk to me, you will talk to me like the lady that I am!”

“How can I miss someone who I can't even believe is dead?”

“How do we know they’re a vampire? For all we know they could be drinking wine or cranberry juice.”

“Humans are shockingly susceptible to just about every form of thought manipulation.”

“I always knew there were vampires.”

“I am as big a fan of (Character) as you are Eric, but come back to Earth. They’re just a human.”

“I cannot even speak, the name of the vampire that organised that monstrosity.”

“I care about very few people in this world. A small handful of vampires and you.”

“I don't like vampires. I'm going to take a stand and say they're not good.”

“I don't want to hear any more lies about vampires.”

“I feel better protecting myself, now that I know I am basically a vampire crack.”

“I just found out that one of the people running the blood drive is a vampire. I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“I KNOW I'm a vampire!”

“I mean, hell, he was like a bonafide vampire God about 6 months ago.”

“I'm the world's most dangerous predator. Everything about me invites you in. My voice, my face, even my smell. As if I would need any of that… as if you could outrun me… as if you could fight me off. I'm designed to kill.”

“I've been around long enough to know just about anyone is capable of just about anything.”

“If every vampire who said he was at The Crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Woodstock…”

“If the humans want war, we'll give them war.”

“It's not that vampires don't photograph. They just don’t photograph well.”

“Life sucks, and then you die…”

“Listen, just so you know, if you try to stop us, or vamp out in any way, I'll stake you without even thinking twice about it!”

“Maggots, (Character), you’re eating maggots.”

“Maybe you could wear fake fangs?"

“My summer camp counsellor was a werewolf. My boss is a vampire.”

“Oh, they’re just young. We were that age, too, once. But they dress better.”

“Ok. I know you've dismissed this. But do we think (Character) could be a vampire?”

“Please, I'm a thousand years older than you. Put your baby fangs away before you piss me off.”

“So that's what you dream about… becoming a monster?”

“Speaking of which, would you like to explain to me how you’re alive”

“Technology takes all the fun out of being a vampire.”

“The killer is a vampire?"

“There’s one thing about living in Santa Carla I never could stomach… all the damn vampires”

“This time I'll protect you. Even though you're a vampire, You're still my brother."

“This time I'll protect you. Even though you're a vampire, You're still my friend."

“This time I'll protect you. Even though you're a vampire, You're still my sister."

“Vampires are always in some kind of trouble. I prefer to be in it with you.”

“Vampires don't exist (Character).”

“Vampires play baseball?”

“We don't ride with vampires.”

“You guys are vampires. What's with all the morality?”

“You have to remember that most vampires are very old. Puns used to be the highest form of humour.”

“You look so pretty. Like someone turned a light on under your skin.”

“You need a vampire in your life (Character), more so than anyone else here. You need protection.”

“You think you're a vampire?"

“You wait ’til mom finds out you’re a vampire, buddy!”

“You want (Character) to be your fuckin' spokesperson for your vampire commercials?”

“You're a vampire! I knew it!”

“You're right. Forever is a long time. Then again, I'm very patient.”

“You’ll never grow old, (Character). And you’ll never die. But you must feed.”

[eveningcatcher]

Courtiers when MC goes on a long trip

Volta

 “So, I’m off to travel,” MC stated once again as they took their bags off the floor, walking to the carriage.

“Did you pack enough food?” Volta asked as they tried to put in a sandwich in Mc’s bag.

“I did Volta,” MC reassured them, “We’ve packed it together, remember?”

“But, but,” Volta looked at them in disbelief, “That can’t be all you’re taking, right, right?”

“Trust me, it’s enough,” they reassured her as they gave her a quick peck on the lips, “Will you be fine without me around?”

“Oh, of course!” Volta smiled as she hugged MC one last time, “Volta has been alone for so long, she’ll be fine!”

“Alright,” MC returned the hug as they let their hand pet Volta’s hair one last time,” I’ll send you letters.”

“Oh, please do,” she said with a smile, “Take care!”

Once MC was out of sight Volta let out a sigh and went back to her estate. Happily, she started eating her food as if nothing happened. It was only the next week when she didn’t find MC that she started to panic. Oh, they’re gone, right. When did they say they’ll return? Two months, right. That’s no big deal to her. She is 100 years old! She can survive a few months…

“Um, sir,” one of the servants said as they carried an envelope, “You have a letter.”

“From whom?” she asked, curious. Does Nadia want to hold another meeting?

“MC, si-” as soon as he said MC’s name Volta jumped at him, snatching the envelope. With her tiny hands, she tried her best to open it but to no avail. Frustrated, she tore the envelope, taking out a parchment of paper.

My dearest Volta,

 After a whole week of being bored to death, I finally got to Nevivon. Unfortunately, I haven’t visited any interesting place, so I have nothing to write about.

             I truly wish that you could write me a letter telling me about how you’ve been, but I have no clue where I might end up by the time you receive this letter.

 Take care,

MC

 Volta reread the letter a couple of times, wishing she was with MC, but oh well, it can’t be helped. The most important thing is that they are safe and sound now. Feeling the warmth from MC’s kind words fill her heart, she put the letter on her desk and went to have dinner, thinking about MC the whole time. As she finished her 4th dinner she started to worry. MC never said if they had enough food. What if they’re hungry? Oh, poor little MC… she can’t do anything for them. The whole night was spent with zero sleep, Volta just couldn’t rest at the thought of MC being hungry.

Worry was eating her out, clouding her mind, not being able to do anything but think about the worst scenarios that could happen to MC. Frantically, she walked through her mansion, falling over many of her antiques that were collecting dust. As she stared at her scratched wrist, she started to panic more. If a demon like her could get hurt in the comfort of her home then who knows what could happen to MC! She bit her nails from stress until she felt the blood run down her fingers.

Just before she was about to ask for help, the servant came by and, with clear worry, helped poor Volta with the wounds. After he was done with bandaging the arm, he pulled out an envelope from his pocket, helping Volta open it. He put down the piece of paper on her lap and left the room.

She quickly took the paper, then immediately stopped from the pain on her fingertips. After taking a deep breath, she read the letter. There wasn’t anything that could interest Volta, MC talked about the beaches, different people they met as well as the food they tried. Food! So, they are eating well. Volta let out a loud sigh, happy that none of her worries was true.

Happy with the letter, she went downstairs, eating the food she didn’t eat this morning, knowing that everything is fine. MC is doing great and, by the looks of it, Volta will get their letters daily.

The next day passed and the sky has already started to darken. Volta didn’t receive any letters from MC that day. She bit on the bandages in worry. What happened? She would have pondered on the topic a bit more, had Vulgora not entered the room.

“Tiny one, what are you doing in here?!?” they asked, as they picked tiny Volta up, “You’re late and Nadia’s fucking pissed!” they mumbled as they left Volta’s mansion with her on their shoulder like some sort of bag.

Not much time has passed and the two of them were sitting in one of Nadia’s meetings with Volta barely visible behind the food. Much to everyone’s surprise, she didn’t take a bite.

After a while, Nadia asked, “Dear Volta, is something the matter?”

As soon as she heard Nadia’s gentle words, Volta didn’t know what to do other than crying. Through sobs and shaky breaths, she confessed about all of her worries for MC. Valdemar and Valerius rolled their eyes, not giving a damn about Volta’s feelings while Vlastomil listened carefully, knowing that this will be a great topic to gossip about. Vulgora, on the other hand, was just annoyed.

“Just grow some balls, Volta.”

“But, but,” she said through sobs, “What if MC died?” just the thought of it made her cry even more.

“I can assure you they’re alive,” Valdemar simply stated, hoping that Volta will calm down soon.

“How can I know if you’re lying?” she asked bitterly as she stared at the courtiers, “All you ever do is lie to me and throw me around. I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!” she shouted as she left the court meeting making everyone feel uncomfortable.

Vulgora stared at tiny Volta leave feeling only pity for her. Sure, they are a cold-blooded soldier, but Volta is like a child to them and out of all of the courtiers she is the most bearable one. They didn’t want to ruin their reputation by comforting tiny Volta, but they also didn’t want to see her cry. Then, it hit them. They won’t fix this, MC will!

 On the other side of the sea, MC was taking a walk in an abandoned street, feeling a bit uneasy. Once they felt someone throw them over their shoulder, they started screaming and punching for their dear life.

“Calm down pipsqueak!” Vulgora shouted, “I’m just bringing you back to Vesuvia.”

“What?”MC said as they calmed down a bit. They didn’t even hear Vulgora coming,” But… how? Why?” they kept on asking.

“Because tiny Volta is crying like a baby and I’m sick of it! So you’re coming with me to fix that!”

“But why did you come all the way here? Couldn’t you just comfort Volta on your own?” MC asked, still not understanding a thing going on.

“Stop asking unnecessary questions!” they shouted, “Just do your thing and make her stop crying!”

Mc nodded, going back to their dearest Volta.

In Vesuvia, Volta was lamenting in her misery, not even wanting to talk with Nadia. She still bit onto her bandages, making her fingertips bleed once more. She wished so badly that MC could be there with her, but she knew that won't happen anytime soon. She started crying once more, secretly being surprised at how much she was capable of crying. Just when she was about to stop her session, MC gave them a huge hug.

"Sh, Volta," MC said as they kissed her forehead, "Everything will be fine."

"MC," she said through her sobs, hugging them as tightly as she could, "Oh, you've finally returned! Volta was so, so worried. Please don't leave her like that ever again!"

MC smiled as they watched Vulgora happily leaving the two of them alone, "Alright, next time, I'm bringing you with me."

"Promise?" she asked, her eyes getting glossy from tears of joy.

"Promise."

  Vlastomil

 “Vlasty, don’t you think you’ve forgotten something?” MC asked as they stood in front of the doors of his living room.

He stared at MC for a moment, thinking about that statement, “No, why?”

“I’m travelling today.” They simply stated, a bit disappointed that he forgot about it.

“WHAT? Aren’t you supposed to go next week?” he stared at them. He was so busy taking care of the worms, especially the pregnant ones that he completely forgot.

“No, it’s today. I have to leave soon.”

“No, no,” he tried to quickly come up with an excuse to make them stay a bit longer,” But you didn’t say bye to the worms…”

“I know,” MC said, thinking about how they’d rather not do that, “But I have no time to say goodbye to all of them. Do you want to go with me to the docks?”

He quickly picked up Wriggler and left with MC to the docks. The two of them got there just in time before the ship sailed off. Vlastomil stayed on the docks far longer than he should, almost as if he was waiting for the ship to return. Who knows how much longer he would have stayed there had Wriggler not started to get nervous around so many unknown people.

Once he got back to his mansion he noticed that something was missing. Yes, his many children were there with him but the mansion still felt empty and cold. Vlastomil wished he could have properly said goodbye to MC. But nothing can be done now. He brushed off that miserable feeling and went back to taking care of the worms.

Days passed by and the feeling of needing something that was just out of his grasp didn’t go away. Not even the labour of one of his worms made him feel better. He hated this feeling. He is a demon and yet, he had to go through the feeling process. Of course, he did feel something for MC and he knew that it was love, but he hated all of these miserable feelings. It made him feel small and helpless and he hated that.

The next day he couldn’t run away from his job as a Praetor anymore so he had to drag himself to the Colosseum to attend the trial. Anything that both the prosecution and defence said seemed to go through one then the other ear. Valstomil just didn’t give a damn about that person. He didn’t like the way the person looked at him.

“I have made my decision,” he abruptly said, “You are… guilty! Oh yes, very guilty indeed.”

“But your honour,” the defence started talking, “It’s obvious that…”

“How dare you question my decision!” Vlastomil said, getting offended more and more.

It seemed that was enough to make everyone shut up with a few mutterings of apologies from the defence. Once the whole ordeal was done, Valerius approached him, “Praetor, what is the meaning of all of this?”

“What do you mean by that?” Praetor asked, playing dumb, “I’ve just said my verdict. That’s what judges do, right?”

Valerius stared at him in disbelief, wanting to say something, but deciding not to. He let Vlastomil get off the hook this time, but if something like this were to repeat, there would be consequences.

And so it repeated. Each time Vlastomil got tipsier and tipsier, declaring everyone guilty and demanding that the ‘guilty’ gets hanged. Valerius decided that enough was enough and, no matter how terrifying Vlastomil seemed at the moment, someone must stop him.

“Praetor, don’t you think there was enough hanged for this month?” Valerius asked after one of the trials where another person was, surprisingly proclaimed guilty.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Vlastomil simply stated, feeling his patience run thin.

“You know very well what I’m trying to say,” Valerius responded with bitterness, his patience slipping away from him, “Your witch would have made better verdicts for God’s sake!”

As soon as Vlastomil heard the mention of MC he couldn’t help but burst into tears. Valerius stared at him crying like a little child with no sympathy, realizing why Vlastomil was acting this way, “So, the two of you broke up.”

“WHAT? No!” Vlastomil said, mortified by just the thought of it. He returned to crying and said through tears, “MC is travelling.”

“Mhm,” Valerius nodded, not giving a damn about Vlastomil’s feelings, “And when will they return?”

“In five months.”

“Five months?” Valerius said, mortified. He can’t bear Vlastomil’s behaviour for five whole months. He’ll kill half of the Vesuvia by the time MC returns! “And where did they go?”

“They went to Prakra to finish some of their business,” Vlastomil still explained, not even thinking about stopping with the crying.

Valerius left Vlastomil in his misery, trying to think of what sort of important business a witch would have. They probably wanted a break from the Praetor and, for a moment, Valerius seemed to agree with that. But alas, he knew that he had to cut MC’s ‘vacation’ short, so he went to Prakra to look for them. As soon as he got to the Prakra’s docks, he tried to think where would witches be. Luckily, he didn’t need to think long as they saw MC walking nearby.

“Witch,” he simply called out to them, not even bothering to call them by the name.

MC recognized the voice immediately, “Consul,” they said, surprised, “What a coincidence!”

“No, it’s not,” he simply stated, “I’ve come to you because of the Praetor.”

“What happened?” they asked, worried.

“He’s getting insane!” he wanted to mention how he proclaims everyone guilty, but he decided not to. He doesn’t want MC and Vlastomil breaking up, who knows how much worse it could be then, “You have to return.”

“But-”

“Now!”

MC thought for a moment. Is Vlastomil in that terrible state? In the end, they decided that their love’swell being was much more important than their business. They quickly nodded, returning to the Vesuvia with the consul.

 Vlastomil was in his mansion, taking care of the newborn worms. Even though they were the most adorable little things (to a person with Vlastomil’s standards) Vlastomil didn’t feel any joy when he looked at them. He was even debating about rehoming those worms! He would have thought a bit more about it hadn’t MC opened the door and went inside the room.

“MC!” he said happily as he ran to them, nearly dropping worms off his lap, “Oh, you’ve returned! I’ve missed you so,” he kissed their left cheek, “So,” he kissed the other cheek, ”So,” finally, he kissed their forehead, “Very much!”

It was MC’s turn to shower Vlastomil in kisses. Once they were done, they said with a smile, “I’ve missed you too,” they took out of their bag a small box, “I wanted to buy you souvenirs, but didn’t have enough time to do so,” they started explaining as they opened the box, “But I knew that Squiggle was pregnant, so I bought these mini sweaters for the children!”

He stared at the small pieces of fabric, melting at the sight. He knew that his dear children would look dazzling in them. Once he was done kissing his love all over again, he picked the box and went on to put the clothes on the newborns, deciding that those babies will stay where they are.

 Vulgora

  "What do you mean by you don't need an axe?!?" they asked as they held their most prized possession, wanting to give it to MC as a parting gift.

"Exactly what you said," MC started as they raised their hands, refusing to take Vulgora's weapon, "Everything will be fine, besides, I'm not travelling alone," they gestured at another group of magicians who looked at least a bit experienced in battling off anyone dangerous.

"Fine," Vulgora huffed, feeling a bit frustrated, "But don't come crying to me if some bandits steal your stuff!"

"I won't," MC said as they gave Vulgora a small peck on the cheeks, "I promise."

"You'll be fine without me?" MC asked, knowing well how short-tempered Vulgora is when they're not around.

"Of course I will, now go on and don't die on me!" they exclaimed as they helped MC put their stuff in the carriage.

"Bye!" MC waved to them as they disappeared out of Vulgora's sight.

With a somewhat disappointed huff, Vulgora went back to their mansion, getting on with their usual business. It was only a few weeks later that everything went downhill. They were preparing for their usual hunt. Going to a forest with nothing but a sword as they rode their favourite horse they couldn’t help but think about MC.

They'll be away for quite some time, but that shouldn't bother them! They are a strong, mighty, independent demon. They can keep their shit somewhat cool until then, right? They nodded to themselves, being pretty confident with that reasoning. Their mind trailed off to those magicians, they seemed rather... annoying to say the least. No, they were dangerous! What could they possibly do to small MC! What if they, they didn't want to even think about it. And MC was so stubborn, they didn't even take Vulgora's weapons with themselves. Those pesky magicians could do just about anything to MC! Immediately at the thought, he started seeing red, wanting to beat the life out of those magicians. However, they weren't there, so they took their anger upon the poor animals living in the forest. But then, after they killed the second rabbit, they stopped. Didn't they talk about keeping their shit together? Why aren't they doing that? They should be doing that. They took a deep breath in and out, doing exactly as many as MC told them... fuck that! They're pissed and they're gonna show it. MC isn't here anyway, so who gives a fuck?

They kept on hunting and hunting and, once they've decided it was enough (at that point they killed around half a dozen of poor animals) they took the kill and went back home, demanding from servants to barbecue it for them.

The next weeks passed about the same, Vulgora would wake up, remember that MC left, groan in annoyance and went hunting. This time, they killed so many animals that they couldn’t carry them back to their estate. They thought and thought about what they should do with all of this, but then they felt the familiar presence of death. Valdemar most likely wanted to dissect the animals, but Vulgora didn’t give much of a damn. They can do whatever they want.

Over time, instead of calming down like they expected they would, Vulgora just became more and more aggressive. It happened both during and after the hunt. They showed violent behaviour to both animals and people. They started destroying shops, especially the ones with goods that are easy to break, they destroyed furniture in their estate, argued and got into the fights with just about anyone and so on. People were terrified, but nobody did anything about it. It was only when Vulgora destroyed the red market that a certain plague doctor decided to take action.

  “Wake up MC,” Valdemar said as they towered over MC’s bed.

MC screeched at the sight of Valdemar’s red eyes staring into their soul. Still a bit sleepy, they moved away from Valdemar until they didn’t bump into the wall.

“How did you get into my room?” MC asked as they looked for the candle, “Why did you come all the way here? What’s going on?”

“Vulgora turned into a maniac who started destroying anything and everything,” they started explaining nonchalantly, “At first, everything was fine. They just killed some animals in the forest, giving me more specimen to dissect. But then, they started destroying other people’s property. You see how that is a problem, no?”

MC rubbed their eyes, nodding.

“Great! Now return to Vesuvia and talk some sense into them,” after they’ve seen MC not responding to anything, they continued talking in a much darker tone, “It wasn’t a question.”

  Rowdy raven was another place that Vulgora was about to destroy. They could have destroyed this property like any other, had the barman not stood up to them. Vulgora stared at the man, their left eye visibly twitching. Who does this brat think he is?!?!

Just when they were about to cut open the man, they felt someone hug them from behind. Thinking it was a tactic to take them down, they quickly turned, ready to cut open whoever it was, but they stopped their blade as soon as they saw it was MC.

They stared at MC for a moment, not knowing what to say. Should they start with how much they’ve missed them, wished they would have gone with them to that trip? No, that’s something weaklings would say.

“It was about damn time you’ve returned,” despite the harsh words, MC could see that Vulgora was happy that they were finally beside them.

They gently kissed their cheek, nuzzling their head to Vulgora’s neck, “I’ve missed you too.”

  Valerius

 “Take care, my little witch,” Valerius said as he gently kissed MC’s forehead before they went inside the carriage, leaving for Karnassos.

“If I see some interdimensional monsters coming to Vesuvia, I’m blaming you,” Val said through a joke, even though he kinda meant what he said.

“But what if the monsters aren’t violent?” MC joked for a moment.

“I don’t care,” he said calmly, “I don’t want to see anything of the sort.”

“You’re no fun,” MC said just before the carriage went off, leaving Valerius alone.

He waved a bit and, once the carriage left, went to his mansion, enjoying the rest of the day with wine. When he went to bed, he pondered for a moment about what was wrong with it. Sheets were changed and everything seemed like it was in its place. Except for MC. He brushed the thought off. He’s not a toddler that needs to sleep beside someone, but then again, it would be nice if he could feel MC’s head on his chest as they are slowly breathing in and out.

The next morning came and Valerius didn’t sleep at all. He just couldn’t and that was pissing him off. The next night came and he hoped that, because he didn’t sleep even a bit last night, he could sleep now. And it went like that, making him rather happy. However, as soon as the third night came, he couldn’t sleep again, and so the cycle repeated. How is he supposed to go to the court meeting now? He is a mess!

But then yet again, all of his colleagues are a bunch of nobodies, so does it matter how he looks?

He just arrived at the meeting, feeling more irritated than usual. It just seemed like all of them did something just to piss him off. Valdemar’s posture was annoying, Vlastomil’s same talk about his worms made Valerius roll his eyes, Vulgora’s shouting was giving him a headache but, without a doubt, the worst of them all was Volta. She was munching on her food with an open mouth, not even thinking about stopping any time soon.

“Volta, could you please act like a civilized person for a moment?” Valerius asked with a frown, “It is rather impolite to act the way you do. Don’t you want to act a bit more like the rest of the civilized world?”

Volta was surprised and rather hurt by his words. She stopped eating for a moment, feeling shame when she had to swallow the food that was in her mouth. She stared for a moment at all of the empty plates in front of her.  Consul was right, she is terrible.

“I, I’m sorry,” she said as her eyes started to get glossy.

“Don’t just apologise,” Valerius said, rolling his eyes at Volta who was just about to burst into tears, “Do something about it!” he was running out of patience. Volta was acting like a little kid even though she could be Valerius’ grand grandma.

As the days passed by with Consul always visiting the palace, having the conversation with the rest of the courtiers about the measures that should be taken with the Flooded District. Every time Valerius was tired from spending the whole night without sleeping, he would take out his anger on poor Volta. His acts made her so confused. One day he’ll shout at her for accidentally dropping a parchment of paper, the other time he wouldn’t seem to care that she accidentally ate three golden plates. A whole month passed by and Volta decided that she had enough! She didn’t have the guts to confront Valerius herself, but she knew he had a soft spot for MC who was away at the moment.

She went to Karnassos, finding MC with ease. For a moment, she wanted to reasonably explain how Valerius was lashing out on her for no reason, but as soon as MC asked her what she was doing all the way here, she burst into tears, explaining in great detail how Valerius was treating her.

The two of them went back to Vesuvia, paying Consul a little visit. Volta decided to stay outside of his mansion, scared that Valerius might shout at her again.

MC went inside his bedroom, greeted by the sight of him finishing the second bottle of wine.

“Enjoying yourself, Consul?” MC asked as they leaned on the doors, enjoying the sight of Valerius in a loosened shirt with his hair let loose.

He nearly dropped his glass as he turned his head, seeing MC, “You, you’re back!” he walked up to them, hugging them as tight as he could.

“Say, Val,” MC said as they returned the hug, “What were you doing to Volta?”

It was that moment he knew, he fucked up.

 Valdemar

  Valdemar has been reading a centuries-old research paper, trying to correct their past self as their mind wandered, thinking about MC for a moment. It’s been 2 whole weeks that they haven’t heard a thing from them. For a moment they focused on finding MC’s soul, sensing that it was somewhere in the middle of the sea. That explains it. But still, couldn’t they at least try to send them a letter? Humans have progressed so much for the millennial of their existence that they were sure they have come up with some way MC could send them a letter. How rude of them, making them worry about their safety…

They would have been petty a bit longer had Vlastomil not went all the way to them.

“You haven’t gone out  of this place,” he gestured at the dungeon, “For weeks!”

“So? I don’t see a problem,” Valdemar simply stated, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible.

“Nadia is pissed, you missed four of our meetings!”

“It’s not my first, nor my last time,” Valdemar said, trying to remember where they left their ink and quill.

“You should come outside for a bit to reassure Nadia that you’re alive.”

Valdemar thought about his words for a moment. There was some hypothesis in their old research that they needed to check once more.

“Very well then. I’ll grace all of you with my presence,” they said with a grin.

  Three people went missing that day.

  Valdemar found themselves in their dungeons once again, checking their hypothesis. They couldn’t enjoy it as much as they wished they could since the thought of MC plagued their mind. Did they leave just so that they could take a break off of them? Deep down, they knew that wasn’t true but just the thought of it enraged them.

Vlastomil came to the dungeons once again, which was disturbing Valdemar’s peace once again.

“Nadia wants to see you at the court meeting immediately,” he said as he remembered Countesses pissed off face.

“Oh, Countesses mailman is back,” they said bitterly, “Sharing Countesses demands which he cares so deeply about,” they turned to Vlastomil, ignoring his terrified expression as he saw blood on them, “Very well then, I’ll greet the Countess since she obviously doesn’t know what to do without me.”

And so they went along with Vlastomil, sitting right next to Volta as they completely ignored the stares of horror from their freshly bloodied clothes. They got even more irritated once they saw that there was no need for them to be here at all. Out of spite, they didn’t come to the next few meetings where their presence was necessary, so every time Vlastomil came down, they would be greeted by the sight of bloody Valdemar, having more malice in their eyes each time he visited them.

It was all because Valdemar got a bit irritated over time with MC. Sure, they finally received MC’s letter, but why did they have to make it so short? For the first time in a while, they genuinely cared about how MC spent their day, who they’ve seen, what food they ate, what they dreamed about two days ago. No matter how many letters MC could send them, it just never seemed to be enough.

They were frustrated by the thought, feeling like they might explode at any moment. As on cue, Vlastomil came downstair again.

“Valdemar-”

“Shut up,” Valdemar said, knowing they have no patience left, “Go back upstairs and don’t return or else I’ll put your baby Wiggler on this,” they slammed their hand on the dissection table, “Got it?”

Vlastomil ran upstairs, screaming like a little girl, deciding to find any way he could protect his beloved children. Through the gossips, Vlastomil finally concluded what was going on with Valdemar. With the help of his little children, he had no problem with finding MC’s whereabouts.

“MC,” he shouted as he tried his best to get to them, “MC you need to return to Vesuvia immediately!”

“Why?” they asked concerned, “Did something terrible happen?”

“Oh yes, it is terrible indeed!” Vlastomil said dramatically, “Valdemar has been spending days in their dungeons, cutting open whatever they could find!”

MC rolled their eyes, angry that Vlastomil made them worry over nothing, “Sounds to me like they were just acting like themselves.”

“You don’t understand! It’s far, far worse!”

“Right…” MC sighed, going away from Vlastomil but he grabbed their hand.

“They won’t be satisfied with dead bodies any longer! Think about my poor worms! Who knows what they could do to my poor children!” Vlastomil said, trying his best to explain to MC how the matter was serious.

“I don’t think about your worms. Ever,” MC sighed, hoping that Vlastomil would just shut up, “But I guess you won’t calm down unless I confront Valdemar…”

Valdemar heard someone go downstairs and, assuming that person was Vlastomil, they said, pissed, “Praetor, how many times do I have to tell you-” they stopped midsentence once they saw MC in front of them.

Even though MC couldn’t see it because of Valdemar’s surgical mask they were grinning from ear to ear. They’re finally back.

MC wanted to exult on Valdemar, to tell them how they were right. They can’t take care of themselves without MC, and they know it, but they decided not to say that. The last thing they need is for Valdemar to get petty. 

“Were you mean to others while I was away?” MC asked as they hugged Valdemar, tracing their spine with their fingertips, something they knew Valdemar loved.

“No,” they said as they ran their hands through MC’s hair, enjoying the scent of sea salt.

“Are you lying to me?” MC asked, looking at Valdemar straight in the eyes.

“Perhaps~,” they said with a mischievous grin.

[blu-joons]

He Meets Your Parents ~ Kim Seokjin

You were terrified when Jin suggested it was about time the two of you met each other’s parents, it was a subject you tried to put off for so long, it wasn’t that you didn’t want for Jin to meet your parents, they were just quite difficult people to get along with, not everyone got on so well with them.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, if you’re as serious about I am in our relationship then I think now is a good time for the two of us to meet their parents,” he spoke time and time again.

When the time came, you were scared, the whole car ride to your parent’s house was silent, your nerves were building, heart pounding. Jin knew you were anxious, but he was never going to let his parents change anything between the two of you.

You tried to prepare him for the type of people they were, their humour had to be tolerated, it took  a unique person to smile, they could be perceived not so well sometimes, something had definitely effected your previous relationships when you bought boyfriends home to your parents.

His hand slid into yours as you walked up the driveway to their home, your dad had clearly tidied the place up, desperate to make a good first impression. “It’s all going to be alright,” he whispered into your ear as you rang the doorbell, waiting a few moments before the door opened.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you sweetheart, and you must be Seokjin.”

“I am, it’s lovely to meet you Mrs Y/L/N, I’ve been waiting a while to meet you.”

She opened the front door further, where you father stood to greet you with a hug, before offering his hand for Jin to shake, keeping to his usual formalities.

You tried to ignore it, leading Jin into the living room, sitting on the two-seater sofa that your parents had since you were little. He rested his arm around your shoulders, keeping his usual, confident charm. “Well, nothing’s gone wrong just yet, maybe this won’t be so bad.”

Your eyes rolled, you failed to have the same optimism. You knew your parents, things never went well for long, someone would say something, or do something, it was just a matter of time until it happened.

Your parents entered the room a few moments later, small smiles on their faces, your father dragged in a tray with drinks and a few biscuits.

“You’re a brave man Jin,” your father spoke, handing him a mug.

“Am I?”

Your father nodded, winking across at you. “She’s a handful our Y/N, anyone who wants to be with her must have a heart of gold.”

The first comment, as expected, making you sigh, leaning back on the sofa. Jin looked down at you with a frown, your father’s remark was harmless, or so he thought, but Jin could tell that it hurt you more than you wanted to let on.

“It’s an easy job being with Y/N, she’s brilliant, I’m a lucky guy sir,” he replied, nodding to back up the point he made. “She’s a credit to you both.”

“Well, that’s a first,” he chuckled, turning away from you both.

You looked across at Jin, weakly smiling as an apology for your parent’s behaviour. His shoulder shrugged, his own parents weren’t perfect, as long as he smiled, things would be just fine.

“I’m sorry if they’re making you awkward or anything, they’re quite set in their ways, the tea and biscuits is a must when you come to visit,” you informed him, taking a sip from the mug that your mother left on the coffee table for you.

“Don’t worry about it, you warned me, and I told you that things would be alright. You’ve still got to meet my parents,” he teased, pulling you across to kiss the side of your face.

As he did, your parents came back into the room, your mother rolled her eyes, and you could tell as you looked across at your father you could tell he was trying hard to bite his tongue. They sat on the opposite sofa, crossing their legs and their arms across their chests.

You slid your hand into Jin’s, moving away from him awaiting the next comment from them both. “So, Jin, Y/N tells me you’re an idol, quite successful in comparison to her, would you say you’re capable of looking after her, she’s quite a handful at times, and we want to make sure she has someone with her who will be with her?” Your father asked.

Jin squeezed your hand lightly to keep your calm. “Jin works hard dad, but he takes excellent care of me, I’m proud of all that he’s achieving.”

“Exactly, and I spend all the time I can with her,” he added, making sure to keep eye contact with your parents, making sure they knew how serious he was. “Y/N is successful in her own right too, her career is going really well, did she tell you that she just got a promotion?”

Your mother nodded, but still had a lack of enthusiasm. “Yes, she’s doing well for herself, she’s never dated anyone more successful than her, maybe she’s finally found her worth dating someone like you, some of the others were awful.”

You sighed, giving Jin yet another apologetic look, but he didn’t mind, somewhere in that he knew there was a compliment, being giving the honour of the most successful boyfriend you’d ever had was a good thing in your parent’s eyes.

The four of you sat in the living room for a couple more hours, firing questions at Jin, making sure that he was good enough for you. They loved to intimidate your boyfriends, but after a few jokes and smiles, Jin had them smiling, for once.

Time soon passed, and with an early rehearsal tomorrow morning, Jin decided to bring an end to the occasion. “I think it’s time we head off Y/N, it’s getting late now.”

“You must be a very busy man Jin.”

Your parents stood up, and then the two of you did, all exchanging hugs and goodbyes, they led you to the front door, stopping in the doorway. “It was lovely to see you Y/N, and even more lovely to meet you Jin, you’re a good one.”

You waved goodbye, walking back to the car, sliding into the passenger seat. Jin got in after, closing your door before getting in, calling one last goodbye to your parents before turning away off of the driveway.

“Well, that could have gone worse,” you chuckled, throwing your head back in relief that it was all over. “At least they seem to like you, much more than they like me.”

“Don’t say that, they love you.”

“Jin, you heard the things they said.”

He sighed, resting his hand on your thigh. “I know, but they don’t mean to upset you, they probably just wanted to impress me. I told you, meeting your parents has only made me love you more, I can’t wait for you to meet my parents now.”

Your smile grew, looking across at him. “Well, they can’t be any worse than mine.”

His eyebrows raised, creating a panic inside of you, if his parents were anywhere near similar to your parents then you were going to be in for a hard time. Jin could tell you were worried, squeezing against your leg.

“Don’t worry, they’ll love you, just like I do.”

---

Masterlist

[hirayaea]

ikesen fic - the inevitable correction of treading through time (chapter 2)

Summary: You and Sasuke decide to make the timeline as close to your reality the only way you know how: by making sure the the Tokugawa Shogunate happens, no matter how many tries it takes.

— ieyasu/mc — "Ieyasu-sama has always been so ambitious," Mitsunari's tone is praising, but there is a mettle in his voice you cannot recognise.

[AO3]

[Prologue] [Chapter 1] 

正しい時代

"There was a timeline where Nobunaga became Shogun," you tell Sasuke one night, after the adrenaline from the assassination attempt had passed. Ieyasu and Masamune had gone out to reassign guards, and you were left under Sasuke’s care.

The candlelight emphasized the dark circles under Sasuke’s eyes, but still they lit up in interest. “That would be quite a timeline. Nobunaga-sama was known not to respect the authority of the Imperial Court, and being Shogun would have meant he had to be at least civil with them.”

You laugh. “Oh, he still wasn’t.” You remember participating in meetings where the Imperial Adviser would be livid; half the time he would be storming out of Azuchi with smoke coming out of his ears. It was mildly funny until they attempted to burn down the castle.

“The court probably got tired of the power struggle and they poisoned him,” your chest tightens at this memory; Nobunaga was never easy to let go of, and you remember cradling his head on the night he took his last breath.

“It was the sake. From the Emperor himself. Although he probably didn’t have anything to do with it. Ieyasu didn’t sleep for a week, trying to make an antidote,” you pull the memory into color, trying to erase the hurt that overwhelms you as you feel Nobunaga’s touch cradling your face. “But not even Nobunaga is immortal. He told me to take care of Ieyasu because I’m, apparently, the most capable person in Azuchi.”

The purse of Sasuke’s lips are grim. “Nobunaga’s death seems to be a consistent event in all timelines.” He adjusts his glasses. “It is interesting how he always leaves his final will to you, the creator of the original time paradox. By accepting Nobunaga’s death, we bring closer this timeline to our original one.”

You’ve come to realize this truth ages ago, but that doesn’t mean you’ve accepted it. “Ieyasu will never become Shogun if Nobunaga is alive.”

“That is logical.” Sasuke tilts his head. “Will it happen with Hideyoshi still alive?”

You shake your head. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been to a timeline where Hideyoshi died.”

“Historically they both died before the events leading to the Tokugawa shogunate even happened.”

Of course you knew that; it was ingrained in you in every history class: stories about the Three Great Unifiers. The three rays of light of the Sengoku period, whose efforts paved the way to make Japan the country it was in your future. Nobunaga dreamed of peace, Hideyoshi fought for it, and Ieyasu attained it. The political intrigue of the period was the favorite subject of scholars and artists alike. Yet you’ve never heard of the events of your current timeline come to pass. “Did Hideyoshi ever try to have Ieyasu assassinated?”

“Not that I recall. There were rumors that the Tokugawa retainers wanted to assassinate Hideyoshi, not the other way around. But Ieyasu-san wouldn’t have it.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” you say, because it is the truth. You know Ieyasu best, after all.

別の時代

It was almost winter, and yet Nobunaga has shown no sign of replying to the Emperor.

The Allied Azuchi Forces (a term Sasuke coined) are torn.

Hideyoshi, Mitsunari and surprisingly, Mitsuhide, seem to be all for the idea. Masamune, unsurprisingly, just said he didn’t mind no matter what happened as long as some action came out of it.

And Ieyasu? He was the only one vocally against it.

“It’s not right to go against the Ashikaga at this point,” he explains over dinner. “They’ve secured the seat of the shogunate and Nobunaga has endorsed them. Accepting the Imperial Court’s offer would be dishonourable.”

“Even if it’s the order of the Emperor?”

"They would just think we're making excuses." He pokes at the boiled fish on his plate, tasting a piece before making a face. "Besides, what is honourable is the same, no matter the circumstances or the situation."

You can't help but smile; that was such an Ieyasu thing to say. You open the small jar of spices and pinch some between your fingers.

"Teach me," you say, sprinkling the spice over his fish, "About honour."

Ieyasu scoffs, but you see the embarrassment he is masking. He spreads the spices on the fish using his chopsticks. "What needs to be taught? That's something even a young boy would know."

You glare at him. "In case you forgot, I didn't grow up here," and you make sure to emphasise the words, as if he would forget what they meant. "Besides, my honour and your honour might mean differently."

"That shouldn't be," he says before he takes a bite. You're sure he's content on how spicy it is because he doesn't even glance at the spice jar when you put it down.

You're not sure how to get your point across, so you start with the most uncomfortable thing you can think of: "People during my time don't kill themselves for honour, anymore."

That makes his chopsticks stop in mid-air.

"That just means," he begins, suddenly looking pensive, "That you come from a time where honor can be regained."

Ieyasu begins eating again, but his words have made you pause. “I...” you trail off with a tight feeling in your chest—then, with a burst of color, you recall 21st century Japan: modern, unique, full of opportunities. You think of your first job, fresh out of college, as a clerk in a department store, folding clothes, dreaming of cutting them up and creating something new. You think of your younger self, drawing clothes in the dark corner of a small apartment, knowing someday someone would recognize your work. You think of the day you got transported to the Sengoku, the day you felt your honor was restored because amidst all the discouragement and disbelief, you landed the job you always wanted.

That fateful day, your chest was white-hot with confidence. I'm becoming a fashion designer! But it was more than that.

That day, you felt like you could be anything.

People of the Sengoku had no opportunities to rise to the top. The chances they had in life were decided according to their social class, something unchangeable the moment they were born.

“I never thought of it that way,” you say honestly. "I feel a little silly for taking my Japan for granted."

To your surprise, Ieyasu brightens. "If yours is the future we are fighting for... then these wars are worth it. I would like to see my country have lasting peace, where people can grow and be honorable while being themselves."

The rare, soft smile on his face almost makes you cry.

You take his hand. Your throat is tight, but still you say, "We'll get there."

Ieyasu closes his eyes. His hand tightens around yours.

"Yeah."

正しい時代

Ever since you told them who the mastermind behind the assassinations were, you knew you entered uncharted waters again; a new timeline you have to live through for the first time. You stare at this new Ieyasu, the Ieyasu who proposed his intent make you his wife, and feel the fatigue of time traveling ebb away. All the moments together from this point on feel like accomplishments, and you wonder how much more you need to do in order for this to become your everyday.

Correction: now, you actually know what to do.

You present your ideas to Ieyasu, who, as always, takes working with other people with great reluctance.

"I don't understand," he tells you again, "Why we need ask help from them. They're practically the enemy."

There are many retorts you can say to this, but you choose: "They're not, in the greater scheme of things." You know choosing the high road will win an argument with Ieyasu; after all, he's always righteous... despite the thick sarcasm. "Besides, I don't know everything anymore. The more allies we have in this timeline, the better."

You squeeze his hand, trying to look casual as the two of you wander through the marketplace. Summer rains have made the ground damp and the air cold, but Azuchi is as lively as ever.

You see a familiar stall of women's accessories at the end of the merchant's row.

"Sasuke-kun! Yuki-san!"

As you approach, you see the two men turn towards your call. Sasuke does a small wave. Yukimura's eyes brighten when he sees you, but it all goes south when he spots Ieyasu.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

You hope Ieyasu won't take the bait, but he and Yukimura have always been able to get on each other's nerves even during peace negotiations. "I should be asking you that question. You're the one infiltrating Azuchi."

"Yeah, well, it's not that difficult to."

"Please. You only haven't been captured because you're not worth the time."

"What, you wanna go?"

You know you should break up the fight and tell them to behave, because there are more important things going on right now, but no anger swells in your chest. Instead, you look at Yuki’s scrunched eyebrows and at Ieyasu’s pursed frown and laugh out loud.

“I forgot how similar you two are,” is what you say first.

“W-what are you saying?!” and “Please, I’m not an idiot.” are the responses to your fond declaration. From the corner of your eye, you see Sasuke smile.

“Is this a constant?” He asks you, while Ieyasu and Yukimura bicker in the background.

You close your eyes.

Masamune. Sasuke. Yukimura.

In every repetition, you have determined who to trust.

Masamune would never betray Ieyasu.

Yukimura would never betray Sasuke.

Sasuke would never betray you.

It may be imperfect logic to determine your allies based on what the Sengoku period considers as loyalty, but you remember what Ieyasu taught you: what is honourable is the same, no matter what the situation.

You smile at Sasuke.

Maybe it works the same for a concept like friendship, too.

思い出

The clues that led you to discover Ieyasu's nemesis were scattered throughout the timelines.

In one of the your repititions, you decide to put more of an effort in understanding how Sengoku politics worked.

Perhaps, you thought, having a tactician's knowledge of how clans plotted against each other would give you an insight of who was trying to assassinate your most important person.

Mitsunari was the obvious option for a teacher. It was difficult to explain to him why you wanted such detailed backgrounds on every clan known to Japan, but when you visited him in the Azuchi library, he took the work with his usual academic enthusiasm.

"Ieyasu-sama's history is quite complicated," he begins, "He was sent by his family to become a member of the Imagawa. The Imagawa educated him, but didn't treat him as one of their own. In the end, he felt no loyalty to them, and became allied with Nobunaga-sama because when the Oda opposed the Imagawa."

You nod. You know this part by heart, thanks to Sasuke's occasional bursts of Sengoku 101 facts. Facts about Ieyasu were far by his—and, unashamedly, your—favorite. At the back of your mind, you wonder if you should have invited him when you approached Mitsunari.

"Ieyasu-sama has always been so ambitious," Mitsunari's tone is praising, but there is a mettle in his voice you cannot recognise. "His ideas and leadership prowess cannot be questioned. His strength, however, has always been his patience. He waits for the opportune moment to move. Waits for the right moment to create allies."

Mitsunari stills, and for a moment you think he will hesitate, but with the professionalism of a scholar he continues.

"He also waits for the right moment to betray them."

Every fibre in your body wants to argue, to be on the defensive. However, at this point you knew that any crack in your demeanor could work against you. Against Ieyasu. Instead of making a fit, you clench your hands and rise.

Mitsunari is not wrong.

You knew, of course, that like all clans in this era, the Tokugawa shifted through enemies and allies as fast as gamblers traded cards. Mitsunari was probably referring to the time Ieyasu had fought wars for the Imagawa before betraying them for Nobunaga.

He was called a traitor to Mikawa by many. But you knew the truth. Ieyasu loved Mikawa. His eyes were calmer when he saw the soft light of the eastern sun hit the farmlands. His eyes lit up when he saw the glittering of Aichi's sea.

Out of all his conquests, Ieyasu fought against the Imagawa because he was loyal to the people of Mikawa.

Once Ieyasu decided he would be loyal to something, you knew it in your heart—he would probably be loyal to it forever.

Turning away from Mitsunari, this certainty is what makes you finally say, "Ieyasu would never do that to the Oda."

The silence is thick until you hear him close his book. He settles it atop of the table you both used. When you glance at him, you could see the lines of a general on his face, deep wrinkles of knowledge that were not there before. When was the last time you saw his sweet angel smile, you absently think, as you watch him remove his glasses and stand.

You realise the conversation had turned dark. You decide to change the topic, hoping Mitsunari would accompany you for some afternoon sweets.

The invitation never leaves your lips.

"I believe you," he finally replies, looking you straight in the eyes, "but don't expect everyone to."

正しい時代

"Teach me," You say again, like a lifetime before, "About honour."

This time, Ieyasu's cheeks turn red. You sense his urge to brush you off, but you suppose after his proposal he realises that it would be futile to try and push you away. He lies on his back on the futon you two share and takes your hand from under the sheets.

"Right now, you're chatelaine of Azuchi," he begins, "and Nobunaga has entrusted you with not just the castle, but also the town."

"Well, that would be stretching it a bit," you reply, "He entrusted me to take care of you and the others, whom he entrusted the castle and the town to."

Ieyasu shakes his head. "He sent his will to you, and no one else. Among all of us, that makes you the bearer of his ambitions."

The weight of your role has not been put in words this clearly before, and you realise it is probably because this is the first time you've had this conversation.

Then, he continues, "You, the bearer of his will, and I, the one tasked to accomplished it... we're, well," he looks away, covers his mouth with a hand, and coughs, "involved."

You laugh. "I believe you called me your future wife."

The flush is still on his cheeks. "What? I'm not taking it back."

“And I'm not going anywhere until it happens."

He looks at you as if he didn't expect you to say that, but instead he says, "I know that." Then, still red-faced, he continues, "Anyway. The point is, we both have power in Azuchi."

"Also we're lovers."

Ieyasu sputters, but agrees. "And right now, we're probably the two most influential people in the castle."

You nod; that much was true. With everyone except Masamune back in their own domains, you and Ieyasu made all the major decisions—based on Nobunaga's will, of course.

Ieyasu was getting somewhere with this exposition. "Now, Azuchi has a farm to feed it, an army to protect it, and people to live in it. If you were to give up two of those and only leave one remaining, which one would you choose?"

"That's easy: the people, of course."

"You'd be surprised how it's not so easy for others to make that answer." Ieyasu pursed his lips. "Alright, you've chosen to protect the people. As a leader, that's honourable. What if someone you respected decided otherwise?"

"Well, that depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On who it is."

You can sense his frustration with your tangential answers, but his patience with you does not falter. Pinching his nose, Ieyasu clarifies, "What if it was Masamune? He wants to prioritise the farm."

You scoff, "I don't think he'd want to do that..." but the look on Ieyasu's face reminds you to stay on topic. "Well, I'd fight him on it."

"Good. What if it was Hideyoshi?"

"I'd still fight him on it."

"What if it was Mitsuhide?"

"I'd be scared, but I'd still fight for the people to be the most important."

Ieyasu looked pleased. From his lying position, he turns to you and curls his fingers by your cheek. Your breath hitches as he leans in. You expect intimacy, but instead, in quiet voice he continues,

"What if it was me?"

別の時代

"Run, Princess!"

Masamune's voice is shrill throughout the gunfire. Heat from the flames burn your skin and your senses are overwhelmed by desperation.

"Ieyasu," you're able to shout, "Where's Ieyasu?"

It's not the first time you've been in the heart of a battlefield, but the fatigue is catching up to you. The hands that hold your bow and arrow are shaking, and your lungs feel like they're grating against your ribcage.

Your eyes dart around the area quickly. The smoke is so thick, you can barely see past what your hand can reach.

Panic slowly fills up in your chest.

You're not ready to give up this timeline, you think. You don't want to go through Ieyasu dying again.

"Are you okay?"

Sasuke suddenly appears next to you, kunai at the ready. He casually throws a knife to an enemy soldier five feet away; the knife lodges in the man's forehead, and he drops dead. "Did you get separated from Ieyasu?"

You nod. "When the first gunshot blew up the carriage, he pushed me out of the way. I was with Masamune for a while, but..."

You don't need to say anything more. Sasuke takes your hand and pulls you from the battlefield, into a small clearing covered by trees.

"The next wormhole will appear in Rinzaiji Temple in three days," he says matter-of-factly. As if you were conversing in a safe place, Sasuke cautiously removes his glasses and wipes them against his gi. "If you leave now, you will make it in time."

The suggestion is logical, but you instinctively rebel against it. "We're not even sure if Ieyasu is dead yet," you grit out. "We're so close, Sasuke. Just a little more, and I think I can find out who—"

Several gunshots interrupt your thought, and your head snaps back to the carnage.

You will forever remember that moment. How, with lightning clarity, you saw him. The smoke and the flames parted, and by some god's will there was a straight path from you to Ieyasu. Everything else was white noise. Suddenly nothing else mattered.

You take in his outline: his arm is bent in an odd angle and there is blood spilling from his shoulder. His hands are empty and his sword is nowhere to be found.

He got shot, is what you first think, and your knees automatically brace for a run.

"Princess," Sasuke holds you back, "This timeline may be a lost cause."

You rip your arm away from his grip. "Even if that may be true, I can't just leave Ieyasu."

"The statistical chances of saving him right now are close to zero. However, if we proceed to Rinzaiji and you time jump, we start on a clean slate."

A part of you is angry you are wasting time conversing with Sasuke, but the experienced time traveler in you rationalises the idea.

Before you are able to process any decision, however, you notice there has been a change in the background noise of the battle. A part of the field has gone quiet, and you see three samurai on horses approach Ieyasu.

You feel yourself go cold. "Who... who is that?"

They carried Nobunaga's flag and wore armour so black they would blend in with the night. Their kabuto helmets were the color of a dark void. Their outlines would have been unfamiliar, but you lived long enough in Azuchi to recognise mannerisms and movements.

Your heart cannot believe who they are, but your mind acknowledges it to be true.

You can see Ieyasu's lips moving, can see the proud tilt of his chin stay firm as he speaks to his enemy. His opposite hand is attempting to compress the wound on his shoulder, but the blood gushes out of its own accord, dripping down to the soil. Despite this, he stands up with all the regality and grace you have come to know him for.

Sasuke senses the danger that you refuse to acknowledge. "I do not advise we stay around to watch," his voice is soft as he takes your hand. He attempts to guide you away, but it lacks his actual strength. You imagine he also cannot tear his eyes away.

As the next events unfold, you think of a million things.

Maybe it would be different if you listened to your heart minutes earlier.

Maybe this timeline was the one you shouldn't have given up on.

Maybe you could've saved him.

Maybe this time, Ieyasu could've lived.

You wish you could say you ran to him. You wish you could say you broke through the bushes and tried to stop what was about to happen.

But you did nothing.

One of the samurai drew his sword.

正しい時代

"What if it was me?"

You're not sure if this is a trick question. You and Ieyasu have always been similar-minded when it came to policies, and it was rare you disagreed with each other in a war council.

"I would convince you to see my point," you answer finally.

He shook his head. "Negotiations are noble, but often fruitless. And if I stood my ground?"

You lean into his touch. You're not sure what he wants to prove, but your answer is set.

"I am your future wife. If you go astray, it is my duty to protect the integrity of your ambitions."

If Ieyasu is shocked by your answer, he doesn't show it. Instead he smiles, and it is gentle and true, so much like when he brought you on the flower field and admitted he loved you.

He kisses your forehead.

"Good."

思い出

Everything was a blur after, when you ran towards Rinzaiji, towards the wormhole.

Still, you remember screaming when Hideyoshi took Ieyasu's head.

[/Chapter 2]

[Prologue] [Chapter 1] 

[cavaliant]

10 for everyone for Max Positivity

10. What do you love about your muse?

Wow you’re really out here wilding with the meme asks again LMAO.

There’s a couple charas on here that I don’t know if I’d say I LOVE love but I do like all of them and tried to think about the thing that draws me to them the most.

Asaello: Brusque with a soft centre might be done to death but I still love it

Balthus: :/ he’s big, he’s dumb, he cares a lot for his friends and family. Gotta love those boisterous bruisers who are cocky yet super sincere about caring for and supporting their loved ones

Beowolf: The conflict between the careless (both as in rash and as in lacking care about things) mercenary he presents himself as and the more sentimental side he can show despite that. How he really just does not give a shit about some things but really, actually does give a shit about others. You already know this but playful flirty joker with hidden depths (who cares more than they let on, who can be surprisingly serious sometimes) is my absolute fave 😔

Diarmuid: He’s very...normal and placid compared to the rest of his family lmfao. A child’s longing for family and pressure to live up to them is something common to characters in Jugdral but I still like exploring it with him in particular ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He’s one of the most stable and mature of the children imo so while that can make him flat I also like to think about how much of it is purposeful and how much is instinctive. How did the circumstances he grew up in shape his personality/demeanour today?

Fergus: Another playful misfit who cares more than he lets on :/ ready to throw down to the death but also ready to listen and protect. The whole secret holy royal bastard in hiding but living on the wild side while still ostensibly in hiding is pretty fun. This goes for most Thracia charas but there’s a lot of room to just make shit up to fill in the gaps in their stories and Fergus’ life really has the potential for some truly wild theories/times ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Fred: I like that he actually stops with his commander like she’s an equal to evaluate and think for themselves where their morals stand and if they truly want to keep going along with what their country is doing when it goes against those morals. I also like that he was willing to yell at Kempf and storm a fortress alone but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Homer: He doesn’t hit my hidden depths love as hard as the others but :/ sometimes it doesn’t need to be that deep. It’s just fun to fuck around with him lmao.

Jamke: He’s just a guy who’d rather be with trees than people and I respect that ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Verdane as a whole interests me bc it really gets fucked over even for Jugdral and :/ Jamke did kinda betray his brothers and country! Even if they were assholes it took him a while to commit to doing it for what he felt was right and I’m sure he felt some regret over their deaths. Also Jamke-Dew-Edain dream team lmao. They’re so funny...

Lachesis: Her growth as a character! She goes from a sheltered, inexperienced princess to a fierce warrior, someone who had to depend on others to fight for her (and hated it) to a master knight who wanted to take everything onto her own shoulders. A baby sister to a mother/mother figure who would move the world for her children but doesn’t always understand that sometimes they just need simpler things than superhuman feats. She’s someone who will bite the head off of someone and then coo endless praise for her loved ones in the same breath. She’s flawed and messy but she loves so deeply and is so fiercely passionate and 😔 I love her. Truly a lionheart.

Machyua: Ok past all the Filipina jokes there’s really not much to say here lmao. She’s a cool big sis with an axe. No secret hidden angst or wild backstory or whatever, she’s just there to support her Magi pals and do good.

Miranda: Child rulers aren’t uncommon in FE either but :/ I still like to look at the stress of being a ruler forcing her to grow up too fast and act far older than her age. While at the same time still having some childish remnants in her behaviour and desires. I love her fire but it also makes me sad how quickly it’s extinguished.

Oscar: It’s not that deep here either ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I just like older bro figures. And guys who can cook.

Ranulf: He somehow manages to strike a perfect balance between chill and responsible, joking and serious, brave but also cautious. He’s one of Gallia’s highest ranking warriors but he still goes out of his way to cheer up others. He’s one of the most even-keeled characters in the series and I respect him a lot even if idk if I’d call it LOVE TO DEATH.

Reinhardt: I guess I should say something for the og muse of this blog :/// it’s interesting to formulate my own theories about why he became the way he is. What drives someone to fall apart so completely like he does? The contrast and intersections between the composed, fearsome general of Friege, the model older brother, the fawning servant, and the pitiful man who would rather die by his sister’s hand than live for anything any longer are fascinating to me. Not that you would know from my recent posts since I now crack it up more often than not but :/

Shannan: Another big bro figure :/ a sad one. One incident so drastically changed his entire sense of priorities and the person he grew up to be and :c it makes me sad. I’m a sucker for sad tired older bros who try to hide their sad and older chara surrounded by younger ones too.

Sigurd: My love who I absolutely did not expect to become my love owo;; I love his love, passion, naïveté, his innocent desire to help people and do what’s right...and how absolutely dumb and lacking in foresight he is and how he doesn’t escape consequences for it :///

Thor: They’re really just here to mess around in Rein’s body bc I thought it’d be funny :/ and to be weird fluffy dragon gramps

Tibarn: Another one I’m not sure I’d say I ADORE but his interactions on here have been pretty fun. That’s pretty much the case for all the muses like this lmao. I like their character but it’s their relationships/interactions with others that drives me to keep them going. About Tibs specifically though I like that he’s a fearsome warrior and king but is capable of great understanding and gentleness.

Zelgius: Again the contrast between different, contradicting sides--the upstanding general and the cruel executioner, the honourable knight and the selfish groomer, the idea that Black Knight and Zelgius are both one and the same. That no matter the circumstances under which he became Black Knight, he was still the person behind the helmet who committed those deeds. What drives someone to vary so radically in their actions? How can the two sides (which sometimes start to overlap and blur into each other more as time goes on) be fit into a single person? Those are the things I want to explore with him (even though I also end up shitposting a lot with him :/ smh @ me)

[shay-del-rey]

Behind Blue Eyes | Steve Rogers x Reader

Rating: T (minor offensive language used)

Words: 1505 (Sorry for the length!) 

Summary: One of our favourite super soldiers has a hard time adjusting to this time period...until he meets someone very special. (Crappy summary, story is a bit better!) 

A/N: So I’ve been trying to shake off the whole writer’s block thing and this story just flowed so I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Also, pure, tooth rotting kinda fluff. 

THE world had changed so much from when Steve Rogers first knew it. It wasn’t just the landscape that had undergone a drastic makeover since the 40s, but the people too.

Him? Sometimes, he swore he was still frozen in ice. That the world kept changing around him while he remained the same. Timeless, unchanging, unmoving, unfeeling.

Being Captain America was distracting at best. It gave him a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging, as far as his skills were concerned anyway.

As a person, he was still trying to figure things out. Bucky was his anchor, a way for him to remain connected to the past he was torn away from so violently. All that he was, all that he loved, seemed lost, just like his motivation to stop and take in the moment.

That all changed when he was out for a run that morning. Leaving the Avengers compound and having a heart pumping run around the park was the perfect way to lose himself. Such an ordinary activity that made him feel at least some semblance of connection to this age.

A sudden squabble between two men caught his attention and he only looked away for a second before he heard the sound of a dog bark and he collided with someone. The fall was inevitable but Steve quickly brought his arms around the other person’s frame so that his body could cushion the fall.

He took in the person laying across his chest, their legs tangled and a walking stick lying in the distance. A golden retriever trotted over and started whining and nudging his owner.

“Are you okay, Ma’am?” Steve asked, noting she kept her eyes shut tightly as she felt around and petted the dog.

“I’m fine,” she said before making a move to move her body. Her eyes were still closed as she searched the ground. Steve grew confused before his eyes caught sight of a pair of glasses and the walking stick.

He gently retrieved the sunnies before placing them in her hand and grabbed the walking stick as he helped her up.

“Thank you for this, Mr –

“Steve Rogers.”

“Mr Steve Rogers. Thank you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It really wasn’t. I’m sorry, I bumped into you.”

Just then, a sharp bark rang out and the stranger in front of Steve laughed. “I haven’t forgotten you, Jasper.” She bent to pet him again and took a hold of his leash.

Standing, she frowned. “Wait, Steve Rogers. Why does that sound so familiar?”

Gasping suddenly, she spoke before Steve could. “Captain America?!”  

Steve smiled. “Yes, Ma’am.”

She laughed, the sound so pure and full of uninhibited joy that Steve found himself melting. “You sound like one of my students. I’m Y/N,” she said before extending a hand forward.

“Pleased to meet you, Y/N.”

“And this is Jasper, the most special boy in my life,” she said, gesturing to the canine looking up at Steve when he knelt and petted him.

“I am honoured to meet you both.”

“So what brings you out here, Mr Rogers?”

“I usually run in the mornings. The only time of the day I have some peace and quiet before work.”

Y/N pursed her lips as she smiled, deep in thought. “I know that feeling. Usually I’m surrounded by the little ones and this is the only time when I can actually come out, think, enjoy the morning air.”

“Are you a teacher then?”

“Yes. Not the most exciting job in the world but I love what I do.”

“You’re inspiring the next generation. I think teaching is a wonderful career.”

The smile Y/N gave him made his heart skip a beat. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to let go of her so very soon. But what could he go to –

“Say, Mr Rogers. Would you like to get a coffee with me? There’s a wonderful cafe just five minutes from here and their muffins are absolutely wonderful.”

“I’d love to. And please, call me Steve.”

IT had been six months since that fateful day. Every day with Y/N was like a new adventure for Steve. And as she lay in Steve’s arms that morning, he couldn’t help but remember how she had made him feel so human since she met him.

They had been at an Italian restaurant after Steve returned from one of his missions when Y/N had confided him about her visual impairment.

“I was 16, had gradually started to lose my eyesight for a while. The doctors couldn’t explain it and when it happened, I guess no one could have done anything to stop it. It was hard at first, I’m not going to lie. Just realising that I’d never get to see the sunset, the autumn colours, the colour of my boyfriend’s eyes, it was heartbreaking. I got used to it though. I guess there came a time when I decided I couldn’t just sit around and mope. I needed to get out there and change the world, in my own way. Hence, the teaching job.”

Steve held her hand and laid a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “And what a brilliant job you have done, Y/N. You’re a real superhero for never giving up on your dreams.”

She smiled before he spoke again. “Blue.”

“Sorry?”

“My eyes. They’re blue.”

A cheeky smile on her lips. “Oh, so you’re my boyfriend?”

“As long as you want me, doll.”

She smiled shyly before entwining their fingers together. “I bet you have the most beautiful blue eyes, Stevie...and a very beautiful butt too,” she said before laughing as he blushed and shook his head.

He still blushed when he thought about how raucously Y/N had laughed when Steve was hesitant to kiss her for the first time.

“I just...I don’t want to hurt you.”

Y/N had laughed out loud. “Stevie, just because I can’t see, doesn’t mean I don’t want you to kiss the daylights out of me. Geddit?”

He groaned. “You are going to me the death of me, doll.”

“Oh, but what a fun way to go, Captain,” she said before straddling his lap. She framed his face between her hands and brought her lips to his gently, moving away after biting his lower lip.

“Don’t go all shy on me now, Wonder Boy. Show me what a super soldier is capable of,” she said, smirking.

As Steve traced her jawline with his finger, he couldn’t help but remember the exact moment she had won his heart.

“What’s wrong, Steve?” Y/N had asked when he walked into her apartment, physically and mentally exhausted from the mission.

“Nothing,” he had mumbled when she swatted his arm and settled beside him on the couch. In the background, Jasper barked and ran around, excitedly playing with the new toy Steve had bought for him.

“Don’t you nothing me, Steven Rogers. Come on, baby, I can feel you hurting from here.”

He sighed and laid his back against her chest, one of her hands instantly laying on his chest while the other ran through his hair, massaging his scalp gently.

“I feel lost.”

Humming, she urged for him to continue, dropping butterfly kisses on his temple as Steve spoke.

“Everything is so different. No matter how much I try, there’s just so much to do, so much to know. Work side, I find that everything is okay. It is my skill set, so there’s no problem there. I find it so hard relating to people, finding someone who understands. I mean, I don’t mean you, that’s not what I , I messed this up again, didn’t I?”

“Ssshh, Stevie. You didn’t mess anything. It’s okay. No can, well, aside from Bucky, but I don’t think anyone can understand what you went through, what you are going through. You are hurting, my love. It will take time. You need to give it time. I know that’s asking for a lot. Just be patient. Focus on the friends you have now. Talk to them, talk to me, we’re all here for you.”

He turned in her arms and kissed her.

“I’m glad I have you.”

She smiled radiantly. “You always have me.”

Sunlight streaming in your room, Y/N stirred awake and stretched, a content smile on her face as she turned to face Steve.

“How long have you been awake?”

Steve’s eyes widened. “How’d you know I was awake?”

“I have spider senses.”

“Should I call you Spider Woman now?”

“Nah, just Y/N is fine. What time is it?”

“9.”

“Great, so breakfast? I’ll get started on pancakes.”

“I’ll help.”

She sat up, a concerned look on her face. “Are you okay, my love?”

Steve smiled, his heart bursting with love for this amazing woman. Dropping a kiss on her lips, he nuzzled her. “I’ve been more okay since you came into my life.”

Y/N snorted. “So fucking corny.”

“Language!”

“Kiss my ass, Captain,” she said, laughing before she walked to the kitchen.

God, he loved that woman. 

[thecrookedgavel]

The Crooked Gavel - Ep 1 Transcript

Here is the transcript for Episode 1 of the queer audio drama - The Crooked Gavel. 

Audio of the episodes can be found here

Episode 1 Transcript

Credits Voice: You are listening to episode 1 of The Crooked Gavel: A 1920’s tale of court drama and lesbian romance, produced by Crooked Gavel Productions. This episode contains a scene of sexual assault, please look after yourself while listening.

Alice: I need an Earl Grey tea with just a bit of milk. It’s for Miss Paprika over at table 7, so make sure it’s cooled off a bit before I take it over to her!

Harry: Thank you, Alice. One noodle juice with a splash, less of a quilt and more of a bedsheet, on the way.

Alice: So as I was saying, my Daddy’s doing just fine, thanks for asking. He’s still working hard as headmaster and loving it. He did say he’s missing having you around in his last letter though, if that’s what you were wondering about.

Harry: *laughs* well if I’ve got to be honest, I was wondering just that. Some days, I miss teaching those little Joe Brooks, but making java and beating my gums with other intellectuals is the place to be. *sigh* Last time your father was here from Texas, we saw a Yankees game together. Say, did you listen to this week’s game? Hot dawg, I tell you, it had me jumping!

Alice: Oh no, Mr. Tarragon. I don’t much care for baseball. Never really interested me at all. The way you men drone on and on about it… Why, I am likely to be bored to tears.

Harry: Oh, come now, in my experience, everyone loves baseball. Even the ladies!

Alice: Only when they’re trying to impress a big timer.

Harry: In that case, you’d do well to learn a bit about baseball to aid you in your search for a husband.

Alice: Oh, Mr Tarragon, I’m not exactly husband hunting at the moment.

Harry: Really? Then what are you here in Brooklyn looking for? And please, give me a straight answer this time.

Alice: Well, inspiration. Direction. Belonging. Living in Texas just wasn’t for me. I found big city life to be very appealing. I’m sure you know the feeling.

Harry: You got me there. It took me a while to find where I fit in. But running The Crooked Gavel seems to suit me just fine. I do hope you find what you’re looking for. Order up!

Alice: Thank you Mr Tarragon, I think that I will.

---

Alice: Here’s your tea, Miss Paprika

Lillian: Thank you very much, young lady. *takes a sip* The tea is lovely, just the right temperature for me to start drinking. And I didn’t even have to ask this time!

Alice: You’re quite welcome. How’s your nephew doing, by the way?

Lillian: He’s doing wonderfully! Mathew’s started to get a lot of cases, possibly more than he has time for. But he just can’t say no to someone in need, I can tell you that.

Alice: I’m glad to hear that being a prosecutor has started to bear fruit. Speaking of, would you like me to bring you an apple to your table?

Lillian: Oh no, thank you. I’ll be leaving shortly after I finish my tea. I’m meeting Matthew outside as soon as he finishes up his paperwork for the afternoon. The boy has quite the gift for it, I’m told. This coffee house is so close to the courthouse, it just makes sense to drop in and see you! We’ll be taking a walk as soon as he gets here, since it’s such a lovely September afternoon.

Alice: Sure beats the storm last week. It started raining pitchforks so suddenly that I was caught walking home without an umbrella. Let me tell you, by the time I got home again, I looked like a cat that had a whole bathtub full of water dumped on her. Positively dreadful.

Lillian: *laughs heartily* That’s hard to imagine, given you look like the cat’s meow today! My dear, if only I were a few years younger.

Alice: Or if I were a few years older.

Lillian: *chuckle* if only… Anyways, my dear, here’s what I owe you for the tea. And don’t worry, you can keep the change.

Alice: Why thank you very much, miss Paprika. I do hope you have a lovely walk outside and an even lovelier day.

Lillian: Thank you, Alice. Good day to you, too.

---

Alice: I’m back!

Harry: You seem full of energy all of a sudden. Well, more so than usual.

Alice: I am indeed, and not because miss Paprika gave such a generous tip. She’s simply a pleasure to talk to. By the way, she said her tea was the perfect temperature for drinking.

Harry: Oh, Glad to hear, though you were the one who reminded me to let it cool. You have such a mind for people. I don’t know how you do it.

Alice: That’s very kind of you to say, Mr Tarragon. Why, I don’t think anything can ruin my mood right now!

*Door with bell opens*

Alice: Aww, shoot. I guess I spoke too soon. Well if it isn’t --

Harry: Judge Cayenne, always a pleasure to see the old egg

Alice: More like a bad egg. I know how he talks to you! You ought to hear how he talks to the rest of the staff. One time that high hat broke Betty’s poor heart down to tears. And she’s a regular bearcat!

Harry: John? What a bunch of malarkey! He is a pillar of our community… Why, he --- Well… To be honest, I have been hearing some rather nasty rumours about him lately

Alice: Yes? Do tell.

Harry: Let’s just say that if chin music is to be believed, that old bird makes the Crooked Gavel look straight. They all stem from the man he walked in with, Frank Saffron. That’s Cayenne’s assistant. He’s known to keep track of some rather dirty laundry. Mix in the fact that he’s so deep in the judge’s pocket, that he might as well be a couple of clams, and you’ve got yourself some moonshine that’ll put you straight in your coffin.

Alice: Now that sounds more like the fella I know

Harry: Both looking over here like they know what they want. *pause* That’s your cue, Alice.

Alice: Ooooh, but Mr Tarragon… Mr Cayenne makes me feel so uncomfortable. The way he talks down to me… it’s detestable. Couldn’t you serve him instead?

Harry: *sigh* Alice, I’m not paying you to be comfortable, I’m paying you to serve customers. He’s a customer, so serve him.

Alice: Oh, alright. I’m going, I’m going.

---

Alice: Welcome to the Crooked Gavel. My name is Alice, and I will be serving you today. Is there anything I can get for you?

Cayenne: Finally, we have been waiting for ages! You really know how to put the ‘wait’ in ‘wait staff’

Frank: *laughs a little too loudly* That’s a good one! You slay me, your honor.

Alice: Now that’s a load of hooey! You’ve not been here two whole minutes and yet you’re complaining. Now tell me, sir, did you bite into a lemon while I wasn’t looking, or is that face of yours just natural?

Cayenne: Buh - How dare you, you little trollop! You have just confirmed in my mind that you are disrespectful, vapid, and difficult to get along with

Alice: Well, for a judge, you don’t seem to be a very good judge of character

Frank: Oh yeah? Says who? Alice: Says everyone I’ve met with today. They all seemed to think very highly of me. Meanwhile, Mr Cayenne, you seem ill-tempered, antiquated, and like you’d be the wet blanket at a party.

Cayenne: *growl* You are living proof that women are best seen and not heard

Alice: As opposed to you, who is best not seen at all

Frank: *whispers* Wow, she sure got you good

Cayenne: *whispers* Silence… *normal tone* We would like to start with two espressos, mine with milk, his with sugar. Make sure his is cooled, and mine is hot

Alice: One test of my patience, coming right up

---

Cayenne: Though I usually prefer to be served by a woman for what I think to be… Obvious reasons…. It really can be quite taxing to have to actually speak with them

Frank: And how! You certainly have a way with words, your honor.

Cayenne: Thank you, old boy. That’s very kind of you. But that’s enough about her, let’s get down to business. Any changes to the monthly… donations to the John Cayenne fund?

Frank: Let me take a look. Hmmm… Everything seems to be in order…. Ah yes, it looks like the Mace brothers have missed their payment for the second month in a row.

Cayenne: Well... won’t they be surprised the next time either of them ends up in court. And exactly how much… creative accounting were you able to pull off this time?

Frank: This month I was able to get you 12 percent off the top.

Cayenne: *laughs* Attaboy, Frank. Excellent work, as always. You really are my right hand man, you know.

Frank: Aww shucks. It was nothing, your honor, really.

Cayenne: The only thing that would make this day better is to teach that flippant waitress a lesson. Wait, *chuckles* I have an idea that will put our little miss in her place...

---

Alice: Here are your drinks, made just the way you asked

Cayenne: Here, let me take them from you

Alice: No need to --- Woaaah! *Crash*

Alice: Now why’d you have to go and do a thing like that? You know I’m perfectly capable of placing drinks on a table myself!

Cayenne: Oh, sorry, sorry. How completely foolish of me. I don’t know what came over me.

Alice: You better be sorry, now I have to stoop down and clean this mess up all by myself

Cayenne: Yes, I suppose you will

*Slap*

Alice: *Gasp* Now would you kindly remove your hand from my backside, please? I-I-I find that wildly inappropriate… Your honor

Cayenne: Inappropriate? But you were the one who bent down in front of me. Wearing that dress… Wearing those heels. Why, you were simply asking for it.

Alice: I did not ask for you to… *gulp* try and woo me in that manner. I-I-I was simply doing my job

Frank: Your honour, don’t you think---

Cayenne: ubp, ubp, ubp! Woo you? Ha! Don’t flatter yourself thinking I was trying to woo you, sweetheart. You’re not even that good looking of a girl!

Alice: Well… Well then, why would you ---?

Harry: Alice, could you come over here a minute? Now?

---

Harry:  For crying out loud, Alice! Not only have you wasted a perfectly good set of espressos, but you’ve painted a customer’s suit with them! And not just any customer, I might add, but John Cayenne? He could shut the place down if he wanted to. What is the matter with you?

Alice: Please, Mr. Tarragon, you have to listen to me. None of this was my fault. He… That prune pit... Tipped over my hands on purpose! And worse, he did it so he could… So he could paw at me. I don’t feel so good. My knees feel so weak. And my head…

Harry: Oh here, why don’t you have a seat? *chair moving* 

Alice: Thank you… I can’t believe this has happened to me. You hear stories like these all the time, but I never thought it would happen to me. This just can’t be happening.

Harry: Oh, Alice. I can see how this would be awful for you. But you have to look on the bright side. He didn’t hurt you, or steal something of yours. No real crime was committed here today

Alice: No, that was definitely a crime, I know it must be. This whole thing has made me feel more terrible than I ever have in my life!

Harry: I understand, but there’s nothing left to be done. You’ll feel better in no time! I’ll give you a few minutes to compose yourself

Alice: I think I’m going to need more than a few minutes, Mr Tarragon. And there is so something that can be done! He can be pinched and shoved into a jail cell for what he did.

Harry: You can’t be suggesting that -

Alice: Yes I am, indeed. I’m going to take him to court. And you’re going to be my witness

Harry: Oh, no, that I cannot do. With the kind of pull that man has in the legal community, one word and there’d be a boycott on this establishment from every lawyer, aide, and clerk in Brooklyn. That’s more than half our regular clientele! 

Alice: Please, that awful man needs to be taken off the streets. You said yourself that he’s not on the level. He deserves to rot in jail for touching me like that.

Harry: I’m sorry Alice, but I… I didn’t see it happen. I can’t help you.

Alice: Baloney! With all the commotion, the entire BLOCK must have looked over.

Harry: I was already fixing up some java to replace the order that you… Well, he… dropped. Even if I had seen, I’d be out of a job if I spoke up. You’d be out of a job too.

Alice: I’m going to be out of a job this instant if you don’t pledge to help me!

Harry: Alice… Please don’t do this. I already said I can’t help you. Think of your future, think of your father, what would he say?

Alice: My father would support me no matter what. I’m sorry that you don’t share the same conviction. This is goodbye, Mr. Tarragon.

Harry: Alright, alright, I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you two months pay to hold you over until you find another job. Just don’t come back here expecting a place at the Gavel when your kale goes sour. 

Alice: *Pause* Thank you Mr Tarragon. You’ve always been very kind to me. I will remember that.

Harry: I can see it in your eyes that you’ll see this court idea of yours through to the end. Go on now,  I’ll clean up this mess myself. You go along home and get some rest.

Alice: Then, this is not goodbye. Only farewell. I do hope to see you again soon, only next time with justice by my side.

Harry: *Chuckles* Farewell then, Alice.

---

Alice: Mr Cayenne, a pleasure to see you, as always. Next time I see you, it’ll be in court!

Cayenne: Seeing as I have a career as a Judge, that is indeed a place you’d expect to see me

*Door with bell closes*

---

Credits Voice Thank you for listening to episode 1 of The Crooked Gavel! Follow us on Twitter @TheCrookedGavel for updates and discussions of this and other queer projects. This episode’s cast in order of appearance:

Katte Noel as Alice Cinnamon 

Nicholas Alain as Harry Tarragon 

Kaidan Cormier as Lillian Paprika 

An Capuano as Frank Saffron

Michael Hope as John Cayenne 

And An Capuano as the credits voice

Directed by - An Capuano

Produced by - An Capuano 

Written by - An Capuano

Copy Editing by - Sharon van Wyngaarden

Casting by - An Capuano

Sound Design by - An Capuano and BA Nemo

Logo Artist - McKenna Pipher

Audio Editing by - An Capuano

Audio Mastering by - An Capuano

Music by - Kevin MacLeod

Music used in this episode is attributed in the description.

[hellsangelsheavensrejects]

Times Forgotten: All the World’s a Stage

This takes place a few months after Harry struck out on his own after apprenticing with Nicholas Christian at Ragged Angel Investigations.

Harry 

The man performing magic on stage in the theater was bad news. Bad news with a bright, red, juicy arsenic cherry on top.

The theater was one of the old-fashioned kinds, complete with a pair of huge, dusty red curtains that had been drawn open across the stage at the beginning of the show. A scattering of props, some still covered with black silk sheets and awaiting their parts in the show, decorated the stage and podium– cabinets painted with arcane symbols both real and fantastical, a low, long table littered with cards and bits and baubles and curiosities, one of those long, enclosed boxes for sawing hapless damsels in half, and– Harry couldn’t see very clearly from where he sat, but he could swear he saw a summoning circle built or painted on the stage floor. The man performing was good looking in a rugged sort of way, his build slim and athletic, a shock of sandy blond hair topping his head, a pair of shrewd, intelligent eyes roving over the audience. He had a showman’s flair, an arrogant grin, and spoke with a heavy Liverpool accent, his voice dripping with sarcastic amusement as he said his lines.

And he was using real magic. Harry could feel it weaving and dancing and crackling, electrifying the air around him as it took shape under the magician’s will.

Harry shifted in his chair and frowned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he studied the man. He’d heard rumors of somebody using real magic in public shows and had immediately set out to investigate. The discovery of the man’s name shortly thereafter had served to put the entire case in a different light.

He’d heard things about John Constantine.

A lot of things.

A lot of… highly disturbing things. Such as how he’d been responsible for the death of a little girl during a demonic summoning gone awry. How he seemed to have no scruples, no restraint, no morality of which to speak. How he was a slippery, conniving, slimy bastard who would stab you in the back the second he saw opportunity in it, then walk off with a smirk and a pull on his ever-present cigarette as if he hadn’t just shattered somebody’s entire world.

And, most disturbing of all were the whispers that he had the White Council wrapped around his little finger. He didn’t even want to think about the sort of power, the sort of mind that could accomplish such a thing. He didn’t want to believe it was possible, and yet here was John Constantine, larger than life and with his head still attached to his body. There was something to that particular rumor.

There was no way Harry was going to let this loose canon run rampant over his city, doing God knows what kind of damage. So he was going to do what he did best.

Stick his nose in where it wasn’t wanted.

He crossed his arms over his chest, shifted in his seat, and continued watching the show.

John

The auditorium beyond the bright stage lights was dark, full of shadowy figures, but he could feel the attention. The power of it fuelling him, a magic all of it’s own, making it so easy to perform trick after trick after trick.

Real magic, yes, but parlor tricks compared to what John Constantine was capable of. Conjuring demons, twisting reality. Walking through Hell and coming out unscathed.

Mostly.

There was something electric about it. About standing there, in the bright spotlights, for all the world to see.

He did so much of his work in the shadows, this was it’s own kind of high. And maybe the buzz from the half bottle of whisky he’d downed before helped, too. Making him pleasantly lightheaded and urging him on.

“For my next trick …”, he announced and his voice carried through the air without any electronic help. “I need an assistant.”

Measured, deliberate steps brought him to the very edge of the stage, out of the direct light and then he could see them sitting there. Faces turned up towards him in rapt attention. His very own congregation worshipping at his feet. He grinned at them and spread his arms. The pale skin of his forearms, revealed by rolled up sleeves of the half unbuttoned dress shirt, was littered with the first, dark lines of what would become a tapestry of occult tattoos. Before him, in the first row sat a young redhead, curves in all the right places, hair done in curls and lips painted red. That kind of retro rockabilly thing that was going around and she was looking up at him with her mouth half open.

“You there, pet.”, John smiled and swung one hand around, going down on one knee to reach out for her. “Would you do me the honours?”, his voice dripped honey and he could see her pull her bottom lip between her teeth.

She’d have those lips around his cock later, he didn’t even need any divination to know that much.

Her hand in his was warm and soft and he pulled her up on the stage with just a little push of magic, making the skirt of her pretty little dress flare and her giggle. She landed in his arms, one hand against the exposed skin of his chest and he winked at her. “‘llo there. Wha’s your name, eh?”

“Emma.”, she sighed as he put his arm around her waist and spun them away from the edge of the stage, back into the light, in a quick little dance.

“A grand applause”, John announced and stepped away from her, guiding her into a little twirl in front of his audience. “For Emma!”

And as if enchanted, the audience complied, breaking into rapturous applause as John pulled Emma back to him, her back against his chest, his arms around her, cheek resting against her fragrant curls and she shifted a little, pushing her behind against his crotch before trying to catch his eye with another seductive little bite to her lip.

His attention, however, was on the audience again. Skilled hands whipped one of the black silken sheets off of a large, heavy crystal ball, before gripping the glittering sphere in both hands. “Now, Emma.”, he purred in her ear and delighted in her shiver. “Dis is where I need your help, pet. Take hold of the sphere and lift it with me, yeah?”

It was heavy, but only for the first inch, then the strain in John’s arms shifted from lifting the weight to pouring magic into the object.

“Oh!”, Emma giggled in his arms as the crystal lifted with little to no effort up to her eyelevel.

“Dis is just the beginning, pet.”, John continued and removed his hands, spreading them outward. He could feel her gasp. And then: “Let go, Emma.”

She did so without hesitation, following his direction without question and he wasn’t quite sure if that was what made him twitch pleasantly in his skin tight jeans or if it was the way she leaned back against him.

It might have also been the renewed, thunderous applause of the audience.

“Oh, but tha’s nothin’, innit?”, John called over the roar.

He stepped out from behind Emma, keeping her in place with a touch to the small of her back.

“Coul’ be wires, coul'n’ i’?”, still, his voice carried easily, even over the good natured yells for proof that the sphere was, indeed floating.

Harry

One thing was for sure, John Constantine was one hell of a showman. There was an undeniable magnetism about him that seemed to cast its own sort of spell over the entire room; even Harry wasn't entirely uneffected as he watched the act unfold. The scent of magic filled the room, reality warping and bending and refracting with the magician at the epicenter, like the eye of a storm, as he passed a large silver ring around the levitating crystal ball. The crowd gasped and applauded. The trick was old hat, had been performed a thousand times over since the inception of stage magic, but that didn't matter.

Most people, whether they're aware of it or not, have the innate ability to sense the elemental forces of the universe. Maybe they can't put a name to it, maybe they attribute it to religion or psychology or the skillful use of mundane showmanship, but they've all felt it. It's in that shiver, that sense of awe and wonder you get when you see the distant, hazy magnificence of mountains, collossal giants that saw the Earth when it was young, looming closer and closer as you drive. When you get away from the lights of the city and can see, can really see the silver dust of stars scattered across the sky, knowing that every miniscule speck of that dust is a vast, fiercely burning inferno in systems light years away, many of them orbited by alien planets and their moons. Or when you visit an ancient architechtural ruin and move between crumbling pillars, your feet walking over the same stonework that the ancient Greeks or Romans or Mayans tread on. Or when you're driving alone on a country road and feel every hair standing on end all of the sudden, and you know, you just know, that if you look in the rearview mirror, you'll see something in the backseat. Everyone feels it. On some level, everyone craves it. And that was why the crowd lapped all of this up-- not these trite old tricks that anyone with a lick of practice and a battered volume of Stage Magic for Dummies on the shelf could perform, but that subconscious awareness that there was something here that was real.

John Constantine was the conductor, and the entire room was his orchestra. He practically had the whole crowd eating out of the palm of his hand.

This could be bad. This could be very bad indeed if even a fraction of the stories were true. An image dropped into his mind like a lead weight, of Constantine summoning a demon, right there on stage, and Harry grimaced as he remembered the summoning circle on the stage floor.

Hell's bells. That was just what he needed. He would hope the magician wouldn't be insane enough to summon a creature from the pit of hell into a room full of innocent bystanders, but how was he to tell? He frowned, craning his neck as he tried to discern the specific design of that summoning circle, but he just couldn't see it from where he was. He was going to have to get up on stage.

Which meant that he was going to need to get John Constantine's attention.

He crossed his arms over his chest, stretched his legs out, and got his heckle on. “Wow. I am amazed-- nay, flabbergasted, at this unique and never-before-seen display of arcane powers. I mean-- a levitating crystal ball. Whatever cosmic epiphanies could have made themselves known to you and birthed this rare form of artistry?”

John

There was no hesitation as John reached for items to prove the sphere was, indeed floating, eliciting little gasps from his lovely little assistant. His crooked smirk and the swagger in his step never faltered.

This was his element.

He'd stood on a stage performing shitty punk music in front of a crown of demons.

Wooing dimwitted humans who wanted the thrill they'd heard about when people whispered the name John Constantine? That was child's play. Literally.

He'd pulled off harder tricks than this before his balls had fully dropped.

The mocking voice that finally carried over the the noises of his adoring public only widened the grin on his face. Teeth glinting in the bright stage lights as John swivelled his head around in a lazy roll. Magic reached out from him, searching through the pitch dark beyond the glare and he found his critic, because magic reached back.

Oh, wasn't that fun?

"I see we go' a sceptic.", John drawled while the danger of being caught by another practitioner sparked up his spine like lightning. It had been inevitable, with how he'd put himself out there and it felt like the first hot spikes of orgasm after hours of teasing.

His eyes were focused on the figure lounging out there, lit up to his eyes as if glowing from the inside. [4:53 AM] "Is Miss Emma's testimony no' enough of for you, Mister Unimpressed?", he taunted and sauntered back to the edge of the stage.

The audience was holding it's breath.

Was this part of the show?

What would happen next?

Even across the distance of the four rows separating them, John focused his eyes directly on those of his detractor. A magical game of chicken. Who'd turn away first from a Soulgaze?

"And what, pray tell", John goaded, grinning like the wolf about to pounce. "Woul' impress you, 'andsome? Want me to show you some real magick?", the k came out hard, overpronounced. "Come up here and lemme give you the ride of your life."

Harry

Magic, real magic, potent and electric and alive, stretched out from the man on stage, brushing against Harry's senses, teasing, tantalizing. He met that magic with his own, their energies entangling for a brief and unsettlingly intimate instant before he applied a little push of will, the barest hint of power that was part show of dominance, part test, part warning.

A wry smile played at his lips as Constantine turned the full power of his attention to him, which also had the effect of turning the full attention of the audience to him as well. He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat or glance sideways at the people staring at him, instead holding himself with an air of deliberately relaxed, self-assured nonchalance.

John Constantine wasn't the only one who could play a crowd.

“No offense intended to the lovely Miss Emma, of course,” he said, giving her a gallant nod and a glance that may have lingered a tiny bit longer on her generous décolletage than was strictly necessary. “But let's just say I've had a bit of... experience in these things myself.” He leaned forward, eyebrows climbing his forehead as his gaze shifted back to the magician. “And I smell something funny. Very distinct odor. Smells like sun-baked horseshit.” The magician met his eyes, the challenge evident in the curl of his grinning lips, in every arrogant, audacious line of his body.

The dare came through loud and clear: are you man enough for this?

It would probably be the better part of valor to look away before the start of a soulgaze. Locking eyes with John Constantine for more than a fraction of a second would undoubtedly come with a boatload of unpleasant sensations, memories, and images, if even a portion of the things he had heard were true. He would never be able to forget them. They would never fade for as long as he lived.

If Constantine's soul was tainted enough, twisted enough, it could potentially drive him mad.

But if he did look away, if he let his eyes drop just a fraction of an inch, played it safe, he would be displaying weakness, cowardice to a potentially deadly enemy. That would come with its own set of risks.

So he locked his eyes with John Constantine's and said, “Fine. Show me yours, mate, and I'll show you mine.”

John

John Constantine knew his reputation. He took pride in it. Fostered it wherever he could. It was, after all, a great part of his little gambit with the Council. The more dangerous they thought he was, ironically, the safer he was.

And now here was this upstart with the pretty eyes and razor sharp cheekbones, with clearly enough magic to be in the Council, to know about the man most of the occult world knew as the Hellblazer, and he wasn't just challenging John's magic. He was risking a Soulgaze with a soul touched by Hell itself.

the first pull of the Gaze startled a laugh out of John and he dropped his gaze. From dark eyes to the curve of a cheek. Grinning, he wagged a pointing forefinger at his challenger.

"You", he chuckled. "I like you. You go' balls, mate."

With a flourish, John turned from the edge of the stage and back to poor, self-conscious Emma.

"I'm afraid we'll 'ave to postpone any further fun, luv.", he announced with an apologetic bow. "I go' a reputation to uphold an' pre'y boy over there needs a schoolin' in who 'e's dealin' with."

Gently, John placed a hand on the crystal sphere and guided it back down to the table before holding out his hand for Emma. When she took it he pulled her against him, eliciting a gasp and a giggle. "Mee' me backstage after the show, luv. I'll show you some real magic.", he muttered against her ear as he danced her back to her chair. Once she was lifted back down and settled again (not without a promising bite of her lip and a stroke of her hand down his chest) John turned towards his opponent once more.

"A'right, 'andsome.", he grinned, the spark of danger that still simmered pleasantly in his belly reflected in bright blue eyes. "Come up 'ere an' I'll show you a good time."

The magic that had connected with his was strong. The innate kind you're born with, the one where it sings under your skin. The one that so easily created a physical spark between one practitioner and another.

One of the reasons very few magicians tended to enjoy being in intimate relationships with each other. John however? Oh, John had learned all the ways that little spark could be fun. So when his pretty detractor stepped up to the edge of the stage, John held out his hand for him.

"Le's give 'em a good show.", John said, just loud enough for the first row to catch the words, changing casual curiosity into nearly tangible, excited expectation.

Then he moved into the man's space, John crouching at the edge of the stage bringing him face to face with his tall, handsome stranger. "Don' think of fuckin' with my spells, mate.", he hissed. "If you know who I am, you know i's a bad idea. If no', coun' yourself lucky an' jus' play along."

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 54)

It was late when they arrived back at Keeper's Hollow, Weiss riding on Zwei's back as the magical exhaustion set in. She could still walk and stay awake, but now it just felt incredibly difficult to muster the willpower to do much of anything, alongside a very physical and real growling in her stomach.

It felt strikingly like the aftermath of a particularly brutal test, and just like then, all Weiss wanted to do afterward was gorge on something sweet—in this case, chocolate chip cookies.

“Elemental weaving is a largely mental process,” Penny explained as she and Qrow cooked chicken tortillas for dinner. “Magic already exists in all bodies and beings as the base components for matter, and the Gift is both a body capable of accumulating and storing larger than usual amounts of it, and a bmind able to harness and manipulate it in ways difficult or impossible through conventional means.

“Most Fae just have the former, which tends to manifest in greatly enhanced physical capabilities like the Watchers, or just the latter, which tends to manifest in skill in science and the arts like the Makers and Creators.”

Weiss nodded. “So how rare is it, anyway?” she asked after she swallowed her mouthful of cookies.

“With the extreme amounts of magic in the Valley's wellspring, along with the frequent exposure to it from its food, environment, and our magitechnology?” Penny said as she chopped up vegetables. “About 20-42% of the population, with 61-67% of that going on to become professional weavers. The rest tend to gravitate towards other professions, oftentimes makers, watchers, and/or creators, either from personal choice, or simply not being capable of handling the stress and rigours of weaver training and occupations.”

Weiss picked up her glass of milk. “So why isn't Candela overflowing with weavers? We had to use energy like there was no tomorrow, or else the collectors would overload,” she said before she took a drink.

“Two reasons: genetics, and the nature of your magitechnology,” Penny said as she brought the tray of vegetable fillings to the table.

“As your magitech started to become cheaper, easier, and more convenient than training and hiring human weavers, the importance of preserving their bloodlines and avoiding genetic modifications that could impair their abilities became less and less important,” she said as she went to get the tortilla wraps. “At times, they were even actively hunted down and removed from the gene pool at large to avoid their side-effects, like the increased vulnerability to dementia and other mental illness.

“It didn't help that, unlike Fae, your designs tend to protect and isolate magical exposure to its users as much as possible,” Penny said as she laid them on the table, next to the vegetables. “To use a metaphor: while the Fae were outside getting regular doses of sunlight, you humans were locked in your homes with blackout curtains over the windows.”

Weiss smirked. “Fitting. Makes me wonder what would have happened if we hadn't made the full switch to magitech...”

“You humans wouldn't have started a realm-wide resource crisis because you ran out of shit to build it with, for one,” Qrow said as he came over with a crock pot full of chicken.

Weiss nodded. “Did the Fae ever suffer something like the Resource Crisis?”

“Plenty of times!” Qrow said as he set it down in the center. “Believe it or not, Sekhmet used to be a rainforest before we Fae fucked it up royally. In terms of how long we've been able to bang two rocks together and call it music, being the poster-civilization of sustainable living was after we got out of our shitty teenage years,” he continued as he ladled out shredded meat for everyone's wraps but Ruby's.

“But it's been a long day, and that's an even longer story, princess, so that's all the Chronicler Qrow you're getting today,” he said as he made a quadruple-large tortilla for Zwei.

“We'll eventually get to it in your history classes, don't worry,” Penny said, smiling as she and Qrow worked together to keep Zwei's dinner from falling apart. The head sticking in through the window started to drool like crazy.

Weiss shrugged, and dug in. She hummed after she took her first bite; her herbs and vegetables had helped make a damn good sauce.

She still had too much energy from sleeping at Abner's lab earlier, so Weiss spent most of that evening building and setting up the new equipment they'd received, starting with the barn and her lab/kitchen, and after that, the long abandoned weaver's section of the training grounds.

“Alright!” Ruby called out as she worked in an underground hatch, only the very tips of her horns visible. “I'm turning the valve on—tell me if anything happens!”

“Got it!” Weiss said as she stood by with a lamp in her hands.

She watched as a long-dead fountain came back to life, water trickling down its numerous grooves, filling its many basins, and a waterfall appearing in the center and pouring out onto a platform big enough for two or three Fae to sit and meditate under.

“It's working!”

“Woo!” Ruby cried as she climbed out. “Go me!”

The two of them stood there, admiring their handiwork, until the combined light of their lamps and the water brought out some rather unpleasant details they'd missed earlier.

“… Do you Fae happen to have bacteria that can eat all that mold and fungus?”

“Yeah, we do, but we could also just turn the water off again then torch it! Weaver equipment is made to withstand all the elements.”

Weiss hummed. “Yeah, that'd work much better.”

Ruby shut off the water, and the two began to head back to the house.

Weiss yelped and nearly dropped her lamp as she came to face with a ferocious looking bird Fae, ghostly and glowing an ominous blood-red.

“Oh, hey!” Ruby said. “The Echoes are already appearing! Neat!”

Weiss stepped well back as the “echo” of Raven Branwen pulled out her sword and got into a combat stance, her eyes narrowed and her mouth/beak curled into a scowl. “What the hell are 'echoes,' and why are they happening?” she said as her eyes darted between Ruby and Raven.

“Echoes are the pieces of you that you leave behind after you die,” Ruby explained. “Usually, it takes a ritual to make them appear, but when there's so much raw magic floating around before and during the Eve, they just come out all on their own.”

Weiss watched a different echo appear some distance away from—Summer, her cloaked figure and the Keeper's scythe a calming silver. The two echoes charged each other, their battle too fast for Weiss to see, so ferocious she could hear the clashes of blade-on-blade and the faint sounds of war cries from long ago.

It was far beyond the level of anything Weiss was capable of, or that she'd ever seen in her entire life—even Ruby's wiping the floor with all of her guards that fateful night.

Raven swung too hard and missed, all the energy in her sword exploding into the ground, sending ghostly dirt and debris flying several feet into the air.

Summer took the opportunity to swing the Keeper's scythe right at her neck, stopping just before she cut her head clean off her shoulders.

The air was tense as the two figures stared each other down, seething hatred in Raven, amusement in Summer's.

Summer pulled the scythe away, and offered her hand with a smile.

Raven ignored her as she picked herself and her sword off the ground.

The two echoes parted ways, and disappeared.

It all happened in the span of less than a minute, though it felt like it had dragged on for much longer.

“Holy shit...” Weiss whispered.

“Yep,” Ruby said. “And that's when mom was holding back.”

Weiss looked at her in disbelief. “That's her holding back?”

Ruby nodded. “Mom was always way stronger than Aunt Raven or Uncle Qrow. It always bothered her, my aunt, since their family has always been kinda obsessed about being the strongest around, probably because they were from Sekhmet.”

“How'd they end in the Valley?”

Ruby shrugged. “Uncle Qrow says it's a REALLY long story—so long he's never really found the time to tell me!” she replied innocently.

Weiss stared at her for a moment, before she nodded slowly. “Do these echoes just show up, or is there a pattern?” she asked as they resumed walking.

“They tend to appear wherever someone had really important memories, or where they spent most of their time, but only if you're related to them in some way,” Ruby replied. “It's mostly for family, but Abner always sees echoes of Ilaya at his place this time of year. You could also summon them by bringing something they used to own and used a lot, seeing as part of their essence rubs off on it.”

Weiss smiled. “You Fae certainly bring a new dimension to the value of heirlooms and antiques...”

“Mhmm!” Ruby said. “As the saying goes, 'Our bodies falter, our memories fade, and our breaths cease, but Havalon remembers always.'”

They walked through Weiss' farm, and noticed one of the mana detectors that had been planted among her crops was glowing and beeping in warning.

Weiss sighed heavily. “Oh, what now...?” she muttered as she walked over to investigate.

“You think your vegetables turned into elementals too?”

“I seriously hope not! Cheese blobs with faces and sore-stiff ointment that moves, I can handle; I don't know how I'd react to vegetables that scream when I harvest them.”

“They definitely won't do that,” Ruby replied. “You're their weaver; they'll probably think it's a great honour to be picked and eaten, maybe even tell you when they're at their best so you can get the most out of them.”

Weiss cringed. “Please stop before I have to become a full-time carnivore; at least I know meat's supposed to move around before I can eat it...”

They halted as they reached the edge of the fence. There was an echo walking through Weiss' crops, wielding a hoe and tilling the soil. She was an arctic fox Fae from the tiny ears and the ridiculously fluffy tail, wearing a long, flowing dress of distinctly human-make, with her glow a pale, icy blue.

“Relative of yours?” Weiss asked as they watched her work and slowly come closer to them.

“Uh… not that I know of...?” Ruby replied. “I haven't really seen her before, either.”

The mystery woman got close enough to reach. Weiss slowly held out her gloved hand, her fingertips brushing the echo. The crystals on it began to glow.

Then, a flash.

Weiss found herself in Keeper's Grove, a long, long, long time ago, seeing through the eyes of the mystery woman as she worked. From the grunts of effort and the sweat she was regularly wiping from her brow, she was just as new to farming as Weiss was, when her farm was just a patch of sweet potatoes.

She heard a voice ask something in broken German.

The woman turned, and Weiss found herself looking at one of Ruby's ancestors. She had the same silver eyes, the friendly face, and the black hair, only her horns were much more pronounced, there were almost no whites in her eyes for how wide her irises were, and her hands and feet clearly ended in what looked like hooves.

The woman chuckled, affectionately said something in the same language, except much more fluently.

Ruby's ancestor smiled, getting a mischievous look on her face as she struggled to say something in a playful tone, before suggestively waggling her eyebrows.

The woman made an exasperated noise, then planted her hoe in the ground. She narrowed her eyes at Ruby's ancestor, shaking her head before she walked up to her.

From the loving expression on her face, it was clearly for a kiss.

There was another flash, and Weiss found herself back in her own body, her legs crumpled beneath her, Ruby holding her up and sounding increasingly desperate.

“… eiss?! Weiss! Are you okay?”

Weiss blinked, groaning and shaking her head. “What happened…?”

“You touched the echo of that fox lady, she disappeared, and then you fainted!”

Weiss looked at the mana detector, now dark and quiet, then to her crops, no more trace of the echo.

“Call the Terrace and Abner,” Weiss muttered as she took off her gauntlet, the crystals now glowing a pale shade of icy blue.

Weiss was amused that the senior weaver for the night shift was an Owl Fae.

Less amusing was the way Keeper's Hollow was swarming with weavers once more, this time with chroniclers deep into their tablets and comm-crystals, half frantically requesting files from all over Avalon and an audience with Elder Oobleck himself, the other half studying the data from the mana detector, what footage they had seen of Weiss touching the echo and it disappearing before she fainted.

And from the way Penny was conversing with them in Actaeon, shaking her head even as they pleaded desperately with her, she could just tell they were itching to crack her head open and see what memories they could pull up.

Through Qrow, she relayed what she had seen through her vision to the chroniclers, Ruby, and Abner who was attending through the second's comm-crystal. The things they knew was that the ancestor she had seen was Gabija herself, and that the time-frame was a few decades after the First Settlers had landed.

Everything else was a mystery.

The chroniclers grilled her relentlessly, frustrated at what little she could tell, before they sighed and returned to their referencing the Codex, calling up their fellow chroniclers, and trying to rebuild the vision from the mana detector and her gauntlet.

“What was that all about?” Weiss asked after the last finally gave up.

“You may have found a very important key to unlocking the mystery that has been boggling the Fae for a thousand years,” Abner said.

“The short version of it is: the Valley wasn't always an Eldan Settlement, it started as a split-off,” Qrow said. “A lot of unethical and illegal shit happened here, and when everything went to hell, the survivors called the Council to save their asses…

“… But not before destroying most the evidence that would link them to the crimes against Avalon that would get them executed or worse, a lot of identities changing, and folks mysterious disappearing of the face of the realm.”

“They burned down the original Chronicler's Grove...” Abner said sadly. “Aside from the loss of all that data, there was also the fact that those who did come forward for their crimes and pleaded guilty were put into witness protection, and what information we do have from just after the Council retook the Valley was delivered via Info-Grid—not nearly as fast, expansive, or reliable then as it is now, made worse because they were ferrying secret messages that were destroyed at the slightest hint of being compromised.”

“So what does what I saw have to do with all that?” Weiss asked.

“Because, Weiss, that lady whose memories you saw was probably Gabija's mate, and the key to why Keeper's like me are so special,” Ruby replied.

“And you don't have better records of her? She was the first Keeper of the Grove, right? Did no one happen to have a pen and paper on hand?!”

Abner sighed. “She and her mate requested the latter's true identity be kept a secret, for reasons unknown. And more importantly, this was WELL before anyone realized just how important the Keeper bloodline really was...”

“Go get some sleep, Weiss,” Qrow said. “Believe us: the answers to the mysteries of the Valley are massive teases, who also love coming when you least expect them.”

Weiss scowled. “I'm starting to realize that, and it's giving me a real headache...”