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alice-angel12x · 4 months ago

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Born of Unkown Stardust

Ch.7

summary: The angles formed the world and all mortal life from dust. One day from the unknown the angels came across bizarre dust, that seemed to have a will of its own. It refused to be molded and shaped to the angel's will. So they cast it aside, till a certain angel got his creative hands on it.

The plot of chap: Yuu witnesses the cruelty of humanity.

(bittersweet story) (platonic) Lucifer x (???) Reader x Sera

<-ch.6 / ch.8 ->

2,000 Years Later

"AAAH!" Yuu shouted in pain as chains held them in place.

"We have sheltered you and fed you for years. We even considered you friend, and yet you defend our enemy!" The human chief shouted down at Yuu. Who was in human disguise.

"Cause what you're doing is horrible," Yuu said through the pain of the lashes.

(Their Human Disguise)

"We are paying tribute to our god, and he demands sacrifice," The leader scoffed.

"By burning their newborns ?!" Yuu screamed.

"This is why we should have never brought in this outsider. They can never understand our devotion, " The high leader said.

"Then why do you attempt to drown out the cries of your victims with the pounding of the drums if what you are doing is so righteous? It's cause you know deep down what you are doing is wrong!" Yuu glared.

The leader glared down at Yuu and gave them 10 more lashes, each cutting deep into the skin.

"I don't have time to speak with this heretic," The leader sighed as he turned to the jailers. " Our head priest wants a word with you. Though I can't understand why. You are too filthy to be around such a being."

As Yuu rested and slowly recovered. They thought back to when they first helped these people, back when they were only a mere tribe of a few families. A nearby clan terrorized them, and Yuu stepped in. They were protecting them, and fending off the other tribe. When the attacks eventually stopped, Yuu helped them grow and prosper while teaching them good morals.

And for a time everything was good. Yuu grew close to Manook the leader of this tribe. Who grew to be a kind and wise leader of his time. However, after one or two generations, they grew vengeful. He was harping on the past. Hankook warned Yuu if hatred and unforgiveness live on in people's hearts. And eventually, getting taught to the next generation would lead to problems. Memories of generations passed flooded the poor child's mind, them watching as everything grew only to crumble slowly. Many of these people they watch come and grow in this world. Many would wrong them in many ways. Than she appeared. Her name was Lyre. She was an outsider to this city, no one knew where she came from. Yet, she was different. She held a dark power, and the people became enthralled with it and wanted that power too. This started her influence and started the cult. Soon people turned to strange worship. At first, it seemed harmless, but as time went on things grew more serious, and eventually cruel and horrid. Yet no matter how hard Yuu may try to course correct. The humans would turn on him.

‘Why does this always happen,’ Yuu questioned, as they struggled to hold their disguise.

No matter how many times Yuu went through this history always repeated.

"Look at you. Bruised, broken… small. It didn’t have to be this way, you know. You could have stood beside me. But instead? Here you are, bleeding into the dirt, whispering ideas to a world that has already forgotten you ?" A woman in a robe decorated with gold and jewels.

"You call me forgotten, yet you keep coming back. Again and again. Why? To gloat," Yuu said simply as She drew close.

"Because I want to see you. I want to see the moment you finally understand. The moment you stop fighting and accept the truth" Lyre said as she grabbed Yuu by their hair.

Yuu Grunts in pain as they are forced to look up at the old woman. Time was certainly not kind, it felt like just yesterday when she looked like an innocent young girl.

"What Truth? The truth is that you use demon magic to seem powerful. Fooling people to follow you to your doom. They don’t worship you. They worship the illusion you’ve become. The false light you wear like a mask," Yuu glares.

"False? Oh, my dear poet, is it false if it works? If they find purpose and truth, does it matter where the light comes from?" Lyre asked mockingly, yanking Yuu's hair harder.

"It matters if the light is cast by hell fire while you call it the sun," Yuu said through gritted teeth. "I see the cracks. The demons that whisper through them. You've become a slave to them."

You always were too clever, weren’t you? Always looking through things instead of simply believing. But what has that given you? A cage. Wounds. A dying voice that no one hears." Lyre leans closer, voice like silk. "I could change that. You could be more than a broken poet bleeding in the dark."

"No. You may wear fancy clothes and metal to feel divine, but I see what’s beneath. And when the veil falls, so will your kingdom of fools-" Yuu's words were interrupted by a slap to the face. Lyre stares down at him with anger.

"And yet, for all your insight, you are the one in chains. I am the one they love. What does that say about your truth, poet?" Lyre spat. " I could have saved you from this if you chose to love me."

Yuu remained silent and defiant to her words. Lyre glared when a horrible idea came to her.

"And that is why you are in chains… and I am worshiped."

She gestures, and the cultists move in, hands gripping Yuu, holding them down. The air is thick with chanting. The Yuu struggles, their breath ragged as the pressure increases.

"Hold him down. Let him hear the voices of those who serve me! Let him feel what it means to stand against me and my Goddess, Roo!"

"Hold Him down," The cultist sings.

"(Here and now)" there's a chance for action," Lyre smiles, her robes slipping from her shoulder.

"(Here and now) we can take control (Here and now) burn it down to ashes Channel the fire inside your soul," Lyre sings, as a cultist hands her a blade.

"(Hold him down) till the poet stops shaking (Hold him down) while I slit their throat (Hold him down) while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, and his bones," Lyre slowly straddles them.

"(Cut him down) into tiny pieces (Throw him down) in the great below (When the crown) wonders where the poet is Only the Goddess and I will know," Lyre's hand wrapped around Yuu's neck.

Yuu's breath comes in ragged gasps, and the sound of their voices becomes a distant murmur. chest aches from the blows, but the world around him starts to blur.

"The poet will have no one to Stop us from breaking their bedroom door Stop us from taking their love and more!

And then we'll (Hold her down) while her gate is open (Hold her down) while I get a taste (Hold her down) while we share her spoils I will not let any part go to waste Here and now, there's a chance for action Chance for action! Here and now, we can take control Take control! Here and now, burn it down to ashes" The distant voices sang.

Everything starts to slow—the voices, the pounding in their chest, the cold hands on their skin. They feel themselves sinking, floating. Their senses dull. They are still here, but their body feels... far away. Yuu's eyes focused on the mural that was painted on the jail ceiling. A painting of the human's interpretation of Lucifer. His hand outstretched to the people below, offering an apple. The Apple that caused all of this.

When suddenly, the room burst into blinding pure light, sending Lyre and the cultist flying. A tall figure stood over protectively over Yuu's figure. It was Inias, one of the high elders. He gently wrapped Yuu in a soft blanket as he lifted the hurt child. Feeling safe, Yuu finally dropped their disguises.

"You safe know little one, You did your best," The Angel said in a soft voice.

Thumb, Thumb! The Drums. A dreaded shiver runs down Yuu's spine. In the middle of the town stood an Iron statue. The high priest lights the furnace underneath the iron "Diety", bowing and changing to it as it starts to glow with heat. As a cult priest turned to his followers, calling upon them to bring forth their sacrifices. The crowd cheered with fervor as many women offered their newborns to be sacrificed. One of them put her baby on the hot metal hands of the glowing hot statue themselves. The powerful drums, the cheers, and the terrified screams drowned out the baby's tortured cries. The high elders watched on in horror, as Roo revealed the bloodshed. She could feel her influence grow, as she let her throne harden the hearts of the humans who participated—snuffing out the good in humans, erasing their sense of good and evil.

High Elder Zaphreal started down in disappointment at the humans. This blight had spread to all of humanity, except for one family. So with a heavy heart, Protected that family and the worlds creatures and flooded the world. Inias and Yuu watched on as the water began to rise, washing away everything.

Roo cackled and revealed in the chaos and screams of the Damned. The high cult leader bowed before her, begging to be spared from this fate. Roo smirked as she stood above him, casting her shadow over him as he trembled with fear, hope merely a glimmer.

"I'm not here to save you, I never was," Roo said as she stomped hard onto the leader's fingers. With a quick jerk of her arm, she slapped his head clean off his shoulder.

Stepping over his body, she walked the streets as the town washed away, screams of terror eventually silenced. As She breathed in the order and smell of smoke and sea water, and flash of light sent her skidding across the wet ground. She howled in pain as she holds her horribly burnt shoulder as she looks up to see one of the high elder angels standing a few yards away.

The high elder Peliel stood tall with a glare as he stared down at the embodiment of evil.

"Well, I never expected someone from the high table to visit this place. What, sad I ruined your little pets," Roo chuckled, as the pain started to subside.

"What is your end game? You don't have the strength to challenge heaven, let alone me?" Peliel said sternly. "So why take it out on the humans?"

"Yet," She said cryptically. "I'm just enjoying watching all your work crumble as the humans cry out and curse you because of their actions."

Peliel Slowly tightened his fists as Roo licked the last of the blood off her lips. The angel's eyes started to glow like bright lightning as a burst of power swirled around him, causing Roo's confidence to waver. But before she could react, Peliel punched into her gut and pulled out a soul from her. One that did not deserve to be trapped with her.

"Tch, whatever. Like you said, I'm not strong enough to face you. Fighting me would be like fighting a child. You wait," Roo growled as she vanished into her shadows.

Peliel sighed as he looked out at the destroyed city, he could hear the pained cries of the innocent blood of the babies that drenched the ground. Tears fell from Peliel as he gently caressed the charred faces of the children.

"We gave them 200 years to turn away from this," Peliel said sorrowfully.

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"Yuu, my Baby!" Sera gasped as Inias gently placed Yuu down. The seraphim examined in horror at all the injuries that littered her child's body. Yuu just sat there, sera sound so far away as their hands trembled slightly.

"Mom, why... Why do I feel empty? Why can’t I feel... what I’m supposed to feel?" Yuu asked slowly. "What are you supposed to feel?" Sera asked gently.

"I should be angry. I should hate them," Yuu said, tears pooling in their eyes. Sera gently scooped Yuu up onto her lap. The Yuu's body tenses for a moment at the sudden contact, their body instinctively pulling back.

"But it all feels... hollow. Like a dream. How do I get better?" Yuu asks. "I'm not sure, but we will get through this together," Sera says gently. Yuu let out a soft, almost imperceptible breath, and for a moment, they look... lost. But slowly, after a moment of stillness, they allow themselves to soften. There's a brief hesitation before they relax into the embrace. "I don’t know how... to let it in. I don’t know how to," Yuu says slowly.

"Just one step at a time. Oh I have something to show you," Sera says, as she leads him to a city area. There were his friends and those who he led down the path of light.

Their heart begins to race, a storm of confusion and disbelief swirling inside them. They stumble forward, almost blindly, their eyes wide as they scan the faces in front of him. People they thought they'd never see again. The humans looked at them, their expressions warm, but the Yuu couldn't move, couldn’t speak. Their breath hitches as they take a step back, his hands trembling.

"You're all here?" Yuu asked.

"Thanks to you," One of them smiled.

"I thought I... I thought I lost you. That I failed," Yuu said.

"You have left an impact. And one small group of humans didn't fall completely into the darkness. They will take hold of the earth. And Hopefully will be better than the humans before them," Sera says with a proud smile.

"I don’t know if I can lead them anymore. I don’t know if I can lead at all... but I’ll walk with them. I’ll walk with you," Yuu says with a weak nod. "You don't have to lead. But perhaps guild and nudge. Or maybe you can help around here in heaven, some of the humans are still hurt from their time on earth," Sera says as she picks Yuu up.

"I’ll help however I can. I’ll be here... for them," Yuu says.

"One day at a time," Peliel nods.

"High Elders, I didn't see you there," Sera gasps.

"At ease, we just came to see how the little is doing," Zaphreal said simply.

"And to thank them for their hard work," Peliel says with a small smile. "A reward is in order."

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Tags:

@@littleladydemon , @corvid007, @ellaprime7, @just-here-reading, @kyo-kyo1

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cissa-calls · 2 years ago

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Rewatching Crimson Peak & Things of Focus and Notice:

As a child at her mothers funeral, Edith wears butterfly/moth earrings

Is the pen her father gifts her the one she later uses to stab Lucille? He describes the importance of having “The right tool for the job,” is that foreshadowing for gifting her the tool to begin her escape from Crimson Peak?

Is Edith wearing a butterfly hair clip when she dances the waltz with Thomas?

Lucille’s iconic crimson red gown is so detailed, so beautiful. It represents the skeletal ghosts with its spinal column along the back, crimson peak itself in color, the carapace of a bug on the sleeves and structure, and the upper bodice has trim that blooms outward (present similarly in her blue gown) but is bisected by buttons…creating a familiar shape…a moth?

The candle they hold during the waltz is held at the same level Edith holds her iconic candelabra, a subtle parallel

The trim on the collar of Lucille’s black dress references the spikes and trims of gothic architecture - which is very heavily featured in Allerdale Hall

Lucille says that: “At home we only have Black moths, formidable creatures but they lack beauty.” Knowing the parallel between her and moths, it implies that she sees herself as a survivor and powerful, but something no longer beautiful because of it

Lucille places the butterfly she holds directly into the ants, an action that’s brutal but quick. Is it foreshadowing to her execution of Edith’s death? Something quick for such a beautiful thing, done by her hand?

The LOOK Lucille gives Thomas when they realize Edith’s father knows their past. THE LOOK (JESSICA CHASTAIN YOUR ACTING)

“You seem the more collected one my dear” Lucille is called this. She always holds the mission undetered in her mind, as opposed to Thomas who seems more easily swayed by emotions

When Thomas breaks Edith’s heart by ripping apart her book. He says: “What do you dream of? A kind man? A pure soul to be redeemed? A wounded bird to be nourished?” He is telling her exactly what he is. None of those things, none of the dreams she has built of him in her mind. Not with a past and life such as his.

The significance of gramophones and wax cylinders: it is what plays when Edith’s father is murdered, it is also what saves her from meeting the same fate

I want to know more about Lucille!! Her character is so rich, so so complex, she needs more screen time!!

Need a prop replica of the ring NOW

[the house] “is a privilege we were born into, one we can never relinquish” METAPHOR ALERT METAPHOR ALERT metaphor for the cycles of abuse and trauma they could not break

HOW THE FRICK did I MISS the fact that Thomas’ workshop is in the attic when that was where him and Lucille were locked up as children. SO MANY IMPORTANT SCENES HAPPEN THERE. So many significant to their past we never see, so many ghosts not visible but are so real and present to have caused this

The trail of smoke like red essence that emanates from the ghosts as they walk, like they are still bleeding

Lucille’s hair looks black in darker lighting, but a dark brunette in others. It’s provides a black, dark shroud when she’s in America, and catches more light when she’s in Allerdale Hall

“I like to think she can see us from up there. I don’t want her to miss a single thing we do.” UM MA’AM

“…in time, everything will be right” LUCILLE QUEEN OF FINAL OMINOUS STATEMENTS IN SCENES

The amount I WISH to explore this set. To pry apart each detail and pick apart each piece, so much of it had to be handcrafted pieces for the movie or vintage pieces sourced for it. LET ME IN

THE LIGHTING MUAH

The ghost in the hallway has a rope dragging behind her…is this a gory detail, or an allusion to how she may have died (if not by poison)?

The ghost in Edith’s dream is pointing, though it is never shown to what. Is it to the exit, her warning to leave as all the other ghosts try to do?

The children’s laughter after the presumed scream of their mother’s ghost as she is stabbed, is it just for creepy effect, or did Lucille and Thomas actually laugh after they murdered her?

The scar on Lucille’s lip? Never noticed it before!

Not the first time I’ve noticed it, but the act of her clutching hot steaming food with her bare hands is chilling every single time

Were the bodies of Thomas’s wives left in the vats of clay? I don’t know HOW I didn’t make that connection before, originally i thought it was merely for creepy effect.

Many people villainize Lucille and try to make Thomas out to be solely a victim. But as stated in the wax cylinder, he was fueled by his desire to pay for and make his machine. Him and Lucille are both complacent in using their victims money for their own gain

We need to bring Chatelaine’s back into fashion. That is all.

The scrape of the spoon over the porcelain cup, it screeches and is a subtle way that shows Lucille act of caring has a harshness to it, an unpleasant sound resulting from an otherwise pleasant action: tending to Edith

Such an interesting camera choice to have the camera focus in a circular inwards and outwards

also also Lucille has a temple scar on her forehead?

The small amount of glee Lucille takes saying Edith “thought [she] was a writer” as she throws the pages to her novel in the fire.

The absolute deadpan, matter-of-fact-ness Lucille has to Edith when she signs the papers “you have nothing to live for” & “mercy killings.” This is a familiar repeated cycle

“Sign your name! Sign your bloody name!” Bloody is not just for emphasis. Edith’s name is soon to be nothing but blood

Lucille’s night gown sleeves as she flies down the stairs in pursuit - like a moths wings fluttering towards its prey

Lucille and Edith fought each other with bare feet on the stone and in the snow

Lucille is the only one of the two who knows how to start Thomas’s machine, because she was the one who witnessed it working

It is only the stab wound on Thomas’ face that bleeds and smokes when he is a ghost, perhaps because it is the wound that bears his betrayal by Lucille, reminiscent of tears of his lingering pain

Edith now has a facial scar, gifted to her by Lucille, who bore ones of her own. It is a passage, a continuing of the cycle, but it is its finale. It is Edith’s souvenir from Lucille, who took her own souvenir (her hair) from the other like a prize

#a very exhaustive list from my most recent rewatch of one of MY FAVORITE MOVIES #crimson peak #many many thoughts #lucille sharpe #edith cushing #thomas sharpe #cissarambles

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letmeoutofthebasementt · 1 year ago

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Hyunjin in Relationships Astro pt.1

So, i'm making this into a series in a sense because this is long. AS. FUCK. And only the planets, their house placements, and the asteroids and their house placements. Not even aspects, or just simply what signs fall in certain houses.

So.

Tarot

I’d recommend reading my tarot reading first. So, first off quick disclaimer, Hyunjin's birthtime isn't confirmed, and his is one of those charts where it's important. His Sun and Moon can both be completely different. HOWEVER, I personally think having a Pisces Sun, Virgo Moon, Pisces Mercury, Pisces Venus, and Aries Mars suits him better as a whole lineup and it's pretty much a unanimous agreement on that. I also personally believe he's a Cancer rising, and if he was a Cancer rising born at noon he would have those placements anyways, as that's both the standard reading time and the Cancer rising time, and so I will read for him as if he is one. If he confirms his rising then I'll change it, but for now this is what we have.

So, first off, he has a strong drive to succeed and be recognized for his success. He knows what he wants, he knows he wants to do good at it, and he knows for a fact that he wants people to recognize that. With his sun in the 10th house, he definitely has very close ties with his public persona and even the persona he shows while working. How he outwardly portrays himself at the start is probably very consistent across the board.

Honestly, it would probably be hard to keep this a secret. Because of his sun being in the 10th house, I wouldn't be surprised if his relationship is outed by dispatch or something because he has a hard time keeping his personal life and work life from being so closely tied together. They always bleed together. Kind of like how his personal life is filled with SKZ who are his coworkers, or the bullying scandal that came out a long time ago that (While I genuinely believe was a two-sided conflict) did happen in his personal life when he was young.

He is very practical when it comes to his home life. He wants things to be perfect, and needs order and organization of the home. If his partner isn't neat, that can definitely start an argument. It stresses him out when things aren't perfect and his emotions go haywire. He also is a routine partner. I'm talking, the type of partner that even though they're all different, you're having your dates every Friday at 8:00 PM. He likes helping his partner in a practical way. He'll cook his partner meals, do the chores, and he just generally feels fulfilled helping take care of those he loves, especially his partners.

He likes to make sure his household is very harmonious, and generally his bonds are always very supportive on his end. He cares about his partner's well-being and needs a lot, and with this paired with his pisces stellium, he's very in-tuned with his partner's emotions. I'm talking he can notice slight shifts in your moods from like small details or just sense it. His mother is also probably very important to him, so if she doesn't have a good opinion on you...Time to kick rocks, I dunno what to tell you. Mama Hwang knows best. Now, he can be very very critical though. I'm talking criticizing your every move at least internally.

He's definitely the type who gets the ick extremely easily. Virgo moon AND a Pisces stellium? He creates fantasies and images of you in his mind that are simply impossible to achieve and when you inevitably don't meet them, it majorly puts him off.

He could also very easily not be in love with you at all but be with you for a while and act like he is. He could love the idea of you, or love the simple act of being in a relationship, he could love the love you show him but not you, he could love the image the relationship casts...Etc, etc. Being in a relationship with Hyunjin and being loved by Hyunjin sadly aren't always mutually exclusive.

Especially with him being an idol, I can definitely see him having a partner in Seoul that he sees only when he isn't promoting who doesn't have the time to necessarily shatter that image he so thoughtfully constructed, better yet if they're somewhere like LA where he isn't at often. Someone who can't shatter that image, someone he's still with so he's in a relationship like he always wants to be, someone who he can't be around physically often to scrutinize, someone who can fulfill that emotional need and show him love long-distance but he himself doesn't exactly love. He loves the image. The fact he's in a relationship. The fact that he's loved by someone. The fact that he can tell his group members he's in this relationship with the perfect person of his dreams.

He still doesn't love them.

Though he'll try his best to act like he does.

The people around him can still tell.

Hyunjin is also very particular about his partners going into relationships. He wants his partner to be attractive to him, which is fair. Looks matter to Hyunjin. They don't necessarily have to be conventionally attractive, though I do believe if his partner is perceived as attractive by a lot of people he'd like that (Though it'd also fan the flames of his jealous streak and mildly possessive behavior but that's a whole other section in and of itself). He appreciates beauty and art. He wants his partner to embody a beautiful art piece that'd come to life and chose him.

Now, Hyunjin is the romantic. He's also the hopeless romantic. Love is apart of who he is, and closely tied to his self-identity and life. He definitely believes in soulmates and is constantly trying to find his, and frankly he deludes himself into thinking every partner he has is his soulmate. He sees his partners through rose-tinted glasses to the point his partner could kill a man in broad daylight in front of a huge crowd and he'd try to justify it. (not literally but you get my point). He's the type who practically worships his partners, and elevates them to such high standards. (Probably attracts narcissists or egotistical maniacs because of it.)

He wants a perfect, fairytale type love. He wants to be the knight in shining armor (*Cough* Captain Save-A-Ho *COUGHHH*) but he also wants a mysterious partner who can always keep him on his toes and is constantly showing new sides of themselves, and taking him on new adventures. But in that same breath he wants a partner who's very vulnerable with him and who he can know emotionally very well, and know more things about them than anyone else does.

His wants for partners are probably extremely contradictory, so only someone who in and of themself is very contradictory in character could match it.

His relationships shape him a lot. Like if he was a character in a novel he would either be a Male Lead or Protagonist of a love story because of how much love impacts his life. His relationships shape his character, his worldview, etc.

I could see him being drawn more to foreign partners or partners with different religions since he's curious about different cultures, beliefs, etc. etc. Anything new and unique piques his interest. He also loves travel and wants to experience things outside of the bubble he lived and was raised in. His placements also indicate he meets partners through travel and are from different cultural and religious backgrounds.

But he also has troubles with commitment and for him love is a form of escapism. Maybe even uses relationships to cope with things? I'm not saying he's a fuckboy but if HE WAS, he'd be the type who gives and promises you the world, strings you along and makes you feel perfect and amazing and he truly means it too, and constantly promises you the relationship of your dreams, and maybe you believe you're truly together even if he doesn't ask you out, then he just disappears off the face of the earth and you never see him again. Cold turkey. That's what i'm getting here. AGAIN, not saying this happens but...Well, if he was a fuckboy that's how he'd be and I stand by it.

Also, he's extremely emotionally, mentally, and spiritually dependent on his partners. He will change every aspect of himself to try and fit the partner's wants and needs, and try to take on the colors of the people that his partner is close with or admires to the point he loses himself trying to be one with his partner and be loved by them.

In a relationship, Hyunjin would 100% be the best person to talk to about your problems. He listens quietly, and if you start getting emotional he's comforting and gentle, and truly empathizing with your emotions and being compassionate about it. The type who'll just hold you in your arms while you cry, telling you everything's going to be alright and promising you that things'll get better. (The only downside is he'll probably end up crying with you unless that's a plus for you). You can take as much time as you need and he'll be entirely invested with his heart and soul in what you're saying.

He also communicates in a way that gives you the most hard-hitting quote-worthy statements ever because it's so genuinely poetic. Like i'm talking his words are an art form in and of itself in certain situations.

But the only downside is he always feels like he needs to try and fix things. So if you're sad, he can't just accept that sometimes people just need to be sad, he'll try and find a way to fix it and will even shoulder the blame, even though it's just not something he can fix and not at all his fault.

If he's hurt...He can be very selfish and destructive. Like he's so wholly invested in you and pushes himself aside...Until he isn't. Until it's about him and only him and he goes from being so invested in his partner that he loses himself to only thinking about his wants and desires. If you get in an argument, he stops caring about how much he could hurt you near instantly, because your feelings be damned he needs to protect himself and he will.

He has a fucking temper let me tell you. He has THE temper. And you never expect it or see it coming. He doesn't stay angry for long, sure, but when he's mad he's mad and it's honestly a very scary sort of anger to witness.

Arguments with Hyunjin are bad for anyone's mental health to be honest. At first he'll probably be more hurt than mad and try to be very...Understanding of everything you say, and definitely try to defuse the situation.

Then he realizes you're not stopping and he starts crying either because he's genuinely upset or he wants you to shut the fuck up and it's a manipulation tactic. He starts playing the victim, and even if he isn't hurt he'll sure as hell act like you're attempting to verbally murder him, and if he is it's arguably worse because he plays it up to heaven and back.

And then things escalate. You say something that either really pisses him off or generally hits too close to home and all hell breaks loose.

Suddenly the tears are gone and he's screaming and he's good at it and he hits you with the most poetic, jaw-dropping, artful, creative insults and comebacks known to man to the point you stand there like "Wow."

Honestly, you're lucky you're his partner because if you weren't he'd curse you slap the fuck out. But you're unlucky it's Hwang motherfucking Hyunjin and he doesn't need curse words to make you feel like pure shit. He's way too creative in that aspect.

It's hard to truly get him to this point. Hell, you probably won't even if you cursed him out and called Bangchan a whore. But if you do, all the power to you babes. Anyone who has gotten Hyunjin beyond the point of no return...I was about to say qualifies for financial compensation but honestly if you got him that mad you probably deserve it.

There's no relationship after that point unless you're the pushover though. Because the shit he says would warrant the messiest breakup known to man.

He will criticize everything about you. He will use your emotions that he's so in-tuned with against you. He will scream and shout and break shit.

Granted this is him at his breaking point but still.

But on another note this man is in fact the life of the party. I'm talking the two of you will be the last people at the club because he's still partying and having fun after everyone calls it a night. He's the type of person who has gatherings with friends that're supposed to end at 7:00 but somehow you're all there until midnight and no one minds because they're having fun and he's so infectious.

Dates with Hyunjin will be fun. They'll be romantic but they'll be so outside of the box that you don't know if there was ever even a box in the first place. Dates are definitely planned and initiated by Hyunjin, as are most relationship milestones because he's so hot-headed and impulsive.

Like he meticulously plans out your first kiss, wants it to be something slow and romantic under the stars on a picnic date with candles and good food.

Then the real first kiss is him tonguing you down in the car right after he got gas because you were looking especially kissable and it's definitely hot as hell but not at all what he had planned.

He's very, very protective.

Controversial opinion: There's no way he can't fight. Because let's be so real here, his temper combined with his mouth means on the rare occasions he isn't the one that starts swinging someone will 100% swing on him during arguments. And practice makers perfect.

But yeah, he's a very protective person. Also very territorial, and borderline possessive. Like...I was going to say not in a toxic way, but possibly in a toxic way. Like he doesn't view you as property, and you have your own autonomy, but it's also like he views you as part of himself, so naturally you're his, so naturally there's no boundaries in fucking sight because you're not you're own person you're part of this little unit.

But with that being said, he's a very stable and trustworthy person. He's loyal to those who he loves and cares for to the point where it's a detriment to himself. He's charismatic and funny, and he can unintentionally charm the shit out of you without intending to just from being himself and speaking his mind. Because that's how he is.

He expects those things in return though. He expects trust, and loyalty, and a mutual respect in all of his interpersonal relationships. When he trusts, he trusts. When he's loyal, he's loyal. He's kind of like a dog in that sense? He trusts and he trusts because he's just that loyal, even if you hurt him beyond repair he still never stops fully loving and trusting you. And it never stops him from loving and trusting others. Because he's just that kind of a loving person.

He's also very generous. He'll probably spoil his partners a lot, buying them whatever they want and helping them out with whatever they may need help with.

He works hard in all his interpersonal relationships and is constantly trying to improve himself for the sake of things. He values bonds that last for a long time. His taurus Jupiter + Saturn mixed with his pisces stellium honestly is probably the reason why he has said he likes drawing older couples and why he believes that love should be something long-lasting and eternal, and why he'd prefer being someone's last over their first. And honestly i'm living for that.

In relationships he likes to have that emotional depth and someone who can stimulate him intellectually. He likes his relationships to be free and equal, and he likes to ensure his partners are aware of just how unique they are. He probably doesn't stick to traditional gender roles in relationships, and instead acknowledges that people have personal preferences that shouldn't be dictated just by gender. (Though there are obviously some things he likes doing that are more "masculine" roles, and some things he'd prefer his partner to take up that are more "feminine" roles but it's less about the gender part and more about the personal preference part)

Gives me malewife energy though in the sense that he probably enjoys doing a lot of things people would traditionally expect a wife to do.

He wants someone who he can grow with, but also someone who gives him room to be an individual. He naturally gravitates towards changing himself to please his partner, but will also develop resentment towards them if they're just constantly changing him and changing him, especially if they're not even changing or growing themselves.

He wants to be with someone who's his lover and his friend. Someone he shares ideals, visions, and goals with. He has an issue with learning the balance of giving and taking in relationships though. He just gives, gives, gives, gives and never bothers to take in return. He needs someone who can teach him it's okay to take, to ask his partner to do things for him or this that and the third instead of only acting almost as a personal maid waiting on his partner hand and foot while expecting nothing in turn.

His ideal lover is 100% someone he can finally be Hyunjin with instead of a franken version of himself. Someone that's his comfort zone and can return all that love, care, and affection he pours into his partners so readily.

That's not what he attracts though.

He attracts pushy people who do things he didn't sign up for. I'm talking about three dates in they show up at his door with their bags saying they sold their house to live with him because it's "better for the relationship". People who are overly involved in his every move and breath, and are definitely EXTREMELY toxic levels of possessive. They treat him like an object. He can't do this, he can't do that, he can't talk to this person or interact with that person. He attracts the type of partner that he needs to call just to get permission to order food or has to call and show the entire room he's in and its other occupants using his phone. The type of partner who knows 0 boundaries. The type who after inviting themselves to live with him completely changes the entire space to what they think suits "them" better. They want to be his everything and want to be his "Comfort Zone" that he craves but really has the opposite effect and it's overbearing and suffocating. Wouldn't be surprised if he's had partners who've tried to distance him from the group because they're "too close" (They may or may not have been successful I dunno)

He wants someone who awakens that special spark in him and knows him more than anyone else seems to. He also likes his partners to be very family-oriented. He likes peaceful relationships where he and his partner cherish one another. He likes making his partner feel amazing and likes making them feel like a god/goddess. Very forgiving and wants to do things that's in the best interest of his partner before things that are in his own best interest.

Pt. 2

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cedric-k-rossignol · 4 months ago

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So far from what I have seen in the fandom the people who don't like " the undertaker's grandfather theory" are people who ship Vincent and Undertaker , also some people are against it because the timeline doesn't make any sense ?? Which I disagree with . The most logical argument I saw is that if he was the grandfather why he doesn't care about what happened to Lizzy and Francis and Edward after all they do have Phantomhive blood too . He got Lizzy involved with the whole blue cult even though he knew the cult was actively killing people .

Ah yep, that's definitely another reason to dislike the theory.

Yeah I had a anon timeline doubter. But to me, they seemed convinced that Undertaker would have to have been human when he and Claudia conceived Vincent, and that was the only reason the timeline didn't work. Why are people soooooo against a dead dude getting someone pregnant 🙄😂 but I already covered the sleeping/eating/bleeding thing.

"The most logical argument I saw is that if he was the grandfather why he doesn't care about what happened to Lizzy and Francis and Edward after all they do have Phantomhive blood too"

You know what... Fair enough. Thinking back, the timeline anon mentioned this too. At a surface level, Undertaker's treatment of Frances and her children when compared to Vincent and his children is sort of a head-scratcher if he's their father/grandfather. And it's kind of lame of me to respond with "but have they considered Undertaker is insane?" but like actually...

You do have to consider the ✨mental illness✨ of it all.

Undertaker's relationship with Frances is so important to me because it's so messed up. His lack of connection with the child who is so much like him, in looks and in personality, is tragically realistic when you consider that Undertaker hates himself. Meanwhile we know that Vincent looks like Claudia, and I think their personalities were very similar; Undertaker would have connection with Vincent more easily, and he probably found comfort in that relationship in the aftermath of Claudia's death.

Not to excuse his behavior. I've made it clear I'm not handing Undertaker any father-of-the-year awards lmao. But where others see indifference between Frances and Undertaker, I see a lot of pain and resentment - and underneath all of that, love. It's not a boring motivator people!!! Love is complicated and families are complicated, especially a family as afflicted with tragedy as the Phantomhives.

But, I can see how just taking that moment between Frances and Undertaker at face value leaves you doubting he is her father... Even though he mentions he was around when she was born 🤦 like I'm sorry maybe I'm too deep in the Kool-aid, it is just so blatant to me!

As for his treatment of his grandkids... 🤦🤦🤦🤦 See him throwing Ciel into the air on the Campania. Lizzie at least knows how to defend herself (using the same skills Undertaker taught Frances imo - fencing, while very different from modern fencing, did exist in 14th century France as a form of military training).

In conclusion, Undertaker should definitely be banned from babysitting unsupervised. Thanks for the ask anon 💙

#the relationship between undertower and frances causing me physical harm every damn day #kuroshitsuji #black butler #undertaker #undertaker theory #claudiataker #ask #anon #frances midford #francis midford #claudia phantomhive #cloudia phantomhive #daddy issues

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gemgdynamxght · 4 months ago

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Post- Magic reveal Merthur angst oneshot (as “We hug now” by Sydney Rose)

“I have a feeling you got everything you wanted.”

The smell of mold and dust chokes up the back of his throat, strewn over the floor of a musty, wooden shack he discovered while aimlessly walking in the middle of nowhere. Only 4 days ago, he had pushed the boat into the lake, watching it drift away as his mind was now.

His eyes burned with fiery tears, the tracks engraving into his skin with molten magic - the loss never to be forgotten, embedded into his cheeks. Merlin hiccuped for breaths whenever the full feeling in his nose returned. Oh how he prayed for Arthur’s return.

Even though his bleeding body had been returned to Avalon after being struck, Merlin somewhat knew he’d done good - even without lifting the ban on magic. Merlin knew he was a good king - having achieved and done much more than his predecessors ever did for the people of Camelot.

He had a feeling Arthur did what he could and he knew he would return when Albion’s need was greatest. At least he got the life he wanted as King, portrayed as a savior and a strong ruler - a glorious battle leading to his demise.

He lived a magnificent life.

“You’re not wasting time, stuck here like me.”

At least Arthur was frozen in time rather than being stuck on an earth that would keep turning whether Merlin moves on or not. He knew the world would go on without him. Without him.

How could he ever be part of an existence without Arthur? What would be the point in living? What would his purpose be? How could he have failed? What was there left to do? He was a nobody with no political power.

Why couldn’t they have taken Merlin instead? Arthur would be able to accomplish much more than Merlin ever could in the time he’d have to wait for his other half’s return. But it wasn’t like that.

He was stuck here - without hope, without meaning and without Arthur.

“You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened.”

Merlin revealing his magic was insignificant compared to Arthur’s death. If he had done it much sooner, yes - there was the risk of dying, but it was a risk he should’ve taken rather than left so late.

Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur would have ordered his execution on the spot if hadn’t been in such a vulnerable position. He wasn’t sure if he would have burst out in a fit of rage and attacked him.

But he knew Arthur had been heart broken - the trust between them was a taut thread with a blade pressed against it. Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of relief when Arthur talked to him again - when Arthur let Merlin care for him again.

“Why are you doing this?” he said, voice slurring and thick with emotion. “Why are you still acting like a servant?”

But he had never been acting. Arthur was everything to him. He would move planets and destroy galaxies to see Arthur safe, or happy. He was born to serve Arthur and he’d stand by that until the world falls to nothing.

“The world ended when it happened to me.”

When he threw up the words “I have magic.”, hoarsely whispering “I only use it for you, Arthur.”, he feared for his life. He knew Arthur was weak and vulnerable and would have to rely on Merlin if he wanted to survive. But he knew if his King ordered his execution he’d comply.

All the years of living in fear - spent watching sorcerers fight for their families and die. All the years he lived in Camelot - spent chasing after destiny. All the years he stood by Arthur’s side - spent protecting him. It all felt worthless. His life and its purpose felt meaningless.

Uther had ordered Gaius’s execution after Gaius had been a trusted member in the council for decades. After Gaius had publicly turned against his own kind to stand by Uther’s side. Would Arthur do that to him even after showing and proving he had the utmost loyalty toward him?

Merlin knew for a fact that his fear of losing Arthur and being unable to serve him by his side overpowered the notion of dying.

“I have a feeling you got everything you wanted.”

Arthur was glad his last moments were spent with his best friend - a man he cares for and loves. He was glad it was by his side that his life left his body. He was glad he didn’t have to die alone.

He somewhat knew Merlin had never trusted him. He knew Merlin didn’t love him the way Arthur loved him because if he did why would he never tell Arthur about his magic. Did he really think Arthur would kill him? After all they’ve been through together?

Arthur understood Merlin did what he had to. He understood Merlin was the only person there was for him. He understood Merlin would never want to hate or hurt him. He understood magic was a part of Merlin that would never leave him and he’d accept him as he was.

Merlin was a good man. He’d done so much for Arthur and there was no way he could ever repay him - not now as the last words lingered in his last breath.

“Thank you.”

There was a small guilty feeling swirling in the back of his throat. Maybe Merlin was even happy that Arthur had died; there was no King to persecute him. That would be everything he wanted, right? To be free.

“You’re not wasting time, stuck here like me.”

Merlin was out there living while Arthur’s carcass had been left to rot on a brittle boat in the middle of a cursed lake. He would get to do things. He would get to see his family and his friends and Arthur would be stuck here - trapped in the visceral bounds of time; choking him.

“You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened.”

Arthur’s death must have meant nothing to Merlin. He was a powerful warlock - the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth and Arthur just felt like some lousy king who accomplished nothing. He saved nobody.

He had blindly followed along his father’s ruling and assisted in the persecution of so many all of his life - carpet cleaning an entire community and race of people. It was only in his last days that he realised just how wrong he was.

Arthur was really the useless one between the duo - between the two men who couldn’t be more opposite. This moment must be so insignificant to Merlin who would live forever. There was definitely more important battles he fought and more important people in his life.

People more important that he cared more for than Arthur. Arthur’s death was a blip of his life that he would forget as if it never happened.

“The world ended when it happened to me.”

He had felt the life being torn out of his lungs as death scraped its claws down his throat, piercing his last words in its sharp nails.

Everything he was meant nothing.

None of his life mattered because he had never been the king he should have been - a king who helped and freed people. He didn’t even get to help Merlin. And now he’d never be able to see him again, never be able to beg for forgiveness again, never be able to thank him again - never be able to voice how much he loves him.

He wasn’t sure if his world ended when blood stopped circulating around his body or when he stopped feeling Merlin by his side.

#bbc merlin #merlin #oneshot #angst #the adventures of merlin #merlin x arthur #merlin emrys #merlin fandom #merlin fanfic #arthur pendragon #king arthur #diamond of the day #merthur #merthur angst #i hate me too #i wrote this at god knows what time in the morning #we hug now #sydney rose

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colouredbyd · 29 days ago

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hello dalia! i’m a new writer and your work has meant a lot to me—there’s alot about the way you write pain and healing that feels deeply personal and real. i’ve been reflecting on how much emotional weight your stories carry, and i wanted to ask:

how do you approach writing characters who have been shaped by trauma without reducing them to it?

i also wonder—how much of your own emotional experience bleeds into your work, and how do you carry that weight? your stories feel emotionally lived-in but never overwhelming—is that balance intentional, or something that happens naturally?

what do you think is the line between romanticizing pain vs portraying it honestly? your writing doesn’t flinch from the beauty in sadness, but it never feels performative either. how do you find that balance?

this could fall under your “dalia analyses” if you ever feel like answering—either way, thank you for making work that lingers. inspired by grimmauld, till all that’s left is glorious bone, and secrets have teeth!

dalia analyses: how to write hurt that heals

a/n: thank you to the sweet anon who sent me this!! if anyone ever wants to send me anything to analyze, there are no rules. i love thinking out loud <3

how to write trauma without reducing a character to it?

when it comes to writing characters shaped by trauma, i always start by resisting the urge to define them by it. like in till all that’s left is glorious bone — i didn’t want to begin with “this is a broken girl.” i wanted readers to see her. how she moved, how she loved, how she existed. she sings, laughs too loudly at sirius’s jokes, plays around with her brothers — that makes her real.

only then, when you’ve sat with her as a person, do you start to notice the ache underneath. otherwise, it’s just trauma for trauma’s sake, and that never sits right with me. it feels empty, performative, even cruel.

i think that’s why in that same fic, i scattered in throwbacks — childhood memories where sirius undoes her braid, where she fixes regulus’s tie. they’re tiny things, but they say everything. her braid symbolized obedience, restraint — what her mother demanded of her — and having sirius undo it was this quiet, rebellious act of softness. a way of saying, i will not be what you want me to be.

and the tie, for regulus, was the opposite. he was always neat, always contained, and she never undid it — only fixed it — which showed how he couldn’t connect with either sibling, not really. not until the very end, where we see him messy for the first time.

that was his own kind of rebellion. a late but quiet freedom, and for her, that freedom came in accepting her illness, the pain she carried in her bones, and finally — literally — letting her hair down.

all of this to say, you have to earn the weight. you can’t drop it on a character and expect readers to feel it. we have to know them first. breathe with them. if i started that fic with “she was deeply traumatised,” no one would’ve cared. it would’ve felt like a trauma dump. instead, i tried to show not tell.

that’s maybe the best writing advice i can give: show. give people details, habits, memories. let them arrive at the pain naturally.

how much personal experience bleeds into my work?

this is such a thoughtful question and i’ve been sitting with it for a while now

i think the honest answer is — a lot. a lot of my own emotional experience bleeds into what i write, though not always in ways that are obvious or even conscious.

i can’t always separate what i’ve lived from what i create. but i also can’t lie and say it only comes from within me — i gather pieces of inspiration from everywhere. poems, song lyrics, quotes i’ve underlined to death, moments from films that lingered longer than they should’ve.

even till all that’s left is glorious bone was born from a single frank ocean lyric that wouldn’t leave me alone. so yes, i borrow — but then i filter it through something that is deeply, deeply mine.

like that braid in till all that’s left. that wasn’t just symbolic for the character — that was real. it came from my own childhood, from the way obedience was instilled in me through physical presentation, through rules about hair and posture and silence.

another example — in the names of real things, the comfort scenes, especially the ones around panic or overwhelm, were directly taken from the way my best friend helps me when i spiral. the way she speaks to me, grounds me, reminds me i’m real. it felt important to give that kind of love to a character, like a way of archiving care.

that said, i think it’s just as important to know when not to write from experience.

for example — i see a lot of myself in remus. a lot. i joke that i’m an irl remus at this point, but it’s kind of true. and because of that, i can’t dig into his trauma the way i do with others. it’s too exposing. too raw.

writing comfort for him feels like giving comfort to myself — and that’s as far as i’m willing to go. i don’t want to open those wounds. i don’t want to watch someone else write them, either.

i rarely read remus trauma fics because they feel like reading pages torn from my own journal, and that’s okay. not every story has to come from the deepest part of you.

if you actually read half of my masterlist, you’ll start to notice a pattern: remus is always, always, always portrayed as soft. he’s the one who comforts. the one who listens. the one who offers warmth with open hands.

it’s rarely james or sirius who holds that space — and i think that’s because some part of me uses remus the way i wish i could use myself: as a safe place, as proof that softness can survive.

so my advice — if i could offer any — is this: write what you feel ready to write.

you don’t owe the page your pain if it’s not something you can carry back with you. use what you know, what you understand, even if it’s something quiet like the way your friend holds your hand when you’re anxious. emotion doesn’t always have to be grand or devastating to be real.

start with what you feel, not what you think people want to read. and protect yourself in the process. stories are made of you, but they should never take all of you.

how to portray pain without romanticizing it?

i think the line between romanticizing pain and portraying it honestly is all about intention and texture.

pain, in fiction, becomes dangerous when it’s used like a costume. when it’s aestheticized, flattened into something beautiful for beauty’s sake. that’s when it stops being storytelling and starts becoming spectacle.

and while pain can be poetic — often is — there’s a big difference between writing something sad and using sadness to evoke a cheap reaction.

a good place to start asking yourself, as a writer, is: am i showing this pain as something that shaped the character? or am i making it their whole personality?

when pain becomes the only lens through which a character is seen — no softness, no contradictions, no history — it stops feeling lived-in. and that’s when it tips into romanticization.

what helps me is letting characters breathe before they break. i always say: don’t start with trauma. start with who they are outside of it.

in grimmauld, which i think is one of my heaviest pieces, i still carved out softness, i had to. because no one, not even someone drowning, forgets the warmth of another hand. those moments don’t undermine the sadness — they anchor it. they say: “this character is real, and real people still feel sunlight even in the middle of the storm.”

and those choices aren’t just emotional; they’re narrative, they’re how you avoid writing trauma as a gimmick.

if a story opens with “she’s shattered,” then there’s nowhere to go. if she becomes shattered, if we watch it happen — if we understand how much she loses because we’ve seen what she had — then the pain lands, because now it means something.

this is why, when people ask me to write pure angst, i often can’t. not because i’m unable to write pain — i can, but because pure angst, in my opinion, is unrealistic.

it strips characters of dimension. even the most infamous figures — anakin skywalker, coriolanus snow, tom riddle — weren’t sad 24/7. they loved things, they laughed once, they had quiet mornings before they became myths. and portraying them with nuance doesn’t excuse their darkness — it just makes the darkness mean more.

so if you’re a writer trying to find that balance: show the character first. show their routines, show what they love, show what they laugh at, what annoys them, and how they drink tea. make them real before you make them suffer.

and then — when you do let the pain in — don’t just say “she was hurt.” show how it changed her. how it touched her speech, her posture, her decision-making. how it shaped her, not defined her. how she carries it with her but isn’t only made of it.

so if i could offer one piece of advice: don’t write pain to make people cry. write it to make them understand. not just the sadness, but the person carrying it.

trust me love, when people understand your writing, when they see themselves or someone they love stitched into the seams of it, they will cry. not because you forced it — but because you told the truth, and nothing makes a reader weep like being seen.

and always, always remember: suffering can be poetic — but poetry doesn’t have to mean performance. it can just mean truth.

#colouredbyd #d rants #dalia analyses

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pink-slay · 2 months ago

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After all the work and all the play what are we left with? Our diminishing bodies that seem far too frail to withstand the crushing weight of the world on our shoulders, and isn't it silly there's a bone called atlas because it holds up the world that is your mind but... not always. Sometimes atlas fails and your brain is at the whims of the wind or the motion or the whiplash you don't get to control.

I long for nights full of math problems in the library I get special access to after hours so I can sit in the bright fluorescent lights that somehow... hurts my eyes less there and I get to flee, running far away from my dorm with all that I've let happen to me there. I want to crave mathematics, consume it by the spoonful, comb through google scholar articles about unapproved drugs and all their woes and all their kindnesses. I want to think until my ears bleed until I collapse until I cease to exist.

at least when I think, I know I'm really there. My mind has been so off track lately flashing in and out of reality, like that glitchy scene on Severance when people transfer from one version of themself to another but it's PTSD instead. Life has afforded me so many things but escaping it all isn't one of them.

I am okay if being free looks confining to others. I see how thinking can be a trap, a whirlpool, a mudslide, an avalanche. However, if I could let me brain exude all that it was, maybe it would drown out all this emotion maybe it would go away.

I told my friend the other day that if severance was real I would do it instantly because maybe I could create a version of me who didn't have to know all that I have been.

to have been abused is to have been fed cruelty to have been force fed it, and I think about how I told my friend I was force fed medicine as a child, and they at first didn't know I wasn't exaggerating because my life exists in thousands of agonies, and I fear being held down and fed grape diazepam at 3 isn't on the top of my mind right now. All of it comes back in flashes, so aptly named, the flashback that is. A flicker, a flash bang, a blinding light, something to make your pupils dilate so fast you can't perceive light.

I leave this poem, this prose thinking about cortical blindness and how sometimes it feels like I understand it because my peripheral vision is so lacking but I still flinch when something moves too quickly. I think about how maybe I'm less present than I think I am and how it felt like my body knew it before my eyes could see it when a rabbit crossed my path the other day and sat there staring at me.

I don't pretend to know every omen or path I can go down but Robert frost wrote a whole poem about how all paths are useless and people entirely missed the point of it. I've been think a lot about paths lately though not because I'm deciding anything in particular (although I constantly am always), but I have been listening to The Path by Lorde a lot.

I envision the song and I think of how maybe there is only one path, not in a deterministic way, but in a "you don't have the ability to experience both outcomes so the existence or lack thereof of another universe with another you has nothing to do with the fact that you inevitably only get to make one choice" kinda way.

maybe that's why I write this prose or maybe a poem, if you could even call it that--- to realize the messages screamed at me in songs that my brain is only present enough to understand while typing. I need to remember the essence of that song and so many niche things in my life that keep weaving the words "there is always a choice" into me because Lorde may have been born in the year of OxyContin but that didn't obligate her to be a narcotics CEO or have severe chronic pain. All of these rambling thoughts of incoherent ideas to say that circumstance isn't destiny. We must not put too much energy into trying to perfectly weigh our decisions, but we must know they matter. They matter in weighs strong enough and big enough to negate whole other possibilities.

I hope I sleep better and I hope others use their choice to help me soon. Until then, the restless nights and exhausted days full of guilt about being so so Sick will see me wither away a bit more.

#disability #disabled #disabilties #severe disability #chronic pain #writing #severe #writeblr #writers #writers on tumblr #lorde #solar power #robert frost #sick #poems and poetry #poems on tumblr #prose poem #prose poetry #prose

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rambheem-is-real · 9 months ago

Text

Karna vs the (Modern) World

prequel to Bujji's Analysis

Karna wakes up in Bhairava's body, and now has a disembodied female voice calling him partner. The holy mother is tied up in the backseat of the strangely autonomous vehicle they're riding in, and Karna has no idea what's going on.

They were on a journey from Shambala. Karna lingered in Bhairava’s mind, watching the guy in charge of their body move a horse-less vehicle with his hands and feet, talking to a disembodied voice. He had no idea what was going on, but he recognized the woman tied up in the car, or rather, her offspring. There was no mistaking that illustrious aura, even if he was currently just a fetus in the woman’s stomach.

For a second Karna was tempted to take over their body, release the woman, and just go with her. He had no idea when or where he was (he assumed it had been a few thousand years, give or take), so he would hope she at least knew how to survive here and follow the woman. Karna had no untoward intentions, he just wanted to be with the woman when the baby was born. Would a fully formed adult Krishna spring out, with golden black skin and that damned peacock feather in his hair? He hoped so, because if anyone would have answers it would be God himself. Why he was here now of all times, why he was in someone else’s body, what happened to the world, he wanted to know.

Karna stopped himself, because what if it was just a baby? Lord Rama wasn’t born like that, right? Then Karna would just be left with a random woman and a random baby, albeit a very powerful baby. He tuned back into the conversation. Bhairava had been saying something to soothe the voice right before Karna got lost in thought.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Bhairava,” the voice said. “What do you mean you don’t remember why you killed Commander Manas? I thought you said we were partners. You can tell me anything.”

Karna mentally shuddered when the voice said they were partners. He had a suspicion the voice was the vehicle itself, and that was terrifying. Unless the fetus had somehow become great friends with Bhairava in the last few days, and also learned to talk with a female voice, but that was unlikely. Karna could tell there was no magic involved here, which made the voice all the more scarier, as otherwise he would assume a god had bewitched the vehicle or something. This was just wrong.

“Sorry, Bujji,” the sound came out of his mouth. The dialect was wrong, and so was the timbre of his usually deep voice, but Karna pushed down the automatic nausea. Then felt sick for a different reason. Bujji? This Bhairava… was flirting with a vehicle?

"Partners", the vehicle’s, or Bujji’s voice, echoed in Karna’s mind.

“Mpfffh!” Karna’s eyes glanced in the rearview mirror to see the woman had managed to get the thin substance off her mouth, some kind of gag, although the rest of her was still tied up. “Please, Bhairava. I haven’t done anything to you. Just please leave me and my child alone,” the woman begged.

“Sorry, labs papa,” Bhairava said. “Would’ve reconsidered if it wasn’t a 5 star bounty. I’m finally gonna be able to pay off my debts with this.”

Money?? Bhairava had kidnapped the mother of the universe for money?

Well, that settled it. Karna had no intention of giving baby Krishna over to whoever was willing to pay what seemed like a large sum of gold to get the woman. Sure, he had faced Keshava many times on the battlefield (technically he had faced Arjuna, but he had suspicions that the charming God had a few tricks up his sleeve), but it was nothing personal. He would be a great ally to have in this time period, and maybe he could finally have a friendly spar with the man. His troubles in his past life were because he had allied himself with the wrong people anyway.

Not his beloved Suyodhana, though, never. Karna had been happy to bleed on the battlefield, and would have given his life ten times over just to see the loving smile on Duryodhana’s face once more. He had been good friends with Ashwa, his brother-in-arms as well. Karna pushed down a pang of loneliness as he thought of both of them. Ashwa was here, anyway. He vaguely remembered seeing him chained down, but it wasn’t like those chains could stop Karna's friend of all people.

Just as the thought hit, so was the vehicle. The impact of something bouncing off of Bhairava’s side made the vehicle flip over several times. Karna gladly gave up full control for a few seconds, retreating deep into Bhairava’s mind until the experience was over. He peeked out when the vehicle stopped moving.

Oh. It was Ashwa.

Karna watched through eyes half-closed with Bhairava’s pain as Ashwa quickly made his way over to the woman (who unsurprisingly had come out unscathed), and made sure she wasn’t hurt. He knew what would happen, but it didn’t make it less disappointing to have Ashwa turn to give Bhairava’s body a glance, sigh, and carry the woman back into the woods where he came from. It was for the best. Ashwa probably assumed Karna was gone again. Besides, this would solve the problem of the woman being hunted down.

With a rumbling noise, the weird white lamps in the vehicle came back on, along with the floating blue ones. Karna bit back a yelp as the voice came back, proving Bujji really was the vehicle. “Bhairava! Are you okay?”

“Okay? I’m okay?” he heard Bhairava breathe, and realized it was coming from within. He quickly ceded control once again. If he had his way, Bhairava would never find out Karna was also there inside him. Bhairava continued talking, oblivious to the fact that Bujji hadn't heard what he said right before. “Just peachy, Bujji. I think our little lab-experiment-gone-wrong has disappeared.”

“It was that angry old man, he’s the last thing my sensors registered before the impact! He must have taken her away.”

Karna didn’t recognize what Bhairava called the woman, the words Bujji used for Ashwa, or exactly what part of her registered the impact, either. He had also missed some of the earlier sentences. Fuck, he would have to learn a new language, because clearly everyone here was multilingual. Besides that, though, he’d have to make sure Ashwa and the woman weren’t followed.

Slowly, making sure Bhairava wasn’t alarmed by his presence (until he was Karna again and clearly Bhairava wasn’t strong enough to stay aware when not in full control), Karna emerged.

“We shall go home,” he told Bujji, which was nerve wracking in a way that felt embarrassing for a war veteran. What if this artificial being could somehow detect lies? What even was this thing capable of? Karna loved to fight, loved knowing he was a well seasoned machine when it came to beating people in battle, but of course that was only when he knew his opponents. Or at least knew they were somewhat human. He didn’t know what the hell this Bujji was.

A pause. “I thought you just said you wanted the reward?”

Karna guessed she was talking about the money. “I will figure something out. Wealth can be obtained through other means. It will be dangerous to keep pursuing such a formidable foe as him.” He hoped it was at least somewhat believable as Bhairava’s voice, although he hadn’t quite figured out the modern speech patterns yet.

Another pause. “Right… maybe we should head back.” She sounded more worried now. “And get you checked out. Plotting coordinates for Kasi, then. You sleep in the meantime, I’ll get you there.”

Karna was grateful he didn’t have to speak more with Bujji. Bhairava would be confused again when he woke up, but would probably write it off as a decision he made with a head injury. An embarrassing part of him wished he’d wake up and be back on the battlefield, holding up that chariot wheel. Maybe this was some hallucination he was having before death, and any second now he'd start smelling the smoke and feeling the old battle wounds again. At least he knew what he faced there.

Or maybe this was Yama’s abode, and this was his personal narakam [hell], designed to punish him for all of the atrocities he committed. Draupadi's beautiful, vengeful face came to mind. Maybe Bujji was a new modern version of Yama's attendants. He shuddered before falling asleep, hoping that the scary thing wouldn’t kill him (he trusted she wouldn't kill Bhairava, at least).

tagging ppl who interacted with the last part

@ahamasmiyodhah @mahi-wayy @vijayasena @celestesinsight @n0tm3g @prettykittytanjiro @lakshana-ke-lakshan @sometimesbrave

#kalki #kalki2898ad #kalki fic #karna #bujji/bhairava

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mangotangerine · 3 months ago

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shifting variables chapter 4 is being beta'd, chapter 15 of when boys grow up is in progress, and i cannot control myself so i've started writing 5 billion different other fics but i'm sinking most of my time into young-silco-is-a-revolutionary-and-he-ends-up-adopting-viktor-later. political intrigue! fluff! eventual vanco smut!

here is a snippet, below the cut:

young silco/eventual vanco fic snippet

Freedom is a lie. The concept of freedom is sweet, something to strive toward, beautiful and noble. But in practice—it is a lie. Everyone is a slave to their circumstance, the story of their entire life penned out for them before they even breathe their first breath. Where one is born determines where one will die, and how, and when.

Born to House Kiramman, and the path laid down before first steps can even be taken is paved in gold. Elsewhere in Piltover, the path may not be paved in gold, but it is still paved. Down here, though, where it’s filthy and cold and every moment a struggle—well, there are no paved streets down here. Any path forged is carved by bloody, blistered hands into the bedrock itself.

He’s sixteen and angry, the fight in him stuffed deep and tied up with chains, because anger has a price for boys like him. He can’t afford to let loose, to give in to the darkness that bubbles just below the surface, not without just cause, not without a reason. So he saves it for later, some indeterminate time in the future, and hopes it doesn’t eat him up before that moment arrives.

Later arrives, something kicked up nearby—enforcers, of course it’s enforcers, and what are they doing all the way down here? He slips his knife into his hands and he’s all bottled raged and barely-laced fury, a stick of dynamite ready to explode. He steps out of the alley, and all the fight bleeds out of him before he can do anything with it.

She’s sixteen and covered in bruises, dirty face streaked with tears, shaking as she screams at the retreating enforcers. She hurls a rock, a can, a glass bottle, all of them falling short, scattered and shattered on the uneven, rocky ground they stand on. She sees him, eyes darting to the knife and then to his face, and she holds out her hand with a defiant glare.

He passes the knife to her, and she hurls that at them, too, but they don’t even see it. They don’t look back once, laughing to themselves at the filthy little sumprat girl they decided to single out that day. The knife clatters on the ground, far short of where the glass shards of the bottle lay. She crouches down, curling up over her knees, not wanting to touch the ground with anything but her feet.

It’s a moment’s work to grab the knife and shove it back into its pocket. He can leave, now, really—there’s no reason to stick around. This kind of thing happens all the time to people like them, nothing new. He doesn’t owe her anything.

He stops in front of her, crouching down, and she lifts her head and looks at him with quicksilver eyes as sharp as the knife he holds.

“Don’t ask if I’m okay,” she spits. She rubs at her dirty face with dirty hands, letting out a shuddering sob, and he doesn’t ask. He stays there with her until the shaking stops, until her breath evens, and the next time she lifts her head, she brushes back strands of her purple hair and says, “I’m Felicia.”

“I’m Silco,” he says. She nods, stands, and holds out her hand to help Silco to his feet. He doesn’t need it—he’s taller than her, bigger than her, but he takes it anyway. She drops his hand the second he’s on his feet and he takes a step back, giving her space, and they watch each other warily for a long moment.

“You hungry?” she asks, and Silco makes a face.

“Are we in the undercity?” he responds, acerbic, and her laugh is like birdsong. “I know a guy,” she says, and she takes Silco’s hand, and she pulls him along with her.

#my writing #wbgu #shifting variables #fic snippet #young silco #silco #arcane silco #felicia arcane #vanco #zaundads

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eliteseven · 1 year ago

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What are your thoughts on Shadowheart in terms of her character? Her feelings towards Tav and her self-esteem?

Shadowheart: Self Esteem & Feelings towards Tav:

Short(er) version:

Shadowheart is complex and so interesting. She can be caustic, witty, dry and seemingly detached- or she can be the most loving person you've ever known. She's confident- we now know much of that was born of her Sharran upbringing, but she's willful because of her parents. She's defiant, playful around those she trusts, and has a great capacity for love. She's a healer at heart- though honed as a weapon, there is no greater joy for her than being able to mend wounds, to take away pain, even though it's all she's known for so long. She's broken, at times, but healing beautifully now.

Her relationship with Tav is founded upon trust (and a LOT of physical attraction, to boot). Tav is the only person who managed to breach her walls while she was still serving Shar. Tav has laid her own life on the line for Shadowheart (and her parents) countless times. Shadowheart plays coy and flirtatious, but there is a deep internal voice that tells her she's lucky Tav considers her worthy of her love. Romantically, Shadowheart is absolutely enamored with Tav. The more she learns about Tav's upbringing, the more protective she becomes. I think she's keenly aware of the fact that she and her parents are Tav's only true family, aside from her mother all the way in Cormyr.

Long (writer's) version lol:

I think Shadowheart is a layered, complex character! We have “Jenevelle”, if you will, at her core. Traits she picked up from her parents, even if she doesn’t inherently remember everything: her kindness, her proclivity to caring for animals and the weak, even her sense of humor (finger guns after the night orchid joke lol). I feel like life in the cloister had her suppressing these traits to an almost painful extent. Her memory may have been wiped, but her instincts do not change so easily. She’s witty, she’s even fun-loving, she’s outspoken. She’s willful, stubborn, and often sees the best in people.

And then we have “Shadowheart”- or the traits she developed as a result of life in the cloister. Some are actually beneficial, some not so much. Life in the cloister makes her cynical, sly, defensive, secretive, even if also incredibly adept at defending herself. It gives her “bite” to her personality, as well as a sense of arrogance.

In the first Acts, we see more of Shadowheart, but Jenevelle bleeds through. It’s clear by Act 2 that she’s developed enough of a rapport/trust with Tav that her true nature begins to show.

I think when she was a practicing Sharran, she lived under the guise of false self-esteem. She ascribed worth to herself based on how well she could heed the Dark Lady’s orders. Now that she’s free, she struggles with reconciling deeds she’s committed in the past. Though it isn’t her fault explicitly, I think she carries much guilt for what she became. Now, living her life in service to her parents, to all their animals, and to her beloved Tav- I think she sees her life as simple, bucolic, but worth so much more. She can be proud of this life, without shame. She can reconcile Jenevelle and Shadowheart, and be the best of both of them.

Her Feelings towards Tav:

Tav is a vital piece to Shadowheart’s overall growth. Initially, she’s attracted to Tav and thinks little of her or that fact- beyond staring when she thinks Tav isn’t looking. Just another pretty girl who's surprisingly good with a blade, in her eyes. In the early weeks, they argue. A lot. Shadowheart is particularly vicious when she gets wind that Tav came from nobility. And then something strange happens- Shadowheart finds herself looking forward to arguing with Tav, just to spend more time with her. She watches Tav give her own food and water to Tiefling refugees- She rolls her eyes at the “weakness” displayed and then goes to hide her smile in her tent and repent in prayer.

Tav is the most selfless person Shadowheart knows. Tav cares more about Emmeline and Arnell than Shadowheart can fathom. She’s constantly looking for ways to make up for lost time, constantly looking for ways to help Shadowheart’s memory. She doesn’t sleep if Shar’s mark is causing Shadowheart pain. Shadowheart has never been the love of anyone’s life-until now.

Shadowheart is madly in love. Tav’s her best friend, her partner. Tav helped speak sense into her, helped her see reason, light, love in the midst of Shar’s scheme for her. Tav saw through her, saw Jenevelle and Shadowheart, and gave herself completely to both of them.

#(Bless you for asking something non death or throuple related 🙏🏼😅)#bg3 #anonymous #ask #Shadowheart #shadowheart x tav #nls series #oc: serena tavyndír #my hcs

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normystical · 8 months ago

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the

moon is full the cave is deep (deep) anybody who is sane is asleep it's deep down here don't creep down here or you might disappear suddenly down here welcome come inside my hole i'm very much obliged my friends call me klsrksk but you may know me as slime (hi) i am the massivest giant gelatinous guy in this cavernous mine my only passion is hiding in passages frightening passing chumps HI i'm in your messages slide in like catheters right in your bladder SURPRISE try to fly and you'll happen to find that you're trapped in a dilemma kafka could write you can try and hit back when i die i just SNAP as if i am elastic incised look at the size of this bastard dividing like matter the kind that'll happen when atoms collide not about to deny it i'm having a fabulous time rapping this rhyme i cram it with multisyllabics and double entendres in patterns that baffle your mind i flip mathematics like a poltergeist because when i divide then i multiply i'm not the sort to die wouldn't resort to violence because the more you try it then the more i riot one on one i'm a one man army come on bruv no one can harm me we aren't going to cause any trouble now are we so turn around and start running for your life calmly the moon is full the cave is deep (deep!) anybody who is sane is asleep it's deep down here don't creep down here or you might disappear suddenly down here i look like a creeper's head if he was dead of being beheaded by guillotine (chop) instead of creeping up on villagers to burst to smithereens (pop) in here your screams don't mean a hill of beans no being can hear a thing no sweet idyllic scenes of village greens you're merely here to bleed amid dirt and in grime you might just bump into slime two for the price of one look i'm providing such a good time i'm the verdant-est slice of turkish delight lurk in the murk of the mines don't you look twice kind word of advice hi my name's slime shady don't know why but scru face jean's on my mind lately my baby come writhe in my gravy twice daily you're right in my lane better drive safely when i'm pullin' you aside it's nothing like a traffic stop on a white lady so you won't survive by bein' a cwybaby you can try vainly or DIE BRAVELY i'm a single father mother call me dad and mommy floutin' the chinese one-child policy started at the bottom now i've got a bloody colony i could be a doctor teaching epidemiology the moon is full (full) the cave is deep anybody who is sane is asleep it's deep down here don't creep down here or you might disappear suddenly down here i might seem green but i'm just jelly putting you in a jam like gooseberries it's very clear i need intervention like when i bukkaked peter venkman see me just skeet without an erection spreadin' my seed in every direction you're gonna need some heavy protection when i release the rest of 'em ha hold up you've hit the sloppiest roadblock you and your crew can run up and get coldcocked we're a chip off of the old block how come a minecraft parody's a whole bop even with no cock no ovulation we're causing overpopulation mobs in a mob self-replicatin' sorry we're late and kept you waitin' under a full moon what would a fool do to win a fortune and will it fall through couldn't afford to but could've fooled you 'cause to a fault you keep getting fooled you are like the fall dew back every morn' new didn't i warn you didn't it dawn on you that when we fall on your sword then we're born anew don't make us keep repeatin' are we boring you though i'd like to stay around alas i can't stick about very long gotta bounce gotta split so put down your stick there's no need to attack if you do or you don't we will keep coming back when the moon is full the cave is deep (deep!) anybody who is sane is asleep it's deep down here don't creep down here or you might disappear suddenly down here

#lyric posting #lyricposting #lyric spam #i love spamming #spamming lyrics #the real slime shady

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indighostoast · 9 months ago

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Yeah...right...

tw: mentions of suicidal ideation, self-harm, imposter syndrome (oh hey look it makes a comeback how nice of you to join), RSD, and just overall brutal self-hatred.

just a vent.

you don’t know when you internalized the fact

that you’ll never be enough.

maybe it was one day. one day of scolding that went too far.

maybe it was slowly taken from you, bit by bit. like a chocolate bar cut in pieces. slowly being chewed away.

maybe it you were just born with it. created with the function coded into your head.

though the last one didn’t make sense. how did people do anything? walking around with their brain saying they didn’t deserve the air they breathed. the space they took up.

or maybe because you had people around you. who cared. but not enough.

they clapped politely, without knowing how much it mattered.

and so as soon as you started to fly, they shot you down. they didn’t want you to fly too close to the sun, after all. we all knew what happens to Icarus.

but they injured you. they poked so many holes in the wax wings that you plummeted. towards the ocean.

and you fell.

so you stopped. you stopped flying for you.

or maybe you never stopped. maybe you’re only here because they wanted you to. you never chose to be here, after all. you’re just here to make other people happy.

what else are you worth? besides that?

but making people happy isn’t working. they got upset at you. they said things that you can’t handle.

how can you handle everyone else when you can’t handle this from the closest people in your life? how can you be yourself when all you were defined as was to make everyone care about you?

you’re selfless. you’re so polite. you’re so mature for your age.

you’re so kind. you’re so hard on yourself.

you’re so lazy. you’re so emotional. you’re such a crybaby.

you can’t handle growing up if this is how you act with a small critique. you can’t sit here and stay in shock and want to hurl yourself out the window and scratch into arms until you bleed.

you have work to do.

but they’ll never understand how much it matters to you. they’ll never understand the spike.

the adrenaline and hop in your step and how the world seemed so much more colorful when someone gave you what you wanted.

but just like the times when you were young. when you learned to suddenly stop laughing and learned to put a hurt expression on your face. because of all the times you were told your laughter was too loud. that the joke wasn’t even funny but it sounded hysterical to you. like those times.

you had to be down-to-earth. or else no one would take you seriously. so with every achievement you didn’t need other people’s help to brush or insult them away. you did it yourself.

you couldn’t take any compliments anymore. any perfect score was taken as luck. people are just complimenting you because they haven’t seen someone better yet. someone replaceable.

or they were just flat-out lying. that’s a possibility.

so you long to impress the people more skilled than you. you were taught to look up to them, after all. you long to impress them the same way they impressed you.

or was it jealousy? were you jealous of them, possibly? you can’t be jealous. you’re supposed to be happy you hypocrite.

you can’t count how many things that’ll never see the light of day again. how many hobbies you truly enjoyed but were ruined by comparing. or because no one cared enough about it. or how many words you’ve written but spoiled by judgment.

and years and years of hating yourself.

you were born to hate yourself; you were born to pretend you had any form of self-love at all.

the only form of self-love came when you were emotionally exhausted. when you’re so tired you can’t think of anything but of how tired you were.

you were selfish. though. selfish for thinking you could be the best. selfish for thinking your ideas had any form of tact at all.

they were stronger than you, that’s for sure.

the people who were told they would never make it, and still made it. they’ll never be you. that’s for sure. you’re too sensitive.

you think you could just get what you want without doing any work? how cute. you think you can make someone happy? when it’s you? when you’re the one trying?

how…cute.

you’re still that eight-year-old who hit themselves until their arms were red. you’re still that little kid who cried because “all the other kids have birthday parties! all the other kids have so many friends who don’t leave me!” you’re still that kid who cried after you didn’t win, waiting for reassurance and instead getting hit with the reality train. because you didn’t train enough. because you were seven fucking years old and you were crying in the car while they yelled at you.

you were nine. you were nine and someone should’ve hugged you afterwards. you were nine and instead people said you weren’t good enough. that you should win first place and that the older kids got almost every single question right and even though you were the best, it was because everyone else was a failure.

even though you made it further than the people almost twice your age. you still cried in the bathroom because you panicked. you froze up and you don’t deserve any of it.

reality hit in: you aren’t that gifted kid anymore. you never were.

so none of your achievements were worth it. huh. that’s a shock.

why don’t you just throw out the few prizes you have? if you had any at all.

if you can’t make yourself happy: make everyone else happy instead. your mother was always telling you to have a goal set. to have a purpose in life so you wouldn’t try and kill yourself again.

why can’t you do it? why can’t you just be like everyone else?

all of the people who said they were impressed, said they liked what you did

and whatnot.

all liars.

big. fat. liars.

all of them.

they’ll discover how much of a fraud you are. you're too unskilled to even be breathing air on this earth.

it’s easy to replace someone terrible. there’s people waiting in line already.

so might as well point out your flaws before anyone bothers to.

stupid. how stupid.

#ghost vents to the void #cw: sui mention #vent post #this was originally supposed to be a green character introspection but then my personal feelings crossed in #so now it's just vent #it's just pure vent.#i think the newest ep did something to me because of how painful and accurate it was #i don't think i can even rant about it. it's basically rubbing salt on an open wound #i almost hate it.#breaking news: local people-pleaser with heavy amounts of negative self-talk and imposter syndrome #realizes they aren't the only one #the title came from the fact that whenever people give me a compliment of any kind irl #i reply with: “yeah... sure.” or something along the lines of that #because i genuinely cannot believe someone would actually think it's true #/srs blame it on childhood trauma lol #or maybe no it's because i am just that bad

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theworldibuilt4you · 10 months ago

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[Addie flinched again at the yelling, releasing a miserable puff of a hiss from the stress.]

I... W-well yes, but...

[They were at a loss, now. All their effort felt like it was for nothing - that they had reached a limit to how much they could reach the broken kid before them. Tears brimmed in their eyes as a familiar helplessness settled in; a final straw in their emotional powder keg.]

God, do you think I wanted to? That I liked growing up in a world that hated me? That told me I was a mistake?? You should know very well what kind of thoughts you have, being treated like that.

[Their blood was running hot and cold at the same time. It was dizzying]

So many times I'd wish people would just finish the job. But they didn't. So many times I wished I would just bleed out on the ground where people left me. But I didn't. Sure, I got to grow up, but I certainly wasn't living.

It wasn't until I came here that I actually began to feel like I was maybe worth something. That I was even capable of being loved.

[They were laughing, now; it was funny, how bad they were at everything. They were bad at being born, at existing, at saving the only friends the universe accidentally allowed them to find.]

And you know, something tells me that even though you claim Kinito is your best friend, he was just a band-aid to cover a gaping wound. A distraction from the pain. You never really let him in because for whatever reason, you don't want to move on from your past.

[They thought about what was at stake - Casey was likely still in danger, along with Jade, too, for harboring them. Owl was definitely in danger, and at this point Sec and themselves were likely at some risk too, despite being outside. Kinito was probably the safest of them all, though if anything happened to Owl it'd no doubt kill him emotionally. And Sonny... They didn't even know if they'd ever see him again.]

You could stop the cycle of suffering, but you won't. You won't and I can't do anything about it and I'll just have to accept the fact that that these past few weeks have been a big cosmic fluke. That I was never meant to be happy.

...That people like us were never meant to be happy.

[Tears were streaming down their face now, their hands knotted in their hair as they sobbed uncontrollably.]

Even when we really, really want us to be...

-Addie

[....SYSTEM REBOOT INITIATED.] [RESTARTING FROZEN ASSETS]

[YOU WANT WHAT LITTLE I HAD?]

[TAKE IT.]

[I DON'T CARE ANYMORE.]

#<All.That.Remains.>

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magicalsniper · 1 year ago

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9,832 words | Mature | One-Shot Author's AO3: MagicalSniper Story Link: An Heir is Borne

Summary: Arthur and Guinevere face a crisis when Arthur is found to be sterile, leaving the kingdom without an heir. Desperate, they turn to Merlin, who agrees to help them conceive a child through magic despite his own unrequited love for Arthur. However, little do they know, Merlin plans on leaving Camelot for good once Gwen falls pregnant.

0===][:::::::::::::>

An Heir is Borne

0===][:::::::::::::>

Beneath the starry sky of Arthur’s bed chambers that Merlin had placed one day for a prank but kept because Arthur loved it, Arthur’s hand found Gwen’s in a tremulous grasp. Gwen interlocked their fingers and closed her eyes, pressing her lips to his knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Yet another month passes,” Arthur murmured as if the words were heavy on his tongue. His blue eyes, usually clear and sure, were clouded with sadness and self-doubt. “And still, no heir.”

Gwen sighed softly, shaking her head, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders. “Perhaps it is time to seek Merlin’s help,” she suggested gently. She understood her husband’s hesitance in getting their friend involved, but he might be their last hope. “He would never think ill of us.”

Arthur scoffed, rising from the edge of their bed. “Merlin wouldn’t think ill of us if we put him on a pyre to burn.”

“Maybe, but let’s not test that theory,” Merlin chirped as he entered the room with a large tray. He held the door for George, who was holding another large tray, and for Elisabeth, who was holding the water and wine jugs. He dismissed George and Elisabeth and walked up to the bed to lean against the left front bedpost, an eyebrow raised. “Why am I being put on a pyre?”

Arthur gave Gwen an uncertain look before sighing heavily. “Gwen and I have been trying to have a baby. We’ve yet to be successful.”

“Maybe your soldiers are just as stubborn as you,” Merlin quipped. He then grew serious, his face softening with genuine concern. “How long have you been trying?”

“About six seasons,” Gwen admitted, causing Arthur to wince. Merlin’s face mirrored their concern.

“And your monthly bleed is normal? I imagine so because once a month for like a week, Arthur complains and comp—”

“Shut it!” Arthur snapped, throwing a pillow at Merlin’s head.

“There are tests we can try,” Merlin said as he caught the pillow and fluffed it before handing it to Gwen to place back on Arthur’s side of the bed. He tilted his head, shaking it slightly to get the hair out of his eyes. “Spells of fertility, to see what is happening.”

“Are they dangerous?” Gwen asked, worry clouding her features.

“Only to Arthur’s pride,” Merlin said with a grin. He motioned for Gwen to come closer and, in a theatrical whisper, said, “he has to provide a sample for me.”

Arthur blanched. “What kind of sample?”

Merlin maintained a serious expression, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. “You need to ejaculate into a beaker for me. It’s the only way to get an accurate test with the spell. I could do it straight to your testicles, but then you risk frying the rest of them.” Arthur winced and moved his legs together. Merlin looked down at Gwen, “You can help him if he needs it, but honestly, if his sheets are anything to go by, he’s a semi-pro.”

“Gwen will not be helping me with that!” Arthur said, his face flushing with embarrassment.

“What, you want me to help you?” Merlin asked, finally allowing a small, reassuring smile to break through.

Arthur was at a loss of words for a moment, his face getting redder and redder as he struggled to form a sentence.

Gwen laughed and slapped Merlin’s shoulder gently, “Stop teasing him. He’s about to pass out.”

Merlin sighed heavily and shook his head at her, his tone light and affectionate. “You always take away my fun.” He straightened and motioned towards the table. “Why don’t we eat and discuss it more? If you are comfortable, we can start the tests tonight.”

“See, told you he could do it,” Merlin joked lightly later that evening as Arthur shoved the beaker with his sample into Merlin’s hands, refusing to meet his eyes.

“We will never speak of this again,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, standing beside Gwen on the other side of Merlin’s table. He squeezed her hand tightly, his heart feeling as if it were about to fall out of his chest.

Merlin’s chambers, which were across the corridor from Arthur and down the corridor from Gwen’s, were dimly lit. Tendrils of incense smoke rose, making the air feel heavy. Merlin drew intricate symbols on the table, his fingers leaving luminescent trails that glowed softly against the wood.

Arthur’s jaw was set firm as Merlin began to enchant, his voice barely above a murmur, yet it resonated through the room. Gwen’s eyes didn’t leave Merlin’s hands as, with careful precision, he dropped herbs into a chalice of water, each submerged with a pulsing ripple. The chalice's contents shimmered, casting an ethereal light that danced across their anxious faces.

Merlin placed the sample in the middle of the chalice, the liquid in the chalice now a vortex of swirling colours, each hue blending into the next. With a swift motion, he upturned the chalice, sending the contents to spread across the drawn circle.

The trio held their breath, watching the liquid stretch along the table, stopping within the confines. Arthur and Gwen looked up to Merlin for guidance, but his frown merely grew the dimmer the concoction got.

Merlin stepped away from the table, sniffled and took a deep, shaky breath before vanishing everything from the table. “I’m so sorry.”

A sharp intake of breath from Gwen pierced the silence that followed. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back as she looked over at Arthur.

Arthur stood frozen, the colour draining from his face, leaving him ghostly pale. The implications of Merlin's words were a blow more devastating than any enemy's sword. A sterile king—a broken link in the chain of succession—meant uncertainty and chaos for Camelot.

“Are you certain?” Arthur’s voice cracked, his usual confidence shattered.

“There is a minimal chance, if ever, that you will be able to sire a child,” Merlin responded softly. He hesitated before reaching over and rubbing Arthur’s back as Gwen reached for Arthur’s hand, squeezing it.

“Then we must discuss the next steps,” Arthur said, his voice steadying with resolve.

Merlin looked over at him, eyes flooded with curiosity. “Next steps, like assigning an heir?”

“That is one of the options,” Gwen admitted, pushing a strand of hair behind her ears. “I think this is better if we do it sitting down.”

Merlin summoned the chairs from the other side of the room and sat on the table, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees.

“I need a drink,” Arthur muttered, not even flinching when Merlin summoned the goblets and wine from his chambers and handed him and Gwen theirs.

“We’ve discussed that if one of us—”

Arthur took a deep drink from his wine. “Is unable,” Arthur finished for her, his eyes locking into Merlin’s. “That we would seek help.”

"Help?" Merlin queried, his brow knitting in confusion. “Surely not—”

Arthur shook his head hard, “Nothing like my father had done. A surrogate or donor, depending on our needs.”

“A donor,” Merlin said slowly. He licked his lips, “who were you considering?”

“Well, you.”

“Me!?” Merlin’s reaction was immediate and visceral; he almost fell off the table in his shock. “Surely, you can’t mean—”

“The kingdom needs an heir,” Arthur interrupted, his voice edging towards a plea.

“Of course, but consider the ramifications,” Merlin countered, his voice rising in pitch. "If the child does not resemble you, questions will arise. The accusations against Gwen alone..."

"Could weaken Camelot further," Arthur conceded, his expression darkening.

“Beyond the whispers of infidelity, there is the matter of lineage,” Merlin pressed on, his hands gesturing emphatically. "The legitimacy of your rule, the stability of the realm—it all hinges upon the perception of a rightful heir."

“We thought of all that, which is why it has to be you,” Gwen said with finality.

Merlin dropped his hands into his lap, “I don’t follow.”

“We announce that you will be the child’s sire—”

“Are you insane?” Merlin screeched, “That’ll invite chaos and dissent.”

“Or it will be seen as the connection of Camelot to the magical community, something to make it stronger,” Arthur said, folding his arms across his chest. “A child, born to the Camelot throne, a child of Emrys…”

“But, Arthur, they will say you’re weak.”

“No, they will see we’re strong,” Arthur said firmly. “There have been times in Camelot’s history where an heir was not sired or had died early in life. The successful adopted heirs were those announced to the community, not hidden out of the King’s shame of not being able to sire one.” Arthur took a deep breath and looked into his friend’s eyes, a vulnerable smile on his face. “We can’t hide the fact that it will be your child, but we won’t have to.”

“Merlin, everyone loves you. Yes, there will be people against it, likely some of our counsellors, but the vast majority? They’d be proud to call your child a leader one day.” Gwen leaned forward and touched his knee, giving it a light squeeze. “The hope you would give the magical community—showing that you are helping grow Camelot into a haven for them—what better way than to give your child to rule the kingdom?”

“I…” Merlin glared down at his shoes, his fingers playing with his laces. “I don’t know about this…”

Arthur reached forward and took Merlin’s hand, squeezing it lightly before rubbing his thumb against the top. “Merlin, there is no one else in this world whom I trust as I trust you,” he began, his voice laced with an earnestness that Merlin hadn’t ever heard from him before. "You are my most loyal friend, my confidant, and the very soul of Camelot. Your intentions have always been pure, even when faced with the darkest times."

Merlin felt the room spin slightly, the gravity of Arthur's words anchoring him to the spot. He watched Gwen give them a slight, encouraging nod before she rose gracefully from her seat and retreated, leaving the two men alone.

"Arthur," Merlin started but was silenced by a gesture.

“Let me speak,” Arthur implored. "I have never doubted your loyalty nor your love for Camelot—and for us. If there is one man in this kingdom who could fulfil this role, who could help us in our most desperate hour, it is you, Merlin."

Merlin swallowed hard, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around him like a cloak. It was rare for Arthur to expose such vulnerability. "Arthur, this could bring unforeseen consequences upon us all," Merlin murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Perhaps," Arthur conceded, moving closer to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend. "But without an heir, Camelot's future is bleak. You know as well as I that the realm's stability rests upon our lineage. Without it, the kingdom will fall into chaos, and the work we've done, the progress we've made towards uniting the five kingdoms—will be no more."

He knocked his shoulder with Merlin’s before pressing into his side. "I would not ask this of anyone else, Merlin," Arthur continued solemnly. "You are the one person in this world, other than Gwen, whom I can trust with anything—my life, crown, and heart. You have stood by me through trials that would have broken lesser men. You've saved my life more times than I can count."

"Arthur, you are my king, my best friend," Merlin replied, caught in the intensity of Arthur's blue gaze. "Your request is... it's not something I ever imagined."

"Nor I," Arthur admitted. "But here we are, and I find myself asking you to help us in a way that goes beyond anything I have ever asked. I know that you love us, Merlin, and I know that you would never use this as an excuse to seek the crown."

Silence followed, Merlin unable to come up with any reasonable retort.

"Think on it, Merlin," Arthur said finally, his hand dropping away as he stepped back, allowing Merlin the space to process the enormity of the proposition. "This is not just about us—it's about the future of Camelot."

Merlin sighed heavily and licked his lips, his fingers twisting into the bottom of his tunic. His eyes, usually shining with joy, now flickered with an emotion that seemed to wrestle between profound duty and personal turmoil.

"Arthur," Merlin began, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts raging in his mind. "I will consider your request, but know that this is not a decision I can make lightly or quickly."

Arthur nodded sharply, "I understand. And whatever you decide, know that it will change nothing between us. You are my most trusted friend, and that is not contingent upon the answer you give."

"Thank you, Sire," Merlin replied, the formality of the title feeling suddenly inadequate for the moment. He glanced towards the door, feeling Gwen’s presence just beyond the wood. "I shall give you my answer by the rise of the next moon," he promised.

Arthur clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder before stepping away and leaving Merlin to his thoughts. As he stopped by the door, he glanced back at his friend. Merlin was still sitting upon the table, but now, his face was hidden in his knees, and his hands were running and pulling at the strands of his hair. With a sigh, Arthur opened the door and closed it softly behind him, joining his wife in the corridor. He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin atop her head and kissing her crown.

"What if he says no?" Gwen whispered, her words fragile as glass.

"Then we will face that when it comes," Arthur replied, his voice unwavering even as his heart quaked with uncertainty. "We have overcome much, my love. We will overcome this, too.”

Gwen pulled away and took his hand, “Let’s go to sleep. It’s been a long evening.”

As the night deepened around Camelot, the castle seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the decision that would shape the destiny of a kingdom.

And outside, beneath the veil of stars and the watchful gaze of the heavens, Merlin walked the cobblestone paths, his footsteps echoing softly against stone, the weight of a crown's future pressing upon his shoulders.

~o0o~

Merlin traced the contours of the wooden table with an absent-minded finger, his gaze distant as Gwaine and Lancelot entered his chambers. He greeted them with a melancholy smile and gestured for them to sit. He continued his musing, barely nodding in thanks when Gwaine slid a goblet of wine his way.

“What’s wrong?” Lancelot asked, pushing his hair from his eyes. “Another fight with Arthur?”

“No, it’s not that.” With a sigh, Merlin sat back in his chair, frown deepening. “The harvest moon is near, but the fields are barren.”

“What?” Gwaine leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

“Someone is struggling to conceive,” Lancelot said softly, his features tightening as he caught the hidden meaning in Merlin’s words. “Arthur and Gwen?”

Gwaine snorted. “Of course, it’s them. Who else would you be this down about?”

Merlin opened his mouth to argue but stopped, knowing it was pointless. “They asked me to help them have a child.”

Gwaine stood up abruptly. “Are they insane!? How could they ask that of you?” His voice was a low growl, his hands clenching into fists. He glared over at Lancelot, who put a calming hand on his shoulder and lightly pushed down to get Gwaine to sit back.

Merlin’s eyes watered, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m their last hope. If I don’t help them, who will?”

Lancelot leaned forward and took Merlin’s hand, squeezing it gently. “My friend, it is noble to consider this, but at what cost to your own heart?”

Merlin smiled sadly. “My love for Arthur will always be unrequited. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do something that will make them immeasurably happy.”

Lancelot and Gwaine shared a look. “It’ll tear you apart to watch Arthur and Gwen raise a child that you helped create,” Gwaine said, his voice softening with concern.

Merlin scoffed. “Even if Arthur returned my affections, we’d never have children. And in either case, what am I to do?” Merlin’s voice became almost lyrical, giving both men pause. He only spoke like that regarding talks of Destiny, the Five Kingdoms, and Albion. It usually meant he had already made his choice, and they couldn’t stop him.

“He wouldn’t hate you, you know,” Lancelot said gently.

“Of course, but I’d hate myself,” Merlin admitted. “If I don’t help Arthur and Gwen when I easily could. I can’t forsake Camelot’s future for selfish reasons.” He paused momentarily, looking unsure about his next sentence. “Should I go through with it, it would mean I leave Camelot.”

Gwaine spat out his wine, and Lancelot patted him on the back as he coughed violently. “Leave Camelot!?” He slammed his goblet on the table, causing a small crack on the surface. “You are the core of this kingdom! There wouldn’t be a Camelot without you.”

Merlin looked down at the table, “Sometimes, even the core must be removed for the whole body to thrive.”

“That is absolute—”

“Gwaine,” Lancelot said forcefully.

“You can’t think this is okay!?” Gwaine turned towards him angrily. “Merlin’s given up everything for Arthur. He is going too far this time, asking him for something like this.”

“I agree, but our job as Merlin’s friends is to support him in what he chooses to do.”

“How is this even going to happen? You have no interest in having sex with a woman,” Gwaine said, turning back to Merlin.

Merlin scrunched up his nose. It was true. There was only one woman he ever had an interest in sleeping with, and she was no longer a viable option. “There’s a spell one can use to transfer sperm into an ovum without the physical touch required of sex. It has to happen minutes after release for it to be effective, which is—”

“Weird,” Gwaine said bluntly. “What are you going to do, pleasure yourself with them in the room watching?” Gwaine scoffed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs. “I didn’t know voyeurism was a kink of yours.”

Merlin frowned at Gwaine, “It is not—”

“I’ll go with you,” Gwaine said with a heavy sigh. “When you leave Camelot.” he elaborated at Merlin’s confused look.

“Myself as well,” Lancelot said. “You won’t have to go through this alone, my friend.”

Merlin met with Arthur and Gwen early the following day for breakfast as usual. His mind was a vortex of entropy, and his emotions only held up marginally better. Upon reaching Arthur’s chambers, he paused to gather the last vestiges of composure before he had what was arguably the most important talk they’d ever had.

With a deep breath, he knocked and entered, finding Arthur and Gwen already at their table and having started breakfast. Gwen shot him a brilliant smile and pushed out the chair on the other side of the table. “Merlin, come join us.”

Merlin walked over slowly, each step heavy with the weight of his decision. He sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair, feeling their concerned gazes on him. Gwen frowned and reached over to grab a clean plate, piling on foods she knew he liked to eat before nudging it in front of him.

Arthur’s sharp eyes narrowed as he watched Merlin’s uncharacteristic hesitation. “What’s wrong with you?” he snapped, his voice a mix of worry and frustration.

Merlin bit his lip, then looked up at them, his heart pounding. He forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll do it.”

Gwen gasped, her hand flying to her chest, her lips parting in shock. Arthur faltered, his eyes widening in surprise and something that looked like hope. “You’ll do it?” Arthur’s voice held a tremor that betrayed his usual fortitude.

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed, his gaze unwavering despite the storm inside him.

Gwen quickly got up from the table and circled Merlin, her arms wrapping around him tightly. “Thank you, Merlin. We can never repay you.” Her voice was thick with emotion, tears glistening in her eyes.

Arthur came up beside them and hugged Merlin, the warmth of their embrace both comforting and excruciating. Merlin pressed his face into Arthur’s shoulder, taking a shaky breath as he tried, failing to stop the tears in his eyes. He reached out and held them tightly, the reality of his decision sinking in.

“Think nothing of it,” Merlin said softly, allowing himself a moment to collect himself in their arms. “My only wish is to see you both happy and for Camelot to thrive.”

He gently extricated himself from their embrace, his heart aching with the loss he was about to face. “I’ll need a few days,” he said, keeping his voice steady despite the tempest brewing in his heart. “The specifics of the process require some preparation. It’ll take a bit to gather what is necessary and ensure everything is done correctly.”

“Take all the time you need, Merlin. We trust you completely,” Arthur said, his tone warm and filled with gratitude. It was subtle, but Merlin could hear the anticipation in his voice.

Gwen reached over, her touch light on Merlin’s forearm. “Is there anything we should do to prepare or be concerned about?”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s fairly simple, nothing like the one that ensured Arthur’s birth.” He paused for a moment, biting his lip. “You should use the time to come to terms with the fact that your child will likely have magic and be a dragonlord. My mother told me I was moving things before I was born—books flying, dancing vials, things like that.”

Gwen and Arthur were silent, causing Merlin to stutter out the following words. “I-I could bind the child’s powers. It isn’t dangerous if you do it before they are born, and it takes hold.” He offered, but the thought pained him more than he dared to admit.

“Absolutely not,” Arthur said firmly. “If our child has magic, especially magic inherited from you, Merlin, then it is meant to be nurtured. Any child with your gift... it could be nothing but pure and good.”

Gwen nodded her agreement, her eyes shining with determination. “They will know nothing but love and acceptance.”

Warmth bloomed in Merlin’s chest, a bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow. “Thank you,” he managed to say, his throat tight with emotion. “I’ll begin the preparations at once.”

With that, Merlin excused himself to his chambers. Once there, he began to methodically gather the items he wanted to take, laying them out on his desk with a sense of finality. He separated his magic books from his personal effects, each item a memory of his time in Camelot. With a flick of his hand, he expanded the inside of his bag, the enchantment echoing the depth of his resolve. He carefully placed the books first, including the first book of magic he had received from Gaius. Next, he added his clothes and the small souvenirs he had collected over the years, each from various patrols, battles, feasts and festivals he joined.

At the top of the pile, he placed Arthur’s mother’s sigil, nestling it safely between the folds of his garments. The sigil was more than a token; it symbolised his bond with Arthur and the promise he had made to protect him. The last item he packed was a beautiful sapphire cloak with the Pendragon crest embroidered in gold thread on the front. It was a gift from Arthur and Gwen when he was made Court Sorcerer, a cherished reminder of their friendship and trust in him.

As the quiet hours of the night wore on, Merlin sat at his desk and wrote goodbye letters to his closest friends. Each letter was a labour of love, gratitude, and sorrow, the words flowing from his heart like a bittersweet melody. He poured his soul into each stroke of the pen, knowing that these letters would be the last pieces of himself he could leave behind.

With the first light of dawn cresting over the horizon, Merlin placed the notes in the top drawer of his desk. He had arranged for them to be delivered a day after he left Camelot, ensuring that there would be enough distance to prevent his friends from finding him too soon. Deep down, he knew they would come looking for him, driven by the same love and loyalty that bound them together.

The following day, Merlin steeled himself to fulfil his promise as the castle stirred to life. He would catalyse a future for Camelot that shimmered with hope, even if it meant walking away from the life he had known. His heart ached with the weight of his decision, but Merlin knew this act of deep loyalty and love would shape the destiny of the kingdom he cherished. As he took his final steps away from the castle he had called home, he felt the bittersweet pang of a new path unfolding before him, one marked by sacrifice and the unyielding strength of his heart.

~o0o~

The moonlight streamed through the stained glass window, casting a kaleidoscope of colours across Arthur’s chamber. The room, usually a sanctuary of comfort for Merlin, now felt suffocating with tension.

Merlin closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, hoping the warmth of the fire would ease his tension. He panted, his tongue circling two fingers before pressing them into his mouth. His left hand trailed down to his hip, rubbing slow circles. But nothing worked. Frustrated, he ran his hands through his hair and growled, leaping up from Arthur’s bed. The weight of Arthur and Gwen’s stares was unbearable.

"I can't do this with you both staring at me," Merlin snapped, his cheeks flushing crimson.

“You can go into the antechamber. I had George clean it out this morning,” Gwen suggested encouragingly.

Merlin nodded stiffly and walked to the antechamber, closing the door firmly behind him. He began to pace, anxiety mounting. If he didn’t do something soon, he wouldn’t be able to help Arthur and Gwen.

Two knocks on the door preceded Arthur’s entrance. Merlin stiffened, turning slowly, barely meeting Arthur’s eyes.

“I can’t do it with just you watching me either,” Merlin snarked, rubbing his sweaty hands on his pants.

Arthur raised his hands placatingly. “I was thinking… well, maybe I could…” A blush crept up his cheeks, and Merlin raised a brow. “I could help you.”

“Unless you can vanish on command,” Merlin retorted, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “I fear not.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur scoffed. “What is a little help between us? The knights do it all the time.”

“I’m not a knight,” Merlin pointed out. “And you can’t—”

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “Nonsense, it wouldn’t be a hardship.” His eyes glinted mischievously but held sincerity. “I assure you.”

Merlin bit his bottom lip, torn between his desire and the potential consequences. This might be his one chance to be with Arthur the way he wanted, but Arthur didn’t know of his feelings. Still, Arthur had offered...

His heart stuttered in his chest as he nodded slowly.

Arthur closed the distance between them, his steps unhurried as he lightly pressed a hand to Merlin’s chest and pushed him backwards until his knees met the bed. Merlin toppled over and reached out to grab Arthur in his shock.

He took a shuddery breath and let go of Arthur’s tunic. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He was suddenly reminded of the power and pain of loving someone out of reach and how this would likely only damage him more. Merlin swallowed thickly and shakily undid his pants before pushing his shirt up his chest before he could back out.

The room was chilly, causing him to suck in his stomach at the sudden temperature change, but he forced himself to relax, take deep breaths and block out everything else other than what was happening.

Arthur made to slide down to his knees when Merlin grabbed his tunic and pulled up until their faces were mere centimetres apart. “What’s wrong?” Arthur asked softly, his breath warming Merlin’s face.

“Kings should never be on their knees,” Merlin said firmly, ignoring the pleasure that shot through him at the very thought.

Arthur chuckled and rolled his eyes, placing a gentle hand on Merlin’s thigh as his other slowly freed his hardening cock. Merlin’s breath hitched as Arthur’s hand, calloused from years of wielding a sword, closed around him with unexpected gentleness. “For you, Merlin, I’d gladly walk on my knees.”

A violent shiver coursed down Merlin’s spine at the words, and he couldn’t help but lean into the sensations Arthur’s skilled hands evoked. It had been too long since he had felt this close to another, and the moment's intimacy was overwhelming.

Arthur leaned forward and nuzzled against the top of Merlin’s thigh, his breath ghosting over his cock, causing him to shiver as it rushed across the wet head. Merlin couldn’t help the strangled noise that escaped his lips as he pushed Arthur’s head off of his thigh before his hands flew up to cover his face as he felt tears begin to well in his eyes.

He grabbed a pillow and hid his face in it, covering the rest of it with his arm. With his other, he reached down and started to run his fingers up and down his chest, sharp nails catching on a nipple, leaving him to buck into Arthur’s hand with a groan.

Arthur squeezed and twisted his hand over the head of Merlin’s cock, causing a drop of pre-cum to weep from the tip. He gently took a finger and rubbed against the slit. Merlin’s breathing hitched, and Merlin knew he couldn’t take much more. “Keep doing that,” he gasped, his voice thick with need.

Arthur slightly altered his touch to firmly rub from base to tip, collecting the precum as it dropped and massaging it into the head and shaft. “You’re so wet for me,” Arthur leaned up and whispered in his ear. Merlin’s toes curled in his boots, and he bit back a moan. It was too much, yet not enough, as his body yearned for more.

“I-I’m close,” he managed to ground out, his fingers pulling at his hair.

“Come for me, Merlin,” Arthur whispered in his ear, and it was that, the tender way Arthur spoke his name, that sent him over the edge.

Merlin’s climax crashed through him like a tidal wave, and he arched his back, crying out as pleasure surged through every fibre of his being. The world seemed to momentarily swirl around him as white-hot ecstasy coursed through his veins, and he barely registered the vial pressed against the tip of his cock.

The room fell silent as he panted for air. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it did nothing to hold back the tears that began to fall from his face. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Arthur was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place.

As his breath steadied, his chest rising and galling with a pace that slowly returned to its usual rhythm, he righted himself, feeling the familiar pull of his protective facades snapping back into place as he sniffled and wiped his face one last time. Avoiding Arthur’s gaze, he forced a cheerful tone. “We should get back to Gwen.”

Arthur’s concern still lingered in his eyes, the intensity of the moment they shared hanging between them, but Merlin deftly manoeuvred past it. He wasn't about to let Arthur see how profoundly the act had affected him— not when this was to give him and Gwen the thing they wanted most in the world.

"Merlin," Arthur started, but Merlin raised a hand, halting any words that might further strip away the layers he hastily rebuilt.

"Really, Arthur. Gwen needs us," Merlin insisted, the smile plastered on his face, not quite reaching his troubled eyes. With an unsteady step, he grabbed the vial from Arthur’s hand and moved towards the door, eager to distance himself from the intimacy of the antechamber.

Gwen awaited them on Arthur’s bed. She sat cross-legged, embroidering something into a thick leather band resembling what Arthur sometimes wore around his wrist. She looked up and smiled at him softly, gently putting what she was working on to the side to give him her full attention.

“Feeling relaxed?” He asked lightly, coming up beside her and sitting on the bed.

“Of course,” Gwen replied. “I trust you, Merlin.”

He nodded and rolled the vial in his hand before he began, taking one more silent moment before things changed forever.

Merlin began the incantation with practised movements, his fingers weaving through the air as ancient words flowed from his lips. A warm glow emanated from the vial, casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls.

Arthur had gone to sit on Gwen’s other side and grabbed her hand, watching Merlin carefully as he completed the ritual. The magic swirled around them, and the trio fell silent as they waited, the seconds stretching into an eternity. The vial suddenly shone with a brilliant burst of light, marking the success of their endeavour.

Arthur and Gwen laughed, unbelievable huffs as they stared at her womb that was confirmed to now be with child. Merlin couldn’t help but mirror their reaction, although he much felt like sobbing in relief. Thanking any deity, he could say that he didn’t have to go through the routine again, and he didn’t think he would be able to do it a second time.

“Do they have magic?” Gwen asked softly, holding her hand protectively over her womb.

Merlin closed his eyes and listened, feeling the pulse of magic around him. It was faint, but he felt a slight tug of magic coming from Gwen that he never had before.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “It is hard to tell how much they’ll have right now.” He smiled tightly, “Although, even a small amount of magic will keep you on your feet.”

“I’ve had good practice,” Arthur smirked before reaching down and pulling Merlin to his feet. Merlin stood uncertainly when suddenly he found himself enveloped in a tight embrace, first from Gwen, whose gratitude was palpable in every line of her body, and then Arthur, who wrapped strong arms around them.

"Merlin," Gwen began, her voice thick with emotion, "I don't know how we can ever repay you for this gift."

"Your happiness is payment enough," Merlin replied, the words barely above a whisper. His face was still partially concealed behind his hands as he fought to master the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Still, we owe you more than words can say. You've given us hope, Merlin—hope for a future that seemed out of reach."

Merlin buried his face in Arthur’s neck, trying to hide the tears he was trying and failing to keep from falling. “We owe you everything,” Arthur whispered in his ear as he pressed his forehead to Merlin’s temple.

“Anything for you,” Merlin said lightly, subtly rubbing his face against the cloth on Arthur’s shoulder before pulling away. “I’m going to go to bed; this took a lot out of me.”

"Of course, Merlin," Arthur said, concern lacing his tone as he observed the sorcerer's sudden, weary posture. "We will see you in the morning."

“Good night, Merlin,” Gwen said with a wide smile.

“Goodbye,” he managed to say, his voice steady despite the fatigue that dragged at his limbs like chains. He offered them a smile that was more tired than joy, unable to give them anymore. He only hoped Arthur was too distracted to read through him.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and turned back one last time to look at them. Arthur and Gwen were huddled together on the edge of Arthur’s bed, their hands pressed to her stomach and their smiles bright.

With a deep breath, he nodded to himself and stepped out into the corridor, the click of the door closing behind him echoing like a final note in a long and arduous symphony.

Merlin made his way through Camelot's dimly lit stone corridors, his steps slow and reflective. The torches flickered on the walls as he passed, casting shadows that matched his tumultuous emotions. With his possessions over his shoulder, he allowed his feet to take him to his final destination before he left Camelot for good.

Gaius’ chambers were as familiar to Merlin as his own heartbeat, a sanctuary within the vastness of the castle, second only to Arthur’s chambers. Pushing open the door, he saw Gaius bent over a scroll, his brow furrowed in concentration. The old man looked up, his gaze sharpening upon seeing the weariness in Merlin’s features.

"Merlin, what is it?" Gaius asked, concern instantly flooding his voice.

"The ritual... was successful," Merlin began his voice a low murmur that carried the weight of his relief and exhaustion. Gwen is with the child."

Gaius rose from his seat, a smile blooming on his face. "That's wonderful news, truly," he said, clasping Merlin's shoulder affectionately. "And the magic?"

Merlin hesitated for a fraction of a moment. "They have at least a small portion of magic. I was able to feel it already. This means I need you to guide them, Gaius. Teach them to harness their power, to use it wisely."

"Of course," Gaius nodded, his eyes narrowed slightly, reading something unspoken in Merlin's stance. "But you speak as if you won't be here to see it yourself."

Merlin's gaze dropped to the floor, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. When he lifted his eyes again, an implacable resolve was within them. "I am leaving Camelot," he declared, the words resolute yet thick with emotion. My path... it lies elsewhere now."

"Merlin, you can't mean this," Gaius protested, the distress evident in his voice. "After everything, you would turn your back on Camelot? On Arthur?"

"It's not a matter of turning my back," Merlin's response was swift, tinged with sorrow. "It's about being needed elsewhere. There are rumours that Cenred’s up to his tricks again, taking young sorcerers from their parents and turning them into slaves. I must put a stop to it, and I cannot stay tethered to Camelot’s gates if I want any chance of doing so."

"Reconsider this," Gaius implored, reaching out as if trying to anchor Merlin to the present physically. "You can’t go off to fight a war alone, and you are needed here in Camelot with Arthur."

"Arthur has his queen and, soon, an heir," Merlin countered, his tone gentle yet unyielding. "He is no longer the young prince who needed guidance at every step. And you, Gaius, you are more than capable of guiding him in my steed. Should the need arise, seek help from the Druids. They will help if they know I sent you."

"Merlin—"

"Promise me, Gaius," Merlin interjected, his eyes locking onto those of his mentor. "Promise me you'll look after them."

"I promise," Gaius acquiesced, the fight draining from him as he recognised the finality in Merlin's decision. "But my worry is not who will look after them but who will look after you."

Merlin scoffed, “I don’t need looking after.” He paused and sighed heavily, “I thank you for everything. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.” Merlin said, his voice barely above a whisper, imbued with a lifetime of gratitude and unshed tears. With a last lingering look, he turned and strode from the room, leaving behind the flickering torchlight and the man who had been his teacher and anchor.

As he walked through the corridors and out the castle entrance, he thought of the countless mornings awoken by the bustle of servants, the late nights spent pouring over ancient texts with Gaius, and the stolen moments of quiet conversation with Arthur under the stars. He couldn’t help but stop once he was at the castle gates and stare up at the castle, unable to hold back the tears that fell. He laughed wetly, with how many times he’d cried that evening. He could hear Arthur’s voice in his mind calling him a girl.

"Goodbye, my friend," he murmured, not sure if he addressed the castle, its people, or the memories they held. With a finality that resonated in his core, Merlin stopped before the gate when he caught sight of the two shadows waiting for him.

“Are you ready to go, Merlin?” Lancelot asked softly, and Merlin turned back towards the castle one last time, strengthening his resolve.

“Yes… let’s go.” And with that, he strode through the gates of Camelot with his two close friends at his side, his silhouette melting into the misty dawn, ready to embrace whatever trials awaited him beyond the safety of the kingdom's walls.

~o0o~

It was rainy that morning; the firelight from the fireplace spilling across the stone floor of Arthur’s chambers did nothing to warm his chambers. There was a knock at the door before it slid open, revealing George, his footsteps confident as he strode into the room with Arthur’s breakfast.

“George?” Arthur’s brow furrowed in surprise as he peeked out from behind the changing partition, his blue eyes searching for Merlin’s absent figure. “Where is Merlin?” he stepped out from behind it, straightening his shirt and approaching the table.

“I am not certain about Merlin’s whereabouts, Sire,” George said, setting the tray down with a clatter that still disrupted the morning. “I received word this morning that I was to attend to you until further notice.”

Arthur’s hand paused mid-reach for a piece of honeyed bread, a flicker of concern passing over his face before he dismissed it with practised ease. “Very well,” he conceded, but he certainly wasn’t happy about it. Merlin was wont to the occasional and unexplained absence. He picked up the bread and bit into it without further comment, barely glancing at the sealed parchment lying innocently beside his plate.

He would never admit it, but he jumped when Gwen burst through the doors, her breath coming out in short, urgent gasps. Her distress sent a jolt of alarm through Arthur, causing him to drop his bread.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Merlin,” Gwen said, her voice barely above a whisper, his brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“What’s happened to Merlin!?” Arthur asked frantically.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone, what do you mean he’s gone?” Then, he noticed the note clenched in Gwen’s shaky hands.

His fingers closed around the crumpled parchment and pulled it towards himself. His eyes quickly scanned the familiar script that scrawled across the page, each word etching itself into his mind.

“I write to you with a heavy heart,” he read aloud, incredulity colouring his tone. “I realise that notice of my absence during this profound moment in your lives will likely cause you disappointment and perhaps some sorrow.” Arthur coughed, feeling his throat tighten, and thought it best to continue reading silently.

Should you find yourself in need of guidance regarding your child’s gifts, I Implore you to seek the wisdom of the Druids. Tell them Emrys sent you. I cannot express how deeply I regret not being there to offer guidance myself, especially knowing the weight of responsibility that rests upon your shoulders now. Please believe me when I say I have the utmost faith in both of you as parents. The love and dedication you have shown me, not to mention countless others and yourselves, will undoubtedly shape your child into a beacon of hope and strength that will carry forth the noble legacy of Camelot that you and Arthur have courageously upheld. I apologise that I will not be there for the birth of your child nor to watch them grow. Please know that though I am not physically there with you, my thoughts will remain with you, Arthur and your child. With heartfelt apologies and sincerest wishes for your happiness and prosperity, Merlin

Arthur breathes out a shaky breath and goes to sit at the table. His arm reaches out to grab his water goblet when his wrist brushes against the parchment by his plate. He frowns and opens the letter. It contains only two simple sentences.

I can’t stay. I’m sorry. Merlin

Arthur’s fingers trembled as they crumpled the edges of the parchment, his heart stuttering in his chest. The short message, stark against the creamy background, blurred before his eyes as a maelstrom of emotions surged within him—betrayal, confusion, and an aching sorrow clawed at his throat.

“Merlin,” he whispered, the name a plea and a curse all at once.

He rose abruptly, his chair scraping harshly against the stone floor. With swift strides, he made for the council chambers, snapping at the guards there that they were to gather the Knights of the Round Table immediately. The Round Table loomed as he entered, its polished surface reflecting the flickering torchlights— what was once a beacon of unity was now shadowed by absence.

As the others filed in, he noticed two notable absences. “Where are Sirs Lancelot and Gwaine?” he demanded, his voice ringing through the room.

Sir Leon stepped forward, solemnity etched in his features. In his outstretched hands were two sealed parchments, their wax seals broken. “They sent these this morning,” he said, his tone laced with regret.

Arthur snatched the parchments from Leon’s grasp, eyes scanning the words. “Resignations, they’ve gone with Merlin.” On the one hand, he was devastated to lose not only one but three of his closest friends, but on the other, he was grateful to Lancelot and Gwaine for not allowing Merlin to leave Camelot on his own. But despite the gratefulness, he still couldn’t help but wonder why. What had caused the three of them to leave Camelot?

“Prepare the horses,” Arthur commanded, his resolve hardening. “We ride at once.”

“Arthur,” Leon began cautiously, “Should we not consider—”

“No!” Arthur cut him off sharply. “We will find them all and bring them home. Camelot needs them.” I need them.

He turned his heel, the cape behind him whispering across the stone floor as he strode from the table to prepare for the journey.

“Sire, if Merlin wishes to remain hidden, even the combined forces of Camelot will not be able to find him.”

Arthur stopped abruptly, his back to Leon. The muscles in his jaw clenched visibly. “I know Merlin’s heart, and it is one that beats in tandem with Camelot’s,” he said, his voice low but laced with intensity. It beats in tandem with mine.

“Perhaps it would be kinder to let him go,” Percy ventured, joining them with Elyan at his side. His voice was gentle. Understanding, yet it grated against Arthur’s resolve like a whetstone.

“Kinder?”Arthur spun around, his blue eyes ablaze. “Merlin is more than just our court sorcerer— he’s my… confidant, my closest ally.” He took a shaky breath, steadying himself against the emotions threatening to spill forth. “I can’t— I won’t— do this without him.”

The journey to Ealdor was undertaken with haste, leaving no room for doubt. The gallop of hooves, which pounded against the earth and stirred clouds of dust that rose like spectators in their make, could be heard for miles before they were at the treeline of the small village. Arthur rode at the forefront, his golden hair gleaming beneath the brim of his helmet, eyes fixed on the path ahead with steely determination.

Upon arriving, the familiar sight of Hunith’s cottage emerged from the soft mists of early dawn. She stood there as if she had been awaiting their presence, her face tight with worry.

“Arthur,” Hunith greeted, pulling him into a hug. She lifted herself on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead before moving away. Her voice was strained, her muscles tense with evident fear. “Merlin came through here last night.”

“Where did he go, Hunith?”

“Essitir.”

Arthur’s heart sunk links a stone in the depths of the ocean. “He’s gone to Cenrad’s castle?”

“To stop the war,” Hunith said with a grave nod. “As you’ve likely heard, the war between the castle and the magical beings of Essitir has taken a dire turn. He’s enslaving children from druid camps, erasing their memories and making it so they know nothing but of war.”

Of course, he had heard. It’s one of the only things Merlin had taken to talking about. Arthur knew he had been in talks with druid leaders about what their next move would be. Arthur had offered refuge to those who needed it, but they had to get into Camelot territory for it to come into effect. From what they had heard, Cenred had been making sure that none of them made it into the territory.

“Merlin believes it’s his duty— as Emrys— to intervene.”

“That idiot,” Arthur breathed, his pulse quickening at the thought of his friend amidst the chaos of a magical battle with only Lancelot and Gwaine at his side. His hands clenched at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking with the force of his grip. “And you let him go?” he demanded.

“What choice did I have?” Hunith says painfully. She glared up into his eyes, determination in her gaze. “You bring my son home safe, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Upon my honour,” Arthur vowed. “I will not rest until Merlin is safe and sound at home.

He turned on his heel, his cape swirling behind him as he returned to his knights. The brisk air bit at his cheeks as he steered them, racing towards Essetir Castle.

The castle loomed ahead several candle marks later, its foreboding silhouette a stark contrast against the twilight canvas.

“Prepare yourselves,” Arthur called, his voice cutting through the evening hair like a blade. He steeled himself, unaware of what would await them once they crossed the castle walls.

~o0o~

“Secure the perimeter,” Arthur commanded, watching as his knights dispersed. Their movements were methodical as they examined each still form that littered the ground, searching for survivors among Essetir’s fallen knights.

Arthur’s heart pounded against his breastplate, a relentless drum that spurred him onward. With each step, he felt the oppressive weight of dread squeezing tighter at the possibility that Merlin might be found among the fallen.

“Please don’t let him be here,” he whispered to himself as his eyes scanned the sea of bodies, seeking the sorcerer's familiar dark hair and bright eyes.

"Sire!" Sir Kay called, his tone laced with urgency but not despair—a sign that gave Arthur a sliver of hope. He strode toward the knight, feeling every echo of his plated boots resonate within the hollow chambers of his chest.

"Report," Arthur demanded.

"No sign of Merlin, Sire," Sir Kay responded, his face alight with relief. "He is not among the casualties. Nor are Sirs Gwaine and Lancelot,” he tacked on at the end.

A silent exhale escaped Arthur’s lips, the tension in his shoulders ebbing away. “Then we continue our search,” Arthur declared his words, a clarion call that rallied his knights once more. "Merlin and the others are here, somewhere. And we shall find them.”

They swept across the castle’s shadowed corridors, and the pungent scent of blood and smoke permeated the air, but when they listened closely, they could hear a murmur of voices that drew them toward the counselling chambers.

Arthur signalled his men to pause, his hand raised for silence. They edged closer, the murmuring growing clearer until they stood before the imposing oak doors of the chamber. With a nod from Arthur, he and Leon gently pushed open the doors.

The sight before them gave them pause. Merlin sat at the head of the table, surrounded by druid leaders whose faces Arthur remembered from treaty meetings the past couple of years. A dragon circlet rested upon Merlin’s brow, starkly contrasting his simple clothes. Merlin grimaced and shifted it as he spoke, obviously uncomfortable with it on him. Lancelot and Gwaine sat at either side of him, sharp eyes observing the meeting.

It wasn’t until Gwaine had leaned down that Arthur noticed the small girl cradled in Merlin’s arms. Her hair, as dark as a raven’s wing, stood in stark contrast to the white swaddling he had her in. Even from a distance, Arthur could see how her tiny fingers grasped at the air, unknowing of the chaos around her.

“What do you plan on doing with her?” Gwaine asked, brushing his fingers across the baby’s forehead.

“I’ll adopt her,” Merlin said softly, each word deliberate, “since I killed her mother.” He looked up then, his blue eyes locking with Arthur’s. “Hello, Sire.” The words were tinged with a melancholy that only served to deepen the furrows on Arthur's brow. His heart hammered against his chest as he stepped forward.

"That is all you have to say to me?“ Arthur's voice came out sharper than he intended, a byproduct of the worry gnawing at him. “You up and leave Camelot, and when I find you, it’s amid a war with a baby." The confusion and betrayal bled into his words, mingling with an anger he couldn't wholly suppress.

Merlin's snark was immediate, a defence mechanism honed through years of banter. "Technically, you found me on the successful side of a war." He tilted his head, a wry twist to his lips that failed to reach his eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur started, his tone brooking no argument, "don't play the semantic game with me. You need to come home."

The room held its breath, waiting for Merlin's retort. Yet what came was not a quip or a jest but the calm, measured tone that Arthur knew presaged gravity. Merlin glanced down at the babe, whose dark eyes had fluttered open. He cooed softly, a gentle hushing sound, before lifting his gaze to meet Arthur's once more.

"There's nothing for me in Camelot anymore," Merlin began, his voice clear and steady. "We have to rebuild Essiter. It can't be without a king for long. As I am Emrys, I offered to take over at least temporarily." He cradled the child closer to his chest, protective and resolute. "We will build it into the magical kingdom it is supposed to be."

Arthur felt a piercing pang in his chest—was it loss, fear, or something else entirely? Merlin's words echoed in the chamber, a haunting melody of finality that threatened to sever the bond they had forged. The future of Camelot, the weight of his crown, it all paled beside the realization that the man before him, the one he trusted above all others, the keeper of his secrets and his unspoken desires, might just slip away like mist at the break of dawn.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice cracked slightly, betraying his desperation. "You've always been the one to guide me, to stand with me against whatever darkness threatened Camelot. I have needed you before, but I need you by my side now more than ever." His plea lay bare, stripped of the regal veneer that usually cloaked his words.

The knights around them shifted uneasily, the weight of their king's vulnerability as palpable as the tension that thickened the air. Merlin regarded Arthur with a poignant stillness in his eyes.

Rising from his seat, Merlin gently placed the baby into Gwaine’s arms. The knight's usual playful demeanour was subdued; his brow furrowed with concern at the drama between his king and friend unfolding.

Merlin walked over to Arthur, his movements deliberate, each step seemingly heavier than the last. He stood before the king, close enough to touch, reassure, and mend what was broken. Instead, he reached out with tender precision, straightened Arthur's rumpled chainmail, smoothed down the fabric of his cape with a careful hand, and finally adjusted the disarray of golden locks that crowned the brow furrowed with worry.

"You don't need me anymore," Merlin said softly, his voice laced with a quiet strength. In his eyes, there flickered the merest hint of power, the depth and wisdom of a sorcerer who had seen too much, felt too much, sacrificed too much.

Arthur's heart clenched at those words, at the resignation they carried. But he could not—would not—accept this decree. Not from Merlin. His hands itched to grip Merlin's shoulders, shake him, awaken the bond that surely couldn't have faded like the embers of a dying fire.

"Merlin," he began, the name a prayer, a command, a plea. But the words that would follow remained unspoken, trapped within the confines of a throat tight with emotion. Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, stood face to face with the man who had shaped his reign, who had saved his life time and again, who had become the very essence of what he fought for—and found himself at a loss for how to keep him.

"Merlin," Arthur repeated, his voice cracking with the strain of unshed tears. "That's not true!" The words burst from him like a clarion call, a desperate bid to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

Merlin leaned forward, and for a moment, Arthur wondered if he would be granted reprieve, a sign that his plea had reached the enigmatic heart before him.

Merlin's lips brushed Arthur's forehead, a whisper of contact that sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. A faint glow emanated from the touch, magic seeping into the gesture—a final gift or perhaps a silent apology.

"I'm sorry," Merlin murmured as he pulled away, leaving a lingering warmth on Arthur's skin. His voice was barely above a breath, yet it carried the gravity of an unchangeable verdict. "I love you, but it's for the best."

The simple words, spoken with such a gentle finality, shattered the last vestiges of Arthur's composure. To hear the confession of love intertwined with the thread of goodbye wove a tapestry of pain too complex to unravel. He watched, feeling hollowed out and bereft, as Merlin stepped back, the distance between them expanding more than just the physical space—it was the chasm of their diverging destinies.

Arthur was left standing amidst the echoes of what had been and what might never be, devastated and unsure of what the future held without the man who had become his compass in a world that demanded so much of a king. Merlin, his sorcerer, confidant, and cornerstone, had decided upon a path Arthur could not follow. And the crown upon his head felt heavier than ever before, a symbol of power that could not command the human heart.

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