#tw the lad has ptsd

[withacapitalp]

Out of This World

Read it on AO3 instead

Tw: Depression

There was a black hole inside of Steve. 

He would lie down flat on his back in the living room. The stone floor beneath him would pull his mind down from wherever it liked to drift to, and he would be able to focus enough to  stare at the ceiling, put his hands on his stomach, and breathe deep into the sensation. 

When things got really bad, it was like he could physically feel it. A dark mass that spread out from his core and swallowed everything around it. If he flipped over to lie on his stomach and press his cheek to the cold marble, then it would sprout out of his back like demon wings, menacing and grim. 

He had never told anyone about it, but he was sure everyone knew. That was the thing about black holes, they dragged everything towards them. He was a magnetic person, people were drawn to him, but when they got close and saw that there was nothing inside, they ran. The empty expanse living in Steve was terrifying. 

He was the only one who couldn’t escape himself. 

No matter what he did, inevitably he would be reminded of what was inside of him. He could try to be happy, but he had to remember it wouldn’t last. 

Steve could mess around with the kids, dance along to the radio with Robin, try and love the people who chose to stay with everything he had, but the black hole would always return. It would suck up whatever joy he had tried to grow, making it disappear in the blink of an eye, lost to whatever cosmos existed beyond the gnawing hunger in Steve’s stomach. 

It was like it was starving, like he was starving, but not for food. There was nothing Steve could give to make it go away, nothing that would satiate whatever was stuck inside of him. There was just the all encompassing need to have more, to get something that would kill the loneliness that lived there. 

And, when the people around him realized that they really couldn’t make that black hole go away, they left. They ran to keep themselves from getting pulled in, and Steve couldn’t blame them. He had spent most of his life trying to run from himself. 

Even now, lying in bed with Eddie late on Sunday morning, he could feel the first nudges of gravity shifting, the quiet stirrings of empty space needing to be acknowledged. 

There was a black hole living inside of Steve, and nothing he could do to change that.  

“God I swear it’s like you’re the sun,” Eddie sleepily whispered against his chest, unknowingly cutting straight through the icy black tendrils starting to creep up Steve’s spine. 

“The sun?” Steve said, feeling something finally touch the cold dark thing living in his stomach. 

“You just keep us alive and warm, don’t you Stevie?” Eddie mumbled, still half asleep, “Pull everyone into your orbit and make sure none of us go flying off into space alone,” 

Eddie was already starting to snore by the time Steve jogged himself out of his stunned silence enough to kiss the top of his boyfriend’s head and whisper a reverent declaration of love. 

Sometimes Steve felt like there was a black hole living inside of him.

And sometimes he was reminded not everyone saw it that way. 

[pacifymebby]

I'm gonna post something under the cut that could be triggering so tw description of sexual assault but I don't really know who else to tell atm and this feels like (weirdly) the safest place to go

Last night at this festival I've been at, the friend who had been annoying me recently, got in our tent (girl tent) along with another friend of ours who is also a lad but like, calmer. And the other lad and my (girl) friend both fell asleep, and I wasn't sleeping yet but was pretending to be because I was tired and didn't want to be disturbed.

And then the friend who has been annoying me, put his arm over me, and I like ignored it (because I didn't know what else to do in my pretending to be asleep state) and then he moves after a moment and I think oh that's good he's gonna stop, but then he started playing with my hair, so "in my sleep" I moved and shrugged him off. But he carries on and then he's like stroking my neck and then he reaches down into my top and starts stroking my breast and like, flicked my nipple a few times and at this point I'd just ptsd'd out and frozen, just like starring at the tent wall just waiting for it to be over.

And then he stopped that, and then he was like "hey is anyone awake" and he specifically prodded me in the back to wake me up and was like "hey are you awake" and I stirred a bit as if I was waking up and was like "not really" and he was like "but you are awake" and I was just like "no" and immediately went "back to sleep" and then he was like "okay I'm gonna go back to my tent" but waited as if he thought I was gonna go with him... Obviously I stayed put and he went away but now I don't know what to do this morning.

The other thing as well is that me and my other friend had been stoned/ drinking all day and we'd taken mandy too but this guy was completely sober doing this and it just feels so predatory and untrustworthy and now I've got to do this festival until everyone else wants to go home because it's in the middle of nowhere and I need the lift back, but I don't want to spend the day with him.

And I want to tell my other two mates but I don't want to ruin everyone's time, or be a bitch, or get like, them turned against me somehow. And I feel like it was a bit my fault for being under the influence and for not just saying "go away" to him much earlier on in the situation. But like, I have PTSD from this kind of thing and I was scared and just went into freeze mode. But I feel like if I say anything about what happened to anyone then they'll think I'm being a bit dramatic. And I know fine well that if I say anything to this friend he will tell me that I should have just told him to stop. But honestly I don't know that he would have if I had.

Anyway sorry for dumping, I hope I haven't upset anyone reading this. I just really had to tell someone and I wasn't sure who to go to.

[buckysmith]

Ok gf, here's my request

My personal HC is that I'm the newbie of the team (Corpman [medic] and sniper). Most of the time, I act as support given my other duties. After the events of Ghost Team, TF 141 is captured and tortured by Graves momentarily (Los Vaqueros will break them out) but not until Graves, erm... r@pes my OC. Shit goes down and she's also injured and therefore not present for the Countdown mission (when they stop Hassan). A month later she's on the recovery but still has PTSD. Price and her hook it up then, but take things slow

Now to my ask. Several months after Hassan was killed, Price and my OC are living a secret affair (hidden even from the boys, and especially Laswell and Norris!). But see, Soap notices a hickey on her and she denies it. So the scottish boy undergoes investigations to find out who's the lucky lad. At first he thinks it's Ghost and he's like "Ey mate, cheers on hitting it with x". But Simon is confused, because it isn't him. And it certainly isn't Gaz or Price (right?!). So the boys try to find out, and for weeks, my OC tries to twart them off

When it doesn't work, she turns to König (who is her best friend, and also platonic soulmate). Everyone's been kinda shipping them since they both speak german and get along well. I like to think that König scares people with his height (even though he's really bashfull), but my OC is the one to unwind him

So, could I get my OC asking König (in german, but you don't have to write it obviously) to pretend to be her boyfriend. and he gets all flustered. she holds his hand, and explains she has to do this to get them off her back. Also, i like to think he gives her sweet german nicknames like Maus (mouse), Liebling (Darling), Schatzli (little treasure, this one is swiss lol)

btw you're a queen. good luck with your studies <3

Price x Oc/reader

I shouldn’t write fanfics- I’m terrible at it … (oh and thank you !!)

Oh, and I’m sorry for my German- if there’s something wrong please let me know!!!!

TW

Not directly mentioning of r@pe but it happened to the “reader/OC”, PTSD, no mentioning of body parts but reader uses she/her,hers pron

Months had passed since you had gone through your personal hell, but the memories still hunted you and every single time you closed your eyes, you could feel him, you could smell him, you could hear his filthy voice rasping dirty shit in your ear, that pain you felt, the burning in your muscles. Everything. It was still there and no matter what you did, it just didn’t disappeared.

You had to force yourself back into reality when Soap and Gaz asked you if you were alright cause you snapped out of the conversation when soap accidentally mention his name, which you responded with a quick yes.

But you were in fact not, but that weren’t their problem, not something they should have to deal with.

“Excuse me for a moment” is all you say before you leave the boys behind.

You don’t know how, but you end up in front of your captain’s office, not an unfamiliar place if you want to be honest to yourself. You found yourself quite often here in the couple of months, especially at night.

You don’t even have to knock, before you hear your captains voice demanding you to step inside.

He doesn’t even have to look up from his paperwork, to know who just stepped inside his office.

“Look who just found her way into my office, how did I get the honor that you visit me at such an hour sweetheart?” His voice is rough, his office’s smells like his favorite cigars and himself. It’s enough to ease your mind, and to relax yourself enough to feel comfortable to sit yourself on his couch.

“You had a flashback, didn’t you darling” it wasn’t even a question, he knew that you had ‘em, he knew that you cried yourself to sleep, that you washed your body with almost burning hot water everyday to get rid of the feelings of his hands. His eyes met yours as you forced yourself to look at him.

His face may not seemed to care, but his eyes did and it didn’t took him ten seconds for him to get to you, kneeling in front of you, asking if its okay for you that he takes your hand. He was always so careful, even before it happened to you, but after that, it seemed he even got more carefully than ever before.

It’s his hand that makes your heart skip a beat as he gently strokes over your hand with his tumb, not saying a single word while you stare at his hand.

“ If you need a time out you just have to tell me and don’t say you don’t need it, you know I wasn’t happy that you came back to us just two weeks after that… I can take my time off too, so that you don’t have to be alone” his voice is gentle, he almost whispers his voice and no matter how gentle they are it somehow hurts you.

You don’t want time off, you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts, in the field you can at least get your mind on something else.

“You know I don’t want that…”

You can hear him sigh, before he stands up to lay his hand on your head. “I knew you would say that…. That’s why I made sure that you have someone with you you trust, that I trust and that speaks your language”

It takes you a couple of seconds to really understands what he means. “He should arrive any minute, I guess in hangar two, you should say hello to our lovely king ”

“King?” You ask. What does he mean with king you don’t know a ki- “ König! You mean König, don’t you !?” His innocent grin is enough to make you jump up from the couch, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek before running out of his office like a roadrunner.

A couple of weeks had passed since your best friend arrived at your base and soap made his way trough every single soldier, asking them if they were your secret little affair. It made you giggle to know that ghost was the first subject of Soaps little mission, out of all, it was ghost he thought you would have more than a friendship with.

You even tried to gaslight him into thinking he was your secret affair… he thought about it, but he couldn’t remember anything, especially not giving you a hickey.

You’re leaning against König as you watched soap practically staring at you both, you knew you wouldn’t get away with it, not before that child in a mans body had what he wanted. Answers on your secret boyfriend.

So you came up with a plan, and since König and you were able to speak in a language nobody else but you two could, you didn’t even need to leave to plan your little plan.

"König mein Schatz, was hälst du davon dich wie mein Freund zu benehmen?” (König Darling, what do you think about acting like your my boyfriend) His eyes met yours in seconds, you couldn’t see his face but you knew he was red as a cherry under that mask “Du willst dass ich dein Freund spiele? Dein Freund bringt mich um…” (You want me to play your boyfriend? Your boyfriend is going to kill me)

“Mach dir darüber keine Sorgen” (don’t worry about it)

So with a plan you both only have to play along.

It first starts with you holding his hand while you walk around the base, then you also hold it while you both eat, then his nicknames for you start.

“Mausi, could you please pass me the salt?”

“Nein Schatz, that doesn’t taste good, don’t eat it”

Or while training.

He has you pinned down, while soap, price, ghost and Gaz watches you both fighting.

“Ich bin sowas von tot ” (I’m so dead)

You may not had seen the staring from your boyfriend, but König definitely felt it, he knew that he was in great danger.

But your little plan worked, as Soap was now sure that you and König are dating, which ended his annoying questioning.

.

.

.

.

.

You’re standing in front of your best friend, looking up to him while he stares down, petting your head like your a dog.

“Es war schön, dich hier zu haben, mein Freund, ich hoffe, wir sehen uns bald”

(It was nice to have you here my friend, I hope we see us soon )

“Ich fand es auch schön hier zu sein ” (I also liked being here)

He leaves before you can answer him, knowing he wouldn’t come to visit you in quite a time, but maybe you would see each other in the field.

“So your boyfriend left us, hmm.” You can feel strong arms warping themself around your waist, gently pulling you to a warm chest. "Seems like it” you hum in response. " but we don’t want you to be lonely at night, don’t we my Schatz” his accent destroys the mood that had tense up between you too, only for him to mumble a few slurs.

(I’m going with my usual style haha, sorry for that)

- So you now sitting on his bed, him standing between your legs while he has his fingers under your chin, lifting it up so he can look into your eyes

- his thumb gently stroking over your lip as he scans every single pore of your face

- in his eyes your holy

- “you don’t know how much it angered me to see you with him”

- you can’t but grin over his jealousy

- he’s cute when he’s jealous, especially when he doesn’t have too

- you know Königs wife, she’s just as cute as an angel, even allowed him to play your boyfriend for a couple of weeks

- his eyes meet yours as he growls about that it’s not funny

- gently pressing you on the mattress

- asking you if it’s okay if he shows you how much he wants you

- how much he wants to be inside of you

- to show you how much he wants to breed to

- to mark you as his own

- so that nobody would ever say that they belong to you

- to show soap and Gaz that they were wrong

- to make you his wife

- this night everyone will know that König as in fact not your boyfriend

- but you also disturbed soap , Gaz and even ghost with it

- cause well- who forgot to look the door?

- no no ofc it wasn’t price, how could you think that

- price office wasn’t the best place to fuck… for price it was cause know nobody would dare to say something again

[eteru-roses]

mask, midnight, and monster for the ask game :3

— admin (@castaway-achlys)

Mod here, I'll just slowly expose Atamai

-mask

He's kept a very calm, proper composure.he gets a little flirty sometimes. He often has panic/PTSD attacks which only Jade happens to know about because he accidentally walked in on atamai having one.

-midnight

Atamai often has panic/anxiety attacks over night. Not often nightmares, though.

-monster

Not in the least, actually. He can come off as apathetic but he's quite a kind lad.

Context for his past.

❗️TW-MENTIONS SELF HARM, SUICIDE, AND EATING DISORDERS❗️

Atamai grew up in a small town in the shaftlands. Small, but wealthy. His family was at the top. He is the third oldest of eight children. Never chose first, never were his feelings considered, but his parents always expected him to do the best possible. They always assumed when he failed to do so, he was lazy. He struggled behind closed curtains with his mental state. He still to this day has permanent scars all on his arms and wrists. His parents expected him to be a good, hard working young man, and one day a husband with a lovely wife and children (too fucking bad, he turned out 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈). They expected him to be perfect looking aswell, but from a young age he had vitiligo, and didn't fit the slim body type. He fell into terrible eating disorders due to his parents shaming. He had many suicide attempts aswell. Since the young age of 11, he's set himself a proper, kind, facade. His parents call him "effeminate, dissapointing, a disgrace" He wishes so to meet someone that he can actually express himself around, but fears he will be seen as dissapointing, how his parents saw him. He changed himself whole, just to be seen. It didn't end the constant criticism of him, his personality, his body.

Jade is one of the few people who experience the real atamai.

[starofmhera]

Freedom Ride

Character main: Tod Hope

---- Short #1 -------------

((Parallel universe - Fantasy universe where all manners of supernatural exist hidden in plain sight))

Fresh off a plane from JFK, the number twenty-two glimmered on a specialized passport that acted as his ID. Belonging to no one state, he had a unique American flag symbol in wingdings stamped next to his "state of origin" on the passport lines. A little black paw mark is next to that flag, designating a special rank within the army.

The young man that day lightened the load of his black duffel bag by paying his way from the airport to the train station. Bartering a Tibetan singing bowl with a California reject. His driver, a shaggy blond dream, told him without prompting after the trade that such an eye for opportunity allowed him to get his taxi for cheap. Never mind how it reeked of sex and payments of another kind, with suggestive fluids staining the dark belts of the back seat. The musk mixed with moist cigarettes, old smokes celebrating happy customer after happy customer with a golden stain. Still.. it was the freedom ride the young man hoped for. If the driver kept talking, the new york Drizzle wouldn't require the tired soul's story to make it rain harder. Only at the end of the ride did the driver ask his name.

"Call me Tango." The visitor who managed to avoid a conversation so far begged another question on the driver's lips- what kind of name was that?

"That's what people recognize if you ask for me." He waved off the curiosity, getting out of the taxi with a breath of bustling car exhaust, the puttering roar of an ice box truck, and the clicking of a gaggle of heels as businesswomen rushed to catch their trains amid the odd street performer busking their chance.

Yet, all of these faces were stony to the young man who hardly glanced up at the grand pillars of the rail station, struggling to recall its name after many years abroad. Pigeons flew about the elegant statues carved into its great heights, their wings reflected off of dark glassy sky rises that held hundreds of thousands of lives at work. Making money that he protected under contract and secret deals… It was beginning to pull his attention away, the bitterness rising in his throat until the scent of the rain on the pavement, the stink of rotten ketchup from the old hot dog stands, and the purified office air that followed an executive who barked into a cellphone walking by him. The puddles below the man's leather combat boots reflected a raised lip before he could reclaim his temper- shooting a stare at the wake of the man who sounded like he might be about to lose it… Yet, he had his own mission to do.

On his duffel bag, grey-green badges read off three names:

Tango Hotel - Tod H. "Spooky"

Back to his own body, as a chilly wind ruffled the short hair at the nape of his neck, the five-foot-five young soldier rolled his shoulders and neck with a crack. He ran a hand through his choppy blonde hair that previously was shorn; he didn't really want to think about his own appearance as his civilian clothes were all picked out by a handler back in Dubai. . . the "sendoff" point.

From waiting, Tod's fatigues reeked of his musking sweat from a time in combat in his bag, the afternoon rain soaking him. . . . It all blurred together into a blackout as he piloted himself through the necessary steps of purchasing a rail ticket. The staff was short-tempered, his voice keeping their snobbish tones in check as he drummed short black painted nails against the fine cream-colored marble.

It was a relief to bolt through the stony archways, down past people dressed in autumn-time costumes belonging to various anime. Their faces spoke easier to him than the typical stranger- colorful clothes and secret body language translated a bit easier to the man who once spent all his free time studying people through the art medium before… things required Courage.

Making it through advertisement-plastered doors that hissed with the pressurization of their mechanics, a bell rang while a gentleman spoke over the comms. The lad made it to the train with no time to spare.

Upon initial glance and a furrowed stare, Tod could tell the subway was on its best behavior today. Many men and women bustled together in costume- coming and going to the nearby Jacob Javits center as if it were Halloween. It finally occurred to Tod what day it was and why his appearance didn't attract every cop's attention.

On a day like today, everyone had bags and places to be… lucky him. Maybe… Nah, he dismissed the idea of approaching anyone; Americans didn't like making friends that way. Only dogs at the park did that kind of thing. He should get a dog.

Sighing through his pink-tinged nose, he grabbed a free spot by the doors- holding onto the railway standing pole that made up the beginning of a smooth bench that ran the length of the cabby. Various posters for broadway musicals, local bars, warnings against thieves, and other designs captivated the attention of pictures that ran just below accessible shelving for suitcases.

Modestly, Tod Hope kept to his own- calloused fingers full of white scars and deep grooves looping around the cool metal, letting it take the heat of his stress off as the scents of the many passengers began to tell him much about their lives.. .some things he would rather not know just yet coming fresh off the plane.

With being released into society to learn to blend in as his next mission, things were new every moment for the young lad who served. Every poster reminded him of what he endured bitter memories for, and he kidded himself the transition to blend in would be easy. Transitioning would be as easy as knowing when the government was listening to him. The sound of the tracker had a consistent beeping pace in the chip behind his left ear. His location and progress would be continuously tracked as he built a backstory to give overseas… something organic to help him blend in no matter who he was surrounded by.

Such a task would send him exploring all over the country, doing basic jobs… but for now, he started humble and as far as his old backyard: New York City.

The lack of two towers left an empty pit in his stomach; his father's face echoed in his own despite adoption being their relationship in the first place… not that fatherhood wasn't beautiful; it was just that… Tod was raised by the Silent Generation, and thus he learned to be quite a Good Soldier.

As he looked at the New York City Skyline that was drizzly and grey, feeling the train car move with a gliding push that creaked his knees… he couldn't tune out the constant feed of thoughts as a nearby music junkie blared his younger ears out at 19. The jeans he wore gained a chill within as he sweated, gripping the rail pole tighter in his left hand while his knuckles turned white- jaw setting at an angle as blood rushed to his eyes. Someone nearby smelled stressed, and it set off the soldier's attention as his nose lifted - music swelling in his ears while scents further bombarded his other avenues of "beast" tongue.

Cramped… it was all cramped as they moved onward, and he had many stops to go.

Massive headphones did nothing to hide the tune of the soon-deaf 19-year-old nearby. Accusational yet sweet lullaby tone comforting the listener while conveying a frustration that came from compassion, empathy, and a sense of injustice. . .

He wished bitterly; he could have known the paradise he protected. The song drew that desire out, but he swallowed it- repeating aloud as he forgot himself, to filter while his rough voice worked by desert air barked, "Bide, damn you."

Lost on the train, it was restrained as a mutter despite feeling like a shout from how his throat tensed, eyes bloodshot for a moment as he resisted the urge to feel- then slowly soothed the feelings with the mantra.

Bide… Restrain… Resolve.

His first goal remained simple: Acquire housing. Which required couch surfing and making connections… he knew no better way than to touch on the party scenes- so he planned as best he could, knowing little of the world outside those desert missions.

So long as he kept his head, he would succumb to no mad hatter.

"Papaoutai" - Stromae

The song passed, and finally, Tod could breathe again as he let go of the metal that now was misted with his sweat, his hand leaving behind a print as he instead leaned his hip against the pole, hoping to appear more relaxed to other commuters as riders came and went. Little did he know, he seemed an easy target with a big bag- perfect for pickpocketers or who knew who else that Saturday Afternoon of Comic-Con weekend.

[babygirlharrington]

Steddie Fic Rec #3

One Last Class - DragonsFlight

Summary: Dustin enlists Steve to help tutor Eddie so he can graduate.

Explicit, WIP. No triggers, as far as I know. Dustin has a scheme and Steve is, as in canon, a shitty tutor.

standing up the dead - heartofwinterfell @nancywheeeler

Summary: Max and Eddie in the astral plane.

Teen, WIP. Eddie and Max trauma-bond while they try to get back to REAL Hawkins. Max misses (real) Lucas and Eddie doesn’t realise he misses (real) Steve so much? right where i belong - Macellarius

Summary: “You’re a fucking virgin?” Steve blurts out excitedly. Or, a weekend of firsts with Steve and Eddie, who are navigating life and love in the aftermath. (Or, the Varsity Sweater fic.) 

Explicit, Complete. This is part of the author’s series, slowly learning that life is okay, which part I is also very worth reading.  You Just Keep Me Hanging On - DiscoSuperFly

Summary: Hobbies have taken over Fireman Steve's life, he's taking a slow path to find his joy, selling his honey and beeswax products at a local Farmers Market he runs into someone from his past and they're pulled into each other's orbit.

Explicit, Complete. Just two farmer’s market boys living out their little farmer’s market dreams. Very fucking cute. If you want to walk out of hell - RedCytosine @redcytosine

Summary: Eddie makes a miraculous escape from the Upside Down, only to find that while he may have returned to the Shire, Mordor is not finished with him yet. Or, Eddie, found family, a slow romance, and how to save the world.

Mature, WIP. This fic has lots of chapters (and hopefully will have lots more!) and is a very interesting twist on the Kas theory. luckiest man in the world - ghosttotheparty @ghosttotheparty

“Jesus. Imagine that. I’m twenty-one, wanted for murder, thought to be dead, never graduated high school. And I still get to be the luckiest man in the world.”

Mature, Complete. TW for PTSD. Healthy communication between two horny and traumatized lads. Skindeep- HolographicBunny

Summary: Steve just wanted to help Robin sit through her first tattoo. He didn't plan for a certain metal head to come stumbling into his life. Not that he is complaining. Okay, maybe he is complaining a little bit because that’s what he does.

Explicit, WIP. Steve is supposed to be Robin’s hand to hold while she gets her first tattoo. Steve ends up being the one needing his hand held by the end of the appointment. cuddles and cat naps - murdertrashbabyrat @murdertrashbabyrat

Summary: Steve is so relieved that he's getting a few hours of nightmare-free rest for once, that he doesn't notice he's neck deep in a sexuality crisis and that it's all Eddie Munson's fault. Thank god Steve has people like Robin to pull his head out of his ass.

Explicit, WIP. Eddie and his adopted kitten tag-team to make sure Steve gets some goddamn sleep. Lifes For The Living - Cherrycolatree @raspberrycolapop

Summary: Eddie Munson survives but ends up in a coma. Steve Harrington visits him everyday and slowly falls in love with someone who’s barely part of the living world anymore.

Explicit, Complete. Steve realizes he’d been in love with Eddie before, during, and now after his coma.  Mallrat - ozwrites @babygirlharrington

Summary: Eddie takes Mike, Dustin, and Lucas to the nerd store. On the way back to the lot, they pass The Gap, Zales, Jazzercise, and-

“Jesus Christ, dude is that Steve?!”

Explicit, Complete. Steve in his lil’ Scoops outfit. Yes, another act of shameless self-advocacy for this one before I drop a new fic.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Control Part 4

Things begin to heal, and Arthur is finally, finally, told the truth... almost...

TW: Suicide attempt/drug addiction/self harm recovery. Description of wounds from Suicide Attempt are extremely graphic. Nightmares, PTSD. Don’t worry lads, ‘tis a happy ending :)

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 5   Part 6(Final part Coming soon)

Camelot:

Morgana is the first to wake the morning after they receive the second letter.

She’s curled into Leon’s side when she blinks her eyes open, his arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively and his knotted hair tickling her nose. She can feel a heavy weight on her legs, and when she slowly manoeuvres herself to be sat up, she sees that Gwen has crawled halfway up the bed in her sleep, resting her head just above Morgana’s knees as she clutches her brother’s hand—her brother, who has managed to wedge himself between Leon’s legs and is reaching across towards her.

She smiles down at them for just a moment before she remembers why they’re all here, and her face falls into something more resembling heartbreak. The Lady knows Gwen, and likely the knights too, are light sleepers, so she shuffles slowly, carefully, to escape their grips. She wraps herself in one of the many blankets strewn around the room before tiptoeing around Gwaine and Percival to kneel in front of the now-cold hearth. 

It’s early, early and cold, despite the time of year and number of people huddled together in the room; but this stone castle has a way of seeping the warmth out of everything. She carefully waves her hands over the fireplace and it bursts to life quickly under her magical touch; she knows that now she’s out of bed she can claim to have been awake for hours and no one would question it. 

Once the fire is roaring healthily and she’s thawed the unusual winter from her fingertips, she heads back to the table they had all sat around last night, sitting in her chair and picking up the letter. It had been moved from where she’d abandoned it, and she knows that Gaius must’ve read it again some time during the night; she doesn’t blame him, even knowing the state Merlin had been in before he’d left, it’s a hard thing to wrap your head around.

She reads it again herself, forcing her brain to focus on the assurances closer to the bottom: “Morgana, stay calm,” instead of the life altering sentence near the top: “Last week, Merlin attempted to e-...” . When she’s satisfied herself, when she feels her heartrate calm again and her eyes stop tearing up, she summons a clean sheet of paper and a quill and inkwell from Arthur’s desk. She can’t quite decide if her magic is reassuring her that no one is awake, or if she just doesn’t care anymore.

She’s just finishing up when Gwen wakes; used to the early mornings, Morgana supposes. She joins her Lady at the table, which means it isn’t long before Elyan is awake as well. Then it’s Arthur and Leon, sensing the loss of heat from their pile, and then Gaius, also used to the early mornings. Gwaine and Percival are the last to wake, but only when Gwaine jolts upright with Merlin’s name on his lips and a cold sweat on his brow. Percival hushes him calmly, quietly, and presses a kiss to the crown of his head before they join everyone else at the table. No one has spoken yet, and the silence isn’t broken for a while longer, not until Morgana passes the letter over to Arthur for him to double-check.

He mutters a quiet thank you as he takes it, reading her words of love and support and just a little heartbreak; enough that Merlin knows they want him to get better, but hopefully not enough to fill him with guilt. He signs his name, and passes it around the table.

Unlike last time, Morgana is the first to leave this morning, after the letter is sent out the window. Gwen offers to follow, but the Lady declines, knowing that she’d want to spend the day with her brother; she isn’t really feeling like company at the moment anyway. 

Half a candle mark later, Leon and Arthur are the only ones left in the room.

Neither of them are really aware why; whether he stayed to comfort his King or himself is inconsequential, what matters is that he’s here, and they both need it. Leon is sat on the edge of the bed, face turned towards the ground when he cracks through the icy silence:

“I always prided myself on being observant, but this... I never saw this coming.”

Arthur hums quietly in acknowledgement, moving sluggishly from his seat at the table to the spot next to his First Knight:

“I think... I think I did see it coming, Maybe not... not as bad as it is, but... I knew there was something wrong. Thinking back to the beginning, before all of this... Morgana pulled away from me a long time ago, and Merlin’s always had secrets, I just never liked to think about it. It was easy to explain away: Morgana is a half sibling with a traumatic childhood, a Lady no less, whom I have very little in common with. Merlin is a servant, with a secondary job as a physician and a life and friends outside of me. He was never meant to be... complicated. Secretive, mysterious, sure. But never complicated."

Leon nods, but doesn't look up at the man next to him as he sighs:

"I think he's far more complicated than any of us have ever given him credit for. That's probably why we didn't pursue it when we did see it: we just... didn't want to have seen it. We all knew he was sick, Arthur, and none of us did a damn thing about it until it was too late, because we're so used to him looking after us, the thought that he himself might need looking after was... easy to ignore."

Arthur hums again, not really noticing the swell of bitter regret and resentment growing in his chest at Leon's words; those feelings are nothing out of the ordinary, nowadays. He frowns though, as another common thought re-occurs to him:

"I just... don't understand. What could possibly have made him this sick?? We know that Lance and Gaius and Morgana know. We know that Morgana was sick herself years ago, though to a far lesser extreme. We know that being in Camelot was making it worse. I just don't understand. I need to know, so I can make sure it never happens again, to anyone. But they don't trust me. How am I meant to help if they don't trust me? They clearly blame me."

Leon finally looks up, putting a hand on Arthur's knee and bumping shoulders with him:

"I don't think they really blame you, Arthur. Whatever it is, whatever is wrong with him... it strikes me as something none of us will have seen coming. Whatever it is... it will change things. The blame is to be shared here, we all claim to be Merlin's friend and we all failed to take care of him. We just have to make sure that, when he gets back, it never happens again."

Arthur goes still, his fidgeting hands and his bouncing knees turned to stone. His voice is quiet, barely a whisper:

"If he comes back. What if he... what if there's a next time, and what if they don't find him in time?-”

He turns to Leon with a slightly desperate look in his eye, his voice growing in volume:

“-Will they expect me to just... leave it? To not ask? To not demand to know? I... he... I should know. I should've known weeks ago, but I've let them deal with it because I was lead to believe that that's what's best for him. I'm trusting that there's nothing I can do to help, but... what if there is??-"

He stands from the bed and paces away and Leon settles a quietly mournful gaze on his back. The room freezes over in silence once again as the knight struggles to think of an answer. Arthur also freezes where he stands, hands and shoulders tense as he stares to the window. He continues quietly, and Leon gets the impression that if he were to turn around, there’d be tears on his cheeks:

“-Do... do they really think I would make it worse? That whatever secret they have could make me hurt them?? You’ve seen Morgana, she’s... skittish, because she knows that at the end of this, they’re going to have to tell us the truth.-”

The King turns around, and Leon stands up—though doesn’t move towards the other man—when he sees that his earlier assumption was right:

“-She claims she wants to tell me, claims she isn’t scared of me, but she clearly is.”

Leon gulps, wiping a tired hand down his face before sighing and forcing his back to untense. He stares at the floor for a few moments as he tries to think of a way to articulate his thoughts, before looking up to the distraught King:

“Your people, Morgana and Merlin included, love you because you can be trusted, Arthur. Everyday the citizens of Camelot wake up and make a choice to trust you with their safety, their livelihoods, their happiness. That doesn’t mean that secrets aren’t... scary sometimes. Irrationally so.-”

Arthur doesn’t look convinced, so Leon makes a choice. He rubs his hands together absently and looks away as he mentally debates himself, but in the end, he sighs, drops his hands to his sides, and looks back to his friend:

“-Did you know that... that I’m scared of heights?-”

Arthur looks shocked for a moment, and takes note of Leon’s pale cheeks and forced stillness as he shakes his head:

“-Like... irrationally, unexplainably, terrified of heights. I struggle to even look out the windows on the higher floors, walking on the battlements... it’s a battle in itself, for me. And I’ve... never told anyone that. No one. Ever.-”

Arthur looks confused and opens his mouth to say something, but Leon holds a hand up to stop him:

“-But do you know what was scarier?”

Arthur shakes his head slowly and Leon takes another deep breath:

“-Actually telling you. Telling someone the secret, in that moment, scared me more than heights. For no reason. Maybe because I’ve lived with it for so long, maybe because I’ve never actually said it aloud to another person before. Whatever the reason is, doesn’t matter. I know you won’t judge me, I know you won’t treat me lesser, or make a big deal out of it, or take the piss, because you’re my friend. Telling you I’m terrified of heights shouldn’t be a big deal. I know that. But that doesn’t stop the irrational, gut wrenching fear that... what if something goes wrong? What if telling you was a mistake?? I know it wasn’t, and before I said it aloud, I knew it wouldn’t be... but fear sometimes isn’t logical. When Morgana says she and Merlin wanted to tell you, you should believe them, because sometimes just getting the words out... well it feels safer, and easier, not to, because then you can be sure that nothing will change. They will tell you one day, Arthur, trust that, they just need a little time to give themselves the courage.”

Arthur doesn’t really have a response to that, so just stares at the knight wide eyed. Leon gets more and more nervous, until finally Arthur walks forward and pulls him into a hug, burying his face in the older man’s shoulder and muttering:

“Thank you for trusting me with that. And I... I think I know what you mean.-”

Leon relaxes and puts his arms around his younger brother’s shoulders, holding him tightly, steadily:

“-They’ve obviously been dealing with this on their own for so long... perhaps they’re just afraid of whatever change it may bring about. Perhaps they just... got used to it.”

Leon nods and smiles proudly, but doesn’t let go, not until Arthur does. The King seems more determined, more positive as he wipes his face clean and straightens his clothing out:

“-I just have to keep showing them that they’re safe, and that I can be trusted.”

Leon’s smile, though weary, grows, and he gives Arthur one last pat on the back before making a slow exit from the chambers.

The King heaves a deep sigh, but with it leaves a little of the tension that had slowly been growing in his muscles since he’d woken up. He resists the urge to read the letter again, stashing it away in the draw with the other one and organising his paperwork so he can get something done. He knows that everyone will be dealing with this in their own way. Morgana will read and Gwen and Elyan will comfort each other and Percival, Gwaine, and Leon will need to beat each other up a little and Gaius and Arthur need to throw themselves into work, just to take their minds off it for a little while.

He decides to re-examine the coming patrol rotas, and if Leon finds himself undertaking significantly fewer patrols on the battlements or the city walls... well... neither of them mention it.

The Camp:

Lancelot almost vomits when he sees it, sees him, but he swallows it down and staggers forward, Merlin’s name on his lips.

Iseldir stays at the treeline, fingers digging into the bark of the tree next to him as he can force himself to do nothing but stare. The sun glints across the dagger—a dagger that once symbolised honour and skill and pride, but is now a dull, bloody show of desperation—and it catches his eye, but he can’t move forward, can’t put one foot in front of the other. Lancelot falls to his knees in front of the... body, and the Druid can think of nothing but how he should’ve seen this coming. Perhaps he did see this coming, and just resigned himself to it instead of trying to stop it. He absent-mindedly wonders if there was anything that could’ve been done. Merlin’s mind isn’t understandable to any being of this Earth, perhaps this is the only way for his Lord to truly rest. 

At least for a little while.

Iseldir’s mind is broken from it’s morbid thoughts when Lancelot’s hands come away from Merlin’s arm, shaking and bloody:

“He’s- Oh Gods he’s cold. He’s... He’s freezing...”

Iseldir’s response is quiet, monotone, and it’s as if he’s hearing his own voice from underwater as part of a conversation he isn’t a part of:

“I imagine he’s been gone for hours.”

Lancelot’s head whips back to look at him, and his bloodshot eyes stand out against his pale skin; his hands don’t stop shaking as they hover over Merlin’s chest:

“Please, can’t you- is there anything...?”

Iseldir shakes his head, finally managing to move forward as his gaze flicks across his fallen Lord, assessing the damage and growing more and more horrified at the grief he can see in the wounds:

“I... no. He is gone. We need to get him back to the camp and cleaned up before he wakes; coming back to the land of the living after such an... end, will be traumatising enough, we can at least make him physically comfortable.”

Lancelot furrows his brows, his chest heaving deeply as both men ignore the streams of tears down his cheeks. He glances back at Merlin, but he can only bear to look at his still, cold face for so long before he has to turn away again:

“What do you mean, wake up?? He’s... I thought you said he was...”

Iseldir rips his gaze from the corpse, settling what he hopes is a comforting smile on the knight; it’s more of a grimace:

“He is immortal. There are very few things that can kill him and keep him dead.-”

He finally makes it to Lancelot’s side, taking the dagger form it’s resting place on Merlin’s stomach and quickly dropping it into a deep pocket before his brain has time to process what it’s holding. He leans over to close Merlin’s eyes and smooth over his hair with shaking hands, his palm pausing momentarily on the younger man’s cold cheek. He rips his hand away quickly before looking to Lancelot at his side and speaking softly:

“-Come. We must get him back to camp.”

He doesn’t attempt to pick the other man up, knowing that Lancelot would accept no one bar himself carrying Merlin back. The knight is clearly struggling between wanting to look down at his friend’s face, and not knowing whether he would be able to cope with seeing such a thing, but thankfully the journey is short, and they make it back to the camp after only a few minutes.

It’s empty, and though the knight has a feeling that it has something to do with Iseldir’s mental connection to the other occupants, he doesn’t question it, doesn’t care. The Druid shakily directs them to Merlin and Lancelot’s sleeping tent, and inside they find the Warlock’s bed clean and ready. No fire is lit, due to the time of year, but Merlin’s softest clothes have been neatly folded next to the pillow, and two large wash basins surrounded by piles of cloths dent the grass on the other side of the bed.

Lancelot lays his friend down, finding it harder and harder to hold in his cries until he gives up entirely, not caring of Iseldir’s (non-existent) judgment as he sobs, wiping blood away from Merlin’s face.

The wounds have already healed, leaving thin, almost invisible white scars criss-crossing his skin. His cheeks are already colouring again, but the blood on his clothes and the slashes in the fabric paint a gruesome picture; he had clearly been... aggressive, in his actions, uncaring of direction or placement as long as they were deep. The scars stretch across his chest and abdomen, matching lines occasionally lining up on his arms. The top of his thighs are almost equally marred, and even the backs of his hands sport some silvery lines.

Iseldir and Lancelot ignore them all as they dutifully work, using no magic to strip, clean, and redress him as gently as they can.

When it’s done, when the basins are full of more blood than they are water and the corners of the tent are piled high with bloody rags, the two of them sit back, either side of the Warlock’s limp body. At least now he just looks like he’s sleeping. Lancelot has his legs crossed at the ankles and raised at the knees, his arms holding them close to his chest as he stares down at Merlin’s face; his whispered voice croaks and he otherwise doesn’t move as he speaks:

“Did he... know? That he’s immortal?”

Iseldir tilts his head in thought, looking up to the knight in front of him with heavy, mournful eyes:

“I... do not know. I thought he did, but... well. Either way, his mental state is worse than I’d first thought. I suppose I had expected something similar to happen, though... this-”

He gestures vaguely at Merlin’s prone body, but Lancelot furrows his brows and looks up, speaking before he can continue:

“Either way? Doesn’t it matter?”

Iseldir’s face falls even further as he looks back to the other man. He speaks slowly, his voice sad and anguished:

“Say he didn’t know, then there is no question as to what he was trying to do. Say he did know, and he was either desperate enough to try anyway, or he saw this as simply the easiest way to get some rest. Can you imagine? Being so in need of rest you do this to yourself just for a few hours of nothingness?”

Lancelot shakes his head but doesn’t answer; there isn’t really anything he can say.

~

When Merlin wakes half a day later, it’s dark out, and he’s cold. Before he opens his eyes, he absent-mindedly thinks that that’s what happens when your body is low on blood. His first breath hitches, and he tries to pull himself up, afraid of what he will see, but he’s weighed down by something singularly warm and soft on his chest. For just a moment he holds his second breath and allows it to bring him peace, before he forces his eyes open and glances down.

Lancelot’s dark hair tickles his chin and nose as he tilts his head, but he can’t bring himself to look away; he’d hoped the knight would’ve left by now. Merlin knows how desperate he is to get home, knows that the only reason he isn’t there right now, is Merlin.

It doesn’t take Lancelot long to wake up; maybe it was the abrupt flaring to life of Merlin’s heartrate, maybe it was the sudden warmth when before there’d been only ice, or maybe he’d been jolting awake every five minutes since he first began dozing off anyway. It doesn’t really matter. He is awake, and so is Merlin, and their tired gazes meet blearily before the knight jumps up, his eyes wide and teary before Merlin can take his third breath:

“Merlin! Oh thank God, Iseldir told me you were,-”

He gestures vaguely before falling against Merlin’s chest again, wiggling his arms around his back to pull him into a tight embrace:

“-well, you know. But then hours passed and you weren’t waking up! We... he promised you’d be... but I thought you weren’t going to wake up.”

Merlin stays limp, a slight frown on his face as he waits for Lancelot to let go and move back. The knight does so after a moment or two, and Merlin stamps down the guilt when he spies the tears on his cheeks, choosing to refocus instead on his confusion:

“Why are you here?”

Lance frowns and recoils slightly, both at the actual question and in the ironically dead tone Merlin asks it in. Quickly though, his evident grief partially gives way to his own confusion:

“Where else would I be?? You think I would leave you to wake up alone after that?-”

Merlin’s blank face looks away at that and Lancelot sags where he sits, tears once more streaming down his cheek:

“-Merlin, I... I think you underestimate how much you mean to people, how important you are.”

A hot, almost scolding wind whips through the tent as Merlin’s face briefly sports a vicious frown. The wind dies down and the anger disappears from his expression, but it can still be heard in the cracks between words when he responds:

“I know, I know, I’m meant to be some important saviour. Sorry to be such a disappointment.”

Lancelot shakes his head and takes Merlin’s hand tightly in his own, not allowing the younger man to pull away like he knows he so desperately wants to:

“I don’t give a fuck about destiny or Albion right now, Merlin. I just want you to be happy and healthy because you’re my friend, and I love you. You are more than your fate, more than the strings that the Gods so cruelly wound around you; if you told me that you wanted to abandon it all right now and never look back, then I’d never look back with you.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, and Lancelot reminisces about the time when he wasn’t grateful to see tears in his eyes. His voice is barely a whisper, and if the knight thought his heart couldn’t crack any further... well, he was wrong:

“I am alone in this world, this universe. You should go home, Lance. I know how much you want to. Just... leave.”

The knight shakes his head and, without letting go of Merlin’s hand, leans over him to press their foreheads together. He decides that he will hold on to the spark of warmth that jumps from Merlin’s skin to his own in his memories forever:

“You will never be alone, I won’t let you, and neither will Arthur, or Gwen, or Gaius, or Morgana. Neither will Gwaine, or Leon, or Percival, or Elyan. Not Freya, not Kilgharrah, not Aithusa. Not your people, nor your family, nor your friends. I won’t ever say I understand, none of us will, but we will never leave you. The world could burn, indeed you could be the one to burn it, and we would still stay with you. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than at your side. I love you, Merlin, you are my best friend, my brother; will you let me stay with you?”

Merlin stills, and Lancelot worries momentarily that perhaps he’d stopped breathing again, but he shivers to life quickly, turning his hand over in Lancelot’s so he can grip back as he nods his head slightly:

“Stay. Please.”

Lancelot opens his eyes to meet gazes with the man below him; he sees a sliver of gold ringing his irises, but the magic feels warm and loving and soft, instead of jagged and uncontrollable. He nods back, allowing himself a soft smile as he mutters, barely audibly:

“Forever.”

Lancelot quickly decides that he doesn’t care how warm it is, and tells Merlin to shuffle over before climbing into the bed alongside him. The Warlock falls asleep again quickly, his head now cushioned on Lance’s chest with the knight’s arms securely around him, but it takes Lancelot a few hours to finally pass into the world of dreams. He holds the other man close to him, scared he would sneak away again in the night; his last coherent thought, before he finally manages to rest, is wondering how long it will take him to be able to fall asleep without worrying about Merlin again.

~

The next time Merlin wakes, the sun is out and he’s much warmer. Likely due to the strong arms keeping a tight hold on him and the gently moving chest beneath his head. He doesn’t allow himself to think, he doesn’t move or speak, just feels. He listens to the heartbeat in his ears and lets the warmth seep into his bones, into his blood. Blood that feels like it belongs.

Lance follows him to wakefulness fairly promptly, tightening his hold on the other man instinctively. Merlin instantly responds to the movement, pressing his face into the knight’s chest and breathing deeply, allowing the smell of faded leather and herbs and summer wind to fill his lungs. Lance is the first to speak, his voice soft, but relaxed:

“Iseldir said he’d bring us food at some point, so we can just stay in bed all day, if you like.”

Merlin nods, but otherwise doesn’t move, keeping his eyes closed and his hands tightly clenched in the other’s tunic. Lancelot moves his hand up to Merlin’s head, softly running his fingers through his hair; Merlin is asleep within minutes, and Lancelot allows himself a small smile.

~

It’s another week before Merlin exits the tent, but the first real struggle comes about the next time he bathes. Lancelot looks up from his book to see him sat cross legged next to his bed, a wet cloth and full basin sitting next to him, untouched and forgotten. His tunic has been removed and his trousers sit screwed up in the corner:

“Merlin?”

Lancelot tears his eyes away from the new scars, mixed in with the old, as he kneels in front of the Warlock, trying to catch his eye; his gaze however remains firmly on his own chest and abdomen, though his response surprises Lancelot:

“When did I get so... skinny?”

Lancelot blinks in shock, having expected something about the scarring, before he gently lowers himself all the way to the floor, sitting opposite Merlin with a foot or so of space in between them:

“Skinny?”

Merlin spares him a quick glance—Lance stops himself from smiling at the evident confusion in his eyes—before looking back down to himself, lifting a shaking hand to skim his fingertips over his ever so slightly protruding ribs:

“I haven’t looked like this since I first came to Camelot. I... hadn’t even noticed.”

Lancelot leans forward slightly and tries his best to keep the excitement out of his voice:

“But you’re noticing now?-”

The servant fixes him with a slightly wary, confused frown and nods slowly. Lancelot just offers him a small smile and a soft response:

“-You should’ve seen yourself a few weeks ago. You could barely hold yourself up, Merlin. Do you not remember?”

The warlock shakes his head:

“No, I... wasn’t really...-”

His face falls and he presses the palms of his hands into his eyes:

“-Gods, what did I do? I can’t fucking... I had so much of that shit in me, I barely remember anything.-”

He looks up, and the desperation in his eyes comes with a cloud floating over the sun:

“-What about Arthur? Gaius? Gwen? What if something had happened?? I wouldn’t have been able to-”

Lancelot takes his wrists softly in his hands, squeezing them slightly in a way that he knows makes the servant sleepy and calm:

“Nothing happened, Merlin. Everyone is perfectly safe, you’re the one we're looking after at the moment; you can't take responsibility for everyone’s safety every day of the year. Merls, you've spent your entire life looking after people, first just your mother and your village and now every soul you come across, let someone else look after you for once. Arthur and the others can take care of themselves, and Morgana is there to protect them anyway.-"

Merlin calms a little but doesn’t look up from his lap just yet, tears on his cheeks as Lancelot hears the pitter-patter of soft rainfall on the fabric above that had initially been protecting them from the sun. The knight sighs, but strokes soft thumbs over Merlin’s bony wrists:

“-Let’s focus on you now, yeah? You’re already beginning to get better, Merlin, you can do this.”

Merlin freezes for a moment before taking a deep breath and untensing. He lifts his head slowly, and Lance moves his fingers from the Warlock’s wrists up to his hands, intertwining them gently; Merlin doesn’t wipe the tears from his face, but the slight upturn in the corners of his mouth almost has Lancelot bawling.

~

I imagine it carries on like that for a while, Merlin has the occasional hiccup, but otherwise genuinely improves. Though it’s a week and a half after the... incident—a few days since Merlin began going outside again, a week since he quietly admitted to a confused Lancelot that the scars don’t bother him because they blend in with all the others—that Lancelot once again bolts upright in the morning, remembering that he had promised letters home.

Merlin is already awake and hastily sketching away in his secretive little book, which Lance is surprised at, though he doesn’t show it; they’d been out all day yesterday and Lancelot had been expecting him to be asleep well beyond noon. 

(The heat hadn’t been too sweltering, and Merlin had the most energy he’d had in months, so the two of them packed a picnic and ventured out into the woods. In the morning, Lance found them two big sticks and convinced Merlin that it was a good idea to learn how to sword fight—which, as it turns out, is a very good distraction for when the Warlock’s brain starts buzzing too much—and in the afternoon, Merlin had Lance hunkered down in an overgrown clearing so he could learn about herbs and spices. He was tired when they’d gotten home that evening, barely managing to eat dinner before he passed into a peaceful sleep.)

Merlin doesn’t notice when Lancelot rushes out of the sleeping tent and back in again a few moments later with parchment and a quill and inkwell (Lancelot was still uncomfortable leaving Merlin alone; Merlin is observant enough to notice, and wise enough not to point it out). He does look up however, when Lancelot doesn’t put quill to paper for a solid five minutes, instead chewing the end to tatters between nervous teeth. Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, and though his voice is still monotone and measured, the other man is grateful for any expression nowadays:

“Lance? You ok there?”

The knight looks up with a jolt, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone:

“Hmm? Oh... yeah, I’m just...-”

He frowns and looks away, almost ashamed, before looking back with dark eyes and a bitten lip:

“-I’m deciding how... honest, to be. I promised them as much of the truth truth as possible, but... it’s up to you, Merlin.”

Merlin’s face drops to a familiar blankness and Lancelot shuffles slightly, uncomfortable, but the Warlock sighs and puts his charcoal down. He fiddles with his hands slightly, though far less aggressively than he used to, his head twitches to the side, only once, before he sighs again and slowly answers:

“I think... the truth. Just not... you’ll have to not tell them that I... died, you’ll have to lie about that, at least for now.”

Lancelot nods and fights the proud smile away:

“For now?”

Merlin freezes, almost as if he hadn’t realised that was what he’d said. He tilts his head in puzzlement before nodding slightly and responding:

“For now. I... I think I want to tell them, at least Arthur, about my... about everything. Not yet, but I... I don’t think I can... do this. Again. Anymore.”

Lancelot shifts over to him as the younger man yawns, taking the book and charcoal from his lap and placing them lovingly next to the bed before settling his hands on his shoulders:

“That’s... I’m proud of you, Merlin, and I’m here for you. Whenever you decide to tell Arthur the truth, I’ll be right next to you, if that’s what you want.-”

Merlin gives him a very brief smile—so brief a stranger would miss it entirely—and Lancelot returns it with a wide grin, before it falls into something softer as Merlin yawns again, blinking owlishly. He pushes the younger man back gently, so he lies on the bed, and brings the thin, summer blanket up to be tucked around his shoulders:

“-You’re still recovering, Merls. Sleep, I’ll write the letter and wait for you to wake up so you can read it over before I send it.”

Merlin shuffles down the bed, tucking all but the top of his head under the blanket as he softly responds, his words slurring as his exhaustion finally catches up to him:

“Don’ bother, jus’ send it. Trust you, an’ they been waiting for... for ages. Tell Gwaine to stop drinkin’, an’ Gana to calm down, an’... an’ all that...”

His voice trails off, and Lancelot threads his fingers through his hair softly for a few minutes before he shuffles back to his parchment.

~

In the end Lancelot decides that the most honest he can get without revealing anything of Merlin’s... special circumstances, is to say that they had almost been too late, but had just about made it in time. He knows what he’s written is a lie, the first lie that he’s outright told about Merlin’s condition; he struggles to put the words down, but he knows that it’s necessary. He briefly contemplates sending Morgana or Gaius a second letter with the truth, but decides that the risk is too high. And perhaps the heartbreak... wouldn’t be worth it. Best they believe that Lancelot wasn’t hours too late until they can actually see Merlin in front of them to comfort themselves.

He tries his best to finish the letter on a lighter note, but he knows that there will be... consequences, for what he's written. The knights will likely beat the shit out of each other on the training field, Gwen, Morgana, and Gaius will lose their minds in their grief, and Arthur... Lancelot can't even begin to imagine what his reaction will be.

He sighs mournfully as he sends it off, but doesn't let himself dwell on it too long, making quick work of the journey back to the sleeping tent to find, as expected, Merlin still snoring softly under the covers. Lancelot smiles to himself gently, he can appreciate the younger man’s progress, in spite of his own misgivings and worries. It was Merlin’s blasé attitude to the scars, to the event itself, that’s playing on Lancelot’s mind, though he figures that’s more his problem than Merlin’s.

He sighs again before pushing the thought from his mind, settling on the other bed and pulling his book out (a book on healing that he’d borrowed from Iseldir).

~

By the time Camelot’s response arrives, Merlin is one day into attempting to use his magic. It’s been two and a half weeks since the incident, and he’s nervous. There’ve been a few accidents, but nothing nearly as serious as Lancelot had been fearing, and nothing that the Druids couldn’t get under control if Merlin himself couldn’t.

He’s sat cross-legged in a clearing, opposite Iseldir with his eyes closed, when the letter drops into his knight’s lap. Lance is leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing, book in hand in an attempt to distract himself from his nerves (it isn’t working), and thankfully manages to hold in his surprised yelp. Merlin looks over nonetheless, his concentration broken as the flower growing in his upturned palm wilts all of a sudden. He frowns in concern; he’d obviously felt Lancelot’s surprise, but the knight gives him a comforting smile and waves the letter at him, grateful to see the petals grow in vibrancy once again, just a little. Though perhaps his magic reacting to his emotions isn’t quite a good thing yet.

Either way, he forces his eyes to focus on Morgana’s unusually shaky handwriting. Though once he reads through it, once he remembers what this is in response to, he figures it isn’t so unusual after all. She sends plenty of love and hope, with the occasional smattering of promises that mean so much more given her knowledge of the situation. He smiles sadly at her swearing to look after everyone, but then frowns mournfully at the crossed out “when do you think...” at the end. When does he think indeed.

They’ve been gone for almost three months, the Summer is falling to Autumn, the stars are visible for longer and longer each night.-

(That only worries Lancelot on some nights, though he does find himself habitually checking the sky for dark spots.)

-He feels bad that this is only the second letter, considering he’d promised one a week, but things have been... hectic, and he thinks the others will understand, somehow. He’d promised five months in his first letter, home well in time for Yule, then he panicked and thought they wouldn’t even be around for the start of Spring, and now... well, Yule is a possibility. Best not tell them that though, at least not yet.

Merlin doesn’t break from his concentration when the knight stands and heads towards the camp to gather his writing supplies. Lancelot holds his grin in until his back is turned; he can feel the warmth of Merlin’s magic following him in the air, keeping him warm, keeping him safe, tracking his movement so Merlin knows where he is. It feels soft, but purposeful, and he wonders if Merlin is as proud of himself as he should be.

The letter is written, approved by Merlin, and quickly sent off, Lance’s guilt about the lack of communication speeding him up a little.

~

It goes like that for even longer. By the time Autumn has passed, two more letter have been sent by each party. It’s not snowing yet, but Lancelot can feel it in the air, it’s frigid, and windy, and he thanks the Gods every day for the blessing of Druidic magic; within the bounds of the camp, he never shivers. 

This next letter, he writes with Merlin besides him.

The Warlock is doing well, really well, and instead of letting Lancelot write the letter and skimming it afterwards, he sits with his head resting against the knight’s shoulder, reading as he writes and offering quiet amendments here and there. He smiles and giggles and touches him without reservation; his head still twitches sometimes, and Lance very occasionally has to stop him from hurting his hands absentmindedly, and he won’t let anyone bar Lancelot and Iseldir touch him. But it’s a vast improvement, better than anything Iseldir had promised when they’d first arrived.

Merlin turns nervous when it comes time to send the letters (yes, letters plural) off, but when Lancelot asks if he regrets it, he shakes his head no, and requests another sword fighting lesson.

Camelot:

Lancelot and Merlin’s response to their last letter comes quickly this time, which everyone is grateful for. Though in the face of his heartbroken nerves, Arthur does sit on the edge of the bed, the still-folded paper in his hand, for at least an hour before he can bring himself to open it. When he does, he forces himself to breath, and to keep reading until he gets to the end, at which point he reads it again so he can be sure. 

When he calls everyone to his room, Gwen takes the letter from his hand when neither Gaius or Morgana make a move to do so; The King understands that, and gives her an easy, thankful smile. That in itself raises everyone’s hope a little, before she even begins to read:

Everyone,

You better all be taking care of yourselves (and each other), we’re doing remarkably well here, considering. I can’t promise that there haven’t been hiccups in the last few weeks, but everything is on track, currently. Merlin seems to be more in control of his mind, though he still can’t quite bear to be touched. He’s less tired, though he still spends quite a lot of time in bed, sat awake and thinking. He’s never let me look, and I’ve never pushed, but he spends a lot of time sketching as well; who knows what drawings his book is full of.

We don’t quite trust him to be left alone yet, despite the incident being a few weeks ago, but he seems content with that, and considering he’s now beginning to voice his likes and dislikes again, I trust that. He’s at a healthy weight (though I think the healers want to send him back with a few extra pounds on him still, and I don’t blame them) and his injuries healed very quickly, though they have scarred. Merlin doesn’t seem bothered by the scars at all, but I worry. But maybe the only reason I worry is because they bother me, in that I wish he didn’t have them, I’m not sure.

Anyway, things are looking up. Perhaps we’ll be home straight after Yule, perhaps later, perhaps earlier, but as of right now, there is no sense of urgency. For any reason.

All my our love,

Lancelot, Merlin

Ps. I forgot to mention it in the last letter, but Merlin is the one who asked me to make sure you were all looking after yourselves. He misses you all terribly.

Merlin’s signature once again being on the bottom of the page provides more comfort than the content of the letter ever could—bar perhaps the post script that the knight had added, clearly without Merlin’s knowledge.

~

It goes like this for a little while: The Gangs’ nerves rising the longer they go without a letter, and a letter dropping through Arthur’s window just before they begin to truly panic. Hunith arrives just before the first Winter storm, after two more letters have been received (though Camelot has yet to reply to the most recent).

Only Morgana and Gaius are allowed in the room when they explain the true severity of the situation, though she had definitely already guessed when Arthur, normally so sweet and awkwardly affectionate, couldn’t look her in the eyes. He waits in the corridor, and though Gwaine stays with him for a little while, perhaps determined to punish himself by facing Merlin’s mother, he skulks off to the tavern—though is quickly redirected to the training field by Percival—before she can exit the room.

When she does come out, her eyes are red but her cheeks are dry. Arthur looks up at her and gulps, but can’t bring himself to say anything, not even when the tears drip from his eyes; she quickly pulls him into a tight hug, stroking his hair and rubbing a hand up and down his back:

“Oh, my boy, it’s not your fault.”

Arthur’s first words to her since her arrival come out cracking and quiet:

“No, you don’t... it is my fault, and I don’t even know-”

She pulls back but keeps her hands on his shoulders, looking at him sternly, though lovingly. Arthur finds that, when she looks at him like that, holds him like that, the dull ache in the back of his mind that he knows is a long-living grief for his mother, dies down, just a little:

“No, Arthur, it isn’t. Merlin hasn’t always had the... easiest life. Gaius and I certainly did our best, but we failed in some ways for certain, and this was one of them. But he’s getting better, and right now that’s all that matters until we can bring him home.-”

Arthur smiles slightly and nods, clearing his throat to say something but getting interrupted by Hunith’s small smirk and loud whisper:

“-Maybe when he gets back you’ll tell him how you feel, yes?”

Arthur turns pink and steps back, but Hunith just laughs quietly and raises her eyebrow in a way that must run in the family:

“I do not... there isn’t... I-”

He sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand as he leans against the wall, looking back to her with a flustered expression:

“-Lancelot said the same before they left. Is it... is it really that obvious?”

Hunith laughs again, biting her lip momentarily before nodding and softly responding:

“Arthur, the first time I met you, you’d only known my Merlin for about six months. You came running to what very easily could have been your death, the death of Camelot’s Prince and only royal heir, at the time, all because Merlin vaguely implied that he might not have come back. You may not have quite been in love with him back then, but you were certainly well on your way... There’s nothing... shameful, in that, I hope?”

At Hunith’s suddenly guarded expression, Arthur holds his hands out and shakes his head rapidly:

“No, no! Of course not, I just...-”

Arthur sags again and leans back against the wall; he takes a few moments to gather his thoughts before taking a deep breath and continuing:

“-I... thought I was being subtle. That, and I only really realised how I... felt when he had to leave.”

Hunith shakes her head and pulls him into another quick hug before looping her am through his and beginning a slow journey through the castle:

“Well, Lancelot will bring him home good as new, and you can tell him, and we can all give him a big hug. Now, last time I came here I was covered in bruises and was more focused on other things. That, and it was almost ten years ago. So why don’t you show me something amazing, My Lord.”

Arthur laughs freely for the first time since Merlin had left and walks easily down the corridor:

“Going for the distraction technique, are we?”

She looks up at him with a fond, motherly smile:

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

He laughs again, but doesn’t deny it.

~

Camelot’s letter, detailing Hunith’s reply and all the preparations being made for the coming winter, is responded to quickly, the quickest of them all.

Hunith is in the room when they read the letter this time, though Leon is the one to volunteer to read it aloud. She’s nervous, at first, when she sees everyone gathered solemnly in Arthur’s chambers, but at Elyan’s whispered “Don’t panic, he’s been doing pretty well recently, apparently. Every letter is better and better.” she calms significantly, and relaxes back into her seat to listen:

Everyone,

We’re both doing brilliantly, Merlin’s sleeping better and eating properly, and I’ve got practically a whole book’s worth of herbal knowledge in my head. Merlin still isn’t a fan of being touched suddenly or by people he doesn’t know, but that’s fairly normal for a lot of people, so it’s not worrying us too much. He does get overcrowded easily, so I do worry about him coming back to the big city, but at this point, I don’t think anything could keep him away. He smiles more, laughs even, and he no longer flinches and looks away when I talk of all of you, if anything, he’s bringing you up more than I am. 

He misses you all terribly, though he is nervous, and I suppose I am as well to a certain extent; it’s been so long since we’ve been anywhere busy and loud. Things are simple out here, simple and safe, I think Merlin has suffered from a severe lack of that in the last ten years or so. I can see in his eyes (though my poetic writing and metaphors has him laughing at me as he reads this over my shoulder) that he’s torn: he loves it here, he’s calm and at peace, we both are, but equally we can’t wait to come home and see you all again. We get restless easily, we feel as though we should be busy, training and healing and running around after Lords Prats; on those days we venture out of the little settlement we’re in. He teaches me about herbs and spices, and I teach him how to swordfight—you best be prepared, Arthur, he’s getting very good.

I’m thinking (perhaps hopefully, perhaps realistically, I haven’t been thinking too deeply about it) we might be home before Yule after all. I hope you’re all as pleased as I am. Hunith! It’s lovely to read that you’re in Camelot waiting for us, Merlin is over the moon, I haven’t seen him smile wider than when we read your name. We both love and miss you all, we’ll see you soon,

Lancelot, Merlin.

Leon puts that sheet of paper down, but doesn’t look up at everyone’s happy faces as he grins, still holding one more page. He holds it out to Arthur with a nod, and everyone watches curiously as he takes it with a smile. He takes a deep breath, and begins to read:

Arthur,

Whether you share this with the others or not is up to you, though Lancelot, and myself as well, I suppose, might encourage you to be transparent. I’d like you to come and meet us; not all the way, the people here are a little nervous around newcomers, but Lancelot said you’d know what I meant when I said to meet him at the abandoned chapel an hour’s ride West from the ruined mining quarry in the South. Meet him there at noon; we’re not sure how long this letter will take to get to you, and how long it will take you to get to us, so we’ll stop there an hour a day until you turn up. Don’t panic, Prat, there’s nothing to worry about, just a lot of detail that’s almost impossible to convey in a letter alone. That, and I miss you, but don’t let that get to your giant head. I’m not sure I can promise you the whole truth, at least not all in one go, but there’s so much you deserve.

Please come alone, and not too armed, I promise you that the journey will be safe, but the locals are nervous, like I already said, and I don’t want them to feel intruded on unnecessarily. Not after all they’ve done for me.

See you soon,

Merlin.

Arthur looks up and continues quietly, softly, the letter clutched protectively in his hand:

“It’s in Merlin’s handwriting.”

Everyone grins, and the relief in the room is palpable. Even Gwaine, who’s been quietly furious and spoken barely a word since Merlin had first left, lets out a joyful laugh, pulling Hunith to his side in a well-received hug.

Morgana is the only one who seems a little nervous, though she hides it well from all bar Gwen, who, though still in the dark about the whole situation, takes her hand under the table and gives her an encouraging nod. Arthur looks up after a few more moments with bright eyes:

“I’ll be leaving in the morning. I’d go sooner, but with Winter underway I think the Council might consider dethroning me and crowning Morgana if I just take off.”

That seems to break Morgana out of her nerves and she raises a cheeky eyebrow:

“Not something I’d be opposed to.”

Arthur smiles back at her as everyone else laughs, but the knowing look in his eyes speaks to the fact that he might almost agree with her.

~

Arthur does in fact leave early the next morning. He knows that the abandoned chapel is normally a two day’s ride away and he wants to get there as soon as possible, so the others wave him off in the courtyard at dawn, much happier than they had been last time they’d been in that situation.

He stops for food and sleep just long enough for the horse to rest, so makes incredible time, napping in bits and pieces throughout the journey and eating whilst on horseback. It’s morning on the second day, almost noon, when Arthur’s horse clatters into the ruined courtyard. Lancelot is sat on the cobbles, leaning against the wall of a filled-in well with a blanket around his shoulders and a book in hand. 

The knight looks up quickly when the hooves clatter on the ground, dropping his book and blanket as he rapidly stands, waiting tensely for The King to dismount. He doesn’t have to wait long, and Arthur strides over with a grin on his face, though Lancelot doesn’t miss the way his eyes briefly dart around, clearly looking for someone else, before he speaks:

“Lancelot, I can honestly say I’ve never been more glad to see anyone.”

Lance smiles widely also, but bows in place as he responds cheekily:

“For now, My Lord.”

Arthur shakes his head and lets out an almost breathless chuckle as he pulls the surprised knight into a tight hug, not letting go even at his obvious shock:

“I think we’re well beyond formalities at this point. It really is good to see you, Lance.”

Lancelot sags into the hug, clutching the back of Arthur’s tunic with a desperation he didn’t even know he had; Arthur moves a hand to the back of his head and resolves himself to not let go first. It must be lonely, being all the way out here with only Merlin, Merlin who Lancelot loves like a brother, but Merlin who also isn’t fond of being touched right now.

It’s a few long minutes of deep breathing before Lancelot finally pulls back, and Arthur is polite enough to ignore the glassy sheen to his eyes as he speaks:

“It’s good to see Camelot red. I wouldn’t trade being here for anything other than Merlin’s health, but I can’t deny that I’ve missed home greatly. How is everyone, really? I know letters can’t say everything. Gwaine hasn’t killed himself in the tavern yet, has he?”

Arthur chuckles and steps back, shaking his head:

“No, not quite yet. It got close though, me and Percival were... worried about him. We still are I suppose, but he’s been doing a lot better in the last couple of months. I think Hunith’s arrival and Merlin’s increasing health especially forced him to reconsider the rapid poisoning of his blood he was intent on undertaking. Morgana is... nervous, but happy, I think. Everyone else is just sort of... getting on with things. No one wants to let on how excited they are to bring Merlin home in case things change again.”

The other knight nods in understanding and looks Arthur over quickly, nodding in approval:

“I appreciate you coming unarmed, I know that an be... disquieting.”

Arthur returns his small smile, with a question in his eyes:

“Anything for Merlin.”

Lance huffs out a quiet laugh and shakes his head, clapping The King on the shoulder:

“I won’t keep you. He was still deciding over whether he was... relaxed enough to see you when we woke up this morning, but he’s waiting in a clearing a few minutes away. I’ll go fetch him and send him over. Just-”

His face turns serious, and his grip on Arthur’s shoulder tightens slightly:

“-... just be careful, ok? He’s almost fine, but he’s not quite there yet. No sudden movements, don’t stare at the scars if they’re on show, definitely don’t mention... that, anything to do with that, uhh...-”

He looks to the side briefly, biting his lip in thought, and Arthur wants to roll his eyes at the other man’s fretting, but he also knows that a list of dos and don’ts will probably make both of them feel better. The knight looks back with a deep sigh and a trusting gaze:

“-just... be gentle, ok? But don’t... don’t treat him too differently, it’ll just, I don’t know, upset him, I guess, to get the impression that you think differently of him.”

Arthur smiles and nods, patting the hand on his shoulder gently:

“I’ll... manage, I’m sure.”

Lancelot returns the smile and nods, but suddenly looks nervous again, tensing significantly in place as he fixes Arthur with an inscrutable look:

“I think he might be about to tell you the truth. Arthur, I need you to just... listen. Don’t push, and let him get all the way to the end before you... make any decisions.-”

Arthur frowns in confusion and opens his mouth, but Lancelot continues before he can say anything:

“-He values your opinion above all others. He’s been broken enough, Arthur, suffered enough, more than you know even now, so just... listen.”

Arthur shuts his mouth again and gulps, but he nods, whispering his response:

“I swear.”

Lance gives him a weak, tired smile before finally removing the hand from the other man’s shoulder and turning to walk away, disappearing into the woods. Arthur takes a deep breath as he watches Lancelot climb through the foliage before turning around to quickly untack his horse. 

He forces himself to focus on the task, finding the familiar movements soothing as his heart begins to slow again. It’s Merlin. It’s just Merlin. Lancelot says he’s getting better and will be home soon, Lancelot also says not to freak him out too much, and what Lancelot says, in this situation, has to go-

He’s so focused on his swirling inner monologue that it takes a cleared throat for him to realise there’s someone stood behind him.

The King whirls around, hand going to his hip on instinct (to find nothing there, of course) but he drops his hands quickly when he recognises the intruder. He looks tired, muted somehow, but also so very earnest and at peace that Arthur can’t help but whisper his name. His voice is so full of hope and love and question that if there had been onlookers, they would’ve thought that they hadn’t seen each other in many years, that time and experience had aged them almost beyond recognition.

Merlin answers with a small smile and a teary, but undeniable happy, truthful response:

“I’ve missed you, Arthur.”

~

End of Part 4!!!

Hope y’all are excited for the final part!! Explanations are... explained, apologies are muttered, lots of people cry for various reasons. A happy ending is had for all :D. It might take a little while, but it IS coming!

Let me know what y’all think!!

[carletes]

story time. tw: blackmail, harassment, SA

not to get super real, but i've been examining why i personally am not stressed about the potential of my smut being read out by assholes. i think it's because the worst that could happen to me has already happened, so whatever. tl;dr, i'm a survivor (woo) of multiple sexual assaults, as a minor and as an adult, but i didn't admit a lot of what i went through from 17-onwards to myself for a long time. the straw that broke the camel's back was i got blackmailed by a ring of cybersex criminals (yep) after being catfished into accidentally sharing my email password. because everything on the internet is so interrelated, they got access to my photos. they claimed they'd leak my nudes if i didn't bow to their demands. i called their bluff, thinking i didn't have nudes.

lads, i did. and they were on my socials within minutes. that changed my life tbh. the pictures were taken down, but i don't think i've been the same since. i started going to therapy, was diagnosed with (complex) PTSD and anxiety, and was confronted with all of my sexual assaults.

point being twofold:

1) *i* personally don't care what happens because i've already experienced the worst lol and also at least i know i write good smut so please by all means enjoy yourselves

2) don't let anyone take anything of yours without consent. take care of yourself HOWEVER you want. whatever you see fit, do it. i cannot overstate how violent it is to to use people's content without their consent, to proliferate it in a manner intended to shame and harm.

but hey - i'm the happiest i've ever been. i started dating the love of my life soon after that trauma. i'm successful and intelligent and loved and strong, and so are you all. <3 i'm here for y'all.

[xomarauders]

ever since I read that line in Order of the Phoenix where Ginny says “Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!" (ch. 33) I have created many head canons of them being pals. 

here is an example of one of those moments <3

tw: implied PTSD 

__

The house was more ominous at night. Almost as if all the dark magic they worked so hard to get rid of during the day was seeping out of the dusty walls, vibrating in the air, and making one’s skin tingle. Ginny lie awake, not because of the house and its horrors but because of her own mind and the demons that have remained there since she was eleven. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to go to sleep, but the moment her eyelids close together she sees his face. She hears his synthetically understanding voice as she remembers how she bore her young, naïve heart out to in a cursed journal that she would never truly be rid of. Her eyes snapped back open and she lets out a slow, but shaky breath, afraid she might wake Hermione, who was fast asleep next to her, apparently oblivious to the darkness swimming around them and inside of Ginny’s head.

It is unsurprising that Sirius hates this place. She did not understand why Dumbledore made him come back here, but her mother constantly reminded her to not question the headmaster’s judgement and so Ginny said nothing. She exchanged looks with Lupin at the dinner table, a mutual concern seemingly running between them, but she never spoke. It was not her place to.

During the day it was easier to be in the house. Fred and George were a great distraction, even Sirius with his ever-declining mental state seemed to perk up whenever the twins pulled pranks and got on their mother’s nerves—which really was not all that hard to do. Sometimes, though, it was tense in the house. Order meetings were becoming more frequent—they were planning on brining Harry soon—and the news shared amongst members was rarely good. Ginny was unable to attend the meetings, of course, but from what she heard from Lupin and Bill’s mumblings at dinner and the information she was able to persuade Tonks to share, she knew things were not in their favor.

A small meow at the foot of the bed suddenly made her jump. She sat up, her long, red hair flying forward with the motion, to see Crookshanks stretching and finding himself a more comfortable position to sleep. Ginny rolls her eyes, glancing down at Hermione to see that she was still asleep—she was. Unable to entertain the idea of rest anymore, Ginny shoves the blankets off of her and sneaks out of the room, careful to step over the creaky floorboard George had pointed out to her earlier as she wandered into the hallway.

It was cold, and Ginny mentally scolded herself for not thinking to grab her jumper. She folds her arms, attempting to preserve her body heat and continues to travel down the hallway and down the long staircase. This house was too big, she thought, as she passed rooms that have probably been locked for years, rooms that were being used for nothing but to hold deep, dark, pureblood secrets.

One door was open, though. One Ginny had never been in, one she was probably not allowed to be in. Still, she was Fred and George’s sister which meant she had curiosity coursing through her veins, and so she pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. There was a huge green rug in the middle of the room with silvery designs running across it. A mahogany desk was settled in the center of it, thick layer of dusk and cobwebs covering it and the various objects sitting upon it. There were several books, a few ornate decorations, and some gaudy candlesticks. Crooked photographs hung on the wall, pictures of unsmiling people with charcoal eyes. Ginny scrunched up her nose—Kreacher has obviously neglected his duties to clean this room, much like the rest of the house. She wonders if anyone else has discovered this space.

“You know, this house isn’t exactly one you should be wandering about in at night.”

Ginny whips around, her heart leaping into her throat for a moment before realizing it was just Sirius. He was standing in the doorway, his shoulder resting against the frame, a somber look on his face. The clothes he was wearing seemed to drown him, his body still extremely thin after all those years in Azkaban. The hair on his head had been tied up in a knot on his head, wand pocking out the side of it.

“Sorry.” Ginny says after she remembers how to breathe. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Sirius shrugs. “Neither could I. Would you like some tea? I was going to make some.”

Ginny nods, following him out of the room and down into the kitchen. They are both silent, taking comfort in one another’s presence but unwilling to discuss just what nightmares had been keeping them up. Ginny sits down patiently as Sirius begins to make the tea, his hands shaking slightly as he goes about it. She doesn’t mention it. It was a bit funny to her that Sirius made tea the muggle way, warming the water with a kettle and allowing it to steep for several moments. For as impatient as he was, he seemed to take his time with tea.

“Thank you.” She says once he puts a cup in front of her. He offers her a tight smile and sits across from her. Again, it is quiet, but the darkness that was earlier overwhelming Ginny seemed to be drifting away, leaving her feeling something close to content.

“Remus’ mother taught me how to make tea.” Sirius says, staring down at his cup. “It was the summer just before…seventh year? I had been living with James for some time at that point, so it must have been. We decided to take a trip to Wales to visit Moony. Their house was so hidden, tucked away from the rest of the town. It was safer that way, I suppose. For Remus. Anyway, I had woken up early, before the rest of the lads. Nightmares were still a common occurrence for me and so I snuck downstairs in an attempt to not bother anyone. Hope was already up. I was surprised, the sun hadn’t even started to rise, but she was sitting there at the small, wooden table reading some muggle novel.  I remember she smiled at me and offered to make tea. She didn’t even question why I was up. She just offered tea. So, I said yes, even though it felt like I wouldn’t be able to stomach anything. And she made tea. It became sort of routine during the week we stayed. I would wake up in the early hours of the morning and Hope would be sitting in the kitchen, waiting for me. When it got down to the last few days, she showed me how to do it myself. It was calming, doing all the steps instead of rushing the process like us wizards like to do with so much. Even after we left the Lupin’s home, I would still wake up with nightmares and make Hope’s tea.”

Sirius looked up. “I still don’t know why the dementors didn’t take that memory from me. Maybe because of the nightmares that preceded it. Either way, I’m glad that Hope Lupin remains untainted in my mind.” He smiles slightly and Ginny grins back.

“She sounds like professor Lupin. I found myself having tea in his classroom many times when he was at Hogwarts.” Ginny shrugs. “I have nightmares, too. I think he might have known.”

Sirius hums, a soft look appearing on his face. “He tends to know those sorts of things.”

Ginny was unsure what the whole situation was with Sirius and Lupin. She knew they were close, that there was some sort of history there, something that likely went beyond friendship, but she never asked about it. It was apparent to see, though, in the ways that Lupin could calm Sirius unlike anyone else and the lingering looks they exchanged as well as the gentle touches they gave one another. She wondered if they would ever be able to recover what they once had in full force instead of dancing around one another with hesitancy. Maybe one day when the war ended they would be able to find some sort of peace with one another.

“Are you ever afraid it will never end?” Ginny finds herself whispering. Thinking about the war caused an ache in her chest, one she was afraid would become chronic as time went on.

“Mm, I suppose.” Sirius replied grimly. “Not so much that the war will not end, eventually it must. I’m more scared of what we will lose in the process.”

He was thinking about Harry. She knew he was thinking about Harry because that’s who she was thinking of. The whole fate of the world seemed to fall upon Harry Potter’s shoulders and Ginny feared that there was nothing she could do to protect him from it all. She wishes she could just take him away somewhere to hide, to wait for everything to blow over, but she knew Harry would never agree. He cared too much about everyone else even if they did not care about him in return. It was his fatal flaw, but she supposed that’s why destiny or fate or whatever decided to do this to him.

Ginny shifted slightly in her seat. The idea of losing Harry was one that haunted her mind almost as often as Tom Riddle did. He had become such a symbol of hope for her, a hero that had rescued her in the chamber of secrets but also as a friend who never saw her as the victim. Someone who she could banter with and laugh with. Someone who acknowledged her strength and was not intimidated by it like so many other boys she had dated. Harry was always the one in her mind, no matter how much she tried to get over him. She could imagine spending the rest of her life with him, despite how silly that sounded to say as a fourteen-year-old girl. Which is why losing him scared her so much.

“He’ll be okay, won’t he?” Ginny asked. Sirius looked up, his face looking wearier than she had ever seen, a hollow look in his silver eyes, as if his mind were somewhere else.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Yeah, he will be.”

Doubt lingered in the air like some poisonous fog that threatened to suffocate them, much like the rest of the evils within the house. Ginny almost wished for it, and that thought horrified her more than anything. It was too dark, too much like the thoughts she had when Tom Riddle was corrupting her mind. She took a long sip of her tea as a distraction, the heat of it scalding her throat as she did so. Her hands were quivering as she set the cup down and she tried to hide it as best she could, but Sirius noticed.

“I am definitely not as good as Remus when it comes to…expressing concern and offering counsel” he began tentatively, “but, I can listen. If you would like to talk about it. Whatever it is that is keeping you up.”

Ginny looked up him, at the kind but awkward smile he had plastered on his face and thought for a moment that Sirius was the best person she could come to with this. His mind had been toyed with for years by those vile dementors, so, if anyone could understand the feeling of losing their mind, it was him.

“My first year at Hogwarts, I was possessed by Tom Riddle.” She states bluntly. Sirius does not flinch. “Sometimes, especially at night, I can still hear him in my head. Telling me to…do things. To hurt people. It frightens me. I worry that he’s still there, that somehow he has been taking shelter in my mind waiting for the right opportunity to use me again. And so, I don’t sleep. If I don’t sleep, then he can’t take over my subconscious. He can’t control me. But it’s making me feel like I’m going insane. Makes me feel like, deep down, I am a terrible person.”

She exhales shakily. It feels nice, to say it out loud. Even if it sounds that much crazier to her, at least she did not have to hide it. Sirius remained silent, looking at her with an expression of thoughtfulness. He never seemed like the type to think before speaking, but maybe this was a special case. Maybe he did think she was crazy but didn’t want to tell her that straight out. Maybe professor Lupin had rubbed off on him.

“I get it. The feeling of going insane, I mean. And, though I’ve never been possessed, I have been under the imperious curse, so I can understand not having control of yourself. And it is terrifying, Ginny, you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t scare you. Voldemort isn’t possessing you, not anymore. And you know that. But that doesn’t mean the fear automatically goes away. It’s going to take time.” He leans forward, resting his elbows against the table and looking her in the eye. “But, you have to know that you’re not a bad person. Everyone has their demons; everyone has light and dark inside of them. I came from a family of bloody pureblood supremacists; doesn’t mean I was destined to be one myself. It’s what you choose to be that matters.”

Ginny’s a bit surprised at the tears burning in her eyes and she bites down on her lip. “I’m just so tired, Sirius.”

“I know. I know.” He moves out his chair and swiftly makes it to the other side of the table, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his arms. She lets out a sob that she feels like she’s been holding for years as she grips the back of his robes, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Sirius whispers. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

She cries herself to sleep, waking in the morning to find herself tucked into yet another bed in some random room of the house. The sun was shining in through the window though and Ginny felt a flicker of ease and contentment rush through her. She sits up, feeling a warmth against her feet, and sees a giant, black dog resting at the foot of the bed. She smiles.

The house was more ominous at night, but the mornings didn’t seem so bad.  

[somethinginrocknroll]

Day 7 Of Winter Wonderland

Today's theme is Snow Day

"I was Right! "- LIYF

Word Count: 991

A/N: this is somewhere early 1958

Pov: third person

TW: mentions a tad bit of abuse

The Walker twins sat in the lunch room with Paul and George as they watched the snow from the window.

“I say we go sledding tomorrow,” Star looked back in the room.

“Why tomorrow?” Paul asked.

“Because John can come,” Star shrugged as she forced down the horrible cafeteria food.

“Not if we have school,” Scarlett played around with the food before eating it.

“We could be off,” Star simply implied.

“No way. We barely get off here,” Paul rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know, the weather-a man said it’ll snow all night,” George shrugged.

“See!” Star looked at the two that were being Debbie Downers. Lunch came to an end and the twins went back to class, as the only thing on Star’s mind was the adventures of tomorrow, if her prediction was right. She spent her next class just chatting with George in the back of the class. He’s newly in the band, so then secretly hanging out is no longer since George is in the group.

Night…

Before bed, Star flushed an ice cube down the toilet, and put her frozen spoon under her pillow. She was itching for a snow day. It’s the perfect time to. The person that’s supposed to be her mother is off on another binder, meaning when she’s home alone with Scarlett, no cuts, bruising or later on ptsd will form. Scarlett was already in bed, drawing something in her sketchbook.

“Permission to come in?” The twins heard a knock on the door as they looked at each other, shrugging.

“Permission granted!” Both shouted, as their father, Steven, walked in.“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, Missy?” Steven looked at Star.

“I’m finishing my preparations for tomorrows snow day.” Star announced as Scarlett shook her head.

“Tell her that those preparations won’t make us not go to school tomorrow,” Scarlett looked at her father.

“Actually…,” Steven cleared his throat, “Payton get in here.”

“Why?” Payton groaned as he dragged himself to his sisters room. Payton sat on Star's bed as Star jumped onto her bed, having Payton fall off.

"Star Judith!" Steven looked at Star.

"I didn't ask him to sit on my bed," Star crossed her arms as Steven pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Payton, are you alright?" Steven asked.

"Why did you call me here?" Payton sat on the floor.

"Like Star has been hoping for, the school called and announced there is no school tomorrow because of the forecast and icy roads," Steven sighed.

"Yes! I told you!" Star jumped on top of her bed and pointed to Scarlett.

"How?" Scarlett looked at her father in disbelief.

"She was right," Steven shrugged.

"I was right!" Star jumped in joy as Payton and Scarlett looked at their blonde sister in disbelief that she was actually right about something.

"Dad can you make me cocco for the special occasion," Star asked as Steven nodded with a laugh. He walked out as the three looked at each other and they squealed with excitement. Even though Payton doesn't necessarily get along with his sisters.

The next day...

The downside of the cold is how cold the twin's room gets, both girls cuddled up close as the boys were already at the walkers for the snow day.

"We should wake them up," Paul whispered to the two.

"I'm not," George said.

"I am," John walked over and jumped on Scarlett's bed, "Wake up!"

The twins woke up in a fright, then saw John laughing. They punched him, then looked at the other guys.

"For the one that was so excited for a Snow day is still asleep," Paul looked at Star.

"We stayed up last night, it's bloody balaic in this room," Star rubbed her eyes. The two girls kicked the boys out to get changed. They ran downstairs in their snow clothes to see the lads practically feeding the three boys. They all liked Steven's cooking, and he made breakfast for the kids. The twins ate then the five went outside to the snow that piled around them. Steven gave them the sled, they all have ice skates from sneaking out to skate on the frozen lakes. George stayed near Star. Those two are the two who get along the most, well besides John and Paul. Scarlett gets along with all three boys equally. They found their normal park where the kids were already sledding. The sled could fit all five, but the real fight was who were the losers on the first and last. Scarlett got stuck being the first person and John got stuck being the last. The boys weren't exactly excited about the holding of the other, but they knew if they didn't they would fly off. By the time the five were at the end of the hill, their hair was wet from the melted snow and their faces were rosy. They went up and down the hill a few times and went to all different pairings and such. When they got tired of repeatedly going up and down the hill. They started to make a snowman. They got to the second part, then john formed a snowball, throwing it at paul and missed it and hit scarlett. Scarlett threw her newly formed ball at John but the wind blew it to George. One thing led to another and all five were having a snowball fight. The snow man sadly didn't make the icy war of the five. When it was noon, they headed to the Harrison's, since they were closer to George's house. Mrs. Harrison made hot refreshments for the five teens. She also gave out biscuits. The five talked and laughed. Star threw her regular jokes in, but now George just adds onto them. They all started to then play with all the guitars George had, the twins just sat there and sang along to the songs and if there were no lyrics they would make some up.

[dweetwise]

Can you make headcanons about how survivors react when something triggers Quentin's PTSD?

another one from the depths of my inbox, sorry for the wait! i’m not super familiar with ptsd so read this as more of a,,, quentin has an unspecified mental health related episode and the others comfort him. tw for general mental illness, i’m not sure how to specify so be careful!

Survivors comforting Quentin headcanons

Dwight momentarily forgets all about his own anxiety, wanting to make sure Quentin is managing. He’ll carefully ask if there’s anything he needs, and if there is, you’d better be sure he’s delivering it, no matter how awkward he is at something like a simple hug.

Meg is a little rough around the edges and just wordlessly pulls Quentin into a strong bear hug, despite him trying to tell everyone that he’s actually ok and it’s not a big deal.

Claudette never quite knows what to say, but brews him one of her herbal teas that’s supposed to soothe the nerves. It tastes like shit but at this point Quentin is so conditioned he instantly starts calming down when drinking it.

Jake knows Quentin prefers to get away from crowds, so he’ll walk away into the woods or to the edge of camp. The first few times the others gave him shit for it, but went quiet as soon as Quentin got up and joined him, immediately seeming much more calm.

Nea is uncomfortable with such raw displays of emotion. Often she’ll just leave to get Laurie or Cheryl, knowing that’s the best she can do to help.

Laurie will sit next to Quentin in solidarity and hold his hand, not saying a word. She doesn’t mind that sometimes he squeezes her hand hard enough to hurt.

Ace will try to distract Quentin from spiraling, often making stupid knock knock jokes that require some of Quentin’s input. But if he’s too far gone, Ace realizes to back off and, for once in his life, shut his big mouth and let the others handle it.

Bill always takes some distance, not trusting his ability to deal with such a delicate situation. He always offers what he hopes is an encouraging “You’ll pull through, kid, you’re stronger than you think” before he leaves.

Feng is a little tactless and tries to force her own coping strategies on him, often insisting on distracting him with games like tic-tac-toe or go fish.

David is surprisingly good at talking someone through a rough time. “Ah shit, another one?” he’ll cringe in sympathy, sitting down next to Quentin when he’s having an episode. “Take all the time ya need, lad. We’re not goin’ anywhere.”

Tapp is an expert at herding the others away to give Quentin space. Depending on who is present, he’ll give his scariest glares until only a couple of people are left to try to comfort the teen.

Kate will offer some casual affection, petting his hair while singing a soft tune, making sure that it’s a vastly different melody than a certain all-too-familiar lullaby.

Adam will try to talk him through it with facts. Telling him where and when he is, that whatever he’s experiencing is in the past, and that nobody can hurt him at the campfire.

Jeff is no stranger to mental health issues and is a comforting presence, lingering nearby in case Quentin needs a shoulder to cry on and offering a much needed “This too shall pass” mentality.

Jane is an expert at words of reassurance. “Shh, you’re safe here, he can’t hurt you, we’re all here for you and love you.” It’s not uncommon for Quentin to cry if Jane is with him during a rough time.

Ash does what he does best: get all eyes on him. He can see Quentin doesn’t like too many people hovering around him, and will put on a show of telling crude stories or bad jokes to give the boy some breathing room.

Nancy always wants to help, but is cautious because she doesn’t want to make the situation worse. She’ll only step in if nobody else does, sitting a respectable distance away and repeating generic “It’s okay” sentiments.

Steve on the other hand gets right in on the action, trying to cheer Quentin up with encouraging touches like a hand on his shoulder while he brings up some good moments they’ve had together, smiling like a million suns if he manages to make Quentin laugh.

Yui will try to keep a distance for Quentin’s sake, recognizing she’s not the most affectionate or soft-spoken member of the group. However, she truly shines if the Entity dares to bring Quentin into a trial in a bad state of mind, protecting him with all her might and even guilting some of the killers into letting him go.

Zarina used to practice mindfulness in the real world and finds that it helps Quentin. She’ll instruct him to focus on his breathing or look at a certain spot and every now and then, it’s enough to get him out of his own head.

Cheryl relates so much it’s not even funny. The two are a lot alike and she’s one of the few ones Quentin is comfortable opening up to, most of the survivors content to step back if Cheryl is there.

Felix is hesitant to help, seeing as he’s the newest to the group. But if most of the others are absent, he’ll do his best to channel some of his inner dad role and offer his help to the clearly struggling boy.

[buckys-estrella]

Chapter Fifteen

To The Stars [Social Media AU]

Summary: Y/N is an actress who finally got her big break. She's gonna be working with Bucky Barnes who she's had a crush on for years. The two get put together in the movie as love interests, but can that romance make it offscreen?

Warnings for this chapter: swearing, sad feelings, implied past sex (not true), talk about sexual assault (getting away with it and jail stuff), and um joking talk of murder, kinda messy and not accurate but I tried

Btw taglist is still open❤️

Taglist: @daffodilsbucky // @seasaurusrrex // @professionalreblogs // @fangeekkk // @ravennightingaleandavatempus // @piper-koko-barnes-rogers // @viarogers // @dianadov // @simplybarnes // @kakakatey // @kiki5283 // @slytherinyourrpants // @thelostallycat // @spidizzlemizzle // @ptrprkrss // @https-bucky // @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog // @everything-is-awesomesauce // @cap-just-said-language // @deathofmissjackson // @darthseph // @deliciouslyenchantingpenguin // @nerdy-bookworm-1998 // @thewackywriter // @binkysteebnpewter // @team-lads-ass // @everything-but-the-not-natural // @ollovae3 // @my-drowning-in-time // @nsfwfangirl // @thefridgeismybestie // @augustdearly // @inez-lannister-stark-martell // @clarinette07 // @oh-hey-janina // @iwillmakeyoucraveme  // @mypassionsarenysins // @bvcky-is-my-baby // @bonky-barnes // @jbbarnesgirl // @sexyvixen7 // @peterpandco​ // @nimrodblackparade // @bellamys // @bonkyboinkybucky // @matsumama //

A/N: I just wanted to take some quick time to thank everyone that is still with this series and I hope you all enjoy it, love y’all❤️❤️

Rant ahead (tw: talk of sexual assault + personal experience and its relation to the series)

so I realize that the topics of this series are starting to get a bit heavy and I still am trying to keep it lighthearted. However, sexual assault is not something to joke about, if it has ever happened to you I 100% encourage you to report it to someone. I was sexually assaulted in the 9th grade and along with some other girls that were assaulted by the same guy, we reported him. I take this very seriously and so should everyone else, I realize that this series can seem like I’m just using it for plot but I do think it is something that needs to be discussed more openly. I am aware that it is a touchy subject, I personally have been psychiatrically diagnosed with PTSD due to my experience. So please be safe and prioritize your mental health. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, I’d suggest to either skip the chapters that involve it or stop reading entirely. If you’d still like to know how the story goes, feel free to message me and I will give you a run down without delving too much into the warning topics.💓

[loki-of-asgard-god-of-mischief]

Details: Headcanons and AUs

Hello, mun here! While I hope to get more into the Loki comics, I'm working off of Marvel Cinematic Universe with a few touches of Norse Mythology where I feel it's appropriate. Headcanons will be used almost constantly in this blog, while AUs will be tagged specifically.

Headcanons

Loki is asexual - I have to thank @worstloki for introducing me to this headcanon. However, as a nod to comics and myth, he's also biromantic.

Loki is genderfluid - I mention this in the description. I hope to utilize lady Loki as well as lad Loki here. It should be noted that I, the mun, am not genderfluid. I will do my best to treat this accurately and with respect, and I am open to learning more if I mess up.

An addendum to the previous, I imagine Lady Loki as Katie McGrath when she played Morgana in BBC's Merlin. Yes I know it's a cliche for Lady Loki, but I love it too much.

Loki has PTSD, if it comes up I will tag with #PTSD tw

Loki is chaotic neutral at worst, wavering between good and neutral - he is not a villain and his actions in New York were primarily influenced by the mind stone; they were not his own. (This is practically canon in my opinion but not everyone agrees so it goes in the headcanon list)

[I will add more as more become apparent I guess]

Alternate Universes

Default - this is what I will use for Loki unless specified otherwise. I'm not a fan of what Ragnarok had for Loki's characterization as a whole, though it has some good points. So here's what I'm working with: while Loki was ruling as Odin in disguise after Thor 2, he did his best to prepare Asgard for any possible attacks from Thanos, using knowledge acquired from his time in captivity. Thor returned and revealed Loki, put Odin on the throne, and Loki got the heck out of dodge before they could throw him in the dungeons again. He is effectively banished from Asgard and running around the universe trying to stay under Thanos's radar. Tagged #default

The Snake and the Star - I started this blog because I'm writing Loki in a collaborative crossover fic where he accidentally lands in Aaravos's prison from The Dragon Prince. RP with this universe and other information about the fic will be under the tag #The Snake and the Star

TV Show Loki - hopefully once the TV show starts airing I can be answering questions as this version of Loki as well. So this is the Loki that vanished with the tesseract in Endgame. This will be tagged #variant Timeline

Completely Canon Compliant Loki - in the event I want to use events from Ragnarok, this is what I'll use... Loki somehow blogging from Valhalla because he's supposedly "dead" even if I have my doubts. #CCC Loki

[useless-slytherclaw]

Chapter 32: Death

TW: violence, death, and PTSD

For the millionth time in his life, Regulus found himself trailing after Sirius.  The idiot was practically marching through the woods and making no attempt to be silent.  Regulus stayed several feet back and moved as quietly as he could.  He tried to listen for other people coming towards them, but it was hard over the noise Sirius was making.  

Because of his caution, Regulus slowly fell farther behind his brother, but he could follow him by sound.  They continued for a few minutes before Regulus heard the sound of twigs snapping coming from their left.  Before he could say anything, the Death Eaters were on Sirius.  There were three of them.  Luckily, they hadn’t noticed Regulus.

As the Death Eater’s converged on Sirius, Regulus moved around them to get to their backs.  He trusted Sirius to hold his own for the thirty seconds or so it would take.  The Death Eaters were shouting.  

“Merlin’s pants,” Regulus hissed.  

“Bombarda!” Regulus hit two of the Death Eaters from behind.  They were blasted sideways into a tree.  Moving so that his back was to a tree, Regulus joined the fray.  It was easy to fall back into the habit of dueling incantations rolling off his tongue, “Sectumsempra, Laedo, Confingo, Protego.”

Between them, Sirius and Regulus defeated the Death Eaters quickly.  For a moment they just stood there.

“Incarcerous, Incarcerous, Incarcerous.”  Regulus bound the Death Eaters one by one.

“I thought you were running away,” Sirius said.

“This is what I get for helping you?  I was making a tactical retreat.” Regulus glared at his brother.  “But you wouldn’t know tactics if they hit you over the head.”

“Tactics?” Sirius snorted.  “Sneaking in the woods and hitting people from behind? Not very honorable.”

Regulus gritted his teeth.  “You know what?  Go right ahead and get yourself killed.  I’m not going to bother anymore.”

Turning, Regulus struck out into the woods.  

“Hey, Reg!” Sirius called, but Regulus kept walking.

He’d moved several feet away before he realized he was heading towards the clearing and had to adjust his direction.  As he picked his way through the woods, he pushed back his anger and tried to focus on the situation.  How long has it been since Regulus had taken out the snake?  Was Dumbledore dueling with the Dark Lord?  How much longer until Dumbledore gave the signal?  

Regulus avoided wondering if Dumbledore could actually defeat the Dark Lord or not.  Dumbledore had to beat the Dark Lord.  There was no other option.  But, what should Regulus do until then?  He could try and take out more Death Eaters, but he didn’t have an efficient way to find them.  Then he remembered the map.

Ducking into shadows underneath a particularly large tree, Regulus pulled out the map.  He could hardly see it in the gloom, but he didn’t want to light up his wand.  It took awhile for him to find himself on the map and then orient the map so he knew which direction he would need to move.  It didn’t take him long to scout his surroundings and find that Alecto Carrow wasn’t far away.  She was probably hunting for her brother.  Regulus stowed the map and started through the woods towards Alecto.

“Amycus! Amycus where are you?” Regulus heard her voice before he saw her.  She was smart enough not to be yelling, but it still gave her away.   

Regulus edged closer to her.  He still couldn’t see her, and then he stepped on a branch.  He froze.

“Who’s there?  Amycus, is that you?”  Regulus didn’t respond, but he could hear Alecto moving towards him now.  Slowly he raised his wand, aiming it towards her voice.

Suddenly there was a flash of brilliant light high over the forest and the triumphant call of the phoenix.  In the bright light, Regulus and Alecto were both illuminated.  

“Laedo!”

“Crucio!”

“Protego!”

The brilliant light above faded and the forest was only lit by the flashes from their wand.  Regulus barely dodged a killing curse.  The Dark Lord had once told them that the Order of the Phoenix was handicapped by their lack of conviction because they didn't want to kill for their cause.  His grip on his wand tightened.

“Sectumsempra!” Regulus’ spell sliced open Alecto’s face, down her neck, and across her chest.  She screamed and dropped her wand, hands flying up to her throat.  Blood was pouring between her hands.  Regulus was frozen watching the blood gushing from her throat.  He remembered her sitting at the Slytherin table, laughing with her brother.  Regulus lifted his wand, but he didn’t remember the counter curse.  Why couldn’t he remember?

“Vulnera Sanentur,” the words finally made their way out of his mouth.  The blood flow started to slow but he didn’t know if it was enough.  Alecto had sunk down to her knees.  “Vulnera Sanentur, Vulnera Sanentur.” He repeated it.

“What?” Alecto gasped. “What are you doing?  We’re enemies.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” Regulus said.  He didn’t want to kill anyone.  He was so tired of death.

“Incarcerous,” Regulus bound her.  Then he knelt and to check on the healing of the wounds.

“I’ve lost too much blood,” Alecto whispered as she stared at him.  Recognition was spreading across her face.  “Because you look like Regulus.”

A sad smile crossed Regulus' face.  “Stupefy.”

Alecto slumped unconscious.  The blood had nearly stopped flowing.  Shakily, Regulus got to his feet.  He needed to head towards the clearing now.  With the Dark Lord gone, Shaklebolt would summon the rest of the Order and then the aurors.  They would sweep the woods for Death Eaters.  Regulus began to walk through the forest again.  He didn’t take out the map.  He’d give it to Shaklebolt.  Someone else could hunt down the remaining Death Eaters.  Regulus had had enough.  The Dark Lord was dead.  That was what mattered.

As Regulus moved towards the clearing, he heard yelling, crashing, and other sounds of fighting, but he didn’t come across anyone else.  His adrenaline was running down and he felt incredibly tired, and his head was starting to hurt.  He paused at the edge of the clearing.

He froze.  Sirius was there holding Potter, and Potter was alive.  But he was crying.  Regulus followed his gaze and saw Dumbledore’s body on the ground.  The phoenix was perched next to his master with his head pressed against Dumbledore’s.  A single tear ran down the phoenix’s red feathers.  It was too late for their healing powers now.  

Shock flooded Regulus.  His eyes scanned the rest of the clearing.  The Dark Lord’s robes lay in a heap; no trace of his body remained.  There were several bodies though Snape was the only face he could see, the Death Eater’s still had their hoods up.  Unable to stop himself, Regulus moved into the clearing and knelt beside the first body.  

He was surprised to see Mulciber Senior.  The man was nearly seventy.  The next body was Rosier Senior.  It looked like they had been rushing towards the Dark Lord.  They’d been with him since the beginning, since Hogwarts.  With one hand, he gently closed his eyes.  

Regulus staggered towards the next body.  Rosier.  His arm was stretched towards his father.  Closing his staring eyes with a shaking hand, Regulus couldn’t help but see Rosier in his mind's eye dressed in his quidditch robes and shaking his broom aggressively as he tried to give a pep talk.  

“Hey,” a gruff voice came from behind.  He turned to see Moody standing there.  He put a hand on Regulus’ shoulder.  His face was uncharacteristically soft.  “You should head out.  The officials are coming and I doubt you feel like dealing with them.”

“Right,” Regulus shakily got to his feet.  

“Go home, lad,” Moody said.  

So Regulus did.

Read the next chapter on AO3

[avcryz]

AVERY BENNETT, the TATTOO ARTIST / FREELANCE ARTIST at blue lagoon is known around town for being quite EVASIVE & CYNICAL. but don’t listen to them. everyone at the underground club agrees that HE is actually quite CHARISMATIC & HARD-WORKING. they’re only scorned because HE STARTED A DRUNKEN FIGHT JUST WEEKS AFTER ARRIVING IN TOWN. lame, right? for those who know them well, AIMLESS DEAD OF THE NIGHT DRIVES, PAINT STAINED FINGERS, A SCATTERING OF INK COVERING FLESH, BITTEN RAW LIPS, BRIGHTLY COLORED CHIPPED POLISHED NAILS always makes them come to mind.

hello lads! i’m t, preferred pronouns are she/her and i live in the eastern timezone. this here is mr. avery bennett, an oc of mine that i’ve been playing on and off since 2013. just a little tweaking to fit the plot and a new name because why not and here we are. he’s my baby and it’s actually been a good while since i’ve played him so i’m really excited to do so here with you guys. unfortunately this evening will be busy for me and so this is actually queued. i don’t know how much i’ll be around until tomorrow, but feel free to pop into my im’s or to send me a message on discord to plot out some things. 

discord is [ eyes rolling dramatically ]#8223

avery’s pinterest board can be found here. 

TW’S : mentions of abuse, alcohol, scars, anixety, & ptsd. 

about / 

first things first, avery was born and raised in croydon, england, a town according to google that is 52 minutes outside of london. his parents stephen and amelia welcomed a second child when avery was three years old. their family was complete.

avery was six when his father lost his job and the occassional beer here and there became several drinks a night. the elder bennett male wasn’t a pleasant drunk. 

his father was abusive mentally and emotionally first. hateful words being thrown at him since he was a young boy and it sticking to him like glue. the abuse became physical on his mother first, milo and his sister always staying upstairs and hiding in a closet. he was eleven when he came down to try to help one night, hearing his mother crying and glass breaking. that was the first night the physical abuse was turned on him and he suffered through it for five years until his mother was brave enough to divorce and get a restraining order against her husband. 

from an early age he had started to show an interest in art. it wasn’t until a counselor at his highschool had bought him a sketch pad did he really dive into the talent. something the woman decided to do after teachers noticed him drawing all over his school work, in the margins of books, and doodling instead of listening in class. 

he’s very artistically talented and spends a large chunk of his time creating. some of his stuff so good people have bought them for their homes. 

avery took a liking to alcohol after his parents finally divorced. feeling that he could finally escape the bubble that he was forced in and exploring the things around him, rebelling. it landed him in handcuffs more than once. 

came to the states for school, but didn’t feel that it was necessarily for him. he’s now working as a tattoo artist and selling his art when he can. 

was diagnosed with ptsd and anxiety after visiting a psychiatrist. he was very much in denial, but went with because he’d promised his mother that he would. was prescribed medication, but doesn’t always take it.

extras /

the physical abuse was never turned on his sister.

he’s got a few scars from the abuse. most noticeable if he takes his shirt off. one that wraps around his hip and one on his shoulder from a “fall” and a few smaller ones from “accidental” broken glass. 

has nightmares from time to time. they’re much less often now. 

cheeky and charming. seems a little conceited, but truthfully he’s very self-loathing. he wears a mask well. 

stubborn as all hell. 

way to flirtatious. 

a bit of an insomniac.

was ‘scorned’ because he had started a drunken fight in a bar shortly after arriving to the states. 

he’s sober now, but truthfully only because he’s a daddy.  

you’ll often spot him sporting messily painted and chipped nail polish courtesy of his daughter raven. ask him about it, he’ll probably show you the work of the six year.

relationship? no. a hook up though? sure. 

is completely sleeved out. has a few of harry’s ( the cross on his hand for example ) and some of the tiny small ones on his wrists. that’s the only ones of harry’s though. has a few alice in wonderland tattoos and one harry potter tattoo. 

would have gone home to england after being deemed ‘scorned’ if it hadn’t have been for his ex’s pregnancy. 

is a completely muma’s boy. talks to his sister and mum often.

has a kitten named davinci. raven (his daughter) definitely talked him into taking it home. 

left handed. 

[beaumvnts]

what the fuck is up, lads, i’m allura / 18+ / est. it’s been a hot minute since i’ve been in a tumblr rp so i’m really excited to be here !! i start college soon so if my activity is a bit wacky, i’m sorry. anyway! less about me and more about my baby below. if you like this post i’ll pop into your ims for plots!

a JORDAN FISHER lookalike was strolling down broadway street in their dolce & gabbana boots. julian “jules” beaumont just had a birthday bash for their twenty-second birthday. they have been living in new york city for all their life. i hear they tend to be overwhelming at parties, but also kind of compassionate. ( agender & they/them ) 

AESTHETIC — police sirens in the distance, broken glass on the sidewalk, an acidic taste at the back of the mouth, leather jacket on a summer day, wall covered with sci-fi posters, star wars main theme, bass boosted music playing through the open windows of a fancy car, a collection of snapbacks, crumpled up paper littering the floor, the antiseptic smell of hospitals, slamming doors in anger, constant bickering of siblings, burning rubber, ripped jeans, dark long sleeve t-shirts, missed calls & ignored texts from parents.

QUICK STATS — name : julian asra beaumont nicknames : j, jules age : 22 gender & pronouns : agender & they/them sexuality : pansexual relationship status : single (commitment issues? check.) occupation: student at nyu, studying mechanical engineering because they’re being forced to by their parents. plays bass in a band called ‘a little disorganized’. parents : lucio beaumont & dr. laura beaumont siblings : allison (17), victor (20), katherine (25), mason (26) - personality : impulsive, overwhelming, careless, truculent, uncommitted + personality : adventurous, compassionate, charming, dedicated, loyal

BIO (AKA BULLETPOINTS IN A SOMEWHAT CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER) —

lucio and laura both hailed from rich families and knew eachother as children, drifted in highschool, met again at yale university, and fell in love with eachother. lucio took over his father’s company almost right out of college, and laura went on to get a doctorate in biomedical engineering. together, they had five children who they raised in manhattan.

their two oldest, mason and katherine, are already extremely accomplished in their respective fields, law and software engineering.

their two youngest, allison and victor, hold great promise of a future in business and football respectively. 

and then there is their middle child, jules. they are the, what their parents would whisper behind closed doors, family disappointment. 

they grew up a quiet child, but was often pushed around by their siblings. fights between them and mason weren’t uncommon, and often, the two would walk in with matching black eyes, broken noses, and split lips. still, mason always stood up for them when they needed it, though they would repeatedly state they don’t.

jules has never really been in a relationship, being afraid of commitment. this likely comes from the fact that they were ignored by their parents at best, their siblings shining as bright as stars next to julian’s black hole of a personality. they don’t believe anything good comes out of love, going even further to state that love isn’t actually real.

a lot of what reckless things they do is for attention that they were starved of during their childhood.

as soon as they somehow graduated highschool with a disappointingly average gpa, julian distanced themself from their family even more than they already were. they adopted a dog, cheerfully named chewbacca, who is their favorite companion.

to their parents’ disdain, jules didn’t want to go to college. however, they were willing to give their child a year or two to ‘’find themself’’ before going to college. 

**CAR ACCIDENT TW, DEATH TW** two years ago, when their second gap year was coming to an end, they were the assigned driver to a few of their drunk friends. jules really is a good driver (though they joke that gays can’t drive). their friends were distracting them unintentionally as they would and a truck t-boned the passenger side of their car. two of their friends died on impact, another was sent into a coma but woke up a week later, and a fourth was rendered unconscious and was in a critical state. julian themself was the only conscious one, and was able to call the authorities before passing out. the bottom half of their right leg, however, was crushed in the wreckage and ended up needing to be amputated. 

their mom, thankfully, was in the process of designing a top notch prosthetic that functions extremely well, and jules was fitted for one as soon as they could be. they also sustained bad scarring and burns across their torso and arms, which is the reason that they almost always wear long sleeves. their prosthetic doesn’t have synthetic skin as per their own request, because they wanted it to serve as a reminder for their past. the metal of the prosthetic is completely black and all the machinery is visible.

in their vulnerable post-accident state, their parents persuaded them into applying for college to continue their education, which is why this coming fall semester, they are entering their junior (3rd) year of college at nyu studying mechanical engineering.

they do suffer from ptsd and anxiety because of the accident, and pointedly do not go to therapy, claiming that they are perfectly fine. they also skipped much of their physical therapy. 

during the middle of their freshman year of college, they sporadically formed a band with a few of their friends, lovingly called ‘a little disorganized’. they play the bass, do backing vocals, and write most of the lyrics. 

their band really took off a few months ago and are currently recording their first album

oof i think that’s it for now? i’ll add more if i need to (hopefully i dont)

PLOTS —

exes — their relationships don’t last more than three months at most. likely, these will all be on bad terms, though a few are still on good terms. most of it means nothing to them, and even if it does, they push it away. 

fwb/enemies with benefits — probably the longest lasting commitment they had with another person that wasn’t just friend friend.

ex friend — perhaps they were in the crash with them ? or they just ended up drifting apart because of the different paths their lives took.

bandmates — please... drummer, vocalist, guitarist

study buddies — jules isn’t really interested in college and are only there because they have to be, so it’d be great to have someone that is a good influence on them to just sit down and crack open the textbook for once.

confidant — their closest friend, someone that they tell everything to and vice versa. probably the second person they contacted after calling the police after the accident.

crush — either your muse on mine or mine on yours it doesn’t matter! we can discuss later uwu

blease... i’m open to anything.... it’s been a while since i’ve done this...