#very clearly taught to fight and put his life in danger to protect someone else as a child

[oddberryshortcake]

Jamil stop trying to get yourself killed challenge (impossible)

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Protector

Requested by @captaincvans

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, a little bit of Sam Winchester x little sister!reader

Synopsis: your big brother Dean has always been your protector

It started when you were four years old. Dean answered one of John’s phones, and was shocked to hear your tiny voice on the other end.

“Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“My mommy,” you were sobbing into the phone, and Dean’s heartbeat picked up. Had someone hurt the little girl on the other end? “My mommy said to call if-if bad things happened. She said it was my daddy’s number.”

To say Dean was shocked would be the understatement of the century, but he forced himself to remain calm, if only for the little girl who clearly needed help. John had gone out on a job, and Sam had walked to a nearby store to grab some supplies.

“Ok, well where’s your mommy?”

“The monster…he-he…” you broke down into sobs, and Dean didn’t need to hear anything else.

Dean was usually used to waiting for John’s orders before doing just about anything, but somehow now he knew just what to do. Every instinct inside him screamed to help you from the moment he heard your voice.

He didn’t know then, but that instinct would follow him for the rest of his life.

…

Dean’s relationship with you was different than his with Sam. Dean had practically raised Sam, but he literally raised you. The older the boys got, the more John left them for hunts. And there was the age difference; he was only four years older than Sam, but Dean had already grown up and started hunting by the time you came into his life. And after John died, the two of you became closer than ever, and he took on his role as caretaker even more seriously.

So, needless to say, hunting wasn’t in the cards for you. Of course Dean taught you how to defend yourself, but he knew that once you started hunting, you’d be stuck in that life forever, and that wasn’t a choice he was going to let you make as a teenager.

A part of you always wanted to fight him on it, not because you thought you’d love hunting, but because your big brothers risked their lives on an almost-daily basis, and you wanted to be there to help them. However, it didn’t take long for you to realize that being on a hunt would just put them in more danger; Dean would be so worried about you that he wouldn’t keep his head on straight. You weren’t going to be the reason he got distracted and killed on a hunt.

So you stayed behind.

But that didn’t mean that you were always safe.

…

“Crowley I swear, if you touch one hair on her head-“

“Let me guess, they’ll never find the body?”

“Oh no, they will,” Dean’s fists were clenched so hard, his palms were going numb. “They’ll find it, and they’ll keep finding it. Little bits, everywhere, maybe I’ll even drop you in a couple of different states. I’ll cut you up nice and slow, it’ll take weeks before you’re dead, and that’s if I’m feeling generous enough to let you die at all.”

“My my my, someone is very protective about his little pet. However, your mummy should’ve taught you some manners, because you see…” Dean flinched when he heard your screams over the phone. “I don’t like to be threatened, squirrel.”

“Ok, ok!” Dean relented. Your screams stopped.

“Good. Now, here’s my ultimatum,” Crowley’s voice rose in anger, “If you ever want to see this little runt again, the first thing you’re gonna do, is drop the attitude, and show some respect!” Crowley cleared his throat, and returned to his easygoing, neutral tone. “After all, I am the king of hell. And then, after that, you’re going to stop meddling in my affairs. That’s not so bad, is it?”

Dean was about to throw out a snarky response when your voice broke in.

“Don’t listen to him, Dean. He’s just a liar, he’ll betray y-“ your desperate, frightened voice cut off with a high-pitched scream, and Dean could swear he heard Crowley laughing.

“Now now, darling, that’s not very nice. Name-calling is for children. Oh that’s right,” Crowley’s laughter started up again. “You are a child.”

“Stop it!” Not seeing what was going on was driving Dean insane. He could only imagine what Crowley was doing to you. “Alright, Crowley, you get what you want. Just let her go!”

The screaming stopped again.

“Now, that’s sweet, Dean. But I’m afraid I don’t exactly trust your word. So, I’m going have to keep your little rugrat here for a little longer, just to make sure you make good on your promise. Deal?”

“No no no, Crowley you can’t just-“

“I think we’re done here.”

The click that followed might as well have been an atomic bomb.

…

“We got a location.”

Dean had never jumped up that fast in his entire life.

“Finally, let’s go.”

“Dean, hold on,” Sam placed his hand out, stopping Dean in his tracks. “We don’t know how many demons are guarding it.”

“You know what, Sam? I don’t really care. There could be a thousand demons in there for all I care. She’s in there, so I’m going.” Dean brushed past Sam, who reluctantly followed him into the Impala.

“I’m just saying, it would be nice to have a plan.”

“I have a plan.” Dean peeled out of the driveway and sped along the road.

“The plan is get her back.”

…

You heard them before you saw them. It would be impossible not to; the screaming of demons and the thud as bodies hit the floor wasn’t exactly quiet.

However, when the door burst open, it wasn’t your brothers who came in.

Crowley rushed toward you, his hand outstretched to grab you and teleport you with him. A split second before his hand reached your shoulder, the demon blade whizzed past his ear and struck his arm, throwing him off balance and onto the floor. Before he could get back up, Dean was on him, not even bothering with the knife as he pounded on Crowley’s face. Sam rushed in after him, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and pulling him off.

“That’s enough, Dean! Just use the kni-“

Before either brother could move towards the demon blade, Crowley had disappeared.

“No!” Dean slammed his fist against the wall, and was about to do it again when he heard it.

“Dean?”

Never, not even when you were little, had Dean ever heard you sound so small; so fragile. He turned, his gaze instantly softening, his fists relaxing as he rushed to your side. He quickly untied the ropes holding you to a metal chair, and as soon as you were free you collapsed into his waiting arms.

“You’re ok,” Dean’s eyes stung as he gripped you tightly to him. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

“Is she ok?” Sam stepped up behind Dean, and Dean reluctantly pulled away to check you for injuries.

There was a gash along your cheek, and he saw several cuts on your arms and legs, but what really worried him was the blood covering the front of your shirt.

“Baby, can you…” Dean touched the pool of blood dripping down your stomach. You lifted your shirt a few inches, and he saw a deep cut running along your ribs. Blood was still gushing freely from the cut, and Dean quickly removed his top layer of flannel, pressing it against the wound.

Sam flinched when you cried out, and Dean winced.

“I know, I know it hurts honey. I need you to hold it there, though.” You took the shirt from him and he nodded, “Yeah, good, press it tight.” He glanced around one more time to be sure no demons were coming, before he scooped you into his arms. You cried out again when he jostled you, and he tried to ignore you as he turned to Sam.

“You gotta watch my back, I’ve got her, but I don’t know if there are any more demons still here.”

Sam nodded, taking the demon blade.

“Alright, I’ll drive.”

…

“Do we need to take her to a hospital?” Sam glanced to the back of the Impala, where your head was resting in Dean’s lap as he held his shirt against your cut.

“I’m ok,” your voice was quiet, almost sleepy.

“We should take her in,” Dean insisted.

“It doesn’t look like she’s lost that much blood,” Sam hesitantly argued.

“Dean, I’m ok,” you turned your gaze from your injury to your big brother. “Really, just stitch me up. I’ll be fine.”

Dean relented hesitantly, mostly because he didn’t put it past Crowley to try to alert local authorities to all the bodies he’d left in his wake saving you. The last thing you needed was to be stuck in a hospital while Sam and Dean got arrested.

“Alright, ok. But you gotta stay awake, understand?”

You were silent for a few seconds, and when your voice lifted he could hear the tears you were trying to hold back.

“He wouldn’t let me sleep.”

Dean felt the white-hot anger rising in him, but he forced it down.

“You…but you were gone for three days.”

“I know. But ev-every time I tried to sleep…” you picked at one of the cuts, and Dean got the picture. He glanced up to see Sam gripping the steering wheel with all his might, his knuckles turning snow-white.

“I’m sorry,” Dean’s soft voice was only beat by the softness in his eyes as he looked down at you. “I’m so sorry. But you gotta stay awake just a little bit longer, I’m sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t just apologizing for that.

“Dean, it’s not your fault.”

He turned to look out the window, and you knew he didn’t believe you.

“Dean,” you tried to raise your voice, but it just sent you into a fit of coughing. His head whipped back to look at you, and he squeezed his hand under your head, lifting you up a little so you could breathe.

“Honey, don’t talk, don’t talk. You’re ok, just breathe.”

“Dean,” you took a deep breath, “Dean it’s not. It’s not your fault-“

“Shh, shh,” he insisted, eyes flitting nervously over your face. “Kiddo please, don’t talk.”

“Then say it.”

Dean sighed, and you knew he wouldn’t mean it, but you wanted him to say it anyway.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

…

“I’m sorry,” Dean winced when you sucked in a breath, trying desperately to stay still as he sewed you up.

“I’m ok,” you insisted.

“Ok, I’m done,” Dean tied off the last stitch, and you hesitantly stood and headed to your bathroom to shower off the blood that was all but covering you.

Dean sat on your bed while you were gone, staring down at the blood on his hands, disgusted but somehow unable to get up to wash it off.

He stayed there until you returned, a clean shirt and your pajama pants on. You stepped up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. You tugged on his arm without speaking, and he followed you mechanically as you pulled him into your bathroom.

You turned on the sink water and guided his hands under the flow, rubbing his hands until they were clean and your blood was running down the drain. You handed him a soft towel, and he slowly dried his hands.

The two of you stood there in silence, unsure of whether to move or not. Then suddenly, the two of you moved in sync. He opened his arms just as you moved towards him, and he wrapped you into his arms. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, while the other rested on the small of your back. You felt his chin rest on the top of your head, his arms tightening around you.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked.

You wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but you knew that you could scream it til doomsday and Dean still wouldn’t believe it. So instead you said what he needed to hear.

“I’m ok.”

…

You weren’t the only one who hadn’t been able to sleep during your captivity, and you knew it. Dean looked horrible, his eyes dark and his hair greasy and sticking out in strange angles. You didn’t think you could convince him to eat or shower, not yet at least. He hadn’t left your side in the hour since you got back, and you figured he would want to watch over you while you slept.

So, if you couldn’t make him eat, you figured you at least knew a way to make him sleep.

You let him tuck you into your bed before grabbing onto his arm as he turned to go.

“Stay with me,” you insisted. He nodded and reached to grab a chair.

“No, with me,” you lifted a corner of the blanket. Dean didn’t speak, he just climbed in next to you and let you lean against his arm.

After a few minutes, Dean’s breathing evened out and you smiled.

He was your protector, always.

But maybe there was some ways that you could save him, too.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

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

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

Part 2(final part)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How the fuck did you do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

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

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

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

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

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

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

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

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

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

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

“... I made sure of that .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened, Merlin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

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

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

“Why do you think?!-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

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

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

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

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

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

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

“Come on, next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwaine perks up slightly:

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

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

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

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

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

“Next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

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

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we please stop now?”

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

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

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

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

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

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

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

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

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

“C...cave.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Episode??”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

The End of part 1!!!

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

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

[dantelionwishes]

life is full of ups and downs downs downs downs dow

loredump under the cut. not kidding when I say its gonna be long!

oh shit you actually clicked keep reading thank you for your interest 😭😭😭

YOU KNOW THE DRILL tw // suggestive dont read ahead if youre uncomfortable with the topic of aphrodisiacs! 

MIDDLE SCHOOL 

before anything, I gotta explain he was born to parents who had an infatuation quirk (makes them hardcore fall in love with you) and an infection quirk (transmits a virus via saliva)  

developed his quirk late, since they usually get it by the time kids are four 

most people knew him as quirkless before the first incident 

in middle school, his class was preparing for a school play, he and his classmate got cast as the main lead prince and princess 

coincidentally, they both had a crush on each other and had a scene where they kissed

technically they weren’t supposed to, since its just a play, but one time they were practicing in private and wanted to try kissing “for real”

so they shared a super giggly cute middle school first kiss but well UNFORTUNATELY FOR HIM HIS QUIRK HAD WELL DEVELOPED– 

BADABING BADABOOM YOU HAVE AN IMAGINATION USE IT

the only way for the quirk’s effects to go away is to come at least once or pleasuring yourself until it goes away

I DO NOT WANT TO IMAGINE IT BUT. IMAGINE BEING A TEACHER AND FINDING A MIDDLE SCHOOLER WHO DOES NOT KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING TO HER AND AN ADULT IS FORCED TO TELL HER HOW TO MAKE IT GO AWAY LLLLIKE–

rip now that I’m thinking abt it, I don’t even think anybody would even kNOW HOW TO MAKE IT GO AWAY so lets imagine she painfully stays that way until they figure out how to make it stop :^(

there’s a big fight that happens between the teachers, principal, and parents of both parties 

of course the crush’s parents got mad and called their kid a fuckin uhhhhh sexual predator or some shit despite also beING THE SAME AGE AND NOT EVEN KNOWING ABT HIS OWN QUIRK LIKE HELLLO

obviously an incident like this is going to spread like wildfire but the principal does not want something like this to leak, especially since it was not on purpose and was a total accident 

the other kid’s parents and some teachers did not feel comfortable however, and sato was forced to drop out

but not wanting to spread the gossip about their son’s quirk and the incident, they leave the town and move someplace else

thankfully, the principal gives the sato family his good grades and a recommendation to a decent highschool for the trouble

they’re originally from osaka, but moved to tokyo 

this is where they start taking precautions with sato, basically teaching him to be careful with his saliva 

it was easily taught and learned esp since the mom was already like that around him and others everyday anyway!! she has to take care of her saliva-based infection quirk, after all 

HIGH SCHOOL

he got enrolled into a regular highschool in tokyo

no hero course, no support course, no business, just a regular ol’ school

if before, he loved surrounding himself with people, this was where he was forced to develop a lonely disposition to protect himself and others

at least his parents were very protective and supportive of him and they were generally a happy family!

but in school, pretending to be quirkless was just as difficult, getting bullied or pitied for having no special abilities 

his excuse for wearing a mask all the time was because his mother had a virus-related quirk, and had to be careful 

one day his dad was suddenly got really, really sick

the more he had an excuse to wear a mask because he didnt want to get whatever disease his father started to develop 

sato started thinking it could be his mother (but why?) the results didn’t say anything about an unknown virus killing him (which is his mom’s quirk), and that his father really did contract a strong yet very normal disease 

while on his second year in highschool, his father, yozo sato, died 

apparently, without him knowing anything about his parents, his mother, oba sato, was actually under the dad’s infatuation quirk this whole time

she realised she wasn’t really in love with him when oba had accidentally allowed a drop of her saliva to fall into the meal she was making him, making him sick, and therefore making him weak enough to deactivate his quirk on her 

oba, back in her college years, wanted to marry someone else but yozo, who had a crush on her wanted her to himself, used his quirk to make him fall in love with her 

so in revenge for making her put up with him all these years to the point of marriage and having a kid, she continued to do this to his food 

her quirk doesn’t make anybody sick enough to die, but it made her husband’s immune system weak enough to the point that it contracted a real, serious disease which he ended up dying from instead 

sato only finds out the real story when he graduates from highschool, days right after his graduation the mom confesses it all 

she does say she truly loves him, but can’t stay around him knowing he was technically “unconsensual love”

sato gets reminded of what his quirk does, and true enough, that’s what him and his quirk turned out to be (a sick combination of his mom and his dad) 

they cant bear to be around each other after that revelation and decide to just not see each other again 

COLLEGE YEARS

he enrolls into an education course, inspired by the kind principal who helped him finish his middleschool-highschool education when it all started going downhill 

sato struggles paying for his college fees esp since he doesn’t exactly have his parents supporting him anymore, nor any contact with immediate family 

he has a lot of part time jobs that go all around the clock, he continues pretending to be quirkless so he gets bullied, and has to deal with all that emotional baggage plus being alone so…….clearly my man is TIRED as hell 

his side job hustles include: convenience store cashier, bookstore attendant, bar bouncer, and rookie gym trainer (he went to the local gym long enough for him to get recommended a job as a trainer)

college was that point where he starts developing a hardcore yearning for a companion because oh my god hes so lonELY (but cant)

ANYWAY SO

there’s this bully guy who always picks on him in college (for being “quirkless” and a loner and overall a fuckin weirdo with a mask)

tbh sato doesnt really give a shit he’s so used to it but he doesnt have his mother as an excuse to wear the mask anymore, this is where he starts forming the “I have bad breath” excuse 

“口臭��” (kuchi kusai) translates to “bad breath” or “stinky mouth” so sato unlovingly gets nicknamed “kusato”

one day he’s walking around the campus at night and finds the bully with his gang cornering another quirkless student, with plans of assaulting her 

sato was never the hero type, and was about to ignore the commotion as to not get involved, but something in him moved on its own and he found himself face to face with the gang 

he confronts them, but the bully mocks both him and the girl for not having powers to stop them anyway 

SIKE BITCH sato’s able to easily strike the other two guys, knock them off their feet enough to be able to tug the to-be victim aside, telling her to report them, before asking her to run away as fast as she can

none of the guys want that (they’re all students) so they have a full on brawl (and this isnt hero academy, its a totally normal university so I wouldn’t assume these guys had very impressive quirks)

except the main bully actually has a pretty decent quirk (he’s like a kinda half human half dragon with sharp claws, scales, and dragon eyes) and gets to injure sato with his sharp claws, seriously injuring his face

a part of his ear is also sort of sliced off, which is how his mask gets accidentally removed in the process 

the dragon bully grabs him by the collar and starts angrily shouting at him for ruining his night, being able to do all this shit without a quirk and all and all other derogatory speech 

“Well? what do you have to say for yourself?!“ 

Sato stays silent before spitting right into the bully’s mouth 

The bully drops him immediately, about to angrily fuck him up for doing something super fucking gross but WHOOP WHOOP YOU KNOW WHATS BOUTTA HAPPEN the quirk works immediately and the bully is a TOTAL MESS on the ground 

Im going to TLDR this part cos its…obviously nsfw but like: sato fully embarrasses him in public (beside the bully’s two colleges nonetheless) 

sato stays in the hospital for some time to heal from his wounds 

fortunately, afterwards, the bullies all get expelled 

unfortunately for sato, he also gets expelled for engaging in bad behaviour, and the bully did say what happened to him (and the college principal did not want his…dangerous quirk on campus) so as to lower any incident, all four were expelled 

at least without having to pay for college fees anymore, he could fully focus on paying for food, shelter, and clothes 

minus of course the hospital bills needed to pay plus he got a sick ass scar from it anyway HAHAHAHA BSDJHJRHDHF

ADULT LIFE

he had a lot of jobs here and there, but was more or less doing best as a trainer at a local gym where people weren’t allowed to use their quirks and strengthen their body regularly 

a few years went by and he eventually shrugged off everything that happened in his final college years but one day someone familiar walked into the gym! It was the fellow college student he saved!!!

she became a policewoman who wanted to get stronger in this quirkless friendly gym and hadn’t given up on her dreams of being a “hero,” inspired by how sato saved her that day

sato never really saw himself as some hero, he was left many nights alone thinking about how easily he could become a villain with his quirk, so hearing that really made him happy 

he trains her as her gym coach and she eventually asks him to join her patrol this small part of the city from a gang that was currently going around doing crimes since he’s good at it anyway, saying she could use some extra hands hehe

so yeah!! he does this side gig with her where he patrols alongside her looking for gang crimes and such c:

AND ONE DAY. [WISTFUL SIGH] ONE DAY. HE FINDS SOMEBODY GETTING MUGGED BY A GANG MEMBER AND SAVES………A CERTAIN MAN–

thank you for reading all the way here!!!

feel free to ask for questions or for any clarifications 😭😭😭!!!!!!

[fanmoose12]

the devil you know

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert

Genres: Action / Drama

Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?

Сhapter 5/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

"There is also a letter for you, sir."

Levi snatched it out of the messenger's fingers, thanking him by a quick, curt nod.

"You may go," he said, waiting for the soldier to leave, so he could read the letter in silence.

Just as he opened it, however, Zeke's face appeared right in front of him, materializing out of thin air.

"Got a love letter, Captain?" he mocked, his eyes glinting. "Or were you popular only once in your life?"

There was a fire right behind Zeke. Levi longed to throw him there. He almost smiled, as he imagined the beast running around with his pants on fire. Watching it would be much more satisfying than simply punching him in a face. Although.... if the beast lost his pants, Levi would be forced to become an unwilling spectator to Zeke walking around half naked. And Levi would rather slit his own throat with a sword.

"Mind your own business, beast," he grumbled, having his fill of arguing with Zeke. The bastard just wanted to get rise out of him anyway. One time Levi had let him. He wouldn't allow Zeke to have another victory. "And get lost. If you won't let me read the letter in peace, I won't let you read at all."

Levi pointedly looked at the book in Zeke's hands. The beast took a staggering step back, cradling the book protectively to his chest.

"Now I see why you weren't popular," he arrogantly scoffed, but left hurriedly before Levi could act on his threat.

When Zeke was a safe distance away, Levi sat down by the fire and opened the letter. The handwriting consisted of small, carefully curved letters. Armin's handwriting.

Levi hesitated to open it. He hoped it wasn't anything urgent. He hoped it wasn't bad news.

But if the things remained just as they were when he left, it could very well be both.

Oh how he hated being away. When he was in a thick of it, at least, he had the illusion of having control.

And right now, the only thing he could control was Zeke. As long as the beast’s and their goals aligned and the beast let Levi control him. And who knew when that was going to change.

It was going to change, Levi was sure of it.

Worry about that later, when the time comes, he told himself, as he shook his head, pushing anxious thoughts to the back of his mind, and finally opened the letter.

Sitting a little closer to fire, he started reading.

Captain Levi!

I hope the messenger brought you everything you needed. If supplies are running low, please tell me so.

I'm sure you want to know what's going on our side. Do not fret, we're holding on. For now. The tensions are still running high, but Commander Pixis is doing a great job of keeping everything under control. Commander Dawk helps plenty too, and together they're working closely with Chief Zacklay to ensure the island's safety.

Yesterday, I wrote a letter to Historia, requesting her to come back. I know she has to care for herself and her future child, but I think... maybe, we can use people's love for the Queen to put an end to their protests. There are more and more people gathering next to our headquarters. I think it’s time for her intervention.

Another matter you should know about is the fate of these Marleyans kids, Gabi Braun and Falco Grace. Unfortunately, they escaped from the prison, but rest assured we're going everything we can to locate them.

Truth be told, I worry about them. It's dangerous for them to walk around the island, while we're in the middle of that mess. Many people don't like Marleyans, so I hope these kids are at least smart enough to not start any trouble. Hange-san told me the very same thing - she worries for Falco and Gabi, but doesn't think they'll do something stupid.

And before you can ask, yes, I've interrogated Hange-san about their escape, she knows nothing. What's more, Jean, Sasha and Connie were with her in the presumptive time of the escape. If you don’t trust her, at least have faith in them.

Well, as I said, we're working on bringing them back.

Oh, and, by the way, Captain, we let Hange-san stay in her old room, just like I told you we would. She praised whoever cleaned it. Don't worry, though, I kept your secret. Hange-san is too smart to be fooled so easily, but, alas, I did my best.

If you need anything, send a letter immediately. Stay alert and keep your wits about you, Captain.

The others are eagerly waiting for your return. Connie and Sasha are doing their best at keeping the headquarters clean. And Mikasa is doing a great job of taking over your duties and training the recruits. Oh, and Moblit-san sends his regards.

I hope you’re holding on. I’m sure you are.

Best wishes, Armin

With a letter still in his hand, Levi stared at the fire, thinking it all over.

Bringing Historia back could help ease the tensions, or… It could make it all even worse. But the Queen’s influence was undeniable, in that regard, Armin was right. She was probably the only one who could get them out of this mess.

And these damned Marleyan brats… Escaping from the prison was not an easy feat. Marleyans had taught them well, it seemed.

Was Hange involved in their trainings as well?

Whether she was or she was not, Levi didn’t believe she had helped them to escape. What for? If someone finds out where they came from, they’d be killed on sight. Hange would never do something so careless. If she truly cared about these kids, and it seemed like she actually did, she’d bargain with Armin and others, ask them to let the kids stay with her.

In her room. That he had cleaned.

He briefly wondered what Hange reaction had been like. Was she surprised? Confused? Touched?

She was most probably enraged, Levi concluded. Pissed off that all of her things weren’t on their places – Levi made sure they weren’t. Maybe, he was too much of a pitiful idiot to throw her shit out, but he knew the other way to get to Hange.

He used to know so many things about Hange.

There had been a time he thought he knew everything. Now he knew better.

***

"Another letter?"

As soon as the messenger left, Zeke was right beside him, his head raised high, as he attempted to take a peak over Levi's shoulder.

Levi swatted him away, too confused by the letter and the large enough package he had received to answer Zeke with the violence he so rightfully deserved.

"Get lost," he just said, blindly reaching behind him to push Zeke away.

"I don't care what you have there," the beast scoffed, lifting his haughty nose even higher. "I just came to ask if there are any letters for me."

Levi looked up at him in surprise, his lips curling up. Letters for Zeke? The notion was so ridiculous he almost started to laugh.

"Do you seriously think there is someone who would write letters to you? Your dear brother is in prison and he isn't allowed to talk even to his friends, and you expect a letter from him?"

In the face of Levi's open mockery, Zeke's eyes darkened. "Eren is not the only who can write to me. From what I've heard, she's not in prison anymore."

Oh, so he was using that card again? Levi wasn't going to succumb to it. He wasn't. Not again.

Still, his fingers gripped the letter more tightly, as he threw a sizzling gaze at the beast.

But. At least, he didn't hit him. Clearly, a progress.

"She is not allowed to write letters either," he revealed. "And letting Hange reside in her old room wasn't my decision."

"Clearly," Zeke nodded, his lips moving upwards. "If it was up to you, she'd be sleeping in your room, isn’t that right, Captain?"

The letter in his hand crumpled as Levi attempted to take a breath and keep himself from latching on the bastard.

But clearly, Zeke wasn’t finished. Clearly, he wanted more of Levi’s rage.

“And, just so you know,” he lowered his voice, as though he was going to tell him a secret. He crouched down to his level too, his hand next to his ear. Levi was too dazed to push him away. “When Hange cares about someone, she always finds a way.”

“Then where is your letter, Zeke?”

There was a beat of silence, the beast’s mouth falling open as he struggled to find his own words. Fucking finally, he managed to get him back.

Reveling in his small victory, Levi pushed past Zeke, heading to his tent.

There, he lighted the candle and put the package down onto a wooden table, sitting down beside it. Deciding to start with the letter, he opened it in a quick, fluid motion. His chest warmed, as he recognized Moblit’s neat, delicate handwriting. He didn’t even notice it, his thoughts too scattered amidst all this mess, but he missed his friend. More than he thought he would.

Captain!

How are you doing? Hope you’re not picking too many fights with our shifter-ally. Remember, we need him alive - at least, until we feed him to someone else. Although, I’m sure you’re keeping it together. You know just how important this is.

As on our end, things are not going all too well. Truthfully, I don’t know how bad it actually is, I have been out of loop lately, but I trust Commanders Pixis and Dawk and our Armin to get us through this.

There are rumors of the Queen getting back, or so Sasha told me. In my opinion, it’s dangerous to let Historia into the city, but, maybe, it really can help ease the tensions. Maybe, if she advises everyone to calm down, protesters will stop shouting under my window. It’s a good thing you aren’t here, Captain, these protesters – Yeagerists, as they started to call themselves, - are absolutely horrible. They’re loud and rowdy, and, honestly, their demands are making me a bit worried.

Maybe, they’re so bold because you aren’t here. I’m sure one deadly look from you and they’d scatter.

I also miss our evening tea parties, you wouldn’t believe it, I know – but I really do, terribly so. I went to the Niccolo’s place recently, tried a new pastry there, you will absolutely love it. I wanted to send it to you, but I was afraid it won’t be as delicious after a long road.

Now, I think it’s time to get to the thing that interests you the most – the package I sent you. I hope you haven’t opened it yet, so let me explain what it is first. I’ve included a few of my sketches in the second part of the letter, so you can get the overall idea of what it is.

In your absence, I’ve started to visit Sq Hange-san more often (I know what you’d say – we can’t trust her and should be more careful around here, but… we’ve been through much together, even if some part of it was a lie. It’s stronger than me. I’m sure you can understand) and we started working together on something new.

I’m not going to lie, working with her after all these years is still exciting to me. She’s just as brilliant as I remember, perhaps even more so, now that she doesn’t have to hide the whole extent of her knowledge.

She critiqued our performance during the Reid on Liberio. I was offended at first, surely, it wasn’t such a disaster. What we did was disastrous, I can’t and won’t deny it, but how we did it? It really was rather a success? Minimal amount of casualties on our side and another shifter, taken away from Marley…

But Hange-san wasn’t nearly as impressed. She said that we could do so much better, if only we improved our equipment.

Of course, I couldn’t refuse her offer to work together again. So, without further ado, here I present to you, Captain – the new uniform of Survey Corps’ soldier. We used some parts of our old uniform and uniforms of Anti-Personnel Control Squad, so now aiming and recharging the gun is a lot easier and carrying thunder spears is more comfortable too.

We haven’t done enough tests on this one yet, and, as of now, we only have a few models (yours is actually the first one we made), but I do think the modified version should be implemented among our ranks.

I’m eager to hear what you think about it, and I’m even more eager to have you back with us.

I’m not the only one who waits for you to come back. One person in particular is interested in your well-being. She doesn’t actually ask, but she always listens carefully. Turns out, reading Hange-san is as easy as it’s always been.

Waiting to hear from you,

Moblit.

Whenever he was expecting to read in Moblit’s letter, that wasn’t it. He half-expected that the package would contain a new type of tea or a warmer blanket. What he did not expect was a new uniform.

That Moblit created with Hange.

He looked at the pages, attached to the letter. Detailed, realistic looking sketches were undoubtedly made by Moblit’s skilled hand. But the crooked, hurried notes could only be written by her.

Staring at these sketches brought back unwanted memories. Nights, spent in the dimly-lit lab, brown eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm and excitement, burning brighter than the candle beside them, the deep, melodic voice enchanting him with one theory after another.

How calm, how content he had felt during these fleeting moments, during these nights he spent next to Hange.

And now the only emotions these memories brought back were pain and shame. She lied, she betrayed, and yet he still couldn’t let these moments go, still held them inside his heart, in the depth of his soul where no one would see them but him.

She lied, she betrayed, and all these moments were fake, but they still were. They happened, and when they did, they brought him an evanescent happiness.

And he was pathetic enough to still treasure them.

With a deep sigh, Levi put the letter down, reaching over for the package.

He took the wrappings off slowly and carefully, despite his eagerness to know what was inside. He didn’t know who made them, who sew the fabric together. It could very well be Moblit, the man was talented in various areas. It could very well be Hange. Despite her messy appearances, she was good with needle and thread, he had learnt it first-hand, when he got injured during expedition and Hange had sewed the skin of his arm quickly and neatly, her touch surprisingly careful and gentle.

When he was done with the wrapping, he took out what was inside. Black pants, black shirt, it looked so different from the old uniform.

He put it on, meticulously checking that every belt and fasting was in its place, zipped and secured. Finished, he stood before the mirror, turning this and that way.

It wasn’t ugly, Levi was sure it was very efficient and he would test it all by himself, when his squad would go to sleep, but he liked the old one better. He felt more comfortable in it, more like himself. More like a Captain of Survey Corps who fought against bloodthirsty titans. But the weapons this uniform was modified for wasn’t made for defeating titans. It was made for defeating humans.

And he still struggled with accepting that new, simple truth.

He couldn’t deny, though, Moblit was right.

Hange was just as brilliant as they all had remembered.

It made him think – albeit, fleetingly – how far would they go, if they had her with them? How far would she have taken them if she was always on their side?

How happy he would be, if she still had been with him?

Pointless brooding, he decided and started to peel off the uniform.

Its efficiency in fighting other humans was doubtless. That’s why Levi hoped he would never have to use it.

***

“Um, Captain, wait a moment, please…” the messenger frowned, scratching his head in confusion, as he stared at the letter in his hands. “It’s not signed, but maybe I’ve lost something…”

His put his arm inside the back pack, rummaging through it. Levi waited for a second, two, ten, twenty… The messenger was still at it. His patience running low, Levi grabbed the unsigned letter. If it was some soldier’s love letter, he’d get it back. But if that was something important…

He opened the letter.

And had his breath caught in his throat, because that— that crooked, hurried handwriting… He could recognize it anywhere.

“I’ll be in my tent,” he announced, his voice shakier than he was comfortable with.

He all but tumbled inside, leaning against the table to keep himself steady. His eyes ran over the letter, taking it all in.

The message was short, fairly simple. But it raised so many questions, filled him with emotions so raw he could choke on them.

Levi,

Something bad is going to happen. Don’t take your eyes off Zeke. Don’t underestimate him.

Be careful. And, please, come back home safely.

It took him but a moment to read it all. But the few words of the letter kept replaying in his mind over and over, making it impossible to fall asleep. Levi mulled it over again and again, trying to find some sense, trying to understand.

He got his first clue the very next day, when the messenger was back again, sweaty and panting.

Chief Zacklay is dead, he said, murdered inside his own office.

And the look Zeke had given him, the long, intent gaze that didn’t waver as Levi had followed after his soldiers to get more details.

That was his second clue.

[chalkrevelations]

OK, wow, Episode 29 of Word of Honor, and that was A LOT. There is just A LOT going on, and all of it is A LOT.

(Spoilers. Scroll on past and come back later if you need to.)

Well, you know where this is going to start: Both A-Xiang and I are resolutely NOT crying. Yet. But you know who is? Cao Weining. We literally get a single crystalline tear drop, and oh god, I can’t take this, the mood swing from their adorable forest stroll and the way she noms up her corn family and the way he tries to blow away misfortune from the well of her palms and the way she looks up at him as she realizes how much he wants to take care of her and protect her forever – to this poor cinnamon roll and his eyes filling up with tears as he realizes the enormity of who A-Xiang is, the enormity of what he’s potentially done bringing her back to his sect and giving the Ghost Valley a way in, the way she’s hidden something so important from him. That she could have been stringing him along this whole time? That Wen Kexing, who he knows, who he knows as a good guy, is apparently the terrifying leader of the Ghost Valley? Nothing he knows is real, none of it makes sense, and it kills me, the wordless communication between him and A-Xiang, after she finally says it, finally lets him know who she is, and he just looks at her for confirmation, because he can’t believe it, and she gives that tiny little nod, placing all of this knowledge and her fate in his hands, the hands she’s held as he’s promised to stay with her and protect her always, to not fail her. OK. I take it back. A little bit, I’m tearing up. And then he doesn’t. He doesn’t fail her. His shixiong can’t figure out what Cao Weining and A-Xiang are apparently fighting about, because apparently Cao Weining hasn’t told anyone who she is!

Also, I have to yell excitedly about something here for a minute, because OMG THE MIRRORING they continue to maintain between Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu and Gu Xiang/Cao Weining. (!!!) I really want to point this one out, because it’s subtle but I think incredibly important, and you lose it if all you’re able to follow is the English subtitles. I have to give props to another Tumblr user (whose post I cannot for the life of me find again, and if anyone does, please let me know, so I can update this post), because I wouldn’t have caught it, with my Level 2 Duolingo Mandarin, if they hadn’t done a post a while back about the nuances of the use of “外人” (I think that’s correct) between ZZS and WKX in Ep 25 (and possibly Ep 26). In Ep 25 at 45:53, there’s a conversation about training Chengling – ZZS says something about getting WKX to do some of the training, WKX responds with something about letting “someone else” teach your disciple, per the English subtitles, and ZZS responds with “And you’re ‘someone else’?” Youku is using “someone else” here as a translation of 外人 (“wairen?” is maybe the transliteration of it?) which actually seems to mean “stranger” or more specifically “outsider” – someone who’s from “outside.” I presume in this context, specifically from outside your sect/family (which gives the whole conversation more layers, because by using this label for himself, Wen Kexing gives us another example of how he’s still resisting the idea of himself as a shidi of Four Seasons Manor, at that point, and is still unable to accept the full scope of his relationship with ZZS, even though he wants it so badly, because he is so terrified of getting it and then losing it). In Ep 26, 外人 comes up again, at 5:00, when ZZS finds WKX giving training advice to Chengling. SO, props to this currently unknown Tumblr user, because even though I kind of quickly scrolled past the post without fully reading it - because I hadn’t reached those eps yet, and I didn’t want to see too many spoilers -  the post did alert me to the word “outsider” as a meaning of 外人. And without that, I probably wouldn’t have twigged to A-Xiang’s use of “outsider” at the very end of this episode, when this shining, clever, fierce girl, who’s been taught to survive above all else, tells Cao Weining’s shixiong that he can’t just send her away for her own protection, that she’s going to stay and fight and die with the rest of them because he can’t take back his words about her being family and now treat her like an outsider. This time, the English subtitles actually use the word “outsider,” and yes, I checked the Mandarin subtitles, and she uses 外人 to claim her place as part of Cao Weining’s sect/family, the same word WKX uses – and ZZS challenges – to try to maintain his distance from ZZS’s sect/family. Ugh. My heart.

So, yeah, that’s a whole lot about A-Xiang in this ep, and it’s about 1/5 of everything that happened, so let me see if I can keep the rest of this from overwhelming anyone’s dash:

Han Ying. >: (  Show, gdi. It’s not like I haven’t said from the minute my dude gazed adoringly at ZZS, 20-something episodes ago, that he was a goner, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. This death and the scenes focused on it give us a LOT, though: Yikes on WKX’s desperation to save him, and flashback to the Four Sages of Anji – WKX knows he’s going to be out there digging another grave with a sword, and he really does not want that. Flashback to Eps 22 and 23 when Cao Weining told A-Xiang that he wanted her to be more careful because she would actually feel bad if she killed someone innocent, and ZZS told WKX he didn’t want him to have any more sins on his hands. Not to mention, literal flashback to the death of WKX’s parents, the most traumatic event of his life. Also, I noticed the difference here between WKX’s reaction to Han Ying the last time they met, which was pure vinegar, and his acceptance of him this time along with his desperation to save him, not even really for Han Ying, himself, so much as for ZZS.

Duan Pengju, omg, this asshole. Meanwhile, Chengling is getting to indulge his newfound bloodthirstiness, with the approval of his shifu. That’s right, Chengling, you should burn down his little battalion. Fucking superb, you funky little goldbean. Of course, then, we’re going to re-visit the most traumatic event of your life because everyone gets a little bit of PTSD triggering in this ep. As a treat. I … love? … that is maybe not the precisely correct word … how ZZS reassures Chengling that no, Tian Chuang will keep him alive - ZZS knows, like the rest of us, that creepster Prince Jin wants a piece of him. I do actually love how Chengling’s response is to try to wake up Wen Kexing, because he knows no one is laying a finger on ZZS if WKX is around to say anything about it. I also love the way ZZS sends Pengju scrambling backward just by stalking toward him. The minute he steps outside the Manor gate, ZZS is clearly the person in control of this faceoff, and the only reason he’s headed back to Jin in leg irons and a cage is because he’s allowing it to happen. I have a whole … thing about Zhang Zhehan’s physicality as an actor that I’m working on putting into words. Maybe next time. Also, just an aside, I cannot thank Zhang Zhehan enough for having his hair long during filming so that they’re able to integrate his hair into his wig and keep his natural hairline. It looks so much better than the typical wig sideburn look, and this scene is one of the places where it particularly strikes me, for some reason.

Last but not least, AAAHHHHHH. OH MY GOD. Stranger Danger in WKX’s dreams/memories was AWFUL YIFU. Zhao Jing, you really are THAT AWFUL.

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 21

masterlist

Hello, darlings! Just for you, because I have no impulse control!-- chaotic puff

This time when she walked into the headquarters, she looked every inch the boss’ wife carrying herself with the detached arrogance of those that have power, granted she had none, but she knew how to fake it. This wasn’t a meeting she could go to as a meek little captive. She was walking into a cock fight of the grandest proportions, and she had to hold herself up as the most important person in the room even if she was nothing more than a bargaining chip.

She’d never been in Namjoon’s main office before, but the room was just as cold and imposing as the man himself. The tension crackling dangerously between the two groups of men in the room did nothing to help that either. Namjoon sat behind his desk with the two men who had ambushed her and Jackson flanking him while a man she did not know sat across from him flanked by a man she did not know… and Mark. She looked at the man in confusion only for him to throw her an impish wink.

The gesture did nothing to help the tension that hung heavy in the room. She and Jin could hear the shouting all the way down the hall. It was quite now that they were within the room, but the frigid tension remained.

“Jagiya, you look lovely.”  Namjoon said with a cold smile standing to greet her as Jin took the jacket that he had insisted she wear draped over her shoulders for aesthetic purposes.

He held out a hand beckoning for her to join him, when the other man spoke. “I would prefer that, Miss Wang…”

“Mrs. Kim.” Namjoon corrected eyes narrowed dangerously though his tone was cordial enough.

“Miss Wang, be seated with her own family until this can all be sorted officially.” His voice had a stiffly formal lilt to it as he shot Namjoon a look almost as frigid as the one Namjoon had been giving him clearly unappreciative of the correction.

“She is not your family.” Namjoon growled his voice a low rumble and his jaw clenched in irritation.

“On the contrary.” The other man waved him off. “Our dear Jackson has claimed her as kin, and we protect our own.”  He turning a disinterested gaze in her direction. “You must be quite something for Jackson to claim you as family and pull us all into this mess.”

“I’m not sure who adopted who.” She replied with a stiff smile of her own.

“Well that doesn’t matter now.” He waved her off. “What matters now is getting Jackson out of here, don’t you think?” She nodded hesitantly in reply. Something about the man that made her feel uneasy, but he claimed to be here for Jackson, and she needed all the help she could get on that front. “I’m Im Jaebum. You can call me JB. I’m the leader of GOT7.”

“Pleasure.”  She kept a wary on him as she seated herself in the open chair to the left of him. “How do you know, Jackson?”

“Jackson is my brother.” He smirked. “A loyal member of GOT7.”

“Jackson left the mafia behind.”  She narrowed her eyes at him, plastering on a cold smile that could have put both of the crime lords’ to shame.

The man shrugged clearly unbothered by her frigid attitude.  “He’s been a little wayward, but he’s still our brother, and I’ve come to negotiate his release.” He turned his gaze to Namjoon again. “Can we see him now?”

“I don’t know why you had to summon her here.” Namjoon grumbled pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I wanted to see the girl that got Jackson into this mess. Now, if you could return Jackson?”

“Hoseok.” He addressed the redheaded man stationed behind him. “Bring him in.”

Despite Namjoon’s promise not to hurt him, the man that Hoseok brought in was in worse condition than the man she had left behind just the night before.

“Jackson!” She shrieked running to him kneeling by his side where Hoseok had dropped him on his knees. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt him!” She shot an accusing glare at Namjoon before she turned her attention back to the battered man beside her. “What have they done to you?” She whispered gently hovering over the bruises and cuts that dotted his face.

“Hey, Y/N.” He gave her a goofy smile making her tutt and fuss in disapproval.

“He proved to be quite difficult to subdue after your visit yesterday.” Namjoon’s reply was so careless that it set everyone who did not work for him on edge.

“This was not our deal.” She hissed as Mark and JB’s other man came to lift Jackson up to his feet.

“I thought you were made of stronger stuff than this.” Mark joked allowing the other man to lean on him.

“Yeah well the little one has a mean swing.” He growled looking towards the dark haired man standing bored over Namjoon’s shoulder.

Namjoon smirked clearly not at all sorry for the damage that had been inflicted. “Yoongi was only trying to keep your man from damaging himself further. He was in quite a state when we left him last night.” False sympathy dripped from his tone like poisoned honey. “You should have taught him to keep his hands to himself.”

“None of this would have happened if you could keep control of your woman.” JB scoffed glaring disdainfully at Namjoon. “Though you have to admire her spunk. She’d fit to be a member of GOT7’s family, don’t you think? Shame she has to be your wife.”

“That was the agreement.” Namjoon growled his eyes darting to her before returning to the other crime leader.

Her head snapped back and forth between the two men dread curling in her belly. “What are you talking about?”

JB turned to her his smile more slimy than anything else. “You see, Y/N, as you are a member of our clan thanks to Jackson, I’ve taken it upon myself as leader of the clan to arrange your marriage for the good of the clan. Jackson was never in any real danger. He just needed the proper push to come home. And you... you are a peace offering for the trouble Jackson has caused with Bangtan in the past few weeks.”

She took a step back stumbling as if someone had dealt her a blow. “What are you talking about?”

“RM wanted you, and I wanted Jackson back. And this way, I get to make a powerful alliance in the process.” He shrugged.

“Jackson?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He called desperately reaching out to her only to have her recoil violently. 

“Don’t touch me, you rat bastard!” 

Jackson winced, flinching back from her words. “Y/N, please. I was just trying to protect you.”

“You’re still a part of the mafia?” She asked. He nodded. Y/N scoffed, eyes wide and disbelieving as she stared at him. “You told me you left.”

“Y/N…”

“You told me you left it behind.”

“Little bear...”

“Don’t call me that! I trusted you!” She shouted backing away further. “I let… I let him… I… because you… but you were…” She stumbled trying to grasp what had happened, trying to fight down the bile that was rising in her throat. Jackson was quickly at her side supporting her despite his own injuries. “Don’t touch me!” She shrieked flinging him away from her ignoring his wounded expression as she did so.

Her mind was reeling trying to process all the information. Jackson was part of the mafia. Jackson had lied to her. “Did you know?” She hissed.

“Y/N.” He reached for her again only for her to back further away, unconsciously moving closer to Namjoon who was carefully watching the interaction. “I didn’t...”

“Did you know?” She screamed.

“I just asked for help. I couldn’t find you, and he had you. I didn’t mean for this…”

“No.” She whimpered her heart breaking as she looked at the man she had called her brother for so long. “How could you? Do you know what I... what he...?”

“Y/N.” He called pleadingly.

“How could you! After everything!”

“Y/N.” Namjoon called standing up to move around the desk in her direction making the decision to intercede. He’d seen enough of her distress.

She whirled on him. “You already got what you wanted.” She spat before turning her burning glare back on Jackson and his ilk.

“Think of it this way,” JB drawled seemingly bored by the dramatics. “Jackson gets to be free and rejoin the family where he belongs, and you get to have beautiful white wedding compliments of your new family.”

Without thinking, Y/N swiped up the letter opener from the desk and prepared to plunge it into his smug face. In that moment, she hated JB far more than she hated Namjoon. He was playing with lives without a care. He’d played with her life without even knowing who she was. At least Namjoon had met her before he’d started to toy with her life.

The letter opener did make contact, just not with its intended recipient. Namjoon had moved in front of her taking the blow to the shoulder instead of the letter opener meeting with JB’s throat. Fortunately for him, the letter opener was not very sharp, though it had pierced through his suit and made a decent cut on his shoulder.

Y/N dropped the letter opener letting it fall the carpet with an unceremonious thud. She stared at the wound for a moment, blinking in a daze as her eyes slowly rose to meet Namjoon’s tight lipped grimace. She’d stabbed him, she realized. She’d really stabbed him, and in that moment all she could think of was that it was a pity the wound wasn’t more substantial.

“Boss?” Hoseok called moving to come forward, but Namjoon waved him off.

“Jagi.” He murmured softly hands coming up to gently cup her face forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were wide and dazed still, strangely empty. “Jagiya.” 

“Y/N.” Jackson limped forward a few steps but stopped as she flinched curling herself into Namjoon’s arms much to Jackson’s displeasure and Namjoon’s delight.  “Y/N, please.”

It all left a bitter taste in her mouth. Jackson’s lies. JB’s battering her like cattle. Allowing Namjoon to take her over and over again just hours before. It was all suddenly too much.

“Take me home.” She whimpered into Namjoon’s chest.

“Okay…” He whispered placing a soft kiss to her head. “Yoongi, would you grab Jin please?” Her hold on his suit tightened bringing a frown to Namjoon’s face. “On second thought, I’ll take her home myself.” He turned his gaze on his rival gang. “Bangtan will handle the wedding preparations. Take you filth and go. Keep him away from my wife.”

“We’ll see you at the wedding then.” JB nodded standing and coming over to them pulling a lacquered box out of his suit pocket. “This is for you.” He spoke handing the box to Y/N though she didn’t take it. “It’s a symbol of your membership in the clan.” He opened the box pulling out a silver hairpin decorated with a single white jade calla lily on the end before sliding it into her up-do. “Welcome to the family.” He smirked motioning his men to follow him out. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

Namjoon’s attention immediately turned back to her as soon as they had left the room. “Jagi?” He cooed handling her delicately as though she was fragile, and maybe she was. There was only so much the human psyche could take before it cracked.

“Take me home.” She whimpered. “Please just… just take me home.”

part 22

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! Could I request the V3 boys reactions to their s/o becoming the blackened because they were trying to save them.

Yesssss more angst! These were fun to write!

TWs: Blood, Death, Suicide Mentions, and Major DRV3 Spoilers

..............

Ryoma

No..it couldn’t be true..could it?

Ryoma couldn’t believe you’d actually kill someone, though your reason came as a shock: It was to save his life.

Kirumi was plotting to murder him after the second motive came out. And she obviously panicked when you showed up instead of him, so she tried attacking you.

But you retaliated, leaving her body in the bathroom and altering the crime scene to make it look like she slipped while cleaning it.

You didn’t want to kill anyone, but you were terrified she might target him some other time if you didn’t stop her.

Yet Ryoma vehemently denied you did anything, arguing with Shuichi up until he pointed out incriminating evidence.

He was crushed, knowing he’s going to lose another loved one.

He can’t understand why a criminal like him was worth saving.

But the deed was done. And as your final wish before being executed, you plead for him to survive and see that life’s worth it.

While he’s never been good with promises, he’ll try to keep this last one...for your sake.

Shuichi

He learned the truth earlier than anyone else.

Someone knew he was too smart, always leading the trials and making the swift deductions.

So they believed eliminating him would guarantee them escape from the academy, as everyone would arrive to wrong conclusions without him.

However you put a stop to their plot, accidentally killing them with their own weapon they prepared.

Shuichi didn’t want it to be you--not you, of all people--so he’s far more reluctant to accuse you of murder. 

He’s pretty much mute throughout the trial, but you take notice fast and see him slipping back into that cowardly detective persona.

“Shuichi, don’t you dare go back into hiding. Don’t you dare look away from the truth again.”

“..but...”

He just absolutely refuses to. He can’t....not this time.

So instead, you reveal the truth about your crime. Every last detail--from when the motive came out to how you disposed of the evidence.

By the end of your explanation, he’s in tears--realizing you saved his life..in exchange for your own.

Every night since then, he cries as he hugs the Helping Yacchi plush you gave him the day before the body was discovered.

It hurt so much to condemn you, someone he truly loved.

Kokichi

You learned very quickly that Miu was plotting to kill Kokichi, after noticing her put a bottle of poison in his seat before returning to hers and logging in.

That made you livid. But more scared than anything else.

So you formulated a plan after learning everything (or almost everything) about the virtual world.

You overheard Miu and Kokichi planning to meet on the mansion rooftop, and you didn’t like that idea one bit.

Little did you know, he and Gonta were conspiring to murder her, too, but you beat them to the punch.

Obviously he was pissed someone foiled his plans....but imagine his shock when it turned out to be you.

The two were suspects for a long time as they explained the “Killing Game Busters” scheme.

But since Miu died by your hands--their names were cleared.

Kokichi was in frustrated tears, yelling at you for not telling him sooner.

But he ultimately breaks down when your punishment was announced.

He clings to you, crying and begging you not to leave him--he even pleads with Monokuma to let him die with you.

This time it’s not an act.

He feels genuine sorrow and heartache for a long time after the trial.

Gonta

It’d be impossible to think anyone would try to kill him.

But someone tried taking advantage of his gullibility. And you happened to be there at the exact same time, attacking the assailant while your entomologist boyfriend ran off in fear.

You cleaned as much evidence as you could before finding and consoling him, lying that you just talked to them.

He believes you and is relieved---until the body discovery announcement plays later on.

Even though you lied, he doesn’t blame you. Not even during the trial where you made up an alibi.

But when Gonta himself is questioned...he clams up, knowing exactly what happened and being too scared to say the truth.

He doesn’t want to condemn you! Gentlemen don’t-

You reassure him it’s okay. Shuichi has you in a corner and there’s no point in letting the trial drag on.

So he eventually admits what he saw, and he can only cry as he votes you as the Blackened.

You two share one last hug, and he says he’ll never ever call you a killer, thanking you for protecting him even if he failed to protect you.

Korekiyo

It doesn’t come as a surprise that someone would try murdering him. He could see the hatred in their eyes whenever he looked at them.

His menacing appearance seems to be more than enough of a reason to target him.

However, after finding their body and signs of a struggle surrounding the crime scene, he arrives to the conclusion that the culprit knew he was in danger and killed to protect him.

Ah...how beautiful that realization was.

Or so he thought.

When it’s revealed you carried out that deed, using his golden sword to swiftly kill the victim, his heart is completely shattered.

‘No..no, no, no, no, no!!’

He feels anger, sorrow, confusion, and..so many other unpleasant things at once as you confess to the crime.

Not even Sister calms him down. He becomes belligerent, trying to steer everyone away from the truth and claim he killed the victim in self-defense.

You have to step off your podium to console him, as he was screaming his head off and scaring everyone.

When the trial is over, he just holds you close, begging Monokuma not to take you--his one true love--away from him.

But alas, it’s all for nothing as you’re sentenced to your execution.

Though you remind Korekiyo of what he’s taught you about death, as you didn’t fear it, and you promise you’ll watch over him in the afterlife.

Kaito

He’s incredibly outraged when everyone suspects you as the culprit in spite of the evidence that piles up.

“Shuichi, you're not actually gonna believe their crap, right?! Stop screwing around--!”

“He’s not, Kaito. It's the truth."

Stunned, he looks at you. Since your podium was conveniently next to his, he didn’t have to look far to see the guilt in your eyes.

Learning your motivation, however, is what ultimately crushed him.

You killed...to protect him?

No..

That couldn’t be right! He was suppose to protect you! Didn’t he always tell you how killing was wrong and-?!

But the truth was you did try talking some sense into the victim...but they attacked you instead, and you retaliated in self-defense. So it was purely accidental.

Kaito is pissed when Monokuma jests that “murder is murder” no matter what and he actually tries fighting the Exisals.

You insist he doesn’t interfere, and plead for him to use that strength to help protect everyone else instead.

His spirit is broken for a while, but...he’ll recover and keep fighting on. For your sake.

K1B0

Something in you snapped when you overheard Kokichi taunt your robot boyfriend for the last time, actually hurting him physically as well as emotionally.

K1B0 went to you in tears, not understanding why he hated him so much.

After comforting him, you’ve finally had enough. You were sick of him being harassed nonstop.

So you sent him to see Miu while you met with Kokichi to “talk”. 

While the Ultimate Supreme Leader seemed suspicious, he let his guard down...sealing his fate as you strangled him with his own scarf.

Then you inflicted numerous wounds on his corpse to disguise the true cause of death.

But when the truth was revealed, K1B0 was in total shock at your motive.

He couldn’t believe you’d do something so barbaric.

Even if Kokichi bullied him relentlessly, there’s no reason you had to go as far as murder him!

However he understands anger can be a powerful emotion--one that throws any and all sense of logic out the window.

Still..it hurt to watch you get executed. He went into shutdown for the rest of the day/night.

And here he was, thinking you two had finally torn down the wall of “forbidden love” between human and robot for good.

Rantaro

You managed to kill Tsumugi before she had a chance to murder Rantaro and Kaede’s final part of her plan went into motion.

The shot put ball’s sudden appearance startled him into forgetting about the hidden room and running out of the library..

And up the stairs as the obnoxious music stops and one of the girls yelled for everyone to come into the bathroom--where Tsumugi’s body was.

At that point, the game should’ve ended since you actually killed the mastermind.

But of course, Team Danganronpa had backup plans and thus the game kept going.

You had rearranged the crime scene to make it look like a suicide, leading everyone to assume the time limit’s pressures are what killed the cosplayer.

But eventually your crime was unraveled and Rantaro was utterly devastated.

You’re the first Blackened in yet another killing game he was forced to participate in.

You only killed Tsumugi because you found it suspicious she suddenly ran off on her own near the time limit’s end.

In doing so you unknowingly saved Rantaro’s life in exchange for your own.

He was upset you did something so rash when he clearly told everyone not to, but...at the same time he’s grateful to be alive because of you.

He swears your death won’t be in vain. He’s gonna escape this game with everyone else.

[crystal-moon-101]

Sentient Omega AU - Relationships

Since people seem to be liking my Sentient Omega AU, I thought I’d give you an insight of her relationships towards other characters other than Rex and Alpha, as I thought it would be interesting and give a feel what she would be like in the series. Thought before I go into it, I should note something to clear things up. I like to think that on the day of the nanite event, much like Rex, Omega also kind of gets amnesia. However, she remembers a little bit more than Rex does, things like knowing that they’re friends, that he does have family, that they use to be in a lab somewhere with other scientist, but she doesn’t know the finer details unfortunately. This still keeps the mystery of who Rex is and what happened during the nanite event. Also, during the series whenever they can across something from their past, Omega does actually get flashes of the past, only bits and pieces though, rebuilding her memories like a puzzle over the course of the series everytime they run into something familiar. E.g Rylander or the Hong Kong Gang.  Normally she would tell the others what she learnt, but there would be times where she keeps it to herself for sometimes, either because she wants more details in case she makes a miscall, or she fears it might harm the present, like Rex’s relationship with Caesar. But anyway, into the relationships! If you want to see another character dynamic with her and someone I didn’t mention, feel free to request that!  -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Rylander: Omega has a lot of respect to the man, and even refers to him as father, mostly because he was the one leading the project of her creation, unlike Caesar who originally lead the Alpha project. His wise and kind personality helped teach her to understand the idea of what ‘gentle hands’ meant, especially early on in her life when she was getting use to being something alive. Much like Rex, he treated her differently than just another project, and even saw she was something more through the way she looked after Rex. When they meet again, you can imagine it was somewhat emotional for Omega, even if she couldn’t quite convey it. It was hard for her to see how broken Rylander seemed to become, always worried, on edge and failing to tell Rex or her anything, even if he was happy to see the two was ok. It hurt to see him ‘die’ after what happened to him and Van Kleiss, but she wasn’t one to dwell, instead taking on the things he taught her to keep going. When they meet again in season three, after he’s brought back, there’s a strange connection between them for a while given his new form was technology base, but they eventually get use to it.  Caesar Salazar: Their relationship is...quite complicated. Omega finds him to be a fascinating human being, being different from the people she’s known. But that detail about him can be hit or miss half the time, as while he’s intelligent, can do amazing things and is quite funny, he’s also distance, eerie and impulsive, often known to endanger people without realizing it until it’s too late. Many times she had to stop an emergency in his lab back before the nanite event, like if he almost set his lab on fire or something. She didn’t think much of it at first...until she started bonding with Rex. She doesn’t think Caesar is bad, but doesn’t excuse the danger he makes when not thinking of the consequences. It doesn’t help that he’s not easily sociable, and was known to neglect his brother because of his work. Omega does understand he can’t help some of his habits, but also knows he could be a lot better if he tried hard enough.  When they finally meet again in season 2, she is happy to see him, but returning memories reminded her of his negative traits, many which seemed to have stayed, and even gotten a little worse. It doesn’t help that Rex is dying to connect with his brother, which isn’t easy, and...she starts to remember that he and their parents were the ones to start the nanite event, something Omega doesn’t tell Rex until Van Kleiss admits to this. It isn’t until season 3 where things get pretty bad between them, as while she is unsure if Caesar is working with Black Knight because he’s turned evil or because of something else he has in mind, she can’t excuse the danger he’s doing and how he’s hurt Rex. She’s very much not afraid to speak her mind whenever Caesar does things she disproves of. Perhaps in someways, his ties to Alpha’s creation is a hidden reasons for her unsure nature with him too... Doctor Holiday: Omega and her have one of most civil relationships, as they both respect each other for what they’re trying to do, their motherly outlooks over Rex being something they bond over. It was somewhat surpising, as Rex thought Omega’s overprotective nature would get the better of her with Holiday, but Omega understands that while she may view Rex as her child, he does need an actual human to take on a proper motherly role, and has openingly voiced this to Holiday before.  While she doesn’t outright let Holiday experiment on her like a guinea pig, she does allow tests or research moments to help Holiday better understands Omega, nanites and Rex. The two have had debates about EVOs, has Omega has stated that in concept the idea of EVOs isn’t an entirely bad thing, thinking if they were more like Rex and his nanites, it could provide a great set in humans and connect both technology and people. Holiday does disagree with this, but the two are calm about these debates, Holiday very much understanding that Omega isn’t human, and does see things differently.  Agent Six: Despite Six’s moments, Omega has a lot of faith in the man actually, knowing very well he will take care of Rex. She had been unsure at first the moment Rex and Six first met, especially after what White Knight tried to pull, but after Six risked so much to keep Rex alive, something in Omega just knew she found a safe place for her boy, and someone able to provide so much more for Rex. Personally, the two don’t interact often, but when they do they have this aura of respect, but slight wariness of each other. However, some of that faith cracks a bit when his memories vanish, and he changes. She gets nerves that he will never be the man that protected Rex the way he did before, but Rex’s hope and Six’s wanting to be like his original self does restore some faith in Omega. She does keep an eye on him for a while though. Noah Nixon: She didn’t think much of him at first, believing him just to be a nice human who was willing to be Rex’s friend, which was good enough for her. However, after it was revealed that Noah was working for White Knight, it takes a good while for Omega to trust him again, even after Rex forgives him. She knows how much hard deal Rex has gone through in terms of his friendships and families, and it pains her everytime they get ruined by something. She does get over what Noah did eventually, but does make it clear to him he has a lot to make up for. But once they’re on better terms, she does tease him here and there. White Knight: Omega really doesn’t like White Knight for a good while. He’s nearly killed and hurt Rex many times, treats Rex quite awful, and the two clearly don’t trust each other, given she is a nanite part of what’s going on. Though, while the two might push each other’s buttons some time to time, they try and remind civil around each other...mostly because they know what the other can offer if they stay on their good sides. Omega knows it’s good for Rex, as this is his home and they need Providence’s help, and White knows that Omega is something valuable and could be a key to many answers. That doesn’t stop the occasional snarks or remarks thrown at each other.  But as Rex and White start to pack things over time, Omega does eventually grow to respect the man. By the time of season three, she really sees how much White has changed and grown, especially during the Alpha fight where he backed up Rex and Ben.  Van Kleiss: Much like Caesar, the two have a...complicated relationship. She knows that, in the past, while Van Kleiss wasn’t much of a socializing person, he wasn’t all that bad. He came off as off putting to others, but people were quite harsh on him, giving him a negative view on humanity. So when he turned out the way he did after the nanite event, latching onto the idea of EVOs and power because of how people treated him before, she can’t say that she’s surprised, and even pities him. She knows he could have been better, someone good, but things didn’t turn out that way. However, that does not mean she excuses all the cruel things he does, and will always be vocal about what he’s become. She does admit that, like him, she sees the ideas of EVOs being the next step in humanity, but both of them want to do it in other ways. Whenever they get the chance to talk to each other, it’s often them debating each other, mostly the future of Rex, EVOs and nanites, Van Kleiss even noting that once they figure out how to either destroy, remove or shut off nanites, the humans are mostly likely gonna do the same to her (Which she does admit deep down...does scare her, especially if it means Rex doesn’t need her anymore...). But she does often mention to him that just because the world was cruel to him, doesn’t mean he gets to be cruel back. Throughout each of the seasons, they dynamic will always be complicated.  Bobo Haha: Omega really wasn’t sure on how to feel about Bobo at the start, but had to get use to him when Rex started hanging out with him. She does get annoyed when he convince Rex to do something dumb or dangerous, and often tries to be the reasonable voice out of the three, but she does have a slight playful side that Bobo has a way of getting to show. Plus, she can’t lie that it’s nice to see Rex unwind and just...get to be a wild teen. Black Knight: A very frustrating relationship for her with this one. Because Black Knight is somewhat and EVO like Rex, she’s has this desire to be better than him, in terms of what they are. She wants the stronger powers, the better control over nanites, to be the EVO the world talks about. However, there’s a big problem there, in that while she has the potential to be better than Rex, she can’t for some reason. There is a reason she only showed her true powers once near the end, and that is because she can’t do them for long, and lack many of the powers Rex has. The most she can do is summon her powerful weapons, but they don’t last long. That’s when Omega comes into the picture, as Black Knight is convinced she is the missing piece needed to be better than Rex, the main difference between the to and why Black Knight can’t do what he does. Because of this, Black Knight is very open about the idea of taking Omega, often trying smooth talk and sometimes even bride or softly threaten Omega into joining her. She almost always uses her sickly sweet voice when talking to Omega, as if they were good old friends. However, Omega wants none of that and always rejects Black Knight, stating many times she doesn’t like her, doesn’t trust her, and knows she’s planning something bad. That doesn’t stop Black Knight though, who has made it clear that she will resort to darker means if things don’t go her way.  Ben Tennyson: Omega really didn’t have good opinions on the boy when he first showed up, fighting Rex, wreaking buildings and putting Six endanger. The way he behaved and acted, with so much power, it made her think he was nothing like a prideful childish teen who didn’t understand consequences.  But then he started helping, standing by Rex when it was clear of the dangers happening, what Alpha was doing. The fact Ben was willing to help a world that wasn’t his own, Omega had to admit it was noble of him. At the time Alpha’s presence was making her stressed, so she was glad that Ben was there to support both her and Rex during this troubling issue. She was most grateful for when he helped Rex when she was taken, going Upgrade to provide Rex the needed power he lost when Alpha took her. And since Ben helped the two reunite, she will forever be thankful for his help. Still, she does think he needs to calm himself of the cocky attitude, but she knows it’s not her place to speak. 

[kingreywrites]

Fearless

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 1792

Lance Strongbow Appreciation Week Day Two: Fears

Summary: Cassandra doesn't understand why Lance is so easily scared of the tiniest things. Lance doesn't believe Cassandra when she says she's fearless.

Note: this is my very first fic without Eugene or Rapunzel and it feels weird asfgdsdsg I just thought the parallels between Lance and Cass were interesting :’)

Read on ao3

Lance had always been a scaredy cat. He had been mocked for it a lot in his life but, honestly, he wasn't really ashamed of it. The world was full of things that could and would kill you if you didn’t pay attention, and Lance didn't want to mess with any of them. If that meant he overreacted from times to times, then so be it - he'd rather be ridiculous than dead. 

Cassandra was the one person who had the most trouble understanding that. She was kinda the one person who had the most trouble understanding him in general, at least within their group of friends, but she was never as annoyed with him as when he was screaming for something she thought was inconsequential. 

"Don't squish it!" she yelled from across the castle's hallway, putting the laundry she was carrying down to quickly get the spider currently terrorising Lance out of the way. 

"Please, please take it away," Lance squeaked, not able to contain another scream when the creature inched closer again. "Cass!" 

"Stop screaming I'm on it," she grumbled, gently opening her hands for the spider. 

It took a few seconds, but it finally climbed on them, and Cassandra didn't lose any time opening a window and putting it down to safety. Lance was still vaguely moaning at the sight, and only allowed himself to take a breath when the window was closed again. Spiders, he thought with a shiver. 

"I could have handled it," he announced proudly, before her glare chilled him to his bones. "Or maybe- maybe not. Thank you Cass," he grinned awkwardly. Was his voice high-pitched? It sounded high-pitched. 

She exhaled loudly, still annoyed. "You know, you can't expect people to always be there for you each time you're face to face with a spider. What would you have done if I hadn't been there?" 

"Squish it?" A beat. "... Not squish it?" Another, longer beat. "What do you want from me Cassandra-" 

"Forget it," she sighed, straightening her handmaiden's dress. "You'll have to grow out of this soon enough." 

This time, it was his turn to frown. "Everyone has fears, Cassandra. Even adults, and it's nothing to be ashamed of." 

She threw him a doubtful glance. "I don't." 

"Sure you do. Everyone does." 

There was something in her eyes that he couldn't name. A shadow, that disappeared as soon as he got a glimpse of it. "Nah," she laughed, "I'm fearless."

He hadn't known what to make of that back then. Of course, he knew Cassandra was not as easily scared as he could be, but she… He was pretty sure everyone had fears. And he also knew how easily hiding these fears away could lead to reinforcing them, because they were allowed to grow little by little, until you couldn't stop them from rearing their ugly heads.

When Cassandra blew up at Rapunzel in the Great Tree, Lance thought this was it. The stress and the fears she had been keeping at bay until now were crashing down on her, and he could clearly see that she was as angry about Adira's plan as she was plainly scared - though of what, he wasn't exactly sure. It was fear for their lives, sure, but- something more was at stakes, and he had no idea what was going on in her head.

He cringed when Rapunzel shut her down harshly.

And then, he didn't have the time to think about it anymore - everything was going too fast, the Hector guy came back to attack them, then he came back again but this time… possessed? By the tree? And Lance would have freaked out about that if five minutes later he wasn't hanging upside-down with vines squeezing the life out of him, and- and Eugene was screaming. He seemed in way more pain than everyone else, as if whatever evil spirit was at work here knew it would get a raise out of Rapunzel. Lance had no idea what was happening, or why Rapunzel suddenly started to recite an incantation that seemed to make her deadly, but all he knew is that when they both fell, Eugene was in so much pain he lost consciousness.

And he was terrified, because two of his best friends were in danger, and he'd take a room full of his worst fears if that one - the one where he lost everyone he cared about again, the one where he was helpless to save anyone - didn't come true.

Everything ended well, somehow. Eugene was banged up, but alive; Rapunzel seemed to have been able to overcome the weird spell she had been using, and Cassandra was sullen, but alright too, and had apparently found the time to get a brand new outfit during this mess.

It was all that mattered, right?

But, once everything seemed settled, and they stopped again for the night, Lance couldn't get Cassandra's reaction out of his mind. He had never seen her as frazzled, as… scared, as she seemed to be back there. And as much as he liked to play his own fears for laughs, he knew how easy it was to lose yourself to them, to the paranoia and uncertainty that being terrified brought. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn't know how she would take his advice - despite the time spent together on the road, Lance felt like he still didn't know her that well.

When he saw her sneak away unnoticed while they were setting campement, he hesitated for a few minutes, before deciding to follow her. She had barely talked since they got out of the tree, hadn't even insulted Eugene once, and he could see that things were still tense between Rapunzel and her and he… He wanted to check on her.

"Cassandra?" he called when he was pretty sure he was about to see her - she hadn't hidden her traces, and he wanted to warn her that it was him, to avoid any sword related incident. She was always quick to take out intruders, their first meeting was certainly a testimony of it. "Hey, Cass-"

She was sitting down between trees, some parts of her armour discarded around her and her arm-

"What do you want," she bit out, not even looking at him as she tried to apply a bandage with her left hand. It was shaking.

"What- Jesus Cass what happened?" he breathed out, coming closer even though the sight of her burnt skin made him queasy. "Are you okay? Do you- Did you clean that? Wait, is it-"

"If you're here to ask questions then you should go," she laughed bitterly, before cursing when the bandages escaped her grip.

"Let me-"

"Go!" she yelled, finally turning towards him. Her eyes were wild and angry, and on any other occasion, she would have scared him away but… But this was different. So completely different. "I don't- I don't need your pity."

"I... alright, alright," he said, making his voice as calm and soothing as he could. He wanted to push, to understand how he could have missed this, but he could see that she wouldn't appreciate that. "I won't ask any question, alright? Just… Just let me help you bandage that?"

She stayed silent a few seconds, scanning his expression for… earnestness, he supposed. Then she nodded, and he took the last steps separating them, sitting down and picking up the gauze and roll of bandages from her.

From up close, the burn was even more horrifying. The blistered and blackened skin made his gut roll uneasily, and it took a lot out of him to keep his expression as neutral as he could, to be sure that Cassandra would let him help her. A life on the street had taught him a lot about taking care of wounds -you would not believe how accident prone Eugene had been at first- but he had never been faced with one as serious as that one.

Breathing in shakily, he applied the gauze lightly where it was possible, and started to wrap the bandages around it. Even with his two hands, it was a difficult job - he couldn't help but wonder what result Cassandra would have obtained by herself. He couldn't help but wonder if she would have hidden that away too, under her new suit of armour, and if he would have stayed clueless to it.

Her fingers were the hardest part. Lance acted as if he couldn't hear Cassandra's sharp intakes of breath, as if he couldn't see the lines of pain around her eyes as she tried to stay stoic.

"Cassandra… Are you okay?" he asked quietly once he was done.

She met his eyes, but her gaze seemed far away. "You said no question," she sighed, gathering the rest of her armour and standing up in one swift movement. She was already hiding her arm under it, and Lance felt like there was a weight lodged in his throat, making it even harder for him to try and find the words to talk to her.

She… She didn't need to answer. He could see she wasn't okay.

"What- You're not gonna train right now?" he said when she drew her sword out, testing its weight with her left arm.

"I need to be able to use a sword Lance."

"You-- What you need is rest, Cassandra!"

"Don't," she snapped, swirling around to point her weapon at him. "Don't tell me what to do."

Her sword was trembling. He didn't know if it was because she wasn't used to handling it with this hand, or if she was trembling herself.

"Cass-"

"What I need is to retrain my arm as fast as possible. What I need is to be able to fight if trouble finds us again, and I know it will. What I need is to be able to protect you, to protect everyone, because that's why I'm here in the first place, and I won't fail again," she growled through clenched teeth.

That was when he understood this fear that he hadn't been able to name until now. There, while Cassandra did her best to appear threatening, he saw that she was not, and had never been fearless. Because it was there that he truly looked at Cassandra, and saw a young woman desperate to prove herself and who, again and again, had been being denied the chance more and more violently. She turned her back on him, trying to end the discussion, and what he saw was someone... small. Terrified. More than he ever had been. 

And though he always thought he was a fearful person, it seemed that it was nothing compared to what Cassandra was hiding under her suit of armour.

[notes-from-sarah]

What Does Ahsoka Have Against Kanan?

All throughout the show Star Wars: Rebels it really seems like Ahsoka has some sort of beef with Kanan that he’s unaware of. She frames it like she’s some sort of wise, all-knowing being who really knows what’s best, but at the end of the day she really just seems to have it out for him.

Let’s look at the evidence:

Season 1, Episode 14 - Rebel Resolve

Ahsoka as Fulcrum tells Hera that Kanan knew the risks and not to rescue him.

Fulcrum: Kanan knew the risks, accepted them. I'm sorry, but you must focus on your next objective.

Hera: But, Fulcrum, Kanan is our objective. We can still find him.

Fulcrum: At what cost? You? Your unit? The overall mission? There's something else, Hera. The transmission Ezra was able to beam out has attracted attention, not just from civilians, but from the highest levels of the Empire.

Hera: It was Kanan's plan. I guess it worked.

Fulcrum: Your mission was to be unseen, unnoticed, and now -

Hera: Kanan wanted to inspire people. He wanted to give them hope.

Fulcrum: Well, he was successful. But if you are caught, if Ezra is caught, that hope will die. To protect your unit, to protect Ezra, you must stop your search for Kanan and go into hiding.

She was willing to let him be tortured and killed by the Empire, or even turned into an Inquisitor because of the bigger mission. A mission, by the way, that Kanan didn’t sign up for or even know about.

Season 2, Episode 3-4 - The Lost Commanders and Relics of the Old Republic

Ahsoka sends Kanan to Seelos to talk to Rex without warning him that it was clones he was going to be talking too. She knew what he had gone through with Order 66 (especially in the context of Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Season 7) but she sent him without warning anyway. If Rex hadn’t been right there, and been so calm, it could have been a blood bath.

Rex: I haven't heard those digits in... Well, that's my birth number.

Ezra: Birth number?

Kanan: They're clones!

Ezra: Kanan, wait. Stop!

Wolffe: Jedi. They've come for revenge.

Zeb: Drop the blaster, old man.

Gregor: Don't try it, boyo! I'll gun you down.

Rex: Stand down, troopers. Now! That's an order, soldier.

Wolffe: But he's a Jedi. A Jedi!

Rex: I know. I know. But they weren't the ones that betrayed us. Remember? Wolffe, remember?

Ezra: Kanan, Ahsoka said to trust them.

Rex: Sorry about the, um, weapons malfunction. My friend here is just a little defensive. See, we haven't seen a Jedi since, uh. Well, it's been a while.

If Ezra had reacted slightly differently, or Rex been away for some reason, the whole thing might have ended in disaster all because Ahsoka didn’t give Kanan any warning. Throughout the show Kanan is depicted as a reasonable guy. He is also someone who can be talked into just about anything and is more than able to put aside his own feelings in order to serve a greater purpose. Ahsoka could have easily told him who he was going to be finding, and even gone with him, but she insisted on springing a traumatic event on him with no forewarning and expected him to be okay. This was just plain cruel on her part.

Season 2, Episode 21-22 - Twilight of the Apprentice Part I and II

Ahsoka tells Kanan to trust Maul. Even before season 7 reset the context this wasn’t very wise, Maul is clearly a dark side user and interested in driving a wedge between Kanan and Ezra, but Ahsoka allows it even after she’s had many experiences fighting dark side users during the Clone Wars.

If you add in the recontextualization of Season 7 it’s even worse! Ahsoka knows Maul is a Sith and specifically fought him so that he couldn’t continue wrecking havoc on the galaxy. She knows he isn’t trustworthy and knows he’s dangerous for Ezra, but she convinces Kanan to trust him anyway.

Ezra [about Maul]: I say we stay with him.

Kanan: Yeah? Well I say we go, so that settles is.

Maul: Are you such cowards that you’d run from this chance to defeat your enemies? Who slaughter your friends?

Ezra: Kanan?

[Kanan looks at Ahsoka, she nods in agreement]

...

Ezra: I say we split up. Trust me.

Maul: Excellent. You will find another lift on the far side. We will meet again on the next terrace.

[Maul and Ezra go up on lift]

Ahsoka: He’ll be fine.

Kanan: Yeah? How do you know that?

Ahsoka: Because, you taught him.

Spoiler alert, it was not fine.

Maul ends up attacking Kanan and blinding him who only trusted the Sith because Ahsoka said too. If she’d backed Kanan up and agreed that Maul was too dangerous and unpredictable to trust then Kanan wouldn’t have been blinded and Ahsoka wouldn’t have died.

Season 4, Episode 13 - The World Between Worlds

After Kanan dies and Ezra enters the World Between Worlds and is able to rescue Ahsoka from her death, she tells Ezra not to rescue Kanan from his.

Ezra: I can reach him.

Ahsoka: Ezra, Kanan gave his life so that you could live. If he’s taken out of this moment, you all die.

Ezra: You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.

Ahsoka: Yes, I do. You can’t save your master and I can’t save mine. I’m asking you to let go.

She leaves him to die a pointless death and has zero interest in using her seemingly limitless Force powers to save Kanan. Ahsoka is one of the most powerful Jedi/Force users ever shown on screen, she goes against countless obstacles with little trouble and yet she’s perfectly okay to let Kanan die a horrible death that she could definitely prevent because she’d rather preach to Ezra about letting go (which feels particularly empty, by the way, since her master isn’t actually dead). This is the same thing she said at the end of Season 1 to Hera: let Kanan die, he knew what he was doing.

Why is she like this? Why does she not care if Kanan lives or dies? Why is she so okay with throwing him away, ignoring his trauma, overriding his intuition and preventing others from rescuing him too? Why doesn’t she seem to value him at all? What does Ahsoka Tano have against Kanan Jarrus?

[hargrove-mayfields]

Lover, Lover, Number 9

Second day of HWOL!! Today’s prompt was Love Potion!! Read here or on my ao3 @ej_writer

Word Count: 4,593

Rating: T

Warnings: Non-Consensual Touching (Pretty much blink and you miss it and very non-explicit. It happens while a person(s) is under the influence of a love potion.)

It’s all Max’s fault, honest.

For the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, Billy’s been trying to pick the best person to be his date. Not that Valentine’s was really that important to him, per se, but he’d made a bet.

His step sister, the little brat, had made a wager that if he didn’t have himself a date by the fourteenth of February, he’d be forced to drive her everywhere she wanted to go for a whole year.

There was no way he was about to fork over that much of his time to some snotty middle schoolers, but finding someone he’s willing to go out with, a condition of Max’s bet was that it couldn’t just be a hookup, ended up being a lot harder than he anticipated.

Before he knew it, there were only two days left before he either got a date, or subjected himself to the dweeb-orama gang.

He tried to ask Carol, since Tommy dumped her right before the big day and she seemed to be into him, or at least how his ass looked in his jeans, but she tells him she doesn’t want to deal with the drama. So he tries Tommy, but he wants commitment and feels like Billy’s just in it to best Max, which, yeah, he sort of is. Everyone else follows the same pattern, can’t keep up with his reputation, can’t trust him in a relationship, on and on and on.

It’s over breakfast one morning, as he groggily makes him and his sister both a bowl of cereal, that Max asks him, “Why don’t you just ask Steve?”

Billy acts unphased, doesn’t even bother to look at her. “Steve who?”

“C’mon stupid.” His sister rolls her eyes and drags a bowl over towards herself. “Everyone knows you like Steve Harrington.”

“Do not.” He shovels a mouthful of cereal in his mouth.

“Right. Lemme guess, you don’t eat like a pig either?”

“Very funny.” He fixes her with a glare. “I’m serious shitbird, just because I like him doesn’t mean I like him.”

She nods and agrees. “Sure.”

“And just because he's nice to me doesn’t mean I have to have the hots for him.”

“If you insist.” Her bottom lip juts out as she agrees with overemphasis.

“What is your problem?” He snaps.

“I’m just agreeing with you. You don’t like Steve Harrington.” There’s a mischievous smile darkening her sweet face as she tells him matter-of-factly, “But, if you’re really desperate, I know a way to get him to like you.”

And Billy already knows what she means, of course the little shit would suggest something like that. “Nuh-uh. No way, I am not using magic.”

“Why not? Clearly you need it.”

“Because I can do it on my own, brat. Just don’t want to.” He's too defensive for it to not be true and they both know it, so before he lets a thirteen year old do anymore damage to his ego, he adds, “Can't deal with your bull this early.”

Max looks at him all smug like, her eyebrows raised as she hides a knowing smile behind her cereal bowl, but she does let it go, if not just to watch her step brother stew in silent annoyance. She’d gotten under his skin so easy, and she thought it was funny.

Her step brother, on the other hand, does not, and narrows his eyes at her, practically snarling at the look on her face. “Shut up.”

“I wasn’t even saying anything!” She bites back.

Billy grumbles and dumps his bowl in the sink, and leaves to his room to avoid babysitting his sister.

He’s starting to realize that Max had set him up. The real reason she made the stupid bet wasn’t to torture him with driving her and her nerds around, but because she thought she could hook him up with Steve.

But that doesn’t matter, because he's not pining after Steve Harrington, no matter what his little sister says.

Sure, Steve had invited him over to his place a few times, but that was just a courtesy since they were friends from basketball. And it didn’t matter that he happened to be the prettiest boy Billy ever laid eyes on, with his soft hair the color of chestnut and his doe eyes just as dark, and his long nose and his pretty red lips and-

Okay, maybe he was a little into Harrington, but again, he wasn’t going out with his best friend just because his step sister dared him to.

He can’t just call the bet off, but he’s not willing to lose either. The clock was ticking, Valentine’s Day getting closer and closer, so he’d just have to settle on somebody soon.

Admittedly, it would make things a lot easier just to cheap out and use magic, after all, he’d been trying and failing to get a date for weeks, but that could be dangerous, and Billy’s been barred from using his powers for a few years now anyways.

His father was ashamed to have a freak for a son, so ever since Max and her mother came around, he wasn’t actually supposed to use any magic at all anymore, not even for the most insignificant of things. Hell, with how tight of a leash Neil kept on him, his step sister wasn’t even technically supposed to know he’d inherited the knack from his mother.

He doesn’t really listen to that rule, but there’s no way for Neil to keep tabs on that kind of thing, so he still puts a charm on his and his sisters bedroom doors every night to keep unwanted guests out, and he still uses spells for his convenience whenever he can get away with it.

In all honesty, he could do without that stuff. Incantations were boring, spells were too basic. His favorite, the one thing he misses having the liberty to do, that’s got to be potions.

Before his mother’d left him behind, ran off to live the uninhibited life of a free spirit every witch dreamed of having, she had been very proud that Billy had taken after her in his powers, and in his skill for potion making especially.

They would make them together a lot of the time, huddled up down in the basement when his dad wasn’t home so she could show him the ropes and teach him all the recipes she knew.

He’d caught on real quick, well enough that she didn’t need to hover after the first few attempts at one type. Sometimes he wishes he’d been less proficient for just a little longer, so she’d have had a reason to stay and keep helping him.

Among their most common to make though were potions of luck and protection, elixirs, anything positive really. His mother may have also, on occasion, made a more powerful potion, one to keep under the pillows, in a flask on her hip, to spike her husband's coffee with every morning, just so Neil couldn’t hurt her or her son, but Billy was sworn to secrecy on that one.

Under his bed he still had a trunk full to bursting with everything of his mothers’ he had been able to keep, including their already prepared potions. Rows and rows of intricate crystal bottles, some still full to the top while others had only a few drops left, depending on how useful they were, all neatly displayed along with the rest of the memories of his mother.

She absolutely never allowed him to make anything dangerous, the first thing she ever taught him was to always keep hate out of his magic, so she’d let him practice more complicated and powerful potions with something a little less destructive.

Something like love potions.

It becomes his sort of trademark, the earthy smell of rose hips and cinnamon clinging to his skin from hours bent over their big cauldron they kept stored away. Even now, without having brewed anything for almost a year since they’d moved houses, it still lingered, like an aura.

They made up for some of his best work, the hardest of the love potions coming easier to him than the easiest of the medicinal ones. The best he’d ever made was a platonic love potion that his mom let him use the teensiest drop of to stop a fight between his friends at school, and to this day he was still proud of that one.

His mom had always said it made sense that that would be where he excelled, loving with his whole heart was just in his nature, and his craft was the reflection of that. In the same sense, it comes as no surprise when he’d stopped being able to brew anything stronger than potpourri after she’d walked out on him and broke that big heart right in two.

He didn’t know if keeping every of the potions that he made was genuinely because of their potential usefulness, like he tried to convince himself, or if it was a way to hold onto a time when he was still good at what he did. A time when he was happy.

Were he going to use one of those potions he kept stashed away, as Max had not so subtly suggested, he knows exactly which one he would choose. Not number six, not number twenty-seven, he would need number nine.

Not that he would, because he refuses to use his magic for petty relationships. Yet another thing his mom had drilled into him from the start was to never use his gift to take advantage of other people.

But then another day passes, and Billy's got to at least consider it, if not only for the sake of him not having to provide chauffeuring services to his least favorite bratpack.

In all reality, it wouldn’t be so bad to date Steve, he was nice enough and cute enough, but he feels they were sort of of the same polarity. They could get along just fine now, but there was some force, some energy between the two that kept them apart.

For every step they take forward, say, Steve agreeing to keep his magical secret from the moment they met, they have to take one back.

That fact had been well established in his mind since the moment he noticed himself making heart eyes; he and Steve just weren’t going to work out. Not after months of oblivious pigtail pulling, not after pushing Steve out of his own social circle, and definitely not after their fist fight in November.

Billy thinks he takes rejection from Tommy and Carol and everyone else in stride, but Steve wasn’t like them. The relationship they already had teetered on the line between rivals and friends, always one argument away from going back to that place, and Billy’s unwilling to lose that constant.

Of course, he wouldn’t have to worry about rejection and ruining friendships if he used magic.

But that was wrong. Number 9 was the strongest of the strong. It was said that it was powerful enough to make oil and water mix, but even then its effects only lasted for exactly twenty minutes. The jig’d be up quick, and his pretty boy would be right back to hating him.

There was always the slightest chance too that it were brewed just right, and Steve would love him forever, the bond that would form between them the moment he drank from Billy’s magic maybe enough to last, despite their differences. It wasn’t guaranteed to turn out bad, so maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a shot.

Godammit, had Max gotten in his head.

~~~~~

Billy knows he’s an idiot, a complete and total dumbass for showing up to the party with a crystal vial in his pocket, but he can’t help it.

There’s no guarantee he’s even going to use it, it’s just in his pocket as a sort of security blanket. He doesn’t even catch a glimpse of Steve anywhere among the crowd, so he sees no harm in it.

Well, at least not until someone, he’d have to guess it was Tommy, slips a hand into the pocket of Billy’s jacket, apparently able to sense a bottle from a mile away, and steals it. Like it’s just his own secret stash of alcohol instead of the most powerful piece of magic he’d sure as hell ever owned, let alone to have ever been used in Hawkins, a traditionalist town known for its distinct lack of witchcraft.

Only he doesn’t notice that it’s been swiped, not until he catches a glimpse of the gentle pink glow that only he could see in someone else’s hand from across the room, hovering just inches above the punch bowl.

He’d like to think he’s pretty powerful in his craft, he'd been raised by a witch who’d in her time been strong enough to get kicked out of her coven for threatening the High Priest, but in that moment he just sort of freezes.

There’s an infinite number of spells he could’ve used; he knows how to stop time, how to recall objects, and about a thousand and one other handy little ways to stop the vial from being overturned into that bowl.

And yet, his brain freezes up, and before he can do anything about it, there’s a thick fog rolling off of the bowl, and the air smells sweet and sticky like ladies perfume, and the liquid is shining all bright pink.

Billy is officially screwed.

It’s one thing for a single person to drink a love potion, but mixing it with any other liquid? That shit turned into a weapon.

He knows he’s not gonna make it in time, but he’s at least gotta try to stop it, get people as far away from it as possible. He muscles his way across the room, pushing past the crowd of teenagers to try to get to it first. “Nobody fucking touch the punch.”

But his voice calling over the crowd draws their attention to him, and there’s at least fifty hollow gazes fixed right on him. Judging by the looks on their faces, the pinpoint pupils and the awe stricken smiles, he’s too late.

There’s one breathless moment where Billy realizes what's about to happen and tries to back away before all hell breaks loose, but all at once they all surge forward trying to get their hands on him.

Momma didn’t stick around long enough to teach him how to discharge a potion, and he wasn’t going to make it the whole twenty minutes in this herd. The front door is his only escape.

It’s so dark in the room, other than the light from the potion’s ambience, that he can’t make out who’s who, whose lips those are on his neck, whose hands are on his hips and tangled up in his hair, so he just trudges forward as best he can, trying to shake each person off, only to get another wrapped around him.

But, in the magic induced state, they’re strong, and they don’t want to let him go. Fingernails dig into his skin, arms wrap tight around his waist, any way they can hold onto him to try keep him from moving any closer to that door, they do.

It’s like walking in gelatin, so many people trying to stop him, and it takes him way longer than it should, but he makes it to the door.

Before he can open it, someone’s pushing his back up against it and reaching a hand up under his shirt. Another someone presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He feels blindly for the door knob and gets it in his hand after a few attempts, the ordeal being all the harder when there were so many people who wanted those hands on them, and twists it.

The rush of cold air from outside and the lights from the streetlight on the sidewalk helps a little to dilute the strength of the potion, weakening just enough the grip of those under his influence that he can wriggle out and slam the door shut behind him.

He keeps his back pressed against it, his arms holding on to either side of the door frame as tight as he could so nobody else can get out. Checking his watch, there were still about seven more minutes until the potion would wear off.

He could see the faintest glow of pink light shining from under the door and behind the curtains on the front window, and he thought about what they were doing without him. Probably talking about how he was the coolest, the ones who’d gotten their hands on him bragging.

No one but him would remember what happened anyways.

To make his escape, wait out the rest of the potion's effects, and hightail it before anybody remembered he was even here, well, that would have just been too easy. Because this is Billy Hargrove, so of course, at that very moment, who would approach the house but Steve fucking Harrington.

“Hargrove?” He looks confusedly up at Billy, and climbs a few of the porch steps to ask him, “What’re you doin’ out here man?”

“Party’s a bummer. Thinking ‘bout ditching.” The nonchalance he’s able to portray in his voice is in direct contrast with the way his hair is frizzed out and his clothes are all messy from what happened inside.

Steve doesn’t seem to pay it any mind though, because he offers him a smile, and responds to Billy like this situation didn’t look weird at all, with him sprawled out over the door and in such bad shape. “Mind if I join you? Wasn’t really looking forward to all the people tonight anyways.”

“Uh, if you give me,” Billy turns his wrist, still not letting go of the door, and reads the time on his watch again, “three and a half minutes, then we can blow.”

Steve leans a little to try to see in the window. “Is somethin’ going on?”

“Nothin’, nothin’ just uh, told Tom I’d stay ‘til quarter after.” It’s a bullshit excuse, Steve already knows he and Tommy aren’t even that close, but Billy just focuses on counting down the seconds and doesn’t think too much about it. “And…. we’re good.”

“You are so weird, dude.” Steve remarks while he waits for Billy on the steps. He looks back over his shoulder when they’re walking away but visibly shrugs it off. “Did you drive?”

“You know I don’t park my baby on the street.” His prized Camaro had yet to make an appearance at one of these parties, for a platitude of reasons, but the main one being that he might have to break his mother’s golden rule and put a curse on someone if his beauty got so much as a scratch.

“Figures.” Steve remarked. He didn’t think the Camaro was all that, thought it was too loud and too fast.

His BMW isn’t too far off, showing up late meant he had to take a street spot instead of cramming into the driveway, but that only made it easier to get out.

While he starts it up, he asks Billy, “Where are we going? I picked last time.”

“Far away from here as possible.” He mutters in response.

Before he pulls away from the curb, Steve asks, “Did something happen, Bills? You’re acting all, weird.” There was genuine concern laced into his voice, none of that playfulness that they usually had.

But for Billy, anything would be better than having to own up to what had happened. He’d have to admit to the whole, desperate for love, he used a potion he made when he was seven to try to make Steve Harrington fall for him, and that was not ideal, to put it simply.

Only, he felt obligated to explain, because he knew what Steve was thinking had happened. He knew too much about the sorts of things Billy told not a single other soul.

His magic was one thing. Where nobody was really supposed to know Hawkins got a new spell caster for the first time in ages, Steve had some grandma or someone who was a witch and had recognized that shit in a heartbeat.

Observational skills like that, it was no surprise he’d figured out the truth about his father too. About where the bruises and the scars came from.

So he knows that’s what Steve’s thinking right now, that Billy’s acting off because of something his dad did, and it would feel wrong not to tell him the truth, to be pitied when nothing even happened this time. Still, he’s not exactly thrilled about having to confess about the potion.

“Someone brought a fucking Number 9 to the party.” Billy flips the sun visor down to see himself in the little mirror there. There’s kiss marks all over him that he tries to rub off with his sleeve, but the leather doesn’t do much but make the skin flush.

“Shit, not a number nine.” Steve says it like he’s confident in it, but his gaze keeps flickering over to Billy to gauge his reaction. It’s clear that he has no idea what he’s talking about. “What's- what’s number nine?”

Billy snorts and explains, “Only the strongest love potion out there. Went straight into the punch.”

He doesn’t have much of a grip on the magical world, but he knew enough to guess that was a problem. “What kind of a dipstick would bring that?”

Billy stopped wiping at his face and looked over at Steve with that ‘come on, stupid’ look on his face. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the only dipstick who walked away from the place covered in fucking lipstick.”

“Really?” There’s a teasing tone in his voice, like a parent who found out there kid had a crush, and it makes Billy want to sock him. “And who does Billy Hargrove need a love potion for?”

“For you.” It takes all the courage he has, but he admits it. His eyes flicker nervously between Steve and everywhere else, waiting for his response.

And what he gets is, “Pfft. You know I don’t need magic to get the ladies.” Let it be known that no one ever accused Steve of being the brightest.

As if he hadn’t noticed that Steve was a skeezer. As if his heart hadn’t already been broken a thousand times over because of it. “Yeah, no shit.”

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but maybe a little bit in denial too. “Then why’d you bring me a love potion?”

“Steve.” It sounds like a plea, an exhausted attempt to get him to understand, but Steve isn’t in on it.

“What?” Billy just sort of raises his eyebrows in response, and something about it makes it click in Steve’s head.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape, and when he speaks again, his voice is all breathless, “You were going to use it on me?”

“Doesn’t take a genius.” And that’s the end of it.

They don’t talk about it. Steve drives them out to the quarry in silence, occasionally looking over at Billy like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

As soon as they get there, before Steve’s even got the chance to put the bimmer in park, Billy’s out of the car and sitting on the edge of the rocky lookout.

He needs a smoke, needs the burning in his lungs to distract him from the weight of what he had just admitted to Steve. His hands are shaking as he fumbles with a match, trying and failing to light the cigarette on three different matches before he decides to give up.

Steve taps his shoulder and hands Billy his zippo before sitting down next to him. “You didn’t have to.”

Billy lights it up and takes a long drag, giving Steve back his light with a cigarette as thanks, filling his lungs with as much smoke as he can before he can respond. “Have to what?”

“Try to use magic on me.” Steve’s staring down at his hands, calculating every last word he says. “You could’ve just asked.”

“Yeah, I know Harrington. It was creepy. Just drop it.” There’s a sharpness in that tone that hasn’t been there for months, and it makes the both of them wince.

Steve explains himself, hurt by the coldness, “No, I think it’s sweet! I mean, that you would do that for me.”

“Get over yourself. Was just messin’ around, wanted to see if I could do it.” That’s what gives him away. Billy was too sure of his own prowess for that to be all of it, and so Steve decides to press him for the truth.

“Don’t you want to know what I would’ve said though, if you asked me?”

“Honestly? No.” He really, really does.

Steve pretends like he doesn’t hear that and tells him anyways. “I like you Billy.”

It hitches his breath to hear that, but Billy’s got to be rational. “Yeah? You like me or the cinnamon?”

Steve’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What?”

“It’s an ingredient in the potion, Steve. Do you mean it or did you get a whiff of that shit somehow?” He still doesn’t look at him, just stares down at the churning water, and it registers with Steve that he doesn’t want to see absent admiration, pinpoint pupils, any sign that this isn’t real.

So he assures him, his voice as soft as it can be, “I mean it. I really really like you, and if you’re not gonna believe me, then- then I guess I’ll just have to prove it.“

Who would’ve expected Steve to make the first move? Stumbling, bumbling Steve Harrington, the one to lean in first. But he is, it’s him who uses those long fingers to turn Billy’s face towards his and presses their lips together.

If, you know, there wasn’t a more pressing matter at hand, like the fact that the boy he’d just tried to use love magic on was kissing him without the assistance of said magic, Billy might’ve been a little disappointed in himself to not be the one to initiate it.

But they’d have time for that argument later, about who did what when, right now his mind was more focused on not just sitting there, on moving his lips against the other boys and

It feels like forever before Steve pulls away to put a hand on the back of Billy’s head so he can bring their foreheads together.

Steve’s breathless as he says, “Wanted to do that since the first time I saw you in the parking lot.”

“Good. Didn’t want to have to brew any more.” Billy says without a hint of seriousness.

Steve nudges him with his elbow. “I’m trying to be romantic, you ass.”

“No seriously, hibiscus is super hard to come by around here, couldn’t afford to waste any on you.”

Crossing his arms, Steve fixes Billy with a stern look that makes him laugh.

“M’only teasin’ ya pretty boy.” He crumples his cigarette into the asphalt and puts his hand on Steve’s knee. “Kiss me like that again, would ya?”

And he does. Every time Billy asks, Steve’ll kiss him just like that first time, soft and gentle and sweet in a way he’s never had, no magic required.

Needless to say, Billy definitely won that bet.

[plainsight6578]

aftersome.

Pairing: Mista x Giorno

Genre: fluff to angst to a tiny bit of smut and fluff

Summary: Mista and Giorno had been there for each other since that fateful day that they met.

Word count: 3,422

A/N: I don’t really remember the time-line of the anime very well, so forgive me if I made any mistake xoxo. Characters may be a little OOC but i tried my best.

aftersome

adj. astonished to think back on the bizarre sequence of accidents that brought you to where you are today—as if you’d spent years bouncing down a Plinko pegboard, passing through a million harmless decision points, any one of which might’ve changed everything—which makes your long and winding path feel fated from the start, yet so unlikely as to be virtually impossible.

(via The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

Since Giorno was little, he’d been repeatedly told he was a failure, a disappointment, and an eyesore by his loving parents. And, as little children do, he believed every word. So, he never made any friends. In his mind, he was better off alone. Other people would be better off without him. Consequently, he never had anyone to tell him that he wasn’t all those things that he and his parents believed he was.

Giorno never had any, nor thought that he needed any friends. They were useless and would only serve as a distraction from his dream. When he was feeling down, he never had anyone to talk to; since talking was also useless. He just needed to pick himself up, work harder, do better. He didn’t need someone to tell him how proud they were of him, or that he’s been working too hard and that he deserved a break. Those were all useless.

He didn’t need anyone and no one needed him. Giorno never considered himself anything other than what he was told, he never had any reason to. The words that scarred him as a child would haunt him for the rest of his life. He’d always been alone. As far as he knew, he only ever hurt those that were close to him.

So, when Mista called him his “lucky boy”, he was so shocked he could barely process what that implied. That nickname given to him by this strange man he’d just met would mean that everything he’d known about himself - everything he’d been taught about who he was - was a lie. That couldn’t be true. 15 years of bringing misfortune to everyone around him couldn’t be wrong (although, admittedly, he never had many experiences with any other people that weren’t his abusive parents).

‘What a weird guy...’ was Giorno’s first impression of Mista. That was the only way to describe him: weird, not necessarily in a bad or good way. Mista was just weird; he’d contradicted everything Giorno had stood for. 

Mista was a simple man, simply following orders from his higher-ups, doing what he had to in order to survive. He was honest and upfront. Everything you needed to know about him, you could see. Giorno was far more mysterious, hiding his years of trauma underneath a calm and collected façade. He had his underlying intentions, and never fully exposed himself around anyone.

Giorno could never understand the strange man. He certainly wasn’t a lucky boy. It wasn’t luck that allowed him to survive, it was his own intuition, taking things he’d learnt and putting them to good use. It was his own skills that had lead him to where he was, and would take him to even higher lengths. He knew he was capable of achieving that with his skills, not luck.

Giorno stopped in his tracks. This was a first for him; how did this single interaction with this man he barely knew got him to reconsider everything he’d done? It was true, though, Giorno had faith that his plan could work because he had faith in himself. He just never previously realized it. And it felt like all the work he’d put in to get himself this far was paying off, like he was starting to reap the rewards of perseverance. In an instant, he could clearly see where he was going when it had previously felt like a daze. He supposed that he wasn’t entirely a failure, if he’d made it this far. How is he suddenly coming to question everything that he thought he was?

As far as Giorno knew, he was the most unlucky boy on earth. Mista didn’t seem to see him that way. Even though they just met? What did he know? Mista was a simpleton who didn’t know anything about Giorno or his life.

Still, he’d appreciated the nickname. It felt nice to have someone call him something that wasn’t an insult.

________________________________________________________________

After Giorno had saved Abbaccio and Fugo from the Man in the Mirror and had returned safely to the gang, Mista had pestered Giorno for more detail because neither Abbaccio nor Fugo were much of the bragging-about-our-super-cool-epic-win type (and neither was Giorno, really).

“Gimme all the juicy stuff! This dude was tough to beat right?! So, why’re ya leavin’ all the cool parts out?!” He’d yelled.

Giorno had no idea what classified as “juicy”, so he’d simply given Mista a quick summary of the fight: how he’d turned that brick into a snake to find the enery stand user, and how they eventually defeated him. Giorno only realized after he’d finished that he’d been talking for quite sometime. Mista was enthusiastically nodding his head throughout the story, adding in some “wooooah!!” sound effects of his own here and there. Giorno blushed, he got too carried away.

“Man! You’re so cool, Giorno!! I’d never think to do that!” Mista said, with an almost glimmer in his gaze, he was looking at Giorno in a way that hecouldn’t recognize. Rather than hostility, he was feeling...admiration coming from the other man. He remembered a similar look coming from Bucciarati, but that was when he had beat him in a fight then. What did Giorno do to deserve this from Mista? He could almost believe that Mista actually meant what he said.

‘I’m not cool...’ Giorno thought, but when Mista was staring at him like that... Who was he to say no. He didn’t know how to respond, so he blushed and looked away. Maybe he could allow himself to think he was slightly cool in that moment, he certainly did feel... cool, if only just a little.

________________________________________________________________

The long road trip to retrieve their boss’s order from the statue that Giorno and Mista had gone into meant more time alone with Mista. For some reason, Giorno’s heart couldn’t seem to slow down. He decided it was from the paranoia of being attacked by another stand user. Since they’d started this mission, they’ve been relentlessly attacked by stand user after stand user, with barely any time to relax. That’s why his palms won’t stop sweating, and why there was a strange, tingling sensation in his stomach, and why his heart skipped a beat when Mista had called his name... Yeah, he’s just nervous about being attacked again.

Wait. Mista had called his name. He was talking to him.

“Right, Giorno?” He’d asked. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening, Mista,” Giorno replied.

“What are you overthinking now? There isnt another stand user for miles, we’ll be fine.” Mista kicked his legs up onto the dashboard, emphasizing his complete lack of anxiety. Giorno almost envied his ability to be so relaxed (although, he knew Mista was always prepared for an attack, he never really let his guard down). 

Considering how they’d had lots of time to kill in one cramped car, the pair had talked quite a bit, well, it was mostly Mista talking at Giorno. He liked it that way, though, Mista’s voice helped him unwind, and something about the way Mista’s lips moved as they talked made his stomach clench and his mouth dry.

Being with Mista, just the two of them, like this, it could almost convince Giorno to take a break and enjoy the little things in life, all things that Giorno had deemed ‘useless’. And yet, this philosophy that Giorno had held close to him as a protection mechanism was slowly falling apart. Rather, it was being undone. And Giorno didn’t know why, but he felt like a part of him was letting it happen, like, deep down, this is what he wanted: to sit back and be able to enjoy.

“Useless...” He muttered, under his breath he was getting influenced by Mista. He couldn’t afford to relax. But Mista brought that side out in him and he didn’t know why. Giorno couldn’t help but feel slightly at ease with Mista beside him, and it felt nice not to have to keep his guard up around someone all the time. It felt nice to be able to rely on someone else.

________________________________________________________________

Mista somehow always found a way to get himself horribly injured during their stand fights. After the battle with Ghiaccio and his stupidly powerful White Album stand, and after he’d made sure Mista was fully healed, Giorno made sure to give the older man a thorough lecture about his actions during the battle.

“Getting yourself injured like that is useless, Mista. You shouldn’t do useless things like that. What would the team do if we didn’t have you? You should think about that too!” Giorno rambled, “your actions were dangerous, Mista, don’t do useless things like that again.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he replied, an embarrassed flush covering his cheeks, “I had the amazing Giorno to cover for me though, so I wasn’t that worried!” He finished with a wink towards the younger boy. And something in that made Giorno’s heart beat faster. Mista is alive, he’s still with him. A feeling of relief washed over Giorno, and he released the breath that he’d been holding in. 

Giorno sighed, he could almost cry. Remembering the sight of Mista’s body filled with bullets and then seeing him here, laughing and joking like everything was fine. Giorno’s heart clenched. Without saying anything, Giorno layed his head on Mista’s shoulder, close to his heart, and listened to the sound of the blood flowing through his body. Mista was left wide-eyed, but laid his hand on top of Giorno’s, who was clenching his fists. Soon as he did, Mista felt him relax against him. 

They sat like that in silence for a few minutes, just breathing in each other’s presence. Mista was caught completely off guard by this, he didn’t know that his actions would affect Giorno like this. Perhaps they’d gotten closer than he’d thought in the short time span that they’d known each other.

“I meant what I said, though,” Mista whispered, “as long as I have you with me, I know everything will be just fine...”

________________________________________________________________

Staring at Abbaccio’s corpse, Mista waited for some sign of life from his comrade. Giorno couldn’t heal him... He was just... Gone. There was nothing they could do. Mista’s head was racing at a million miles an hour but none of his thoughts formed anything coherent.

How did this even happen? They were gone for a minute. Why did this happen? With every blink Mista expected to see Abbaccio in a different position than he was. But Abbaccio never moved. He didn’t even blink. 

“WE’RE NOT JUST GONNA LEAVE HIM HERE, RIGHT?!” Narancia yelled. Mista wanted to agree with him. Watching Bucciarati walking away from their teammate - no, their friend - he understood Narancia’s anger. But he knew there was nothing they could do. Bucciarati was probably hurting more than any of them were.

Clenching his fists, he ripped his eyes off of Abbaccio’s corpse and followed Bucciarati. They all knew the risks of this mission. They had no choice but to continue.

Back inside the turtle, the gang continued on with their mission. It would take some time to get to Rome, so Bucciarati volunteered to keep watch outside the turtle while the rest of them got some rest. Inside, Narancia had passed out on in an uncomfortable position on the couch and Trish had curled up on the floor, eventually drifting to sleep.

Mista couldn’t relax enough to fall asleep. After seeing Abbaccio like that, he was wondering about his other comrades, he didn’t think he could keep his sanity if he had to see that again.

Mista was so lost in his thoughts he failed to notice that Giorno had placed himself next to him, “you shouldn’t think about useless things, Mista,” he said.

Slightly startled, his first instinct was to go on the defensive, “I’m not thinking about anything...!”

Giorno just stared at him blankly, although, Mista detected a faint hint of sympathy.

“Uh, well, I guess I am just overthinking...” He admitted. “I mean, Abbaccio died without anyone even noticing... So, I can’t help but think... That could have been any of us. If our enemy is that powerful... How many more of us are gonna die? Are we even... gonna be able to defeat him at all-”

“That’s useless, Mista,” Giorno stated firmly, “what you’re thinking about is useless. It’ll only distract you when we’re in battle.”

“Y-you’re right...” There was a slight twinge of shame inside Mista for having to be told off by someone younger than him for the second time now, “still, after everything we’ve been through, we all could have died so many times...” He adjusted his position slightly to face Giorno and then cupped both his hand inside his palms, “you amputated your own arms, for God’s sake, and... I almost died too! I just...” His tone was all over the place. Even now, he hadn’t fully grasped the concept of what it means to die. “I really don’t want to lose anyone else...” He said. 

Giorno knew how hard this must be for the him, he’d just lost one of his closest friends, they must’ve been like family, and with barely any time to properly grieve, they were going head-first into a much more dangerous battle. He didn’t know what to do or say. This is the first time he’d gotten this close to someone to consider them a friend and, frankly, he didn’t want to lose anyone either. After everything they’ve been through, Giorno felt a sense of fondness towards the gang members. 

“We’re right here, Mista,” he decided was appropriate, and leaned in to touch his forehead to Mista, “I’m not going anywhere, either.”

Mista’s hold on Giorno’s hands tightened. The look in Giorno’s eyes was so tender and soft, something Mista hadn’t seen in such a long time. Something snapped inside Mista, and he could no longer hold back his tears. Giorno didn’t know what to do as Mista sobbed into his shoulder. He just let Mista let all his grief out, if he could help Mista in any way, he would. This is his way of showing Mista just how thankful he was for him. Thanks to Mista, Giorno felt so much less of a burden to himself and others, he realized that everything he’d thought he knew as a child about himself was so much farther than the truth. 

Giorno’s chest ached seeing Mista like this. He wished he could take his pain away, just as Mista had freed him from his. He let Mista cry into him as long as he needed.

Even after Mista had calmed down, he didn’t move from his position. The way Giorno was leaning forward had exposed his star-shaped birthmark. Mista stared at it for a while, admiring how it seemed to glimmer despite the darkness in the room. He wondered where they would be without Giorno. He would certainly be dead, they probably all would be; with how many fatal wounds he’d healed for them.

Mista couldn’t really face Giorno right now. He liked the position they were in particularly because Giorno couldn’t see Mista’s puffy nose or blood-shot eyes, nor the snot that threatened to drip out of his nose. He’d always showed himself as this strong and care-fee guy; so breaking down in his teammates arms like that felt almost humiliating - or at least, it would be if this was anyone else but Giorno. Still, he didn’t want Giorno to see him in this state. So, as a thank you, Mista had placed the lightest peck right onto Giorno’s star-shaped birthmark. Giorno physically tensed up, and he blushed all the way to his ears. Giorno, being who he was and having absolutely no social skills, he couldn’t understand why.

“M-Mista-” He’d began to protest. “This is how I’m saying thank you, dumbass,” Mista answered, and intertwined their fingers, just for emphasis. “Why...” Giorno asked, what was there to thank him for? 

“Because you’re here.”

________________________________________________________________

Mista was the first one kiss Giorno’s hand after he’d taken over the organization. He experienced Giorno’s skill first-hand, there was no one better he could think to take over the organization. He was a simple man, he followed orders and was stupidly honest. That’s why he swore his loyalty to Giorno.

When the pair had finally gained some privacy, Mista immediately slumped his shoulders, no longer needing to impress his higher-ups or assert dominance to his subordinates. Though, he was still restless. He’d been like that all day, in fact. Being around all the other gang members, meeting new ones, and receiving hunderds of condolences from them, he, naturally, couldn’t stop thinking about finding his comrade’s corpses, the sight and smell of their blood...

Giorno merely stared at Mista as he paced around the room. No doubt he was stressed right now. Everything that he was used to was changing. Nothing was simple anymore. 

But everything was over now. Things would get better... Right? Giorno wasn’t sure- No! He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Abbaccio, Narancia, and Bucciarati had sacrificed their lives for this. ‘Thinking like that is useless.’ He told himself.

He had no idea what was going through Mista’s head right now, and he wasn’t sure how to ask. Giorno had inhaled, preparing to say something before Mista approached him and grabbed both his hands, “Giorno!” He yelled, “you’re still here!”

Their faces were mere centimeters apart, Mista was blinking at him, like he was waiting a response, “that’s right...”

“And you’re not going anywhere!”

“No, I’m not.”

Mista touched their foreheads together, just like they did back inside the turtle, and he smiled, “and as long as you’re with me... Everything’s gonna be alright!”

Giorno blinked. That’s what he said back then, too, and he didn’t exactly classify what had happened as ‘alright’. But, as he was being held by Mista, and seeing Mista’s unwavering smile, he just couldn’t bring himself to disagree.

“As long as I’m here,” Giorno started, lifting his hands from Mista’s grip to cup his face, “everything will be alright,” he whispered into the taller man’s mouth. Giorno also wanted to protect Mista with everything he had.

They were so close to each other... It seemed like they were slowly inching closer until the gap between them finally closed. All of their pent-up desire for each other, the feelings that Giorno had absolutely refused to acknowledge, they were all reaching their climax. They pulled away after a few seconds, before Mista swiftly closed the space between them again, and then proceeding to pull at Giorno’s bottom lip with his teeth, and placed his hands on Giorno’s hips to hold him closer.

Giorno gasped and grabbed onto Mista’s collar for support. His head seemed to be completely taken over by Mista. His scent, the way he tasted, the way his hands felt on his hips, Mista, Mista, Mista. All these new emotions he was feeling made his head spin in the most euphoric way.

Mista took advantage of Giorno’s open mouth and shoved his tounge inside his it. Giorno definitely wasn’t expecting this to heat up so quickly, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to feel Mista’s tongue inside his mouth. Giorno was losing control of himself, he moaned into Mista’s mouth, completely overwhelmed by just making out with him.

Giorno was almost completely leaning on Mista for support, his legs were about to give way any second . When they pulled away for oxygen, Giorno let out a desperate, “M-Mis...ta..” His face was entirely coated with a glowing shade of red, his eyes heavy-lidded, with Mista’s name on his lips. Mista’s lower half twitched at the sight, already addicted to it.

He did have to admit, he felt slightly weird doing this so soon after his friends’ deaths, but with Giorno being the most important thing to him right now, he wanted to feel him in every way to convince himself he was still here. He needed to feel his heartbeat, feel the warmth of his breath, feel the movement of his tongue inside his mouth, feel him moaning into his mouth... He needed to be able to feel that Giorno was alive.

Mista hugged him tight, just taking in Giorno’s presence, “you’re still here...” He whispered into Giorno’s neck, who barely had it in him to point out how, of course he’s still here, where else would he be? So, instead, he simply whispered a quiet, “I’m not going anywhere.”

________________________________________________________________

A/N: ASDKJSFHLSK OMG OMG OKAY IK THIS IS KINDA ALL OVER THE PLACE BUT I WROTE THIS OVER THE SPAN OF LIKE THREE DAYS AND I HAD THIS HUGE ESSAY DUE SO I WAS LIKE WRITING THIS AND MY ESSAY AT THE SAME TIME IT WAS SO CHAOTIC AND MY EMOTIONS WERE ALL OVER THE PLACE

ANYWAY IF YOU READ THIS FAR I RLY HOPE YOU ENJOYED TY FOR READING PLEASE LEAVE ANY FEEDBACK YOU HAVE!!!! I proofread it like six million times but if there are any mistakes I’m sorry!!! Pls lmk so I can fix them :3.

[aurirising]

Potentially unpopular/controversial opinion

The squad overreacted to Kal's parentage being revealed and he's still a good person

I've had a lot of these thoughts swirling around in my head ever since it cleared enough to process Aurora Burning and I just wanted to get them out since I've also seen a lot of people really hating Kal after this book. Kal isn't, never has, and never will be my favourite character, or probably even top 3, but I have a lot of feelings about this and I think that everyone, including the characters, is being harsher than reasonable.

Okay so, they were all perfectly justified in feeling betrayed and upset because that is an upsetting thing to hear, especially for Scarlett since the Starslayer is the reason her dad is dead and now she's lost Tyler because of the Unbroken and Auri would definitely be questioning everything after all that time together. BUT, they know Kal better than that, he's defended and protected them plenty of times and he's shown that he's loyal to them even if he hasn't told them everything about himself. It's not like every person on that squad gave up their entire life story the moment they met, is it? No. Because People. Have. Secrets. I don't care how much of an open book someone might be, every single person who has ever lived has kept secrets, however mundane or earth-shattering they may be.

I guess technically he lied by saying his father was dead but it's understandable given the circumstances and how he feels about him. But that's not what we're discussing because no one needs another Empire Strikes Back "from a certain point of view" argument. Whether his father was dead or alive, good or evil, it wouldn't matter all that much because, and here's the important thing, PEOPLE ARE NOT THEIR FATHERS.

Kal even explains and makes it clear to them his position and why he did what he did. Like yeah, he hid who he was and used his mothers name to forge a new life - at a place where he could HELP PEOPLE no less - but, can you blame him? Like, he's a better person who tries so hard all the damn time to be better than he was taught to be and people already judge him before they know him on the basis that he's warbreed, there's no reason he should also have to have his life ruined because of his father, whom he wishes to be nothing like. And if anyone, including them, wants proof that he's genuine in his actions, just look at what he has to deal with every day. His own people despise him because of his Cabal - both Unbroken and refugee alike for their own reasons, other species are instinctively distrustful of him due to the same thing, and he's basically all alone in the universe with no one who cares about him or shows him anything but hatred, contempt, or indifference until he becomes part of Squad 312. Like, life would be so much easier if he just joined his father and became what he was raised to be, but he chooses always to be better than that and to fight on the side of good, even if it's the harder path. And if you think about it logically for a minute, the idea that it might be some sort of spy/infiltration thing is completely unfounded just based on the Unbroken's ideals and way of operating. They wouldn't care about that kind of sneak tactic - which also would basically be a pointless exercise given Kal is a 19-year-old student at the academy, if they wanted to destroy the legion or anything, they'd just do it. Like these people are built for and love war, they'd just attack if they wanted to.

Maybe Kal should have told the squad, but I completely understand him wanting to leave that part of his life behind, and how was he to know Saedii would find and come after him? He had no idea what would happen on their mission, no idea the Unbroken would turn up and discover who he was and put everyone in danger. None of them knew any of this would happen. And look, I agree, after Saedii and the Unbroken started coming after them, he probably should have said, but I still get him not wanting to. Yeah being the Starslayer's son probably made the Unbroken getting him more of a priority, but even without that, he's still a warbreed with a Templar sister who hasn't joined them, and that's more than enough for the Unbroken to want to hunt him down and either kill him or get him onside.

Also like, Kal ain't an actor folks, he wouldn't be able to fake the Pull or how it makes him react, I'm sure of it. And you know 6 months of that relationship with Auri and all the feelings that went with it - that he clearly showed since Auri was so sure of it before the reveal - is in no way something he or probably anyone else would be able to fake so convincingly, especially given Auri's gifts.

Now, you might say, "but Amy, he went and joined his father in the end!" and to that I ask, did he? Did he really?

This boy showed clearly in his POV chapters that he despises his father and what he was made into at his hand. And this isn't some third person narrator which leaves us room to doubt, this is first person, this is his actual thoughts. He doesn't want to be part of the Unbroken.

Now, we don't know Kal's entire thought process but I highly doubt he didn't have some kind of plan in going to his father - the only one on the side of good who could possibly get anywhere close to him without being killed. Whether or not his plan was to murder his father from the begining or if that idea only came when he saw Auri being hurt by him is debatable, but he for sure wasn't there to truly join the Unbroken. Maybe it was even just that he had absolutely nowhere else to go. He was abandoned by his squad, he's a wanted criminal by multiple governments, and, as a warbreed, no one else of his species would trust him. Awful as it sounds, to his father is about the only safe place he can go. You can tell he's not happy about it, but I have a feeling he had a plan, or at least the beginnings of one - whether that plan was to help Auri if she succeeded in getting there, kill his father at some point while he was occupied with something else during the attack, or bide his time in the hopes of stopping this all in some other way, is what I don't know. To be honest, if it weren't for the way Auri and the others think and act in the chapters after they abandon him, I wouldn't be surprised if this was actually some part if their plan.

But anyway, that's my 2 cents on the matter of Kal in this book. This was written moments after waking up so I hope it's coherent and I actually covered everything I meant to. But,

Tl;dr: Kal had very understandable reasons for doing everything he did and people shouldn't be as hard on him as they have been.

Edit: I just had a quick skim back through the chapter and although Kal had no real solid plan, he wanted to kill his father and planned to whenever the opportunity presented itself. So, literally how anyone can still be mad at him (except the squad who have no idea), I truly don't understand.

[lordoffiction]

Thor’s Lightning: Chapter one.☁

here we go! a day late but it’s finally here. 

please make sure you read the prologue before this! 

enjoy! please leave feedback. ♡

WORD COUNT: 3,713.

WARNINGS: swearing, fighting, a little scene with Hvitty, Ivar calling you mean words. 

gif isn’t mine. all credits to the owner. 

                               _______________________________

It had been a week since you arrived in Kattegat, it still felt surreal to you that you were here.

You weren't in a coma and you weren’t dead, you had just been thrown back three-hundred years before you were even born. You tried to relive that night over and over again, seeing the night sky, feeling the rain on your face and back. Seeing that lightning that made your breath get stuck in your throat, how it all went white. You were struck by the lightning, you were certain of it. You just didn’t know why you were sent here of all places. You had noticed the day after that you had a scar going down the middle of your breast bone, in the same pattern of lightning.

“Y/N,” Embla repeated, staring up at you from the other side of the hut.

In the week you had been here, you and Embla had gotten along like two peas in a pod. She reminded you of your late mother, she had that vibe about her that just made you feel warm and safe.

“Hm? Sorry, Embla, I was stuck in my thoughts.” You continued preparing for tonight's dinner, cutting up the vegetables. You had your chores to do here, it was the least you could do for Embla for letting you stay here for free.

“Still thinking about that night?” She asked carefully, knowing the frustration it brought you. You had told her about your life before this one, she was the only one to know about it as she told you to be wary of telling others and what they would do with the information. You had told her about the year you were from, about cars and tall buildings. All the things that aren't invented yet. Embla believed you right away, she knew you weren’t lying from the things you had with you when you first arrived, like your phone and notebook and pen, your earphones and money.

You nodded slowly, a deep frown pulling at your brows.

“It must have been Thor’s will. He must have great plans for you here, child.”

You learned about their Gods here, Embla had told you about them all one night when you couldn’t sleep, nightmares fuelled by the gruesome scene of your parents' death. She had told you that Thor had put that mark on your chest to show you were chosen by him. But chosen for what?

“Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” You smiled over to her, finishing the last of the vegetables. “Is there anything else you need me to do, Embla?”

“Actually, yes. I need you to go to the forest and pick some herbs for me. I only got enough for me before you arrived, I didn’t realise how fast they would go.”

“Of course!” You nodded, picking up the woven basket from the small table. “I should be back in a few hours.”

Walking out the hut door, you headed into the direction of the forest.

Embla had provided you with clothes more suited to this age, though you decided to keep your boots for that little bit of you in your new look. She would braid your hair for you, and make sure you were well fed and rested. You would be eternally grateful for her, for, without her, you would surely be dead.

Whilst you walked in the direction of green, you hummed one of your favourite songs, something you’d do more often than not since your phone broke. God, you missed music. It was like your therapist. And you missed all your books. And your friends.

You closed your eyes as you reached the middle of the green sea, the sound of birds chirping gave you a sense of reality and the breeze here was different from the one at home in Kattegat market.

Home.

You’ve already forgotten about your real home?

Shaking your head, you stepped forward again as you scanned the ground for herbs that Embla could use. What were you thinking? That place wasn’t your home. It was just a place of survival-

Your thoughts were interrupted by a large axe landing next to your head, embedding itself into the tree, inches away from your face. You stumbled backward, tripping up and landing onto your backside.

“Fucking hell!” You gasped, eyes wide as you stared at the axe.

“Are you alright?!” You heard someone call to you, running in your direction. “I didn't see you standing there and... Oh, it’s you.”

Your E/C orbs flickered up to the owner of the axe, seeing a familiar face.

“You.”

It was the man from the first day you arrived here, the one who was eating whilst his brother grilled you out. Embla had told you about the princes after the dramatic scene you caused by your mini-mental breakdown, about their father and mother. How they go on raids and how they all led an army. How they would kill you in a second if they wanted to and how they treated their women.

There were five brothers at one point but the youngest, Ivar, had killed him. It makes you think how on earth you didn’t get killed that day.

Björn was the eldest and then followed by Ubbe, Hvitserk and the lastly, Ivar the boneless.

Though the brother in front of you was Hvitserk. The ladies man.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, ripping his weapon from the bark of the tree, holding his free hand out for you to grab.

“Are you blind?!” You yelled, ignoring his hand and using the tree to bring yourself back onto your feet. “You could have killed me!”

His brows frowned together, staring at you as he took his hand back to his side.

“Well, if you had looked where you were going, you would have seen that there’s a massive target on the tree.” He shot back at you, making you turn and look that therefor, in fact, was a massive target on the tree. “Are you sure you aren't blind as my brother said?” Hvitserk’s lips turned up into a boyish grin.

Was he making fun of you right now?

“And that’s no way to talk to your prince.”

“You aren’t my prince,” you barked back at him, leaning down to pick up your basket you had dropped.

“Oh, I'm not?” He said innocently. “Then who is? Because I don't see anyone else around.”

“No one is my ‘prince’. What is this? The royal family of England?” You said the last part to yourself as you walked past him but Hvitserk heard you, grabbing onto the top of your arm quickly.

“What did you say?” He asked lowly, a threatening look glazing over his eyes. “You’re from England? Are you a Christian?”

His grip tightened at the last question, making your eyes glare daggers at him.

“No, I'm not a Christian. I don't believe there is a god.” Ripping your arm out of his grip, you huffed.

Hvitserk stood there stunned, how could you not believe in the gods? You weren’t from here, clearly, but where were you from? So many questions spun in his mind.

“What’s your name?” He asked you after a short period of not talking.

You stayed silent for a second, not sure if you should tell him or not. Embla had warned you about them, but the look in his eyes made you want to surrender under him. Wait, what?

“Y/N.” You answered before realising, still confused about what you just said about his eyes.

“That name is rare. I’ve never heard it before.” He hummed. Hvitserk had to admit, you were a beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman he had seen and he was surprised he hadn't noticed it the first time he saw you, though you were covered in dirt and blood. And those eyes, gods, those eyes. He was sure Freyja herself had gifted them to you. His eyes travelled across your body, spotting the gold necklace your mother had given you for your sixteenth birthday. It was a chain that was identical to hers, you never take it off. It was the only thing you had left of her.

“You wear gold, are you rich?” He questioned, causing you to scoff slightly.

“I wish.” You replied, your eyes locking with his. You couldn't put your finger on the exact colour they were. In some shades of light they looked green, in others they looked gold.

The two of you stayed silent for a little longer, your eyes drifted from his piercing ones onto the floor, a small tint of red freckled onto your cheeks. You had never been good around men, they made you nervous. It didn't help that you went to an only girls school whilst growing up.  

“I think we started on the wrong foot,” Hvitserk said, stepping closer to you and held out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Hvitserk.”  

You took his hand in yours, his one easily engulfing yours in size. “Nice to meet you, again, Hvitserk.”

“So what are you doing out here alone?” He questioned, throwing his axe up into the air and catching it again.

“I’m picking herbs for the woman I'm staying with, though I'm not doing very well.” You laughed slightly, looking into the bare basket. “You ask a lot of questions, don't you, Hvitserk?”

“I’m a curious man.” He grinned.

“What about you then? Why are you out here?” Your eyebrow quirked at him, leaning against the tree with your basket held in front of you.

“I come here to practice, all of my brothers do, though it’s just me today.” He hummed.

“Isn’t it hard to practice by yourself?” You tucked a fallen piece of hair behind your ear, looking at all the different weapons he had laid out. Swords, bow and arrows, axes, there were all different kinds of weapons here.

“Sometimes. It just doesn't give you the real thrill of fighting someone when you practice with someone else.”

“I’ll practice with you.” You offered. Why not? If you were going to spend the rest of your life here then surely you’ll need to know how to defend yourself and fight.

Your offer made Hvitserk burst out laughing, holding his side as he mocked you.

“What’s so funny?” You asked offensively, standing up a little straighter.

“You look like you wouldn't last two seconds, Y/N.” Hvitserk wiped his eyes from the tears of laughter.

“Then teach me and let me practice with you! A woman should be taught how to protect herself if she’s in danger.”

His eyes searched yours, seeing how serious you were about this. Letting out a sigh, he nodded his head.

“Fine,” He said, earning a smile out of you. “But only on the condition that you do as I say and you listen to me when I'm teaching you. This will take a lot out of you, fighting isn’t just physical, it’s mental too. You have to have the right mindset.”

You nodded eagerly at him.

“Place that basket down to the side.” He said, pointing to the ground with his axe as he walked over to the tree where all the weapons laid. “First, you’ll learn how to use a shield. It’s the heaviest to hold and you need to know how to block attacks.”

Hvitserk picked up a circled shape shield, walking back over to you after you placed your basket down, taking the shield off of him.

“Fuck.” You grunted, the thing nearly pulling you to the floor. It was fucking heavy.

“Now, I'm going to attack you and you need to use that shield to fight me off and protect yourself.” Hvitserk stepped closer to you, getting into his fighting stance, a smirk on his face. “Ready?”

Fuck no you weren't ready. You’ve never needed to do this before, you only needed pepper spray before coming here.

You nodded anyway, swallowing harshly. “Ready.”

He came at you so quickly, you barely stopped him in time, his axe colliding with the shield in your grip.

“Use one hand to hold it, imagine you're carrying something else in your right hand.” He yelled to you, still throwing blows at you.

One hand?! You can barely hold this fucking thing with two hands!

You let go of it with your right hand, stepping backward with each hit he threw down until his axe came through the wood of the shield, making you yelp slightly. Hvitserk moved quickly to get his sword, spinning around and hitting the shield again with it.

“Holy shit!” You cursed out, he was too fast for you, too skilled. You knew then that he could kill you in a blink of an eye and if this was real, you would have been dead minutes ago.

He kept going though, each hit was harder and stronger than the last.

“Push me back, Y/N! Fight me!”

You stepped forward again, trying to push back against him whilst he was also pushing onto you. You made the mistake of looking behind you and taking your eyes off of him, making sure you didn’t trip up on anything. Hvitserk saw that as an opening to get you, moving your shield away from you with his free arm, pushing you back up against the tree nearest to you, pressing the cold metal of his sword against your throat, using his body to trap you between the tree and himself, his face inches from yours.

Oh fuck.

You could feel his breath on your face, his lips inches away from yours as your eyes burned into his green ones. Your breath got caught in your throat, the thrill this gave you was something you’d never felt before. The excitement, the fighting, the blood pumping all over and now the fact that Hvitserk was inches from your lips. Your cheeks burned a bright crimson, your eyes tearing away from his.

He licked his lips before grinning, getting closer to your ear.

“You’re dead.” He whispered into your ear, sending a small shiver down your back as he stepped away from you.

“Again!”

Cocky bastard.

                                 ______________________________

You trained with Hvitserk for hours and hours until it got dark and you had to go home. He had walked you to your hut, and told you that he’d send one of his thralls to bring round the herbs you needed since you lost track of time on getting them.

Your body was sore and bruised from the training, groaning as you sat down at the small table.

“I never knew picking herbs would cause you so much pain,” Embla said, looking at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, no I... I ran into one of the princes, Hvitserk. He almost killed me with his axe.” You snorted, stirring the soup in your bowl with your spoon.

“Prince Hvitserk? You-”

A knock on the hut door made her stop talking, getting up and opening the door to see a woman holding a basket with different types of herbs tucked inside.

“Is this where Y/N is staying?” You heard her ask, standing up from where you were sitting and walking over to stand next to Embla.

“That’s me.” You said, smiling softly at her. This must be the thrall Hvitserk said he’d be sending by with the herbs. She looked like she was the same age as you, maybe a bit younger. Perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old?

“Prince Hvitserk brings you these herbs, he hopes its enough for you and he apologises for keeping you out so late today.” She mumbled, passing the basket to you. “Goodnight.”

The thrall walked back off into the direction of the Great Hall, leaving Embla staring at you as you placed the basket on the table.

You’d never get used to this world and the fact that a prince just sent a slave to give you a basket of plants.

“Are you going to tell me what happened today or shall I guess?” Embla said, sitting across from you at the table.

                                     ____________________________

The next day you were awake early, Hvitserk had told you to be at the same place for your training.

Of course, you were running late though. You were meant to be there at sunrise, so you could have more hours to practice.

You ran towards the forest, you didn’t have time to do your hair in multiple braids today, so Embla only did two small braids at the front, connecting them into one braid at the back of your head, the rest of your hair just let loose. You wore trousers today with a sleeveless wool top, a belt wrapping around your waist.

You wheezed slightly as you reached the clearing, slowing down to a jog as you arrived.

“God! I’m sorry, Hvitserk. I accidentally slept in and Embla didn't wake me up and now that I don't have an alarm, it's so much harder for me to wake up.” You placed your hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath before looking up and seeing three pair of eyes staring back at you. “And there's other people here.” You mumbled.

“What is she doing here?” Ivar sneered, looking in your direction. “We’re meant to be training.”

“Y/N!” Hvitserk grinned, walking over to you and slinging an arm over your shoulders. “You’re late, but I’ll forgive you since you worked so hard yesterday.” He winked at you, causing you to blush slightly.

Fuck sake.

“Ubbe, Ivar, this is Y/N. She’ll be joining us for practice from now on.”

“A pleasure to meet you, I'm glad we’re meeting each other on better circumstances,” Ubbe said, going up to you and shaking your hand, his eyes were a beautiful shade of blue. He was the one who stopped Ivar from backhanding you in the market.

“The pleasure’s mine, Prince Ubbe.”

“Just Ubbe will do since you’ll be training with us now.”

What’s with these brothers? Why are they so hot? Their parents must’ve looked like gods.

Your eyes trailed over to were Ivar sat on the stump of a tree, his crutched next to him. He had a sour look on his face, staring off in the other direction. Did he think that if he can't see you, he can pretend you’re not there?

You walked over to him whilst Hvitserk and Ubbe spoke.

“Prince Ivar,” You said with a soft sigh. “I know we didn't meet on a good note but-”

“I don’t care.” Ivar interrupted you. “I don’t care if you’re the new whore my brother fucks and you want some kind of approval from me and Ubbe. Stay out my way.”

Your mouth was left agape. What? WHAT? Did he just call a whore?

“How dare you.” You threatened, your fist tightening at your side. “How dare you talk to me like that, you don't even know who I am and already you assume I'm your brothers' whore? I tried to be nice to you, to make a new start because I'm going to be here every day and I don't want any bad blood. But I will not let a fucking man talk to me like that! I didn't allow it back home and I won't fucking allow it here!” You shouted at him, your face red and chest heaving. The temptation to smack that look off his face was overpowering, but you dug your nails into the palm of your hand to stop yourself.

If looks could kill, Ivar’s glare would kill you once now and then once more in your next life. He stood up, using his crutch to balance himself.

“Enough,” Hvitserk said. “We’re here to train for future raids and battles. We don't need you two bickering the whole time.”

                                    ____________________________

“So,” Hvitserk began, popping a piece of meat into his mouth. “What do you both think of Y/N?”

The three brothers had returned to the Great Hall, you had gone back to your hut for the night to bathe and rest. You had taken quite a beating today off of Ubbe, he was a bit more built than Hvitserk and he had knocked you on your ass more than once.

“She’s a nice girl. She’s got potential in her to be a good fighter if she keeps practicing the way she is.” Ubbe said, taking a sip of mead from his cup. “She’s got quite the tongue too. Why, Hvitserk? Are you thinking about marrying her?” He smirked, teasing his younger brother.

Ivar scoffed into his cup.

“We have to train with her and now you want to talk about her? What? Are you obsessing over your new toy?” Ivar said, causing Hvitserk to roll his eyes.

“You’re just angry that she hurt your pride at the market.”

“No, I just don’t trust her.” Ivar shrugged. “She talks differently and she acts like she's never seen a weapon before. And didn’t you see her shoes? She’s clearly not from here. She could be a spy.”

“How could she possibly be a spy, Ivar?” Hvitserk questioned him, swallowing the food he had in his mouth.

“Look how she was when we first met her, she wore strange things and we’ve never seen her before now. No one knows who she is. And what the fuck is an ‘alarm’?”

“That’s true. She did tell me she didn't believe in the gods, which shocked me.” Hvitserk said, bringing his cup up to his lips. “But I don’t think it’s possible she's a spy. She’s too clumsy and too inexperienced with a weapon.”

“We can’t trust her until we know more about her, Ivar’s right.” Ubbe chirped in. “But Hvitserk is right too, she can't be a spy.”

Ivar growled slightly, he didn't know what it was about you that made him constantly think about you. You consumed his every thought, at night he would think about that look in your eyes when you bumped into him, how you stared at him with fire in your eyes as you stood dup to him. No one stood up to him apart from family.

No matter what,  Ivar thought.  I will find out who you really are, Y/N.

                  ____________________________________________

tags: @thespottedcreature​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @tragicmisfits​ @greeneyedthief​

[plus-size-reader]

Little Hunter

Nicholas Scratch x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1459 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Reader is a Witch hunter, but that doesn't stop Nick from falling for her. 

———————————————————————————————————

The news that there were other witch hunters in Greendale only served to upset you.

Sure, they may have been similar to you in some way but they were not the same.

You had rules, strict guidelines that you had to follow and you took pride in what you were by blood.

However, all of the witches of Greendale were under your protection until otherwise decided and the idea that someone else would dare break that was unacceptable.

Nicholas came to you first, as soon as Dorian took care of the bastard that tried to kill them both.

He didn't want to, you knew that but you couldn't refuse him. There was too much love in your heart for the man to ever turn him away, even when it was against your own kind.

"What do you mean witch hunters? There are no other hunters in this area other than my family" you explained, searching your gun safe for the perfect thing.

You were a mortal witch-hunter, a proud bloodline that went all the way back thousands of years.

Your grandfather always kept a detailed grimoire with a list of every other hunter and where they all resided. It made it easier to make sure that no one else intruded on each family's hunting ground.

You knew for a fact that there wasn't a single family for hundreds of thousands of miles. Whatever these hunters were, you knew for a fact that they couldn't have been human.

"Are you sure? They were very clearly trying to kill us all" he sounded nearly hysterical but you couldn't blame him, considering all the things that had just happened to him. It wasn't every day that you almost got murdered after all.

"I'm positive Nicky, when have I ever been wrong?" you teased, reaching out to take his hand in your own, which you used as leverage to lead him alongside you down the street.

You weren't going to let anything hurt him, or any of the other witches in Greendale.

If anyone was going to execute a witch, it would be within the proper guidelines. Whatever these 'hunters' were doing, it was closer to slaughter than anything else.

You were going to protect them, especially Nick.

...No matter what it took.

"Perhaps, my little hunter, you may be onto something" he grinned, following you without a single doubt in his mind.

He thought back to the time that you two had met in the first place. You had been heaven-bent on bringing him to his knees in front of you. You intended on killing him, but as soon as your eyes met his own, you realized that he didn't deserve to die.

Nicholas had never done a single thing against you, he had never harmed you or anyone else as far as you knew.

It wouldn't have been right to kill him if he didn't break the rules. He hadn't killed anyone, put anyone in danger, or used his magic for evil so you couldn't execute him.

Instead, you two had become closer than any two people could be. It didn't matter to him that you were a hunter, and it didn't matter to you that he was a warlock.

All you could think about from that moment forward was protecting him, and eventually the other witches and warlocks at the academy.

Your grandfather would roll in his grave if he ever saw something like this. A witch hunter, hand in hand with a talented warlock. It went against everything he'd taught you as a child.

Perhaps that was true, perhaps you were doing something that you should have never done in the first place...

Or perhaps he had been wrong.

You had never had a truer friend than Nick, not for as long as you'd lived. The relationship you two shared made you question everything you'd ever known. Was it possible that generations of witch hunters could have been wrong? You weren't sure, but right now, you weren't a witch hunter. You were hunting the hunters.

"You're sure about this?" he clarified, looking up at the church. He knew for a fact that they were in there, but once you went through those doors, he couldn't protect you. The idea of it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Luckily though, it didn't matter to you that he couldn't accompany you. In fact, you preferred it that way. It was the only way that you could be sure he was safe. You weren't worried about them hurting you.

"Of course I'm sure. Just don't miss me too much while I'm gone" you teased, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to his cheek.

As soon as you made contact, you were gone, leaving the man alone on the stairs. All he could do was hope for your quick return, trying not to go insane in your absence.

All he could think about was what he would do if something bad happened to you. How he would feel if you died and he couldn't save you...it would ruin his life to have to live without you.

And it wasn't until now that he realized.

Nicholas was completely, and totally in love with you.

"How could I be so stupid" he grumbled, throwing his head back dramatically. If only he had been more insistent. You could have found another way around it, a way that he could help you. If only he hadn't been so quick to involve you in this mess.

It wasn't your fight.

This had never been your fight, and if something happened to you, it would be all his fault.

~

The fight within the walls of the church had been brutal.

However, aside from a few scratches and bruises, you made it out relatively unscathed. Not that you were really ready for what you saw when inside. Sabrina was some kind of ticking time bomb, from what you could tell, and you had no words.

Luckily, Harvey was there to take care of her so that you were free to meet Nicholas outside.

The man was practically vibrating with nerves, sitting on the cement steps with his elbows resting on his knees. You could tell that something was wrong with him, but due to the spinning in your skull, you could hardly tell for sure.

"What's up?" you wondered, sitting down beside him on the step, throwing your legs down dramatically. It was just meant to be a casual greeting but as soon as Nick's eyes locked on you, you'd have thought you were bleeding from your eyes.

He was panicking.

"What happened to you? Are you okay? I'm so glad you're alive" he rambled, running his hands over your face lightly, as if assessing the damage that had been done to you. He couldn't imagine what had gone on in there.

In all honesty though, you were just looking at him like he was crazy.

Nick had never acted like this with you.

“I’m always fine Nick, what’s going on?” you wondered, studying his face with critical eyes. Perhaps the shock of what he’d endured today was just now hitting him, or he was in hysteria. 

Whatever it was, you didn’t like it one bit. 

Now, it was the warlock’s turn to be silent. He had approached this whole thing with too much zeal, and now he had to explain himself to you. The main problem was that he had no idea how to do it. 

Knowing you, you would likely just laugh in his face. 

Still, Nicholas would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t find out how you felt for him. These feelings for you weren’t going to go away, but perhaps you cared for him.

...Just maybe.

“I’m in love with you” he spit out, feeling the air change between the two of you as soon as he did. Being friendly with a warlock was okay, but it had taken you a long time to get there. 

He could only imagine how long it would take you to get comfortable with the idea of entering a serious relationship with one. Still, Nick had to admit that he felt as if a weight had been removed from his chest as soon as he did. 

Not that you could say the same. 

Loving Nicky had never been an option for you, right? What would your family say? What would the witching community think if they ever found out? It would be far too dangerous. 

Though, you couldn’t seem to stop yourself as you smiled, leaning forward to capture Nick’s lips in a kiss. 

...The world would just have to find a way to accept this unlikely pairing, like it or not.