#//He would NEVER willingly want to draw his sword on him ever again; not if he could help it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreadfutures · 1 year

Note

For the DADWC: “You don’t know what you do to me, do you?" for Dirthamen x Ixchel, perhaps?

i feel so out of practice x_x but that's what @dadrunkwriting is for right?

-:-:-

Dirthamen will not allow his family to wander through his estate freely, not like Andruil in her bluster or Falon'Din in his hubris. Dirthamen keeps nothing politically interesting here at home, and certainly nothing that any of them would find useful—against him, or otherwise. Nevertheless, his insides shrivel at the thought of his siblings opening the books he has taken such care in illustrating, or his adopted father sneering at the flowers he has cultivated, or his mother commenting on the disarray of his cellars.

He knows that Deceit and Fear would never willingly lead their guests to his private affairs, but they likewise would be unable to resist the All-Mother, should she request something. Thus, Dirthamen must accompany his squabbling, bored family to and fro across the estate as their whims shift, to make sure they do not see or enter where he does not want them to.

Dirthamen would like to do anything other than play host and tour guide to his family. But most of all, he would like to be alone with Ixchel.

He sees her very little when his family vists. They had mutually decided that it was best she steer clear of Andruil, even now, many years removed from the Huntress's suspicions, and to draw the eye of the All-Mother usually means one is about to fail some sort of scrutiny. It is for the best that she flits about the estate in an opposing orbit to the path of the squabbling gods. And it is for her safety that she does not sleep alone.

At some odd hour of the day, she sleeps while Deceit guards her. At night, when the Dreamers lay their heads to rest and venture into the Fade—to squabble, more, of course—she stands outside his door as guardian to the threshold.

He knows that he is watched, that they are watched, in every interaction. Long ears and keen eyes can see far even in this place he presides over, and so their interactions are brief and formal in a way they have not been in what feels like a long, long time.

They are bonded partners. But she is his Champion, his vassal, first; her vows were for her sword to his name before they were ever promises of eternity and affection. It is custom, it is proper, it is safer, for her to play that role for the others.

Plus, she hates the Evanuris, and she is very bad at controlling her face. It just would not end well.

But Dirth can know all there is in the world, and still, he would hunger for more. He knows all of this, and yet he aches to have her in his arms again.

When his family abruptly decides to depart for Sylaise's palace, likely out of sheer boredom, Dirthamen is ecstatic. He sees them off through the eluvians and seals it behind them almost before they have quite finished walking through, but he cannot tame his eagerness. He must at once tell his household that the Evanuris have left, and they can drop these silly pretenses of pomp and circumstance at last.

He tells Fear, then goes in search of Deceit and Ixchel. But he does not find them in their quarters, nor in his private library, so he searches further, casts his net wider. He goes to the orchards, to the lake, but still he cannot find a trace of their path.

He is beginning to worry that perhaps his family left in such a hurry because something has happened to his Champion—but then he reaches the center of his estate, the very heart, where the training yard lies, and he finds his friends hard at work.

They are sparring, and it seems they have been for some time. As Ixchel has grown into her strength here in this world, she has become an even more fearsome warrior than ever. She and Deceit are whirlwinds on the battlefield, stopped only by heavy impacts between their bodies. He can imagine how the bruises will blossom across their shjins and forearms from blocking brutal swings—and this is only hand-to-hand combat he witnesses now. Training weapons lie discarded across the courtyard.

Further evidence of their intensive training is plain to see. Both of them are drenched in sweat, hair and clothing plastered to their forms. Droplets darken the ground with every sharp movement, shaken free from the ends of their sopping wet hair. He can hear, even at a distance, the heavy breaths and gasps that escape them as they dodge and dance around each other.

They are familiar sounds. Dizzyingly familiar.

Dirthamen waits in the shadows above the courtyard, unnoticed even by Deceit at this distance. But he has a great view, enhanced by magic, of their battle, and he is enraptured.

He does not actually see the battle after a while. Instead, visions consume him of dark bedrooms filled by the warmth of his body and his Champion's. He recalls the bounds of her stamina, tested against his insatiable desire for her and her pleasure.

From his high perch, he begins to feel as warm as if he had been training alongside her. His flowing robes and his feathers feel uncomfortably tight against his skin, and his mouth waters with anticipation. He longs, and he plans.

Deceit will play along.

And though he doubts Ixchel realizes how much he has missed her company, he is fairly confident that she—his impatient, fierce vun'ean—has been similarly frustrated by the distance that they have maintained during this time. He knows that were he to give her the word of their freedom, all her restraint would snap (as would his), and they would find themselves confined to bed for several days to make up for it,.

That will certainly happen, but it can wait—just a few hours more.

Just a few.

-:-

He strides down the hall toward his rooms and finds Ixchel waiting for him to retire. Just like he had hoped, she stands on guard, unaware that his family have departed and the need for this act has passed.

The one act she has never mastered is the disinterest in his movements. A good servant would stand stoically, ignore his every move, pretend as though their only purpose is to stand frozen in time, a wound trap waiting to be set off.

Ixchel, instead, watches his every move. Her eyes are hawkish as she notes every aspect of him, and he is certain she is able to tell his heart rate just by looking at him. It makes him feel tall, strong, the way she looks at him. Though she scorns the stoicism of others in her role, she does remain professional; there is no heat in her gaze as she watches him. She assesses, she is aware, she is doing her job in the best way she knows how.

He wants to be worthy of her dedication and her strength and her fearsome beauty—and to shower her with appreciation that she deserves. And he thinks he knows how.

Dirthamen allows his eyes to slip past her, and he enters his rooms. The door shuts behind him, which allows him a few moments of privacy as he ensures the room is ready for her return. With every fastidious detail he puts in place, he feels his own anticipation mount. It is delicious denial that keeps him on task and holds him back from leaping upon her as he wishes.

But he wishes.

He wants.

And at last he is ready.

Dirthamen readies a spell in his fingertips, and the door opens silently at his bidding.

Ixchel does not notice, her eyes fixed forward to watch the hall for intruders.

She has bathed and dressed in fresh clothing since her sparring match in the courtyard, of course, but he imagines that if he were to bury his nose in the space behind her ear he might smell the toil of her afternoon still clinging to her skin. So he does. His lips find the shell of her ear, and remarkably, she does not startle too badly—thankfully, too, she does not attempt to kill him on instinct. He feels her whole body go stiff at the unexpected touch, but as his familiar scent envelopes her, she releases a breath of relief.

"My lord," she whispers. "What are you doing?"

"What I have wanted to do for a month," he says, his voice barely more than a breath given the faintest shape by the lips he trails to the point of her ear. A full-body shudder wracks her in the wake of his words, filling him with the satisfaction that she was just as wound up as he was.

She is silent, but he can almost feel the disapproval that must be on her face. It makes him chuckle, a ghostly sound against the side of her head as he tucks his nose into the spot he has desired all along. Her skin is blessedly warm and she smells so intensely of her, revealing just how faint and sad the remnants of her scent that she has left in their shared bed are. He cannot refrain from taking a taste thereafter, lips finding her pulse in a brushing kiss before returning for something more substantial.

If she were any other woman, he is certain she might collapse into his arms then and there. But she is his Champion, and she has not been released from her duty, so she stands tall and unbowed by his advances.

"I saw your match with Deceit today," he says, teeth brushing her exposed neck with every hard syllable. He wants her to shiver again, but she seems too prepared for him now, and he knows he will need to try harder. "I thought of swooping down then and there to carry you off… If I tasted the sweat off your brow, would I taste the fire that drives you to such perfection, such diligence?"

He has been so careful to keep his hands to himself, waiting for the perfect moment to touch her, to pluck her like a string and loose her. It grows more difficult with every moment that passes, but perhaps he can preoccupy himself for a while longer…

The moment he presses his hand against the line of his cock, he knows he is on a countdown to a complete loss of control. He has fantasized, dreamed, of her hand around him, and even his own does not compare. It will do, in the interim, but he wants the callouses of her fingers, the shape of her palm, her grip—

He takes a shaky breath, and she mirrors him in exact harmony that makes his heart swell.

"My lord," she says more firmly. "If it is diligence you admire, then allow me to practice it for one day more."

He almost laughs agian, but chokes instead at the hard edge of her voice. She might turn around and shove him back into his room—and close the door—to preserve his station in the eyes of his family, stomp out the flames of both their ambitions until a more appropriate time.

It would be so easy to simply tell her the truth, that his family is long since hence, but now a challenge has presented itself and he cannot resist trying to ply her with his wiles and pure, unfiltered desire. What might it take to break that unyielding will of hers, until all she can do is pin him against the wall and ravish him?

He strokes himself as he considers the strong, square line of her shoulder.

"Oh, vun'ean," he purrs, "you do not know what you do to me, do you? The longer you hold yourself apart from me, the more I am drawn to you. The more plate armor between us, the more I imagine touching your skin…"

"Go dream, then," she grouses. "Do what I cannot."

Dirthamen tuts at her. "No, no. Not when you are right here, and I…"

At last he reaches for her, slides one hand languorously around the swell of her hip, follows the line of her hip bone and follows it slowly, painstakingly, toward the juncture of her thighs—barred by skirts, but no matter. With his hand cupped around her, he pulls her back against his erection, so that he is certain she feels just how badly she affects him.

"…I am here…"

Her breath is trapped in her throat for a moment. He can feel her chest heave with thwarted words—but as he wraps his other hand around her to find a generous breast, to clasp her back against him more securely, all the air in her lungs is released ine one, shaking gasp.

It is a perfect sound, and he wants to hear it again.

His fingers tighten, and he cannot help how his hips tilt up to drive him closer, to earn the friction he so desperately desires.

"…and my dear family have departed at last…"

"—Dirth."

She rounds on him in a flurry of skirts and hair and heated breath, and disbelief, annoyance, and good humor are plain in the light of her eye. She grips his wrists and tears him away from her body—only to crowd him back, chasing the heat of him against her all the way back against the closed door to his rooms.

Their lips collide, and he whines into her mouth as she tears into his hair, his clothes, seeking his warmth and flesh and perhaps even bone with a hunger that twists his gut.

There is a split second in which she pulls him by the hair to bare his throat, and he peers at her from eyes half-curtained by his long lashes, and she gives him a look that might make him combust. In that split second, he conveys a simple, taunting request:

I told you what I wanted. Now it's your turn.

#long post #da drunk writing circle #sunbird

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thebladeblaster · 2 years

Text

So I have been thinking about the Demonic Gene lately

You know I’m surprised I haven’t seen any fan made demon designs for the Mikado guys considering they have the Demonic Gene. I was thinking about this again after reading the Walter manga. Honestly when it comes to Isabeau and Gaston I’m drawing up blanks. Does anyone have any ideas? This one here is based of Flynn in the Demonic Gene manga.

Demonic Gene in Bonds: Flynn is actually very resistant to the Demonic Gene, but he can still turn. Basically he would have to stay a very extended period of time around one of the infected. If he does transform it’s very unstable, and many people become unable to perceive him in his full form like Sanat or Ancient of Days. Flynn is obviously panicking hard when this is happening. He doesn’t want to be controlled again. (I have this head canon that the emotions or whatever the person is thinking about during the transformation affects it) So when he transforms he’s completely uncontrollable not even Hugo can control him. He tries to control Flynn and just gets squashed then his power absorbed. After Hugo’s death the fates of those in Mikado become linked to Flynn.

It goes like this:

*Flynn squashes Hugo*

Asahi: Yay! Flynn’s still on our side!

*Flynn turns to the bonds squad and launches an Antichthon at them*

Nanashi: Ah, Asahi I don’t think he’s on our side either!!!

So, anyway the squad devised a plan sealing Flynn is Masakado’s katana temporarily with the help of Danu and the National Defense Deities till they can think of a way to get him to chill out. In the sword Masakado is trying to calm Flynn and restrain him at the same time. Eventually Flynn does regain himself after breaking out of the sword and nearly killing everyone.

The trouble I have had with demon Flynn is if I want a more human or demonic design. So my brain decided ‘why not both?’.

Demonic Gene in Chaos Route: I imagine he transforms at some point. He doesn’t go berserk in Chaos because he’s a lot calmer and is willingly embracing his demonic side. I imagine it’s when Merkahbah declares Flynn to be a demon with Flynn being like ‘Your damn right I’m a demon!’.

It’s like the chad yes meme😅

In a nutshell:

Overall the more controlled state above is mostly human. The amount of shadows covering Flynn tends to vary. I gave him glowing red eyes to contrast Nanashi’s glowing green eyes. He can look completely human if he wants to. The more inhuman he looks depending on his current temperament.

Warning: Extremely rough sketch!

I have had this design in my brain for forever, but I’ve never drawn it before. I was mostly thinking ‘there’s no way they would ever do such a demonic design’. So, anyway the more humanoid form is when he’s calm while the demonic form is berserk. I was imagining a shadowy creature with a body like black flames with Z shaped red eyes. The color scheme referencing the black Demonica. The four arms and snake tail are a reference to his connection to Krishna/Vishnu. You could say the design is like a much more monstrous Vishnu-Flynn. Then there’s oddly talons and wings. This is in reference to something from my SMT IV fics. Basically because I’m evil I like (torturing my favs) making Flynn’s mom become a demon. In that she becomes a Camatotz. I thought making those design aspects would be a nice connection to that. Also not sure if this is incredibly stupid or cool, but I had the idea his skeletal wings inner blades detach and he uses them as swords.

#shin megami tensei #smt iv #smt4 apocalypse #demonic gene #smt flynn #vishnu flynn #smt isabeau #Gaston smt #asahi smt #nanashi smt #abbot hugo #my crappy edit #my crappy doodle

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords

Summary: In order to keep Ravka intact, general Kirgan, the Darkling, must marry. Needless to say, he’s not happy about it, but neither is his bride.

Warnings: indicating smut, slight angst

============================

Standing at the altar, wearing his black kefta, the Darkling grinds his teeth at the closed door at the end of it.

Any moment now, the door will open and his bride will appear as an angel in white. Except, the Darkling preferred to think of her as devil incarnate.

Although her beauty is without faults, her mind is sharp and her tongue can be sweeter than honey, Y/N Y/L/N is everything the Darkling hates.

She's entitled, bratty, arguably manipulative and downright cruel. She's all that and more, at least to him. But the one thing he cannot forgive her for is her lineage. As a daughter of a man he sought to destroy, Y/N became general Zlatan’s bargaining chip.

“You must marry her and she must be included in all decisions concerning Ravka on my behalf, or we will declare independence.”

General Zlatan gave the emperor no room to argue on the matter, forcing the marriage onto them. As the emperor had no male descendants to marry off, the next in line was general Kirigan. And while the Darkling fought the emperor on this instance, he was given no choice – either marry Zlatan’s daughter or someone else will be ascending as a leader of the Second army.

"Is it too late to run?" Ivan turns to Kirigan and Fedyor with a breathless chuckle, earning a dirty look from the official Y/N insisted marries them. She caved on the Palace setting, but no one could bend her will on who it is that seals their marriage contract.

"You promised." Fedyor reminds him and Kirigan closes his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Maybe some promises are best broken. She'll be the death of Ravka." Licking his lips, the Darkling glances at the door as a faint noise is heard on the other side of the door.

‘Of me’, he thinks to himself, ‘She’ll be the death of me.’

“She is Zlatan’s daughter with no special powers”, Ivan scoffs, “What could she possibly do?”

"I'll make her just as unhappy as I am now. She's never going to love me and I most certainly will never love her," the Darkling huffs, straightening his back as his eyes narrow at the door. “Unhappy women are always dangerous.” He pauses, pursing his lips, “Even if they are just human.”

"You said this is a business deal, so think of it as such." Ivan raises an eyebrow, wondering why is love even on Kirigan’s mind. In all his time serving his general, Ivan never heard the word pass his lips before now.

"I will”, the Darkling rolls his tongue, focusing on Ivan and Fedyor again. "Tell me you’d fight with me to preserve Ravka if I walk away."

"Do whatever you want, but you better be fast because your bride is coming", Fedyor nods toward the grand opening of the grandiose door, revealing a vision in white and the veil covering her face.

"Fuck", the Darkling mutters under his breath, his heart jumping at the sight.

He watched her walk, his nerves gnawing away at him and all he could think about is why his heart is beating so fast. Why would he be nervous? She should be the one drowning in nerves instead of walking so confidently. Why is she not afraid of him?

Folding his shaky hands behind his back, the Darkling could have sworn every step she took closer made his heart drop further in his chest. It was only a matter of time before he had nothing left but to accept his destiny and take an ordinary woman such as Y/N as his bride. Oddly enough, he found comfort in her mortality. She would die eventually and he’ll be free of her. If she angers him or her father stirs up trouble, he’d make sure he’ll be free much sooner.

Finally in front of him, Y/N holds her breath as the Darkling reluctantly pulls the veil up, revealing her face.

When she first met him, it was on a field of scattered, mangled bodies. He looked at the sky like a man would look at a withered flower in which he no longer sees the beauty he plucked it for, thus destroying it.

And when he looked at her, Y/N forgot to breathe.

There are no traces of doubt, no evidence this isn't the happiest day of her life. If anything, the Darkling is in awe of her and her ability to maintain composure without showing the slightest inkling of her disdain for him. He’s looking for a weakness, studying her in order to find something, anything he could use to make her submit to him, but she’s not flinching. Her stare is unyielding, fierce, and she is unbowed, like a rose in the eye of a hurricane.

"You should have worn the white kefta. Black is for funerals", she notes, her voice low and cold and the Darkling can't help but scoff.

“Black is my color. Besides”, he leans in, pressing his lips against her cheek before whispering, "It is a funeral."

While the crowd whispered and awed over the little exchange, Y/N's lips twitched into a brief smile. Reaching out for his hand, she tilts her head to her left, hiding her face with the veil as she scowls at him.

The ceremony begins, but neither the Darkling nor Y/N can truly focus on a single word said. Y/N is busy wondering what she could do best to make his life hell. This isn’t exactly what she had in mind for her future either and being exchanged like a broodmare to delay a war is unforgivable. She couldn’t forgive her father for giving her over to a known monster, nor could she forgive her seconds-to-be husband.

He is cruel, manipulative, a beast hidden under a handsome built and he may be appealing to the eye, but she can feel he’s rotten inside.

The Darkling’s eyes are fixed on her, examining every single inch of her rather small sized body. Though her curves are undeniable, her height would leave him with a craned neck and back pain in the future. Inhaling sharply, he tried to understand why his thoughts of all the things he hates about her include ripping that wedding dress straight off her. She looks far too appealing in a dress for him to ignore and it sparks a fire to further fuel the flames of hate he’s tended to.

Either way, quicker than imagined, the Darkling found himself saying "I do", forcing a smile that matched the one she displayed. Unlike his cold smile that didn't reach his eyes, Y/N was capable of making her smile believable, enough for him to envy her acting skills.

"You may kiss the bride."

Licking his lips, Kirigan's eyes flicker to Y/N's lips. He never kissed her before, the human who perfectly portrayed an ice queen. It would be a lie if he said kissing her never crossed his mind, but it didn't feel like he'd willingly do so even if he had a chance. He didn’t desire her at all. He refused to allow himself as much.

Y/N glanced at the crowd, seeing their little whispers about how long Kirigan is taking and how they pity her for marrying someone like him – a dark shadow, an abomination even in their world.

She felt a shuddered breath pass her lips as Kirigan leaned into her, torturously slow and the worst part? He smells good, intoxicating kind of good. And whether she liked it or not, her heart fluttered as his lips grazed hers and his hand cupped her cheek.

The Darkling's heart quivered, his mind overflowing with frustration. He couldn't comply and kiss her wholeheartedly, but he found himself wanting to turn her over, to have his way with her.

She's infuriating, unlawfully cocky and unjustly stunning. No wonder hell is where most mankind would go considering the beauty of its tempting demons that poise as naïve angels.

Snapping out of the daze, she pulls back first, whispering against his lips. "Hope you enjoyed it, because it will be the last time you’ll ever taste my lips in your lifetime."

Blinking slow, the Darkling smirked, genuinely entertained. "We will see about that", and he took her words as a personal challenge.

He would melt the ice queen and have her on her knees, begging for his love before the year is done. He will demean Zlatan by turning his own daughter against him and he will do so with pleasure.

Part two

#the darkling x reader #the darkling #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #the darkling au #aleksander x reader #aleksander kirigan #kirigan x reader #the darkling fanfiction

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial.

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek.

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame.

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him.

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering.

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror.

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak.

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive.

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive.

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react.

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse.

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point.

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile.

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed.

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

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mala-sadas · 3 years

Text

On the Legendary Wolves’ Plot in Pokéspe SWSH

I really like the way the legendary wolves’ plot is being handled in Pokespe so far. They’ve made a handful of changes and additions to the plot as it’s presented in the games that make it feel integral to the main characters and the overarching story, as well as just being more interesting to follow.

Part of the reason why this plotline is weak in the games is because it’s presented as just a minor subplot. You occasionally get more information about what really happened as you progress through the game, but it doesn’t seem important for you to pay attention to it until you get to the climax and Rose reveals that he’s caused the Darkest Day. Even though you encounter Zacian or Zamazenta in the Slumbering Weald at the beginning of the game, it’s not until Circhester that Hop connects that encounter to the legend you’re unraveling. And in the grand scheme of things, all that encounter does is confirm that the sword and shield Pokémon live in the Slumbering Weald - which Sonia apparently also learns about in a book that mentions Zacian and Zamazenta by name. So, why was it necessary, again?

But right out of the gate, Spe immediately ties the legendary wolves into the main characters’ backstory and motivations. A year prior to the beginning of the chapter, Sou goes to the Slumbering Weald to try to find the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield. He knows about them – and has an interest in them – because he’s from a family of swordsmiths, and he wants to see genuine, historical pieces of armor in person. Meanwhile, Schilly goes to the Weald to look for a Wishing Star that she had seen falling, since she wants to get it made into a Dynamax Band. The pair encounter the illusory Zacian and Zamazenta, and Sou immediately comes to the conclusion that these two are here to protect the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield – a conclusion supported by the fact that when they walk through the illusions to try to take a look at the artifacts, they’re knocked out by a flash of light. When they awaken, the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield are gone - as are all of Schilly’s Pokémon. Sou decides to start traveling with Schilly because he feels partly responsible for her Pokémon going missing, and Schilly decides to compete in the Gym Challenge to spread the word about her missing Pokémon and make it easier for her to find them. Additionally, it’s later revealed that Sou decided to participate in the Gym Challenge so he can get stronger and challenge Zacian and Zamazenta to a battle, believing that they’ll only allow someone with skill as a Trainer and an earnest desire to see the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield to see the artifacts in person.

So, in short, the reason why Sou and Schilly met and their respective reasons for taking on the Gym Challenge are both intrinsically linked to their encounter with the legendary wolves. This makes the wolves’ presence relevant throughout the whole story, ensuring that the reader doesn’t forget about the encounter by the time it becomes relevant again. (I also appreciate that they gave the wolves a concrete reason to appear before the protags in the Weald, something which the games and anime never really bothered to provide.)

Additionally, the decision to introduce the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield right away instead of saving their introduction for the climax like what happens in the games was a really smart choice. First, it ties directly into Sou’s interests, giving him a good reason to be interested in the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield as well as the other legends involving swords and shields. Second, it allows the characters to link together the encounter with Zacian and Zamazenta to the information they’re learning about the legends - Sou observes that the sword and shield held by the statue of the hero in Motostoke as well as the sword and shield depicted on the Hammerlocke tapestries resemble the Rusted Sword and Rusted Shield, suggesting that the legends have a connection to the artifacts. And when I say “suggesting”, I don’t just mean in the sense that it’s something you can interpolate from the text. I mean that Sou literally says, “It’s not entirely unlikely that the three are all the same,” and Raihan brings up later that if they’re the same sword and shield, the legendary wolves may be connected to these events in some way as well.

This is another thing that I really appreciate about the way that Pokéspe is handling this plotline: the characters actually speculate, hypothesize, and draw conclusions about the evidence that they’re being presented with. In the games, most of the encounters with Sonia just involve you pointing out incredibly obvious things about the historical artifact/legend, and Sonia agreeing that they’re significant. She asks a lot of questions, but doesn’t postulate answers to them unless they’re directly being shown to you. And even some of the conclusions she draws seem like leaps of logic, like when she assumes that the statue behind the Stow-on-Side mural must be correct because it was made in “truly ancient times” - like, we just discovered this statue, Sonia. We have no idea how old it is.

But in Spe, the characters draw logical conclusions from the information they have, which means they can figure things out a lot faster than they do in the games and makes the conversation interesting to read whenever they learn new information. For example, Sou speculates that the sword and shield wielded by the hero might’ve had special powers, which is true. How did he figure this out? He explains that he thought about it because the hero used them to fight giant, rampaging Pokémon, which is a bit difficult to accomplish with a normal sword and shield.

Another great example of this is in Hammerlocke vault, when Sou guesses that Chairman Rose wants to cause the Darkest Day. One might think that he’s figuring things out way too quickly, but the thing is, this conclusion makes perfect sense given the information he has. While looking at the tapestries, Sou notices that the first one depicts a Wishing Star falling and the second one depicts the Darkest Day occurring. Thus, he guesses that Wishing Stars might have caused the Darkest Day, a hypothesis that Sonia agrees with because they’ve already figured out that the Darkest Day has a connection to Dynamaxing, and Wishing Stars cause Dynamaxing. But Sou had previously learned from Bede that Chairman Rose is collecting a massive amount of Wishing Stars, so it’s only natural that his next thought would be to wonder if Chairman Rose is - advertently or inadvertently - going to cause the Darkest Day again. This immediately ties the Rose plot in with the legendary wolves’ plot, a connection that doesn’t start to be made until your third visit to Hammerlocke in the games.

In general, the Hammerlocke vault scene is way better in Spe than it is in the games, where all you get is Sonia saying that the disaster depicted is probably the Darkest Day and wondering if there was one hero or two. Besides the conclusions that I already mentioned, Sonia also connects the disaster shown in the tapestries to the disaster shown in the Turffield geoglyph, concluding that they’re both depictions of the Darkest Day. However, Sou points out the lack of giant Pokémon in the tapestries, which are always associated with the Darkest Day. I really like how they point out both the similarities and the differing details between the stories, which makes it a little more understandable why no one has ever put together that this myth of the creation of Galar and the legend of the Darkest Day might be referring to the same event.

Finally, the last major improvement that I want to talk about is the one that was introduced in the latest chapter: an explanation for why the legendary wolves’ existence was lost from the legends. The destruction of the Stow-on-Side mural happens offscreen in this story, which is kind of understandable - the main significance of this statue in the games was to introduce the concept of Pokémon being involved in the legend, which Sou, Sonia, and Raihan had already figured out. This statue holds a completely different significance here: when Sonia is telling the protagonists about the newly discovered ruins, she says that she thinks the mural was put up by someone who wanted to deliberately hide the two Pokémon from the legend, giving all the credit to the humans. She points out the tapestry at Bob’s Your Uncle as further proof of this, which - given its condition - looks like someone threw it away so it would disappear from history.

I don’t believe that the games ever explain how the tapestry ended up in the restaurant, so the fact that it’s given any sort of context here is really neat. But more importantly than that, it’s really interesting that they’re stating outright that the legendary wolves were deliberately removed from the legend. In the games, Sonia wonders why the ruins at Stow-on-Side would be hidden, but doesn’t offer an explanation - she doesn’t even say anything to suggest that it was done intentionally. The question is never brought up again. So I’m really hoping that Spe won’t go that route, and this revelation will have broader implications in the story next chapter or even later - that we’re going to find out who covered it up, or possibly that someone in the present day knows about the cover-up and is willingly propagating it. The immediate assumption is that it’ll be connected to Sordward and Shielbert in some way, since they benefit from the legend being that their ancestors were the heroes who saved Galar. But I think it could also be interesting if we find out that Rose knew about the statue and is deliberately trying to keep the existence of the sword and shield Pokémon covered up - it’d make a lot of sense why he was so unforgiving to Bede for trying to destroy the mural if that were true. Either way, I’m excited to see where they take this concept.

tl;dr The way Pokéspe has been handling the plot points related to the legendary wolves has been really good so far, much better than it was in the games, and I’m very excited to see how it develops going forward!

#pokespe #pokemon special #swsh chapter #analysis #trainer sonia #trainer sou #trainer soudo #zacian #zamazenta #i spent way too long on this #please read and appreciate it #also it has given me a much greater appreciation for sou as a character #he's at his best when history is involved tbh

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Good Help - chapter 2 - ao3 link

Despite the circumstances of their first meeting, Meng Yao mostly appreciated A-Jue for his quick mind and fearlessness – and, yes, occasionally for his towering height that made grabbing books from high places infinitely easier – rather than his muscles, however impressive they were. In fact, after the first few weeks, he had very nearly forgotten that A-Jue was a guard of the inner hall.

The assassination attempt put an end to that oversight.

It wasn’t that Meng Yao hadn’t anticipated such an attempt, nor that he hadn’t taken precautions. He was careful to take his meals in the communal kitchen at unexpected hours and tested even the snacks he kept with him before consuming them, and naturally avoided any unsupervised hallways or attempts to lure him outside, but he had underestimated the enmity that greeted his appointment: he had not thought that they would launch a direct attack.

The perpetrators entered his office as petitioners, posing as clerks for an influential merchant, and launched the attack just as they were settling into the rhythm of negotiations. They were hoping to catch him distracted, which they did, but Meng Yao had always had good instincts; he realized what was happening the first moment they moved. He was out of his chair and reaching for the flexible sword he stored around his waist almost at once, already calculating how many injuries he could incur and still be able to fight back enough to preserve his life – he just needed to survive until the guards came in, unless they’d somehow gotten rid of those, in which case he needed to run –

The calculations proved unnecessary.

By the time Meng Yao’s hand reached the hilt of his blade, A-Jue was already in front of him, catching one assassin the chest with a vicious palm strike and knocking him into the path of another, turning fluidly to slam an elbow into a third.

He didn’t even draw the saber that hung low at his waist, just knocked aside the assassin’s swords and daggers with his bare hands and then beating them with his fists and feet.

Meng Yao stood there for a moment, blinking, and by the time even his quick-moving mind caught up with everything the assassins all were unconscious or paralyzed, the merchant was on his knees begging for mercy and swearing to his ignorance, and A-Jue was standing there, frowning slightly at one of the still-twitching assassins like he was considering going in for more.

“Why didn’t you draw your saber?” Meng Yao asked, both because he was curious and because it was a better reaction than saying I forgot you could do that or I thought I’d be facing them all on my own again, or, even worse, thanks.

“I thought you’d want them alive to question them,” A-Jue said, blinking at him – he had the same expression of good-natured puzzlement as he did any time Meng Yao corrected him, whether as to his calculation of accounting errors or underestimating the malice inherent in mankind, which remained a subject of recurrent disagreement. “Was I wrong?”

“Not at all,” Meng Yao said, and felt once again the thrill of power when A-Jue nodded and called for other guards to enter and remove the bodies, although he crouched by each one first to check them over for any suicide pills or arrays that might interfere with an interrogation. His professional detachment and efficient resolution of events was truly suitable for a guard of the inner hall, the finest of Wen Ruohan’s soldiers; there could be no complaints.

There was something truly delightful about having a powerful man at your beck and call, Meng Yao reflected, and wondered briefly if A-Jue had been sent his way deliberately as a plant to infiltrate his confidence. It seemed unlikely, given the random nature of their meeting, and certainly A-Jue didn’t fit any of Meng Yao’s known pre-existing preferences, other than in terms of bedpartners. And yet he grew suspicious, if only because A-Jue suited him so very well, just right in every way…

Meng Yao spent the next three days conducting a series of covert tests to see if any information was being leaked from his office through A-Jue, but there was nothing. Ultimately, he was forced to conclude that A-Jue might actually just be – like that.

Straightforward and blunt, fearless in both speech and action, decisive and capable and yet willing to take orders from Meng Yao, never judging him for his birth but respecting him for his abilities…

Good help, he reminded his suddenly over-active libido. Hard to find. Don’t ruin a good thing.

It was hard to remember, though. A-Jue was just the sort of man Meng Yao liked when he went for men: handsome and powerfully built, well-born or rich or both, stern and unyielding in demeanor, the sort of man for whom life generally went the way they wanted. The sort could easily get a girl, even one of good breeding and appropriate lineage, merely by snapping his fingers. The type of man that might tempt even a practiced whore.

Meng Yao liked to break those types of men.

It was a trait he shared with Wen Ruohan, and one of the ways he had managed to get the Emperor’s attention – that first job he had taken had been in the Fire Palace, the Emperor’s torture chambers, and he had worked out a considerable portion of his anger and anxiety through the torment of his enemies, defined liberally as anyone who insulted his mother. He’d matured since then, growing calmer, but he still liked to put proud men on their knees and make them service him, to rub their faces in the fact that he was the one with the power, to make them crawl and plead and cry for him. Though he supposed for someone like A-Jue – he wouldn’t need to break him, really.

It’d be enough to see him bend. Willingly, for him.

And yet, if Meng Yao did that, wouldn’t A-Jue start to flinch from him and turn away from him – seek to preserve his injured pride by fleeing Meng Yao’s presence, the way so many others before him had? It would make working together much more annoying, and A-Jue was perfect the way he was.

Almost irritatingly so. If only A-Jue were more inclined to make errors, Meng Yao would feel freer to take advantage of him.

“Have you ever thought less of me because of my parentage?” Meng Yao asked one evening, apropos of nothing, when A-Jue was already exhausted and more than a little wild-eyed from having to review every single one of the reports on wheat yields in their northern provinces as part of Meng Yao’s random audit of the files.

“I mean, Jin Guangshan’s a waste of space, but you’re nothing like him, so not after the beginning,” A-Jue said automatically, then scowled at Meng Yao when he started laughing. “What? Give me a break, I didn’t know you then! How was I to guess that you’d actually be competent? Or – not awful?”

“I was,” Meng Yao said with dignity, even if his lips insisted on twitching, “referring to my mother.”

“But you hate it when people talk about your mother,” A-Jue said blankly, then shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, is this some sort of mind game? If so, can it wait until tomorrow? I’m going to dream in wheat prices.”

“It can wait until tomorrow,” Meng Yao agreed, pretending to be solemn. He wasn’t sure if he was more amused at A-Jue’s ridiculous perspective on things or the fact that he seemed to think Meng Yao was not awful simply because he’d indulged him a few times when he was being especially insistent on doing things the soft-hearted way.

“You’re making fun of me again,” A-Jue grumbled. “I don’t know why, but you are. Fuck you.”

The next day, Meng Yao asked A-Jue if he’d ever been to a whorehouse.

“Yes, while on campaign,” A-Jue said, blinking rapidly as if he were trying to hide something, or more likely not think of something. Either he’d had a bad experience or he thought Meng Yao was going to cut off his balls for admitting it.

Which he wouldn’t, of course. There was nothing wrong with the better sort of customer, and Meng Yao felt certain that A-Jue would have been that sort, could imagine him sitting in the corner with a jar of wine and a blush until he was coaxed upstairs and then paying too much for the privilege, after...but it was cute that A-Jue worried about such things.

Meng Yao put a friendly hand on A-Jue’s shoulder – the man flinched, briefly, but quickly mastered himself, just as he did any time anyone touched him – and said in his best sugar-sweet sympathetic tone that he hadn’t had to use on anyone in ages, “Did she touch you in a bad place?”

“The honored viceroy can go fuck himself any time he damn well pleases,” A-Jue said, and he had no idea how much Meng Yao would like to ask him if he’d prefer to do the honors himself.

“Do you know any other curses, or is it just variations on the term ‘fuck’?” he asked instead, thinking good help, good help, good help. “I know at least three dozen involving farmyard animals, if you’d like to learn.”

A-Jue’s laugh was in no way like a braying donkey, no matter what Meng Yao pretended to insist.

“Have you considered the benefits of a regular routine of physical exercise?” A-Jue asked.

Meng Yao glared at him.

“I’m just saying,” A-Jue said. “It would make your life easier.”

“Shut up and help me get down from up here,” Meng Yao hissed – A-Jue had taken care of the vicious snarling creatures that had somehow gotten loose, an obvious follow-up assassination attempt now that the poisoning he thought he’d identified in a late-night dessert had been demonstrably unsuccessful, even if A-Jue had insisted that they were just “sweet little puppies” and Meng Yao was “overreacting”.

“I’d be happy to help train you, if you’d like.”

“I’m far too busy,” Meng Yao said with what little shreds of dignity he still possessed. “I do three times as much work as you do, I don’t have capacity to running off to go wave a stick in the air multiple times a day like some people.”

A-Jue grinned at him, utterly unmoved, and Meng Yao huffed, rolling his eyes at him.

“If I agree,” he said, with no intention whatsoever of agreeing, “will you finally show me your saber?”

If there was innuendo in there – well. He was only a man, after all.

“Perhaps one day,” A-Jue said. “It’s not a privileged I give to everyone.”

Meng Yao tried to parse whether that was flirting. He couldn’t quite tell.

“Well, your saber is very large,” he said, probing. “Maybe you should take it out more often.”

“When I take out my saber, someone dies,” A-Jue said, and – probably not flirting, then. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally skewer you.”

Possibly very strange flirting? Meng Yao wouldn’t put it past A-Jue.

“Yes, well,” he said, straightening his robes and settling back into professional mode. “You have fun with your exercise, but leave me out of it.”

A-Jue escorted him back to his office first, conscientious as always.

Once he was gone, Meng Yao rang a certain bell and summoned Sisi, whose freedom was probably the best investment he’d ever made – she’d merged into the palace staff without leaving so much as a trace behind, acting as though the other girls were her sisters and she’d been there forever, and she was more than willing to report on everything she learned.

Also, she’d retained enough of her looks that everyone thought that Meng Yao only summoned her for sex, making A-Jue’s occasional disappearances for training purposes the perfect time for Meng Yao to meet with her without suspicion – he’d given up most of his paranoia surrounding A-Jue, but that was no reason to share all of his tricks.

Besides, he wasn’t sure he actually wanted A-Jue and Sisi to meet.

“When you’re done fucking him, can you share?” Sisi asked after she put down the tray of snacks – buns and a pot of tea, all of which she sampled before his eyes in the name of sharing food. “Man like that deserves to be common property.”

“I’m not whoring him out,” Meng Yao said, a warning in his tone, and Sisi sighed dramatically.

“Tell me you’re at least having a good time with all those muscles,” she said. “Someone ought to be.”

Meng Yao rolled his eyes.

“Where’s the trouble coming from this time?” he asked, deciding to elide the issue entirely. “I keep hearing whispers and people look nervous, the way they do before some sort of trouble, but neither gentry nor merchant class seem to have produced anything out of the ordinary, and I can’t imagine it’s the farmers again after last time.”

“You’re looking out, you should be looking in,” she said.

“The Emperor’s court?”

That could be a serious problem. Any political turmoil that happened within the Nightless City would have ramifications well beyond it.

“His harem,” Sisi said, her face alight with the pleasure of gossip. “Word’s come back from the south – turns out that the Emperor took one of the Imperial Consorts with him for his trip.”

Even Meng Yao’s eyebrows raised.

“And with the Empress in seclusion, well…”

It wasn’t as though the Empress had a strong maternal family as a backing – no one even knew what her surname was – but she’d been there for years and years, practically part of the décor. Replacing her with one of the Consorts would be…a change.

The Nightless City hated change.

“Could you ask to see her?” Sisi asked. “Just as proof of life…”

“I could,” Meng Yao said, because technically he had authority over everyone, “but I won’t. Why would I invite trouble for myself? I’d have to explain to the Emperor why I interfered with his harem.”

“Good point,” Sisi said, although she looked disappointed.

“Which Consort?”

“The rumor says A-Sang,” she said. “The one that likes to carry scholarly fans.”

“A-Sang? Really?”

“I know! We all thought that the Emperor didn’t even like A-Sang – everyone agrees that A-Sang never got any imperial visits before this; the Emperor never spent a night in A-Sang’s rooms, never even shared a meal, nothing. But why else would he take A-Sang with him on a months-long journey?”

Why indeed. The Emperor remained as unfathomable as ever. Meng Yao wondered briefly if Wen Ruohan really had murdered the Empress in her seclusion, faking her presence with a note…still, it seemed implausible. Why would he bother?

“I heard a rumor once,” he said instead. “About A-Sang.”

Like all good spies and shit-stirrers, Sisi was immediately at full attention – she knew that Meng Yao was not inclined to gossip for the pleasure of it, the way she was, and therefore he would only volunteer information if he intended for her to spread it.

“A-Sang is the Empress’ family,” Meng Yao said, and Sisi’s eyes went wide. “Younger sibling.”

Younger brother, he thought, though he didn’t say anything – he didn’t actually know for sure. It was hard to tell. Wen Ruohan didn’t lock away his wives the way some men did; on the contrary, he enjoyed bringing them out for celebrations to show them off. But the Empress was invariably veiled, swathed in silks without a hint of skin showing, always seated in her chair as if she were kneeling in penance, never moving; Meng Yao, who only saw her from a distance during the celebrations, sometimes almost thought she might not have legs. In daily life, she sometimes attended the Emperor’s court, but always remained seated behind her veils and sometimes even a screen, little more than a silhouette from which, rarely, notes emerged but no voice ever did.

Naturally, if the Empress preferred to be veiled, that meant the other wives had to at least pretend to follow her lead. And that meant veils and concealing clothing, even if some of them interpreted the concept rather loosely, with sheer veils and even sheerer clothing, meant to entice – A-Sang fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum, wearing a veil that revealed his eyes and clothing that allowed him flexibility of movement without too much restraint, and while he was slender and delicate, Meng Yao was moderately certain that he was indeed male.

Not that it mattered.

Wen Ruohan had never much cared about that.

“Amazing,” Sis breathed. “So all these years, the Emperor has been refraining from touching A-Sang out of respect for the Empress, and now the little sister wife has finally made her move…”

Meng Yao had said none of that, but it served him to muddle the waters a little, mostly to see who would try to clear it up. Not that it could be, as his information about their familial connection was accurate – gleaned from a careless comment by Wen Ruohan himself, no less – but it interested him to know who would try regardless.

“Go,” he said, and Sisi left, all but floating, and it wasn’t long before A-Jue returned, all shiny with sweat and exertion, looking incredibly fuckable.

“You worked near the harem, right?” Meng Yao asked him, mind still focused on the bubbling little scandal that he just knew would become an issue that could wreck his thus far successful regency. “Do you have any connections there?”

“Not really?” A-Jue said. “Most of the wives are scared of me.”

Typical.

“Is there something you’d like me to find out for you..?”

“No need,” Meng Yao said. He’d never met anyone less well suited to be a spy than A-Jue. “But it may be an avenue of future threats, so keep it in mind.”

“I’m not going to let anyone from the harem harm you,” A-Jue said, oddly fierce. “Not anyone. Don’t worry.”

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nieyao #my fic #my fics #good help

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cal-kestis · 3 years

Text

You Will Never Be Alone Again | Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

(Epilogue of The Aftermath of Losing Everything)

moodboard/sketch/gifs made by me, please don’t repost :)

Summary: Each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. (Set after S2) Rating: M Word Count: 3018 Warnings/Tags: Soft!Din, FLUFF, no use of ‘Y/N’, suggestive content

[PART I] // [PART II] // [PART III] // [Read on AO3] // [Series Masterlist]

xi.

It’s strange not waking up by yourself, strange to feel blanketed in a kind of warmth and comfort, not even the early morning suns could radiate.

Sometimes, you think this must be some wild fantasy, a sweet sublime dream that could evaporate into smoke if you dare open your eyes.

But each morning, he’s there, holding you with his smiling lips pressed against your neck and his heart beating against your chest. It’s no secret you love him, it’s written all across your face even with a peripheral glance. Falling for him happened fast and a long, long time ago. Yet in these quiet moments when you’re in the place between wakefulness and sleep, you think you’re still cascading over the crest — falling for the tiniest pieces of him that others would need a magnifying glass to see.

Like those delicate wrinkles that frame the corners of his brown eyes when he looks at you, the way they deepen as he smiles. It’s hard to describe how beautiful those lines are… what they mean. Wrinkles don’t develop overnight. No, he’s smiled enough times for those creases to permanently etch themselves into his skin. It makes your heart soar knowing that, despite all he’s been through, he’d allowed himself those sparse moments of happiness. You’ve hopelessly fallen in love with the lines beside his eyes, evidence that a bright side can exist even in the darkest of hours.

And still, perhaps something you love even more is the way he kisses you until you forget every night you’d ever lay awake feeling alone in the universe.

It’s all so strange in the best, most beautiful way.

Din has given you so much and you only hope he can see your heart, the words carved on it — poems about him, his eyes, the charming lines that tug at the corners. You hope he can see how you’ve kept every word he’s every whispered against your skin, how you’ve inscribed them onto your beating soul: secrets and promises only the two of you will ever get to know, your own name scribbled by his lips a thousand times. You’ll treasure the invisible markings forever. Your heart’s covered in him and you just hope he can see.

With Din, life seems more meaningful, peaceful, beautiful… full. And though frightening shadows still lurk, you know you don’t have to face them alone.

Of course, there are times you worry, moments when he still seems trapped in his head, sinking into deep waters with that silver ball clutched in his hand. But he has you now, his liferaft, one with patched up holes and dents that will always come to pull him back up to the surface.

On those nights when he gets lost in the treacherous tsunami of his mind, you try to give back to him everything he’s so generously offered you. And even as you draw rasped sighs and choked cries and broken moans from his lips, your fingers painting patterns across his body… you know what heals him most are the moments after: the way your breath slows down to match his, how your lips press so gently over his eyelids until they close and project dreams of you as he sleeps.

Meant for me, he’d once said. Or maybe, meant for you.

—

xii.

In the sacred moments you and Din have to yourselves — no quarry to chase, no demons to face — you find yourselves on beautiful secluded planets like this one, surrounded by towering trees and lush rolling hills and long blades of grass and calm creek cadences. Somehow, each new system is more stunning than the last, and every time he opens the ramp to his ship, he intently watches your wonderstruck reaction as your eyes take in a fantastical new planet and gorgeous environment.

Visiting new planets off-duty comes with its own routine. He walks with you as you explore with wide eyes, sits beside you when you find a colorful plant to draw, lifts his helmet ever so slightly when the desire to kiss you — your cheek, your temple, your shoulder — becomes too overwhelming. And when night falls, you both retire to his ship, where he can freely remove every piece of armor and kiss every inch of your skin until it’s all you can dream of.

Since the confrontation at the Imperial base, Din’s also taken it upon himself to train you. Not in the ways of the Jedi, of course. That, you’re learning to study on your own. Din trains you like a Mandalorian — a zealous approach to weapons and warriorship. He’s a patient and compassionate teacher, and it only ties your heart to his in a tighter knot. With his gentle guidance, handling a blaster is hardly an obstacle and it only takes a month or two before you become well-acquainted with the darksaber he’d hidden in his storage cabinet for so long.

When he’d finally told you the story of the ancient weapon of legend, gravity had seemed to press harder against his back, making his shoulders slope and his head hang even lower. Because, on the day he’d parted with his son, he’d not only removed the mask of his Creed, he’d also acquired the crown of a cursed planet. And he still doesn’t know which one weighs heavier atop his head.

After that, you’d dedicated yourself to training with renewed vigor — wanting to be prepared if ever the target on his back brought upon old Imperial enemies or new ones who sought to usurp him from the throne he never wanted.

Today, much like the other times you’d trained with him, it’s mostly just chopping at trees and bushes. You can’t deny how much stronger you feel just holding the Mandalorian weapon and knowing you can defend yourself even without the Force.

There’s a part of you, however, that feels like Din’s holding back. Whenever you’d asked when you’d be ready to spar with him, eager to test your newfound skills against something that can actually fight back, he’d simply readjusted your stance with gentle hands and asked you to show him the different sword strokes he’d taught you.

“Very good,” Din praises as you step forward and swing the darksaber through the air, slicing clean through a thin branch.

“Well, that tree had it coming,” you scoff, crossing your arms with over-exaggerated toughness. “I’ve had enough of your bark, tree. It’s about time you leaf.”

“Puns. You’re upset,” he says, not a question.

“I’m not upset,” you lie, trying to put on your best sabacc face. But his helmet tilts in a way that’s far too knowing for a darkened, T-shaped visor, and you sigh in defeat under his scrutinizing stare. “Fine. I just… I just think I’m ready to up the ante here. And I feel like you’re holding back.”

He stares at you for a moment, studiously looking you up and down.

“Your posture is too slouched,” he explains, changing the subject again. “Go back to ready position.”

“Don’t do that,” you heave out another exasperated sigh.

“Ner kar’ta...”

“No, don’t ‘ner kar’ta’ me. Just because you’ve got this shiny sword,” you argue, the glowing saber humming in your hand as you brandish it back and forth, “and you’re technically a king or whatever—”

“Mand’alor,” he interrupts. “And I’m not.”

“—doesn’t mean everything you say is law. I want you to fight me. I’m ready,” your voice softens, stepping closer to him as your pleading hands wrap around the back of his neck. “I want to really learn from you.”

“We’re not doing this,” he answers, despite willingly staying trapped in the cage of your arms.

But you don’t back down. Instead, you lean forward, lips barely a hair's breadth from his helmet before you boldly kiss the spot where his mouth would be, lingering and watching how the tinted panel fogs up. The print of your mouth marks the dark visor and it makes you grin.

“Fight me, Mando,” you whisper, all sultry bravado laced with a tease that prickles the skin beneath Din’s armor.

“Ready position,” he rasps like he’s annoyed at himself.

A metallic, musical sound rings in the empty forest as he unsheathes the beskar spear behind his back. And like a giddy child, you bounce on your feet and step backward, swinging the darksaber in your hands before taking your stance.

Din stands sturdy just a few feet away, spear gripped tightly in his gloves. He slowly lowers himself, knees bent just slightly, an air of strength and confidence surrounding him. Then, hardly perceptible, he nods.

You dig your heels into the soil, your boots squashing the grass below your feet. With your legs spread wide, you draw the darksaber up to the side of your head, the blinding glow casting a white halo on your cheek. Narrowing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you charge forward at lightning speed, zeroing in on the shiny armor in front of you.

At the last second, Din dodges your attack, stepping to the side and watching as you rush past him. You somehow manage not to trip over your own feet and hastily twirl around to face him again. But Din’s already got the point of his spear aimed at the side of your throat.

“You’re relying too much on your speed,” he explains, spear hovering just below your ear. “Size up your opponent first. Figuring out their weakness is more valuable than using up all your strength. Go again.”

You huff at him but get back into ready position, breathing deep in through your nose and out through your mouth. This time, you take a moment to assess him for weak spots. There aren’t many of course, not visible at least. But you decide the side of his stomach is your best bet.

The moment he nods his head, you take a leap forward and twist your wrist, swinging the blade toward his waist. His spear spins swiftly to block the strike, your weapons meeting in a clash of sparks and high-pitched whistles. You summon all your strength to push the saber against his spear, watching as the silver metal turns orange under the intense laser’s heat. And just when you feel like you’re gaining the high ground as Din’s body bends under your advance, he sweeps his boot beneath you and you fall backward, losing grip of the darksaber.

“That was better,” he says with approval, scanning your body as you lay on the ground and groan loudly. “You okay?” He gently wonders, coming closer and extending a gloved hand toward you.

With shaking fingers, you reach for him. And the moment you feel his grip tighten around your hand, an idea sparks. Without another thought, you yank him forward onto the ground beside you. He lets out a surprised grunt when he hits the dirt and you take full advantage of his shock, straddling his hips and trapping his arms beneath your legs. You extend your hand out to the side and, within seconds, the darksaber comes flying back into your fist. With a bright flash, you ignite the laser blade near his throat.

“That’s cheating,” he says, but you can hear the proud smile in his voice.

“I simply assessed my opponent’s weakness,” you grin, retracting the saber into its hilt and leaning down until you’re nose-to-nose with his helmet. “Just so happens, his weakness is me.”

“Good girl,” he says, and you can’t fight the way his praise sends a fluttering warmth to your belly.

You kiss his helmet again with an exaggerated smacking sound before getting off of him and saying, “Let’s go again.”

Din spars with you for nearly two hours, offering gentle advice each time he bests you (which is most of the time) and showering you with praises whenever you find a way to get the upper hand. It fills you with unmatchable strength and confidence.

“That’s enough for today, verd’ika,” he says, slightly breathless as he brushes dirt off your clothes. “It’s getting dark. Let’s head inside.”

You smile at him, filled with an intense urge to kiss him. So, you reach for his helmet, slowly, just in case. His head turns left and right, checking if the coast is clear, before nodding. You lift the beskar slightly, just enough to reveal his mouth and his neatly-trimmed mustache, and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Din,” you whisper as you set his helmet back in its place. You can almost see the bemused look on his face as he stares at you.

And as you walk back to the ship, a re-energized bounce in your step, you decide to tease him one last time, turn around, and smirk. “Meet you in the fresher.”

—

xiii.

Din’s hair hangs in waves over his forehead as he gazes down at you, leaning on his left forearm to stay suspended over your body.

He smells delicious, like his herb-scented soap and the delicious meal he’d cooked for you tonight. His skin is glazed in a radiant sheen and his eyes somehow glow in the dim lighting of your shared quarters.

You’ve learned to appreciate rare nights like this, when there are no jobs to keep him away from you for days at a time. When your eyes get to unabashedly roam over the golden expanse of his skin, without heavy armor or layers of cloth in your way. When you get to listen to his voice for hours on end as his hand traces lines and circles into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask him, noticing how his entranced stare focuses on your lips when you speak.

He strokes a calloused finger over your cheekbone, then under the curve of your lips, until his thumb finds a resting place over your chin and gently swipes back and forth.

“You,” he answers honestly, leaning down to kiss you, tasting your smile on his tongue. He lingers there for a long moment, hanging from your lips like a man on the edge of falling though he’s already fallen countless times before.

“That’s all?” You whisper, feeling his hot breath brush against your mouth.

He rests his forehead against yours, his nose rubbing along the side of your own.

“And how much the kid would have loved this planet,” he continues wistfully. “Running through the grass and catching frogs or whatever he could eat.”

Your soft laugh is bittersweet as he reminisces over his son, the corners of his eyes wrinkling mere centimeters from your face.

“Thinking about how he would have liked watching us train together. He’d probably cheer for you to win,” Din chuckles when you scrunch your nose and shake your head doubtfully. Then, his face softens and his eyes glisten. “Grogu would have loved you.”

An errant tear falls from Din’s lashes and drops onto your cheek, and there's little you can do to keep your own from getting mixed in — a tiny melancholy river forming atop your skin. Your hands cup either side of his face, and you lean forward to kiss the spot where the tear had left a small trail right below his eye.

“In some ways, it’s like I know him now,” you murmur against Din’s cheekbone. “Because I know you. I can feel it — the pieces of you that will be part of him forever. I would love him too. I already do.”

He whispers your name again and again, and each time, it’s like he’s making a wish on a star.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you whisper, kissing his lips sweetly.

When you draw backward against your pillow, he latches onto your mouth once more and kisses you until you’re breathless.

“There aren’t words, ner kar’ta, ” he says quietly, fingers brushing gently over your hair. “Nothing can explain what you mean to me.”

When Din makes love, you can feel nothing else but him — his body, his soul, his heart. Every touch and movement is energized by a deep intention to let you know what he sometimes struggles expressing in words. But you’ve become fluent in him, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt how each kiss translates to: I love you.

Each thrust of his hips means: I want you.

Each ragged moan reveals: I need you.

Each soft caress says: I’d do anything for you.

And each time his forehead meets yours, he declares: I have found my family.

As you both try to catch your breath, he flops back down onto the bed beside you. He hums happily when he feels you hold tight to him, squeezing his middle with your arms and placing a kiss over his heart.

“Good night, Din,” you mumble, yawning as you nuzzle your face against his chest and bury yourself deep beneath the covers.

“Sweet dreams,” he says, pressing his lips into your hair.

You tilt your chin up just slightly, wanting the last image you see before you drift off to be his beautiful face. But his stare is far away, lost in thought once again. You follow his line of sight, beginning at his shining eyes and landing on the collection of drawings hung beside his door. And the pictures that reflect in his glossy irises are the finished portrait of him beside the sketch of you and Grogu displayed proudly in the center.

Someday, you swear to yourself, those images will be more than just pencil scratches on parchment. Someday, your small chosen family will be whole.

When you close your eyes — your head resting over the warm skin of his chest, his heart marching steadily under your cheek — you dream of the day Din and his son finally reunite, with you standing by his side. And even if that’s still a far-off fantasy, you can rest easily knowing two things for sure:

Tomorrow, you’ll wake up wrapped in Din’s arms. And, for as long as you live, neither of you will ever be alone again.

End Note: Thank you to anyone who's read this story. It's been a labor of love for me and I'm especially grateful to readers who left encouraging feedback. As for me, I'll be around. I'm working on another Javi x Reader story (inspired by yet another TS song — off evermore this time). If you haven't read my other one, please check it out! It's called "If I Could Never Give You Peace." Talk soon! Mando’a Glossary: Ner kar’ta = My heart (kar’ta = heart [kah-ROH-ta]; ner = my [nair]) Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. = I know you forever [nee kar-TILE garh dah-RAH-soom] ⎿ “It's the same word as 'to know,' 'to hold in the heart,' kar'taylir. But you add darasuum, ‘forever,’ and it becomes something rather different.” — Republic Commando: Triple Zero Verd' ika = Little Warrior (affectionately) [vair-DEE-kah]

Please reblog & comment to show your support! I’d love to hear your thoughts!!

Taglist: @sarahjkl82-blog @pedro-pastel @mavendeb @tailormotelkamzoil @unexistant @karkii @hwjdykqueillmjwkqu @httpwale @chiara-cannot-sleep @niiight-dreamerrrr

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fuckingfinwions · 3 years

Note

Can I request Melkor and Feanor for tentacles? Any verse

"Get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of Mandos!"

Feanor moved to shut the door in Melkor's face, but something blocked him. What he had had taken for a mere shadow had instead substance, and seemingly will, creeping up the door towards Feanor’s hand.

“I told you to leave!” Feanor repeated, refusing to retreat fin his own home.

“If you had aided me willingly, I would indeed have aided you as well,” Melkor said as more of the shadow tendrils moved through the open door, widening the gap until Melkor himself could follow. “Still, if you will not join my cause, I will find my pleasure all the same.”

“So now you admit to being a villain and a thief, taking my Silmarils by might when you could not coax them from me!”

Feanor took one step back, mentally cursing himself for not wearing a sword this morning. Still, there was one in the next room, he just had to get there before Melkor reached the vault with the Silmarils. He did not see the shadow that wound around his leg, not trapping him yet but coiling unnoticed higher and higher.

“Oh, I have no interest in taking your Silmarils this day. Doubtless they are well-guarded, and though I could kill all who stand in my way it would draw the attention of my kin. My plans are not yet ripe enough for them to see so clearly.”

Melkor smiled sharply. “This though, is very ripe.” As he spoke, the tentacle around Feanor’s leg became physical and twined around Feanor’s cock, the sensation sparking unwilling response.

“No! I will not join with you. I despise you and all you stand for. It would be blasphemy twice over!”

“You care little for blasphemy, and I care less. I am Vala and you are but an elf; I shall do with you as I please.”

Feanor tried to run, but the shadows seemed only to spread, twisting and tripping him until he fell to the floor. More still rose from the floor, or from Melkor’s robe as he stepped nearer, and pinned Feanor’s arms as well.

Feanor had never given much thought to the psychical size of the Valar, as their power was not linked to their shape. But now he was struck by Melkor bulk, twice Feanor’s height, seeming even larger as he towered over Feanor’s bound form.

"Guards! Guards! There is an attacker in the front room!” Feanor screamed, but Melkor simply smirked and turned towards the door. Rather than the gag that Feanor had half expected, instead the shadow tendrils spread out further into the room, blocking the doors and windows entirely.

“There. Now we won’t be disturbed. I plan to have you begging me for more by the time we’re done after all, and you’ll get very loud.”

“I do not beg for anyone!”

“We will see about that.” Melkor turned back to Feanor, and the elf saw to his dismay that Melkor’s dark robe had disappeared almost entirely. It had not been made of cloth at all, but instead of the shadow tendrils that were now preventing Feanor’s escape. All that was left was a small area over the Vala’s groin, serving to highlight the area as much as conceal.

“You know, I think you must have wanted this,” Melkor mused. “Why else would you have come to meet me in only a loose robe with nothing underneath? It gives me so much room to play with you.”

As Melkor spoke, more and more tendrils worked their way under Feanor’s robes. They did not try and remove it yet, but instead seemed to explore, touching every inch of skin, some sliding smooth as silk, some slippery as eels. The one around his cock seemed almost eager, moving up and down his length as he bit back a moan. Feanor could not help arching into the tentacles as they circled his nipples.

One especially long tendril snaked out from the neck of his robe to nudge his chin. Feanor glanced down, and the sight was horrifying. He could not see the tentacles directly because of his robe; instead they made the whole garment shift and writhe. It looked like Feanor’s body was gone entirely, replaced by the tentacles, like worms feasting on a corpse. He fought down the urge to vomit.

“Would you prefer to remove your robe?”

Feanor sighed, and admitted, “Yes.” The robe was obviously no protection against Melkor’s touch, and Feanor would rather know what horrors were being down to him than be left to speculate.

“Very good, you see there’s no point in hiding from me.”

Any hope Feanor might have had of making a break for it when released to undress was quickly dashed, though. Melkor instead simply redirected the tentacles, the ones that had been working at Feanor’s chest instead slithered to his legs, grabbing the robe and pushing it upwards even as more tentacles kept him pinned. Even more tentacles appeared to reach underneath Feanor, giving room for his robe to be removed.

Soon Feanor was resting on a bed of tentacles, the last grounding sensations of his robe and the floor gone, only Melkor’s touch on his skin. Melkor filled his sight as well, the last pieces of the Vala’s clothing having been used to move Feanor, his enormous cock at last revealed.

Trying to glance away his own body was little better. Feanor’s skin was crisscrossed by black tentacles, moving above and below each other as they searched for a bit of his body that had not yet been touched.

The tentacle around Feanor’s cock gained a companion, moving in counterpoint the touch unlike any Feanor had ever before experienced. One more slid lower, gently cradling his sack. Together with the ones caressing his nipples, Melkor took mere minutes to bring Feanor to the tipping point.

Then the tentacle around Feanor’s balls tightened, and all the others pulled away. Feanor was left pushing his cock into empty air, before he gathered his voice.

“What? Why did you stop?”

“I don't want you to come just yet. Did you want me to keep going?”

Feanor scowled. “No.”

Melkor laughed. “Now who’s the liar? But don’t worry, I will not hold your pride against you.”

Tentacles moved in to once again caress Feanor’s chest, but they left his cock alone. Instead one pushed in between his lips, while another joined the one at his balls - and the slipped further back. Feanor wanted to protest at this invasion, but could not.

Melkor bent down over Feanor and traced the tentacle in his mouth. “What do you think, son of Finwe? Should I spend myself in your mouth or your ass? You will enjoy it either way.”

Feanor gave a protesting grunt around the tentacle in his mouth.

“I’ll just prepare both, and entertain myself while you think it over.” The tentacle in Feanor’s mouth moved deeper until he gagged around it. A second, thinner tentacle joined the one in his ass, wound around it as it too squirmed deeper. Both sensation were incredibly revolting.

Melkor himself backed up slightly and straddled Feanor’s crotch. The the Vala sat down, instantly taking the full length of Feanor’s cock into his hole.

Melkor rolled his hips, and Feanor would have come if not for the tentacle around his balls. “You are surprisingly well endowed for an elf. Most of them I can barely tell are inside me. I suppose I should have expected much from the father of seven sons.” Melkor kept rolling his hips, and the tentacles inside Feanor’s mouth and ass moved in the same rhythm.

Melkor stood up after less than a minute though, at which Feanor let out a small whine.

“You haven’t earned the privilege of coming inside me yet, little prince. Now would you like my cock in your tight ass or spreading those luscious lips?” Melkor withdrew the tentacle from Feanor’s mouth long enough for him to answer.

“My mouth.” When Melkor had ridden Feanor, his cock was so long it had reached nearly to Feanor’s lips. Feanor shuddered to think of the destruction such a member would cause if he tried to take it in his ass.

“I don’t know, it would be only fair for me to take you after you got to take me. Ask me again.”

“I want your cock in my mouth.”

“If you want it so badly, you have to ask nicely.” Melkor ran a finger along Feanor’s neglected cock, making him shudder, and then began running circles around Feanor’s hole.

“Please! Please Lord Melkor, I want your cock in my mouth.” When this did not seem to move Melkor, Feanor went on. “I want to kiss your enormous cock. I want you to fuck my throat until you come.”

Melkor smiled and said, “Very good, you can be trained to beg.”

He thrust his cock between Feanor’s lips before Feanor could reply, dragging Feanor forward so that he knelt before the Vala.

To Feanor’s dismay, the tentacles that moved so unnervingly in his ass did not withdraw. Instead others joined them, stretching his hole wider and wider until e would have screamed in pain had his mouth been free.

It was not pain alone, though. The tentacles brushed against a spot that made Feanor see stars, and he moaned with pleasure.

Melkor thrust deeper to chase the lingering vibrations of Feanor’s voice around his cock. Feanor could barely breathe, but that just heightened the feeling of every touch on his skin - and inside him.

Melkor gripped Feanor’s head with one hand as he thrust into the elf’s mouth. The other played with Feanor’s ear tips, making Feanor shudder as the sensitive flesh was stroked and folded.

Feanor’s cock was not neglected either. Several tentacles swarmed to it, wiggling along side his member as if it were just another tentacle, another thing for Melkor to command. The smooth touch was maddeningly good, making Feanor long for the multiplied heights of pleasure it must be from Melkor’s perspective.

Feanor could not say if this went on for minutes or hours, so lost he was in pleasure, but held back from falling over the edge. At some point a tentacle joined Melkor’s cock in Feanor’s throat. At some point his hands were freed, and he used them only to cling to Melkor’s legs. At some point he began a constant pleading whine, in hopes that Melkor would let him come. Feanor could not have said what order these things happened in; they were simply part of the ecstatic present.

At last Melkor drew near his own peak. He pulled Feanor close until his balls were at the elf’s chin. Melkor shot his load so deep down Feanor’s throat that the elf couldn’t even taste it, and had to swallow to keep from choking.

At the same moment, Melkor released Feanor’s balls. Feanor orgasmed to the sensation of being filled with a Vala’s cum.

Melkor withdrew at last, rubbing the tip of his penis across Feanor’s lips in a parody of a kiss.

"Unfortunately, I can't risk my brother finding me here, nor can I take you with me yet. But when you do leave this narrow land for the dark shores of Endore, I will be waiting for you."

Feanor heard footsteps down approaching, but had not the energy to cover himself.

#melkor/Feanor #Feanor/Melkor #season of kink #tentacles #Melkor follows the Bayonetta school of fashion #1900 words wow this got long #warning for a little bit of body horror #skip the paragraph that begin 'one especially long tendril'#not archived yet

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poptod · 3 years

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Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 11, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Thunder for the God.

Notes: this is it! the final chapter. I wanna say thank you to a few people cause I rarely ever respond to comments directly, mostly cause i never know what to say, but @diasimar, @edteche2, @moon-stars-soul, @crewman-penelope, @hah0106, thank you so fuckin much for your comments!! it really kept me going while i was working and really motivated me. im rly worried this last chapter is gonna disappoint but i gotta post it at some point! WC: 1.7k

A feast was held. Of course it was––the only way Egyptians knew how to celebrate was with plenty of food, plenty of booze, and lots of sex. Already people wrote songs of your exploits, performing them as they waited for you and Ahk to appear in the courtroom now filled to the brim with the people of Memphis. Clashing drums and lutes accompanied by harps and singing voices all came from behind the walls, but the room Ahk prepared himself in remained mostly quiet, occupied only by you and himself. Piye was busy tending to the citizens with the help of Gyasi, who offered his services in helping the now-blind vizier.

"I never thought to see this day," Ahk said softly, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His outfit, which had taken about an hour to get on (plus makeup), left him the striking image of the Pharaoh you had first met––drowned in gold, in gemstones, reeking of rich, spoiled tastes.

"What, that you'd be attending a party in your own honor?" You asked with a chuckle.

"No," he said, turning to you, "I didn't think I'd see you willingly stand beside me."

"I didn't either. I hated you."

"Rightfully so," he mumbled. "I'm sorry, again, for how I treated you."

"You could've been a lot nicer while kidnapping me."

"I know. But you're happy now... right?"

"Yes," you said, grinning. "What would you do if I wasn't?"

"Abandon everything," he said with a careless shrug. "Run away with you. Leave it all behind."

"Even with a feast outside those doors?" You asked as you stepped closer. He took advantage of that, pulling you in by your waist and smiling when your chests met.

"Well, I might have to go to that first. But afterwards, I would go anywhere for you. Do anything. You are mine, now," he said, growing soft as his lips brushed against your temple, "and I have fought long to prove it."

"I think you belong to me more than I belong to you," you chuckled.

"Perhaps you're right," he said, swaying with you to the muted tunes of harpstrings. "I don't mind either way as long as you love me."

"I do," you mumbled.

"Say it," he said, parting from you to look you in the eye. His hand came up to your face, stroking the soft skin of your cheek as he gazed into you, searching for words he had longed for all this time. "Please."

"I love you, Ahk."

There he went again––tears down his face, dripping into and caught by the smile that spread across his rosy lips. He leant in to kiss you, still wet with those salty tears, but you happily returned his affections.

Until his kiss grew deep, devolving into him biting at your neck again, pressing himself against your body till your back inevitably hit a wall. He sandwiched you there, running his hands from your chest to your hips and back up to your face.

"Now then, your people wait for you. Don't disappoint them by not showing up," you warned him, but there was little resolve in your tone, already torn up by the blush pervading your cheeks.

"I'll be quick," he muttered against your skin, followed by a laugh when you groaned.

"But you can also do this later, when you can take your time," you said, but couldn't stop yourself from smiling even as you tried to push him away.

"I can do it twice."

"Ahk!"

"Call my name again, love," he said, drawing away from you with a shit-eating grin.

"We can do this after," you said as you fully pushed him away. "Even during, depending how the evening goes."

"I like how you think," Ahk said, offering his hand to you with a cocked chin raised high. "Ready to go?"

You nodded.

The doors before you opened, and a short walk up to the throne led you to overlook the crowd, scanning over every citizen's face whose eyes fell to you. Without a word spoken from you or Ahk, silence fell in the hall crowded past the brim. Torches flanked either side of the long room, illuminating the moving heads, as well as marking the searing smoke of meat and the plates of food presented out on the many tables.

It was not unlike the feast for Amun, but this time the only human images standing on a podium were you and Ahk. No more golden statues. Now what remained was the Pharaoh in all his glory, glowing as though blessed with an ethereal light, sheer silk with sewn gold cascading from him like a comet trailing the sky.

Once most everyone's attention was on the Pharaoh, he spoke.

"I know that much of my rule has not been through peaceful times," he said, meeting the eyes of every listener. "I thank you all for your patience with me. We have seen the rising of my brother's empire, and it has ended in ruin––we have seen the death of three Pharaohs, myself included."

A quiet laugh murmured through the crowd. Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Piye sticking to the wall by themself. You jogged over, whispering a beckoning, before taking their hand and personally leading them up the pedestal.

"I am sure you have all heard of what I've done. The events that have come to pass. Whether or not you have the whole of the story, or any true part of the story, is what worries me. I want all of you to know why I did what I did––why, exactly, I am not a heretic. You deserve that much."

Ahk spoke as though conversing with an old friend, something you were sure made his approval rating amongst the populace skyrocket. He continued that tone of voice, that familiarity, as he recounted the long events of the past few months, from your appearance in the castle (which he labelled as a gift from the Gods), to Ma'at herself locking Amun into the sky. They all listened closely, believing every word of their loving Pharaoh.

"I did what I did to protect myself, my people, and my friends. They were necessary evils. But now I have Ma'at's blessing, and I take my rightful place as your Pharaoh," he said with a growing confidence that boomed in his projected voice. "I am Ra's Son once more."

An eruption of cheers and shouts burst your ears, and you grinned from ear to ear, glancing to your side to watch for Ahk's reaction. He was smiling as well, prideful as he deserved. Piye held their own small smile as well.

Instruments came back in full swing, humming and thrumming with the vibrations of the tall chamber. Though at first they were the melodies of many songs, playing one after the other without pause, they converged into a tune that filled your head, seeping into the thoughts of every listener. You paid little attention to the words they sang in perfect harmonies till a word caught your attention––your name. Looking out across the citizens of Memphis, of Kemet, you realized they were singing about you.

The fire that reigns on the burning King will never yield to the sword! The spells that remain pour down in the rain as the Nile boils in the sea

What wonders they bring! This thunder for the God, Amoke and the hundreds that sing the name of the God, Amoke

Pray to the earth for a saving grace As the magi searches the planes The dead, they seek The living antique a God of his own who can't rest on his throne Call to the name of the holy

We sing to thee! Sunset for the God, Amoke Sing praise for thee! Thunder for the God, Amoke Thunder for the God, Amoke! The beauty of the God, Amoke!

Your mouth hung open as you watched them sing, ignorant to Ahk, who was now smiling at your shocked expression.

"... and so will you be remembered," Ahk murmured, his arms wrapping around you as he came up behind you. "A God for all of time.”

“My Amoke."

~+~

You had access to great temples––to places of worship hundreds of years old, intricately detailed spells shown on every wall, bases of golden statues littered with flowers and offerings. Instead you stuck to your tiny altar, hidden away in one of the smaller storage rooms not in use. Ahk didn't quite understand it, but he allowed it happily, and left you alone to your devices.

The only item standing on your altar was a tiny statuette in the form of Mahjur. If Ahk found out that was who you were praying to, you weren't sure what he'd do, so for the time being you kept it secret. Besides that, it was nothing more than a table you set incense and tiny plates of food and water on.

It was the only light in the room––the tiny rushlight, the lit incense drawing smoke into the air. Layers of it fell above your head, knelt low in respect of the God who had helped you.

Physical feeling fell away, and in that moment, your forehead pressed to the table, you realized the many prayers you'd sent into the stranger of an underworld were being answered at last.

A single, high note rang in your head as the image of open, glowing eyes pierced your thoughts.

"Is Ahk ssssafe?" They asked in a whisper in your head that you could barely hear.

Yes, you thought, keeping your eyes closed to maintain the connection.

"... you haavvvvve.. other questionss... correct?"

Amun is an all-powerful God, yes?

"Yes."

How did we escape him? How did we hide away? Why did he not pluck me from the sky? How did we survive the ire of a creator God?

"Ahk hasss cccertain experiencess... with Gods. He issss ssssmart. He isss untraceable by annnny Gods' mmagggic."

How? You pleaded.

"He hass died annnnd come back. He issss... undead. No longer human. Nnnnot entirrrrely."

You swallowed thick, forcing yourself not to open your eyes from surprise.

And Piye?

"A mmmmagi. Invvvvissssible. Too... absorbed innn the world.. to see," they hummed, glowing eyes still probing your thoughts.

... and me?

There was silence for a moment, and the eyes blinked, but remained within your head.

"You... are not.. hhhhuman," they whispered.

Your eyes flew open.

What?

––––––

If you want to hear the song I wrote about in this story, I actually recorded it and you can find it here.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

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lordoftermites · 3 years

Text

OF CLOVER & IRON

Part One

Pairing: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: fluff(ish), angst, obligatory smut (later). fluffish smangst, let's go with that.

My first fic for these two—and all around the first one I've ever written, period. I finally got to a point that I can confidently post parts 1 & 2 without obsessive editing so yeet haw let's fuckin go. Set the day after Ironside Ch. 13. {there's a slight deviation of the wound placements also, because I just really wanted to see Kaye lovingly take care of her Emo Black Knight™. Everything else is canon-compliant. I hope.}

Rating: M for suggestive themes, smut in future chapters

Also I was listening to Beautiful Crime by Tamer and If You Care by Evan Barlow the whole time and if those aren't the most Roiben songs I've ever fucking heard—

*buzzfeed voice* let's get into it

________________

Each step I left behind Each road you know is mine Walking on a line ten stories high Say you'll still be by my side If I could take your hand, oh If you could understand That I can barely breathe, the air is thin I fear the fall and where we'll land

"You realize I have attendants for this, don't you?"

Roiben was reclined, rather awkwardly, against the mountain of plush pillows on his bed. Their down stuffing jutted through the timeworn fabric and pricked along the sensitive skin of his bare back.

While the gash Talathain's sword had wrought the day before had since been cleaned and bandaged, the end of those feathers still managed to find their way through to jab at the still-open wound, eliciting from him a wince, as though he needed reminding of the events that had transpired had, in fact, transpired.

Ruefully, Roiben found that he did not need reminding.

"Mhmm, I know." Kaye replied absently beside him, drawing him back to the present. She was perched on the edge of the bed, inky-black gaze fixed on his hand in her lap; she was gently applying a viscous paste to the scarlet, angry line along his palm—another gift from Silarial's green knight. The mixture had a cooling element to it, not at all unpleasant against the dull burn of the wound. Kaye was careful, dedicated as she worked. Her tender, feather-light touches sent an involuntary shiver down the base of Roiben's spine.

“I admit, I do not mislike having you for a nursemaid instead of an ill-tempered hob." He grinned down at her as she finished, gently wrapping a milky-white cloth around the pad of his hand, tying it off in a small knot at the base of his wrist. He didn’t think anyone in his service would have tended to him with such attentive care; actually, they very well may have relished an opportunity to see him wince. Indeed, he much preferred this.

She glanced up at him through thick lashes and gave him a small smile of her own, but it faltered on her features, wavered there until it faded into something Roiben couldn't name. "I guess,” she began, dropping her gaze back down to his newly-dressed hand in hers. “I just wanted to do… something, for a change." Roiben's brow knitted at the sadness in her voice, the way the guilt, thoroughly misplaced, steeped her words. There was a twinge in his chest that was reminiscent of the arrow she had pulled from it not four months prior. Automatically, his hand reached up to touch the new scar, a rose-tinted indentation in the middle of his sternum. A phantom ache bloomed under his fingers.

She had been only a human girl then, guised as she was, and unfortunate enough to be the one to find him bleeding out, collapsed there against the gnarled tree he would have gladly let become his grave. She had saved his very soul that night in the rain, though neither of them had known it at the time. It was very likely she still didn't.

And here she was again, nursing the consequences of his own obstinate pride and blaming herself for it. Too often, too willingly did she take the weight of his burdens as her own, while he futilely sought to keep her safe from them. Safe from him. She was the most stubbornly kind creature he had ever known; a knight of her own design—a savior he had never had any right to.

Roiben reached out to tuck a loose tendril of viridescent hair behind her ear. The slight movement pulled at the lesion on his back, threatening another wince. He resisted. "Kaye," he started, and when she didn't meet his eyes, he crooked a finger under her chin and canted her head to him.

"There is nothing you have done—not since the moment I met you to now, that was not something." His thumb ran over her emerald jawline, the smooth skin silk in contrast to the roughness of his own. Kaye's eyes fluttered and she leaned into his touch. "I know it is my failure, in not telling you as such, that you mistakenly think yourself so inadequate. For that, I am well and truly sorry."

Through the burning discomfort of his wounds, Roiben drew her down to him and captured her mouth in a kiss. He had never been a master of apologies— or much else for that matter. And for reasons he was unable to name, his way of begging Kaye's pardon seemed to often be sought with his mouth, as if he hoped she could taste it on his tongue— and forgive him with her own.

Her lips, softer than satin and more delectable than any wine he had ever tasted, parted in a soft, lilting sigh. The sound, as it so often did, caused the muscles in his lower abdomen to coil with a rush of warmth. His bandaged fingers moved to tangle in her wild hair as her tongue danced between his teeth, languorous at first, then quickly shifting into something nearer to frenzy. He could feel his pulse quicken, the familiar strain across the front of his trousers when her hand splayed his chest, soft fingertips pressing into his bare skin. His breath hitched.

And then Kaye's lips were gone and she was pushing herself back up, away from him, her breathing ragged. He watched her dazedly, lamenting the abrupt loss of her closeness. She combed a hand through her mess of green hair, and Roiben realized she was trembling. He frowned.

"What is it?" he asked, drawing himself up to a sitting position, jaw clenched against the sharp tug of the bandage stretching from his shoulder to his hip. "Have I done something to displease you?" He glanced down, sliver gaze settling on a fraying thread of gauze on his wrist. "Perhaps my apology wasn't quite the one you were looking for, but I—"

"That's not it." Kaye cut him off, and when he looked back up to meet her eyes, he was disconcerted to find their pitch depths were suddenly glistening. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kaye raised a hand to forestall him. He pressed his lips together, obediently falling mute. "It… it's not you. I mean, it's a little bit you. Okay— maybe it's a lot you. But… I'm just…" She let out a frustrated groan, as though she couldn't quite manage to untangle whatever thought she was trying to get out. The back of her hand swiped angrily across her eyes.

Roiben knew she hated crying, but he was unsure whether it was explicitly crying in front of him, or if it was the act altogether. Whatever the reason, there was a nagging in his gut, a temptation to reach up and wipe away the glittering tear that rolled down the curve of her verdant cheek.

But he stayed patiently, painfully silent beside her, fingers worrying the fabric over his knuckles instead as she worked through unweaving her mind. Roiben found himself suddenly wishing he had the power to read it, if only to help wrench her free of whatever trap that held her there, apart from him. Finally, she sighed—a dispirited sound that reverberated through the otherwise quiet stillness of his chambers.

"Why did you come back? Why did you find me at the diner? Why did you choose me?"

The string of questions— rather, the way she asked them, whispered, bordering on anguish, stung him like the gilded edge of Talathain's blade. Roiben gaped at her, for a moment too stunned to respond. Her expression was contorted slightly, the emotions that coursed through her scrambling over one another to find purchase on her face. Still, she held his gaze with an unwavering severity that bored into his very being and rooted him to the spot.

He knew she would not accept his usual indirect summarizations, those with which he so carefully guarded himself. He was now well beyond the safety of that delicate thread of tightroped truths he danced.

She expected—commanded his unreserved forthrightness, with that look that held the power of his name without it ever needing to cross her lips.

#this is my pride and joy ok #i don't think i've ever written something with so much effort #i was terrified it'd be purple-prosey but i *think* it's ok?#whatever even if it is i fuckin love it #and miss black herself said to write what you love first #so there it is #roiben #rath roiben rye #kaye fierch #kaye x roiben #mft #tmft #modern faerie tales #tfota #the folk of the air #tfota fic

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indigosprite · 3 years

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Chrome Callout post.

relax this is just my love hate relationship with chromes writing and potential. spoiler, it ends with all the love... hate is only in the middle.

My absolute favorite thing in fanfics is Chromes characterization. Like we all know Chrome is completely aware that Mukuro and co need a reoccurring dose of Valium and a therapist willing to do illegal things in order to lower their sadistic points to ”kind of disturbing but tolerable”. Or at least we hope she does even though she proves to us again and again that she’s not phased by it in the slightest and might actually be just as bad. TYL and she’s still running around helping them do god knows what. She follows them on this massacre pridefully, she “believes in” them ( its sweet actually. They’re what she thinks of when Mukuro asks what she believes in and makes a young kokuyo gang.)

In fanfics when people write her to be a double edge sword it’s hilarious, and it should’ve been the character depicted in the Anime and manga instead. But I guess if she hadn’t been the quiet, breathy & compliant 14 year old people wouldn’t have morphed her into the fanon I enjoy now. Here’s some stuff i love and HC abt Chrome and the things I absolutely hated.

1. When she actually speaks not just when spoken to. She voices her concerns although she has no intent of not doing what’s asked of her. Who knew she could speak and still be the obedient gang member Mukuro trusts her to be. And when she does this it’s funny. She is the conscience he buries underneath disgust and amusement for chaos, but that’s not her entire character. She’s not reduced to the mom friend either because of this, she’s too passive on the matter. She indulges/Enables it just the same as Chikusa or Ken, although she knows better meanwhile the thought never occurs to them. To summarize :

she’s Brian

2. She’s unhinged and the best part is nobody knows even though it’s blatantly obvious. She may not have the same bloodlust or violent disposition as her peers but there are other ways to showcase this. To Allow Mukuro the leader of this little fearsome Five-some to possess you whenever he feels like and witness whatever horrors he decides to inflict upon someone that day means she’s accepting of literally everything he does. She never resists or expresses distaste/fear for him or anything he does. We assume she would in some capacity because she was depicted as this wide eyed innocent girl trying her best to repay the man that got her to join a gang under the guise of a found family. She quite literally signed up for guts n glory. She knew this and never had second thoughts. Mind you she doesn’t share the same hatred for the mafia as the boys, theirs is blind hatred regardless of who you are. Hers is through them, they are her looking glass rightfully so, so if they say it then their word is law. I’m not sure about you but I would definitely be mindful of the girl who was raised semi normal and willingly turned into a killer for Mukuro of all people. They’re killing adults not shaking them up, they aren’t Tsuna and his friends they finish the job when necessary. The body count is unimaginable. She is just as loyal as Ken and Chikusa and would probably strike you where you stand for speaking ill of him. (She wouldn’t but would definitely be opposed to whatever you’re saying, unless it’s name calling. He takes no offense to that and welcomes it in fact.)

3. The fact that she’s a person apart from Mukuro (physically speaking.) and the Vongola team at all is a blessing in few fics. Although she was made to stand in for Mukuro, when he is released it’s not necessary hence him pushing her to be apart from him and his duties. He did this in the future as well when he possessed Guidio Greco no longer using chrome which lets us know she was successful in becoming a useful comrade and not just a vessel and vongola stand in. She had to otherwise he would’ve left her alone whether she was keeping his Vongola ring warm or not. She is just as aloof as Hibari, always off with her own people only engaging when it’s asked of her. I adore when people keep that in mind and don’t lump her with following behind the vongola as if she were one of them. She shows up for them when asked but her main focus is ultimately committing felonies with Ken and Chikusa per Mukuro’s orders. let her be with the kokuyo gang and let her contribute in the way she’s meant to as a fighter. figure her out give her something cool

ik that’s hard considering what we got in the manga. warning things i hate ahead

what we got in the Anime and Manga:

so we know Chromes entire purpose was to be Rokudo Mukuro’s stand in, while holding the Vongola ring he soon takes back she is just the girl that is able to get him to come fight their battles when necessary. The Anime and Manga rarely let Chrome fend for herself. We all knew he was coming the second it got serious. By giving chrome that ring she ended up being the one thing to keep him loyal to his contract with being their guardian. If she’s in danger he comes and saves her, the Vongola put her in danger because he will show up and do his job it’s like a rat trap. She is not meant to be a Vongola guardian but more like a Mukuro whistle. They never openly admit it but in the show they will expect/ask her to do things that her track record doesn’t imply she can do and just silently expect Mukuro to show up like always. SKSJDWDN they’ll be like “oh yeah call the girl who passed out and all her organs disappeared I believe in her to do this job even though i’ve never seen her make it to the end of a fight ever not worried at all” sksksjjd They never actually expect chrome to do a job they expect her to go there and manage to get Mukuro to come out and play and we should acknowledge it was just an unspoken thing. Now I know that despite what I just implied about her not being that great a fighter but just good enough there are two comments made in all 400 chapters that are supposed to negate this.

Mammon says her illusions are powerful just not enough to fool him , and reborn says she could turn the tide if she were to fight against Mukuro but with confidence, these mean nothing to me because amano throws in so many useless comments like this and then fails to develop it further to make it believable. and she made powerful characters make note of this so it would be non negotiable and we would just take it at face value because its them but hello ?? ofc we want to see it just like we had to see Tsuna grow before we even considered taking him seriously. hell Dino got a quicker rise to his title than chrome bc its that easy to say oh he can come into his own when needed they just never meant to do it for chrome.

it’s so irritating when they try to say she’s powerful or could be but give no actual footing for anyone to take those comments seriously when they make her pass out for thirty chapters after doing the bare minimum.

let chrome win on her own not just start strong then step out of the way then have some character say “no really she could be powerful we aren’t going to show you though” .

when she helped them sneak in the base on her own and even makes those illusions of them fighting we should have gotten more of that!!!

literally every character is fighting the funeral wreaths and chrome is running in the woods out of breath...even Lambo got to fight.

you made her sit out of the rep battle to focus on making organs like that wasn’t something she already accomplished in the future and suddenly can’t do anymore ?.....

Chrome finally makes one fighting decision and its to make a mist forcefield that’s dangerous but hell yeah we think she will finally pull through with something powerful and prove herself and then they have mukuro come in a panel later saying “your flames are far too weak to do that I will make it better and help you not die” BYE that was a perfect time to have her come in to her own seeing as she was powerful and confident enough to initiate it in the first place.

breaking the barrier daemon spade makes * chefs kiss * give me more

when they’re not blindly robbing chrome of character development she’s just getting kidnapped, passing out or helping them with small things like making a fake Yamamoto for a party or sneaking in the base with illusions to disguise them. Hello she’s training under mukuro right ??? why did we ever get to see her get stronger each fight and have them say ‘she’s learning quick” instead.

enough abt what we got, back to what I’ve managed to make out of the scraps we were given..

4. Mukuro is the only one who reassures that she actually is a fighter and she eventually grows to be a good one bc of this and you should write about that dynamic and why it exists more. this one is long.

the whole dynamic I was referring to exploring is the one where Mukuro and chrome are meant to be equals. He meets this girl whose been neglected and left for dead, another kid messed up by adults neglectful selfish behavior. she willingly follows the boy who is plagued by the same demons and made a small group dedicated to getting revenge for it. Mukuro & Chrome know they’re two sides of the same coin. he is anger and she is acceptance. He probably finds it amusing she isn’t as angry as them wants to draw it out of her where as chrome wants to pull out the peace that comes with moving on once you’re in a better place. the girl is so happy to not be near her mom and grateful for this little family while the boys are quite literally holding a grudge against the world. and like none of them even see it the way she does but she wants them to. Mukuro and chrome didn’t go through the same things but it doesn’t matter to either of them because its the same story, nobody loved or valued them enough to protect them. In the end chrome will learn to be angry abt things that happen and use that to find a will to fight for something and Mukuro will learn to be at peace because they’re not in that lab anymore and those people are gone from their life. as fighters they’re so important to each others balance Mukuro’s rage cannot be left to be so blind and hers unattended and i know it’s supposed to be Tsuna that cleans his soul but i think chrome definitely plays a more active role in that. I think he sees a better him in her, he makes her his second gives her his name because she’s the good he knows he can never fully be. she posses a peace he’s not hopeful enough to believe he can achieve or want and ultimately it will make her far more capable of the change he wants. in believing this it means he also believes she will be just as powerful as him with the right training. he’s literally training his demise and her name is Chrome. he wont take over a (mafia) world he wants her to save. we all know he’s like annoyingly stupid when it comes to showing his emotions, he rather pretend he’s sending you to die when he’s quite literally ushering you to what he thinks is safe and sacrificing himself. so I can totally see him being like “okay Tsuna might really change the mafia and I want to see that but I've already dug my own grave here's a better newer me that will be way easier to accept than me turning over a new leaf 40 dead families later.”

5. in the future Hibari is much more happy to help and be around because he knows what a powerful fighter Tsuna turns out to be, i think this is the exact same reason why he goes and helps chrome save herself. Kyoya knows and possibly even respects future chrome enough to save her when she’s at her weakest which he usually detests. Chrome grows to be much more in the future and that’s exactly why he even gives this sick chrome a push. everyone likes to think it’s a Mukuro thing for him but what if it actually is a chrome thing. in the show he’s never been present to witness her show any kind of power so we can only assume that at some point he saw her in action.

6. it’s implied in the future that Mukuro fights alongside her, he views her as more than just a vessel and doesn’t baby her in the slightest when he pushes her to become her own being. I won’t call it respect per say but he doesn’t look at her as a doll even though that’s the part she played for him. He still trains her the way he eventually does Fran. We all know he just wants Mini Mukuros to aid him in his endeavors but the fact that he chooses her says a lot about how she’s meant to be viewed. He also chooses a nine year old brat with an apple hat but hey he must see something everyone else doesn’t until he’s done with them seeing as Fran was kidnapped by the freaking Varia once Mukuro’s teachings were for the most part implemented. “Oh you learned under Mukuro ? We can’t have Mukuro you need to join us immediately” (I’ve just realized Mukuro gave the vongola their strongest mist guardians all while claiming to hate them. Funny man). imagine how powerful Chrome gets, even better when Mukuro is actually there in the flesh to teach her where as Fran got some illusionary version of him. WRITE ABOUT IT.

7. for the love of god give that girl her own fighting style. yamamoto has his sword gokudera is literally baby genius ryohei is a boxer and hibari has like the most random weapon ever. go crazy. i love it when chrome isn’t pulling a trident from her bag. because she’s not mukuro anymore. she’s a reticent mist guardian, compliment that. Mukuros trident has his own history with him. give her some history of her own.

in my fic Chrome uses a scythe and tears through reality with it.

reason: because she is a grim reaper in her own right. she rose from the dead and is showing up to collect the souls of the wicked. a silent but fearsome person.

her style ? : personally I like to believe chrome dabbles in profiling, hear me out. Her parents were neglectful and in turn she really has little experience with relationships in general, i think her curiosity would lead her to constantly study peoples relationships and behaviors and see how they affect her target. aka she fights by showing up getting in your head and haunting you with your own past because even if they see through it damn what a nasty wound or insecurity to bring up in the form of a hell loop illusion. this also ties into her being Mukuro 2.0 he’s known to just be eerily in the know of everything going on even when he’s not there. this would be a great way of her matching that aspect of him and possibly surpassing it.

#THIS WAS SO LONG #But worth it #im so excited about writing chrome rn thanks for letting me rant #fic talk #chrome dokuro #khr #khr headcanons #SpriteLand #SpriteRot

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slytherinbarnes · 3 years

Text

Sub Rosa [70]

xii. damocles, pt 1

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: death, fighting, injuries, it's a war, baby. language, McCreary is an asshole, mentions of blood.

Summary: The war begins, but the victory that seemed within grasp at nightfall disappears as the new day dawns.

a/n: the season 5 finale is here!!! i can’t believe we’re already finishing up with s5 and will be starting s6 on friday! feels like I just started sharing season 1 with you guys a few weeks ago. regardless, it’s here, and the end of the show is approaching, so buckle up! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Just before dawn, the march begins.

You and Bellamy march at the front near Octavia, there to ensure that everything goes according to plan. No one says a word as you move from the desert into the rocky ravine that leads to the edge of the valley. Everyone is silent, in their own heads, working up the nerve to keep going and not run away from the war that grows closer with every step you take.

The sun is up in the sky by the time you reach a vantage point for the pillboxes, but it’s hidden behind clouds that sag with rain, waiting to fall. You and Bellamy crouch behind a rock, Octavia at your back, and peer through your scopes to the entrance into the valley, gaze landing on two small buildings on either side, buzzing with prisoners. Bellamy confirms the information is correct, and turns to pass it to Octavia. “Two pillboxes, just like Echo said.”

Not even a second later, you can hear the distant sound of gunfire, and you add, “That's our signal.”

You and Bellamy watch the prisoners evacuate the two pillboxes and head into the woods, towards the first entrance to reinforce their position. “It's working, they're moving out.”

As soon as Octavia has confirmation that everything is going according to plan, she turns to face Wonkru, pulling out her sword and lifting it into the air. Everyone acknowledges the signal and begins to march towards the valley, Octavia in the lead. You and Bellamy jump back into the group, just behind the Red Queen, and he reaches out to squeeze your hand in reassurance before the fight begins. You look over at him and smile, hoping you look less worried than you feel, and Bellamy gives you a strained smile in return. As you draw closer, Indra comes up behind you, looking between you and Bellamy, “You both did your best to stop this. In the end, if we have to fight, it's better to win.”

You both nod, and you get distracted when you see a young boy run past you to catch up with Octavia. You realize it’s Ethan, the boy that Madi beat in the arena, and you watch Octavia turn to him to say something. And just as soon as the words leave her mouth, everything goes to shit.

Looking back, you would have realized that everything was too quiet, gunshot no longer firing in the distance from the first position. You would have realized the hairs on the back of your neck and arms were raised, warning you before the danger struck. But in the moment, you notice none of that. Your focus is turned on Ethan and Octavia, and then seconds later, you watch as Ethan falls to the ground, a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead. You instantly turn to look at Bellamy, and he’s already looking at you in alarm, grabbing your arm and leading you over to Octavia. He grabs her arm and pulls her behind a rock for cover, tugging you down beside her. “We should be covered.”

Octavia doesn't stay in place for long, but you barely register her turn and grab a gun from behind you. Instead, your focus is on the pillboxes nearby, and sending your bullets into them, hoping you’re taking some of the prisoners out. As you shoot, a high pitched whine pierces the air, and your stomach flips, immediately recognizing the sound as one of the big guns. Seconds later, your fears are confirmed when a blast hits the ground somewhere behind you, punctuated by screams of pain as it hits a group of people.

You hear Brell yell out, “Retreat! Back to the bunker!”

Octavia, however, immediately yells after her, “No! Advance! It's the only way!”

Bellamy grabs your arm again, and then his sister’s, pulling you both away from the danger. You move willingly, eager to survive the day and not die in a senseless war, but Octavia drags her feet, fighting her brother and slowing all three of you down. “O, it's the only way! We go back, and we find another-”

Bellamy never finishes his sentence, because all three of you get thrown through the air. One of the prisoners fires a blast cannon a few feet from the three of you, sending out a shockwave that sends all of you flying. The force of it knocks the air from your lungs, and just as you start to breathe again, you hit the ground hard, losing all the air in your body in one large rush. Your head cracks painfully against the ground, and you feel a sharp stab in your right shoulder. The pain floods your senses, making everything feel fuzzy, and seconds later, you pass out, everything fading to black.

Bellamy hangs on a post opposite of you, tied up the same way Finn was when he was going to be killed. You can see a collar around his neck, the skin beneath it dark and bruised, and blood drips from multiple places on his body; his face, his arms, his stomach. You can hear him struggling to breathe, and you think at least one of his ribs is broken, though you’re sure it’s more. And as you watch him, calling out to him, you see McCreary walk up beside him, giving you a sinister smile. “This is your fault, you know. You wished him down here on that shooting star, and the Universe listened. Lucky for me though, because I get to have a little fun with him.”

He flips the switch for Bellamy’s collar, and you watch as the man you love screams and shakes with pain. Tears stream down your face as you scream and tug on your restraints, “Stop it, you asshole, just stop! I’ll do anything you want me to, just stop!”

McCreary’s head cocks to the side, interested, and he turns off the collar. He walks over to you, to the pole you are tied to, and whispers, “Interesting. You know, they told me what the savages call you: Wanlida. They say it means Bringer of Death, and I guess I just want to test that theory.”

You feel dread wash over you, and he holds up a knife, your knife, right in front of your face. “Kill him.”

You balk, trying to back away from him despite the restraints around you. “No! Why would I even consider that?”

McCreary smiles, and holds up the controls for the shock collar in his other hand. “Because either you kill him, or I do. Death by your hand, or death by mine. But I know which will hurt more.”

You look at Bellamy in alarm, and his head lifts weakly towards you, eyes begging. “Please. Just like Atom. Please.”

You shake your head, and Bellamy keeps begging, tears streaming down his face, as McCreary watches. “You’ve never seen a shock collar on the highest setting before, have you? Well, neither have I, because the guards were banned from ever using it after they killed one of the prisoners on the first mission by cooking him alive. They said it was pretty gory, and that he felt every second of pain until the end.”

You glance back towards Bellamy, starting to shake and cry, and he nods his head, trying to get you to do it. “Please, natshana.”

His begging breaks your heart, and though every muscle in your body is telling you that it doesn't want to do this, your mind and your heart have mercy on your love, and you find yourself nodding your head at McCreary. “I’ll do it.”

His face splits into the biggest grin, and he cuts you loose with your knife, before holding it up with a serious expression. “If you try anything, you watch him die, slowly and painfully, before I pass you around this camp. When these prisoners are through with you, you’ll be begging for death, but I’ll never give it to you.”

You nod weakly, believing every word he says, and he presses the knife into your hand and steps out of your way. You pull yourself over to Bellamy, your body groaning with the movement, clearly just as injured as Bellamy is, before you finally come to a stop in front of your love. He’s weak, barely hanging onto life, and he uses what strength he has left to lift his head and look at you. “My radiant moon. It’s okay, it’s just like Atom. Just like Atom.”

Tears fall down your face as you look at him, lifting the knife to hover near his neck. “I love you, Bellamy Blake.”

“And I love you more than the stars. In this lifetime, and in the next.”

You whisper back, “Forever.”

And then you start to hum Clair de lune, tears falling down your face, nearly blinding you. You press the knife into his neck, and he winces for a second before blood starts to pour out of the wound, draining the life from his body. It rushes over your fingers and coats your hand, and you sob as you watch the love of your life take his last breath, dead by your hand. You drop to your knees, crying hard, and you feel someone snatch the knife from your hand before you’re restrained again, tied up at the feet of your lover. McCreary drops to his knees in front of you, smiling like a lunatic, and he mutters, “I didn’t think you’d ACTUALLY do it. Rather unfortunate for you, because I never had any intention of killing him.”

You freeze in place, your brain struggling to process the words. “What?”

“I wasn't going to kill him. I just wanted to see if you actually bring death wherever you go.” He laughs out loud, clearly enjoying this. “Looks like you do.”

You lunge towards him, intending to rip his throat out with your teeth, but you’re stopped before you make it close enough, knocked back with a sharp blow to your head. The force of it knocks you to the ground, your head pounding, the angle you’re in giving you the perfect view of Bellamy, sagging against his restraints, dead. The last thing you hear before the gunshot is the echo of words in your head, bouncing around, torturing you. Wanlida, Bringer of Death. Cursed. Threat to everyone she loves, including Bellamy Blake, who now lays dead.

You wake with a start, the movement shifting the injuries on your body, and you groan in pain, starting to reach up to touch your head. But before your hand moves an inch, a hand clamps down on your wrist, and Bellamy mutters, “Don't move.”

You force your body to pull your eyes open, coming face to face with Bellamy, relieved that he’s alive and okay, and the nightmare in your head isn’t real. Both of you are lying a few inches from each other, and you can see Octavia on the other side of him, watching you. “Bellamy, my head-”

You try to reach up again, but he cuts you off and holds you still. “Don’t move! They’re shooting anyone that moves. I have watched 15 people die in the last few hours. The second you move, you die.”

You whisper, “I understand.”

He releases your wrist, and he looks at your head the best he can without moving a muscle. “The bleeding’s stopped for now. In a few hours, when the sun goes down, we’ll move. Until then, we stay still as we can. We’ll check your injuries then.”

You nod your head and reach your hand out for his slowly, both of you side by side in the sand, holding hands. You stay like that for hours, through rainfall and gunfire, watching as people try to surrender and get shot down. You, Bellamy, and Octavia stay silent and frozen in place, watching as the sun sets and the stars rise up, the only light coming from the moonless sky. A spotlight passes over the gorge every few seconds, searching for movement, and after enough time has passed, Bellamy whispers to you and Octavia, “Okay, it's dark enough. Next time the light passes, we go.”

You watch the light get closer to you before it passes over each of your bodies, and as soon as it clears you, Bellamy whispers, “Okay, now!”

You all use your hands to push yourselves up, and you nearly cry out in pain at the tension that puts on your shoulder. But you don't have time to investigate, you just bite back your pain and run forward, following Bellamy and Octavia. The light starts to draw closer again and Bellamy whispers, “Get down!”

You all drop to the ground quickly, the ground shoving something deeper into your shoulder, and you bite down on your lip so hard it draws blood, trying anything to stay silent. After a second Bellamy whispers, “We're clear, come on!”

Octavia starts to run the wrong way, towards a rifle, and Bellamy turns to her in shock. “O, what are you doing?”

She drops behind a rock, propping up the weapon and aiming towards the pillboxes. “We'll never make it past those lights. Grab a rifle, there's one right there.”

“No! As soon as you pull that trigger, we're dead. Come on.”

Bellamy starts to drag her away, back on your original path, but as you move, someone reaches out and grabs your ankle. You call out to Bellamy, “Wait!”

The hand is sticking out from beneath a pile of bodies and you start to shove the bodies to the side, off of the person, as Bellamy and Octavia run over and help you. When you finally reach the hand, you see Indra looking up at you. “Indra!”

“Gaia's hit. It's bad.”

You crouch beside Indra, following her arm to where it is clasping onto Gaia’s leg in an attempt to slow the bleeding. Octavia whispers, “Are you hit, too?”

“No.”

“We have to get Gaia to Jackson. Come on, Indra.”

Octavia pulls Indra away from Gaia, revealing the bulletwound on her daughter’s thigh, and you immediately clamp your hand down onto the wound to slow the bleeding. Indra fights against Octavia, trying to reach out to her daughter again. “No, we can't move her. Wonkru will come back for us.”

You look at Bellamy and mutter, “We need to stop the bleeding.”

“Not here, we need cover.” He points over to a large wall of rocks nearby, making sure you all see it. “They won't see us behind those rocks.”

Just then, the light starts to draw close, and you all drop down, playing dead, until it passes over you. As soon as it’s gone, you help Bellamy sling Gaia over his shoulder, and you mutter, “Now! Run!”

You all take off towards the rock wall, dropping down behind its cover with a sigh of relief. Bellamy lays Gaia out again, and Indra holds her daughter in her arms as you kneel down and take a look at Gaia’s wound. It’s likely been bleeding for hours, a fact that starts to worry you, and you look around for a way to stop the bleeding as Bellamy whispers, “Even if we stop the bleeding, we'll never make it carrying her.”

“Save yourselves. I'm not leaving my daughter.”

You almost smile when you see the belt around your boyfriend's waist, and you reach out towards him, grabbing at the belt, and he looks at you in shock for a second before realizing what you’re doing. He pulls it off and hands it to you as Octavia backs up Indra, “Indra's right, they'll come back for us.”

Gaia’s eyes are closed and her voice is weak as she retorts, “Why are you doing this? A week ago, you threw us all in the pit.”

You pull the belt around Gaia’s thigh, above the wound, and yank it tight, hoping the makeshift tourniquet will work. Bellamy helps you secure it in place as Octavia stares down at the injured Flamekeeper. “A week ago, you were a traitor. Next week, you may be again. Right now, you're Wonkru.”

Bellamy, who is not buying it, quips, “She thinks when Wonkru comes back, you'll tell the followers of the Flame to follow her back through this gorge.”

You look up at him, brows furrowed together, realizing you must have missed a conversation when you were knocked out earlier. He shakes his head, and you know he’ll explain later. Octavia mutters, “If they don't, everybody dies.”

With Gaia patched up the best you can right now, you all lean back and give her some space. As you do, Bellamy turns to you, reaching up to touch your head. “No fresh blood, which is good.”

“When we were getting up, I felt a pain in my shoulder.”

You shift a little, trying to find some light, and when you do, you see something sticking out of your shoulder. You can’t tell what it is, but whatever it is, it’s stopping the bleeding, only a little bit of blood leaking through when you put too much strain on it. Bellamy whispers, “It’s okay for now, but we have to get out of here or none of us are gonna make it.”

Gaia must hear this, because she weakly whispers, “Nomon...”

Mother… Indra looks down at her weak daughter. “Ai kamp hir, ai goufa.”

I'm here my child. Gaia fights to keep her eyes open, getting worse with each passing second. “Yu souda klir ai of.”

You have to let me go. You can see Indra fight back a wave of emotion, the first time you’ve ever seen the strong warrior on the verge of tears. The sight of it brings tears to your eyes, and Bellamy reaches out to grab your hand. When you look over at him, you can see him fighting back tears too. “No. Wonkru na komba raun gon yumi. ‘Mo na throu daun. Jos ste gonen kom liwa mou, en–”

No. Wonkru will come for us. They will fight. Just hold on a little longer- Gaia cuts her off and counters, “‘Mo nou na komba hir. Wonkru ste shada… Ai gonplei ste odon.”

They won't come. Wonkru is broken. My fight is over. You see her eyelids flutter closed and you look at Bellamy in alarm before crawling over to Gaia’s side, nudging her arm. “Hey, no. What about Madi? What kind of Flamekeeper leaves a 12 year old Commander to fend for herself? Keep fighting, if not for you, then for her.”

Gaia nods a little but her eyes stay closed, and you keep your eyes locked on her chest, relieved to see the steady rise and fall of her breathing. Octavia steps closer to all of you, looking at Gaia, reflecting on her words. “Wonkru ste shada. I broke it.”

Her voice is broken, just like her people, and Indra’s reaction is immediate. She takes her eyes off her daughter for the first time since you found her, and fixes her gaze on Octavia. “Yes, you did.”

Octavia turns away, upset, peering over the ridge just as someone starts to stand. “There's someone alive out there!”

Bellamy pulls her back down just as the person is killed, the gunshot echoing in the space of the gorge. “Get down! They'll see you.”

“What do you care if I die? Isn't that what you want?”

Bellamy’s voice shakes with emotion when he whispers, “Yes.”

You look at the siblings as they turn away from each other, both of them fighting back tears for different reasons. But you don't have time to help them, because Indra reaches out to grab your arm. “Her heartbeat is slowing, we need to go now. I'll give them a target. The next time they open fire, we run.”

You look at Bellamy, and he nods. “I'll carry Gaia.”

Gaia, still clinging to life, grabs her mother. “No, you're not dying for me.”

Octavia turns to face all of you, nodding in agreement with Gaia. “She's right. I may never be able to fix what I broke, but I can save you. I'm the one they want most of all. When they open fire, run like hell.”

Tears well up in your eyes as Octavia stands, moving to walk past all of you, into sight, and Bellamy grabs her and pulls her down. They both stare at each other, tears in their eyes, unable to say all the things that have been left unsaid. Octavia looks at him, lifting a hand to his cheek, and says, “My brother....”

She turns to you, putting her other hand on your face, tears in her eyes. “My sister...my responsibility.”

And then she drops her hand and steps away before either of you can argue or stop her. She runs straight into the middle of the gorge, aims her gun at the pillboxes, and starts shooting. As she does, she yells, “You are Wonkru, or you are the enemy of Wonkru! Choose!”

Bellamy grabs Gaia and starts to run, and Indra sticks close by his side. You bring up the rear of the group, grabbing a rifle on your way, protecting your backside. You all run until you hear Octavia’s gun click, now out of bullets, and you stop to watch in horror as she drops her weapon and falls to her knees, the spotlight now illuminating her. She holds out her hands, welcoming death, but it never comes.

Salvation comes instead.

The rover comes barreling through the ravine towards you, the machine gun on the front firing rounds at the pillboxes, saving all of you. It comes to a stop right beside Octavia, and you watch her run towards the vehicle. You, Indra, Bellamy, and Gaia all backtrack and run towards the rover, with you and Indra pushing Bellamy ahead, making sure he and Gaia make it first. As you get closer, Emori yells from the turret, “Hurry up! We're not staying!”

Murphy jumps out of the vehicle with one of the sonic cannons in his hand, trying to shoot the pillboxes, but it fails. You pull your focus away as you reach the vehicle and help Bellamy to load Gaia up inside. Then Bellamy climbs inside and pulls Indra in, followed by you, then Octavia. You step into the vehicle, looking to the driver’s seat to see who came to your rescue, unsurprised to see your niece in the seat, turned around and grinning at you. You get to her the best you can in the small space, giving her an awkward hug around the seat and muttering in amazement, “My dazzling little sun.”

She hugs you back tight, only pulling away when Emori ducks back into the vehicle and yells, “The cannon is gonna blow! Get us out of here!”

Madi pulls away as you hear the door to the rover close, everyone safely tucked inside, and she immediately takes off, putting distance between you and the weapon. It explodes a few seconds later, the blast so large it shakes the rover, and you fall into the seat beside Bellamy awkwardly, the rover shaking and moving as Madi makes quick work on getting you out of the gorge. You look around at the occupants of the vehicle; Madi, Murphy, Emori, Indra, Gaia, Octavia, Bellamy, and Echo. You feel a cloud of awkwardness as the two of you make eye contact, but there’s no time to worry about that now. Now, as you barrel back into the desert, back towards your camp, every single person in the rover is thinking about one thing: how to win the war.

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction

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zombiekillerky · 3 years

Text

{Sleep} - SleepyBoisInc Fanfic

(Family dynamic, no relationships)

As peaceful nights went by over the years Techno would say but never admit he has had sleeping issues from time to time. Some times it was the surroundings, the voices getting to loud in his head. Or just the anxiety and stress hitting him all at once like a magazine of bullets to a heavy duty bullet proof chest plate. Philza could remember sleepless nights from him, the mornings he would come out of his room looking like a zombie. The whimpering and the yelps of fear coming from behind his door as he would walk by. The pig hybrid wasn’t one to be babied unless he really had to be, turning away almost all efforts to calm him down every time. To the point where Phil didn’t even know what was really going on with him unless he pried at him enough to be honest. Many nights over the years went by with this constant cycle. At this rate it was normal by now for the pink haired warrior and his so called father or best friend. He has faced facts that sleepless nights were only a common thing for him as soon as they started to happen more and more. The rate soon increased due to him leaving Philza and coming to the new world of Dream SMP. Being alone once more like he never wanted to be truthfully. Not even the presence of his so called little brother could calm him down once he started to stay with him. It only made things worse with all of the stress already upon him Yet once his best friend comes back he realizes how bad things seem to be with him that he hasn’t noticed before.

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Techno sighed as he sat on the chair next to Tommy sleeping peacefully in his bed he had offered an hour before. Shutting the book in his lap he had been reading nights before from Ranboo. The hybrids eyes were peaceful and tired looking as he watched the young boys chest rise and fall slowly as he laid there. The short breaths as he turned and laid on his side suddenly occurred. A small pained whimper escaped from his mouth as he landed on his hurt wrist. The bandages stood out in the some what lit room, all the damage of the outside world from exile. All the damage from someone Techno thought he could call an ally this whole time. He chose not to think of what he has done, knowing it would send him in to blood thirst and rage. But seeing those bandages reminded both of them they weren’t welcomed anywhere at the moment for some time. A small sigh escaped Techno’s mouth as he stood up from his chair. The floor creaking with almost every light foot step he took. Phil took the spare bed up in the attic he had, being a runaway he thought it would help conceal him in necessary. Techno’s scarred hand ran over his tired eyes, he soon stopped at the stairs. Glancing back quickly at the blonde ruined boy in his bed. He wondered what went on in his head for a second. Knowing his screams would be heard in the next hour or two of nightmares he has frequently. Knowing he would have to be there for him soon for the comfort the young boy yearned in the aftermath.

The pink haired warrior quietly made his way down the stairs to the bottom of his quiet dim lit home. His scarred fingers ran through his some what knotted hair he had been meaning to brush. He mostly ignored it, getting old memories from when he was young and Wilbur used to play his matted mess every now and again. A quiet yawn escaped from the warriors mouth as he stepped by the window. The crackle and pop of the fire place was heard as he stood there alone with the light shining at his back.

Dream......

Blood.....Blood.....Blood must be spilled

Blood for the blood god

Dream must pay!

L’manburg must pay!

BLOODSHED!

DREAM’S BLOOD!

Dream......bloodshed

Blood.....NOW

Techno groaned in annoyance as he stood there up against the side of the wall. His eyes darted around at the mobs that roamed outside freely with out a care. The voices had returned to haunt him once more as always, he agreed with them mostly but now wasn’t really the time or the place. In order to defeat the god like man himself he needed advanced weapons and a plan at which he didn’t have. Techno glanced down at his scarred forearm, forgetting to roll down his sleeves of his shirt to cover the past. His eye slowly blinked as he stood there, reaching forward to grab his extra sword that hung on the holster near the door. Boredom was setting in and the voices would only get louder if no violence was played out. This cycle was played time and time again. The more Techno thought he knew he to control the voices the less he actually did. The hybrid smirked as he walked out the front door of his place. His sword out and ready as he ran closer over toward the mobs that surrounded the area.

He was quick, fierce and made to be feared, the phrase Technoblade Never Dies was an honor and a curse at the same time for him. His body was quick among the reaction of his enemies coming round.The clawing from he zombies was almost like a poke of a stick to him. The attacks of the spiders were nothing to be feared. Arrows were shot and merely dodged out of the way as soon as they were near his body. The blood god stabbed and sliced his way through the mobs around him. Leaving him with blood on the end of his sword and in need of a change of a different shirt soon afterward. He soon shook his head, breaking him self of blood lust the loomed within himself. Over the years he has gotten better at controlling himself, but that fear of hurting the ones dearest to him was still there. The blood god took a step back and took in his surroundings, the blood, bones and body parts lay around the ground. Either to be picked up or to despawn soon was sunrise comes. A smirk appeared on his face as he stared, confident in his work he has just done. Not even realizing the pair of icy blue eyes staring down at him from his house behind him. The warrior sighed as his legs carried him back to the house willingly. The rush of adrenaline was over and now he felt as if he could crash of exhaustion from the past couple of nights with barely a wink of rest.

The warrior opened his door and shut it behind him as quiet as he could. His palm wiped off the smeared blood on his cheek as he placed his sword back where it belonged. Knowing he would have to clean that and his shirt in the morning. The hybrid winced as he took of his button up, laying it on to the chair by the door as a reminder. He was quick as he dug in to some chests in order to find a new one that he owned. One of his fears was his friends or family as you would say to see him like this. See all of his battle scars from over the years. Some he told stories about when they asked, others he wished to forget that stayed and were permanent on his pale skin. Ashamed of what he happened and what he had done. Techno smiled softly as he found of of his spare shirts in the chest.

“techno....” The blood god jumped upon hearing his voice, banging his head on the top of the chest lid. The hybrid cursed under his breath as he stood up from the chest, his blue and gray eyes glanced back. Finding Phil half the way down the stairs with a tired and concerned look on his face. He was trying to pull off the stern look but ever since they were young he knew he never could pull it off with his sons unless it was truly something bad. The hybrid froze suddenly, a wave of awareness and anxiety washed over him. He knew it was dark but he also knew Phil had better eye sight then the average person from his own hybrid ways. The warrior bit his lip, knowing he would draw blood because of his canines if he didn’t stop now. He didn’t know why but he was intimidated and quite frankly scared of what he might say.

Technoblade was a Blood God and here he was confused and scared over his so called father. It was a weakness, he knew Phil was his weakness. He could even say Tommy was starting to be as well. He hated the idea, he knew the others were starting to catch on like they did at his execution that went horribly wrong. But he knew if something happened to him that they would be starting a war that they couldn’t end. It was one thing that he had that Dream didn’t and that would hurt him in the final run. But it also meant that he was more human then monster at most.

“Techno what are you doing up so late.....it’s going on 4 in the morning mate” Phil asked calmly, not wanting to talk about Techno’s scars he saw as he came down. To be fair he wasn’t even surprised by them anyway, but he could tell by Techno’s tense figure that he didn’t want to speak about them. The pig hybrid sighed as he slipped his fresh shirt on as the blonde walked closer toward him.

“Couldn’t sleep....” The blood god wasn’t sure if he should go in to detail or if he should stay quiet. He has gotten on fine on his own ever since he left the Arctic empire. He could handle himself just fine, he didn’t want pity. Maybe that’s why Tommy didn’t want pity either, he was such a bad influence on him now that he thinks about it more. The Blood God flinched to the soft touch of the hand on his shoulder. Taking a step back to gather what was going on since he stared off in to space. He glanced away embarrassed as Phil took a step closer, returning his palm to his shoulder. His other hand reached up and wiped away the blood that was still on his cheek. Almost like how it was when he he was little and would have mud on himself from rainy days. Phil deeply missed those times when they were young, but he knew he could never have that back. He needed to be here for them right here and right now. Phil gazed at Techno’s eyes, the blood lust was gone for now which was good. But the light within them were dulled and tired, the bluish color had faded in to the gray look more then he had expected. This was the first time Phil had gotten a good look at what Techno had looked like. Sure he has been back for around a month now, but he wanted to give him the distance he needed before he fully came back to not overwhelm him. He never realized how much he has changed ever since he had left. The scars, the personality, it seemed like Techno had major trust issues over all then what he had years before. A small sigh escaped Phil’s lips as he watched Techno’s expression change from staring off to fidgeting in awkwardness. His ADHD was still the same though after all this time.

“Are you sure......was it the voices again?” Phil asked which seemed to catch Techno’s attention greatly as they stood there. Now Phil knew that was a factor in his insomnia now. Techno had forgotten how Phil could read people like a book with ease. Regretting even making a face toward his words, as they stood there. It was a lot of factors that played in to his insomnia, but he didn’t want to get n to it. He was fine and that was the end of that conversation. But as they both stood quietly, Techno’s ears picked up the small whimpering sounds upstairs. His eyes widened as he quickly made his way up without even telling Phil what was wrong. Forgetting to since he just broke him out of house arrest yesterday. He was quick as he made his way toward Tommy, sobbing there under the covers. He was tossing and turning frantically as Techno came closer toward him. It was another panic attack in his sleep that came along with the nightmares he has been having. As soon as Techno took a place on the bed Tommy shot up from his sleep. Gasping for air as sweat dripped from his brow, his eyes were frantic as he looked around the room. Meeting Techno’s gaze quickly beside him, his arms were soon wrapped around him as tight as he possibly could. Techno sighed as he glanced over toward Phil coming closer toward them. Sweet nothings were whispered the the young blonde in the warriors arms to calm him down. His small shaking body is what scared techno the most, how fragile he had become. He was getting better over all, but Dream seemed to ruin a lot more then what meets the eye to anyone. Techno could see right through him and so could Phil. Tommy was broken on the inside and the outside and would have to take a while before he is healed.

“Calm down Tommy......you’re safe.....you’re okay...I-I’m right here...” Techno said calmly, his voice changed from deep to a little lighter. Using the same techniques Phil did to him when he would have a panic attack all those years ago. Phil sighed as he sat down next to Techno on the bed. Rubbing Tommy’s back softly as he cried in to Techno’s chest. Technoblade was uncomfortable, after Tommy had been staying with him for around 2 weeks maybe three he still hasn’t wrapped his head around how to specifically help him.

“H-He was there T-Tech.....h-he had a sword a-and....h-he hurt m-”

“Don’t think about that right now Tommy just focus on us alright....everything is alright, no need to cry..... You are just fine and you’re here with us mate....He isn’t here and we won’t let him either I can promise you that” Phil softly replied, watching as Tommy’s breaths slowed as he sniffed and coughed. Phil knew Techno wasn’t used to comforting and these kinds of things. But he was proud to see how well he was reacting and caring for Tommy over all. Techno sighed softly as he fixed his posture, noticing Tommy falling slowly back asleep but in his arms. He tired himself out that quickly from crying for so long.

“How long has this been happening?”

“Not sure, he was living underneath the house for who knows how long to get away from “Him”.....ever since I started letting him stay he has had these panic attacks and nightmares....sometimes he’ll get them when we go out and he’ll see his old place or when he hears “His” name......been trying my best to help him but it’s been hard”

“That’s why you haven’t been sleeping much too isn’t it.” Phil asked as he watched Tommy shift in Techno’s arms. Hearing the strong hybrid sigh as he moved some of his hair out of his face. Phil hated seeing them like this, broken, scared, anxious, cold, blocked off. Some aspects one had over the other. But it was all the same, in the amount of time he wasn’t there so much has changed. He couldn’t believe half of it, or he didn’t want to believe half of it even if it was true. As Philza was in thought he felt a hand on his knee, gazing up to find a small smile on Techno’s face he missed seeing.

“Thank you.....for calming him down, usually these fits last longer then that and he refuses to go back to bed.” Techno softly said as with a small chuckle. His own body was about to shut down from lack of sleep too. The pig hybrid slowly laid Tommy back down on to his bed and laid the covers over him. Technoblade stretched to hear the familiar pop of his shoulder blades and back. Phil’s hand made contact with his shoulder once more to grab his attention. No flinch was followed like the first one which was good. Techno’s eyes slowly reached the blondes caring gaze. Watching his icy eyes look over him with his warm smile.

“Get some rest mate, I’m sure Tommy would mind sharing the bed you gave him generously”

“But Phil I-”

“No buts Techno.....you need your rest and by the looks of it you haven’t been getting much sleep as is. Getting sleep makes you more aware and let’s you energize yourself. You can’t keep staying up whether you like it or not” Phil replied as he moved he blanket covering Tommy. Techno rolled his eyes softly as he gazed at Phil. He was stubborn he had to give him that, maybe that’s where he got that trait from. But he knew there was no fighting Philza on this, he needed the sleep he just forced his body to stay up. A annoyed sigh left he lips as he started to lay down on the opposite side of the bed. Feeling the blanket be brought up slowly to cover his unusually warm body. Phil smiled down at him softly as he watched sleep starting to take over Techno’s tense body.

“I’ll see ya in the morning mate....I’ll make breakfast so you can sleep in a bit alright”

“Phil you don’t have to....”

“No I want to....take it as a repayment for breaking me out of house arrest”

“You don’t owe me anything Phil.....”

“No I do.....trust me on that one mate....I defiantly do.....get some sleep alright. I don’t want to find you awake before me”

“fine” Philza smiled upon hearing those words, knowing Techno had given up on staying up for the night. There were multiple things going on with him from what Phil could tell that kept him up late. He hoped he could fix some of those things like he used to be able to. But for now this was a good start for them both, he just hoped things could stay this way for a while before something worse could happen.

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