#Because Merlin - my merlin - is definitely more violent in the beginning of the story

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

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 :)

#bbc merlin #merlin #arthur #knights of the round table #magic reveal #emrys reveal #arthur pendragon #merlin emrys #sir leon #leon #sir gwaine #gwaine #sir percival #percival #sir elyan #elyan #sir lancelot #lancelot #gwen #gaius #guinevere #arthur is a dick #angst #protective knights #gwaine almost commits regicide and honestly im sorta here for it #i mean this could be read as merlin/leon?? #but that was an accident #angst with a hopeful ending? #hopeful ending

[seriouslysam8]

Hello, Sam. I’m afraid I only read the first three chapters of Kalopsia so far. I am hoping to read more tomorrow, but with work you know. Anyway, I won’t post my reviews again because that seems silly but I hope you will still take a moment to answer my questions.

1) What is the house in Cornwood? I thought Harry fixed up Grimmauld Place so he and Ginny could live there?

2) What made you choose Cho to be Harry’s partner in this alternate reality?

3) In chapter two, you mentioned violent crimes being the department Harry and Ron worked in. I thought Aurors were dark wizard catchers. Can you please explain what you meant?

4) I love your attention to detail. In Aurora you mentioned Teddy’s obsession with eating toad in the hole and now in Kalopsia, James loves bangers and mash. Do you have charts for all of these things?

5) How old are Teddy, James, and Albus in Kalopsia?

6) Do you think there was a special charm that had to be placed on the needle to keep the potion from escaping? I imagine potions as being very volatile and a needle not being strong enough to hold it steady. Could that be why the magical world doesn’t use needles? Are they worries it would melt or break the glass?

7) What made you decide to have Demelza be an Auror? Is she the one who was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in HBP?

8) Who are Sutton, Ellis, and Addington? Are they original characters?

9) Cho called Harry baby, honey. I noticed Ginny doesn’t do that? Why?

10) Your Ron is quite funny. Is he very proud of his arse? You mentioned this in Brio as well. There’s a freckle pattern that looks like Merlin on his bum? That’s hilarious. I think I need more details on this side story please.

11) The locking charm being like a password and unique to everyone, did you invent that? Its such a unique thing I haven’t read before.

Again sorry to bother you, thank you.

1. It’s mentioned in another story that Harry and Ginny didn’t live long at Grimmauld Place. They built a house in Cornwood so they could have a nicer outdoor space for the kids and have a more private area where their kids could attend to Muggle primary school before Hogwarts.

2. @breaniebree wanted Cho. What Brie wants, she gets!!

3. So, like real life, there are different departments in law enforcement. The same is true for the magical world. Some Aurors focus on different types of crimes. Harry and Ron, working in violent crimes, deal with the murder cases, assaults, kidnappings, etc. So, yes Aurors are dark wizard catchers (aka criminal wizards in my mind) and there are different categories of crimes. Some Aurors specialize in certain types of cases.

4. Yes, I have massive character charts for the main characters and you’ll see certain things weaved in throughout the stories. Even when Teddy’s an adult in Legerdemain, it’s mentioned he still loves toad-in-the-hole. If preferences change, I have it noted when and to what in my charts. They are a lifesaver.

5. Teddy is 8, James is 2, Albus is 2 months. I try to remember to put ages of the kids at the beginning of every new chaptered story.

6. I honestly didn’t think too deep into the needle aspect of the story. I’m sure there are spells to make needles shatterproof and to withstand the temperatures needed.

7. Yes, it’s the same Demelza that was on the Quidditch team. I just liked the idea of having one Auror who the reader knew and who had a history with Harry and Ron. Demelza’s character just grew into my favorite side Auror. I use her a lot.

8. They are original Auror characters. I have a whole spreadsheet of who is in the department, their jobs, what stories they appear in, and other notes. I try to reuse the same few original Aurors so readers can recognize them.

9. Harry doesn’t like pet names. It reminds him of his Aunt Petunia. You’ll notice he never calls Ginny or the kids pet names. He only shortens their first names like Ginny to Gin, Teddy to Ted, James to Jamie, Albus to Al l, and Lily to Lils. Those are the only nick names he uses and he has told Ginny he doesn’t like pet names. It’s explored more in Brontide.

10. Ron has a great arse. I can’t remember what story I mentioned it in, but Hermione once commented on it and then it took a life of its own. Ron likes to talk about his arse a lot. He claims to have the best Weasley arse. He definitely does. Yes, he claims to have a pattern of freckles that look like Merlin.

11. I did invent the unlocking patterns for the door. I apologize if someone else did something similar and I didn’t read your story. I thought a simple unlocking charm wasn’t very secure and anyone could unlock anything. So having a specialized pattern made sense to me.

Don’t apologize! You’re fine. Ask as any questions as you like, and I’ll try to answer them.

[scarletravenswood]

Who is John Barleycorn?

Gruesome Origins & Modern Retellings

I was planning on making a post about the different harvest traditions for the Autumn Equinox, but in the middle of doing research for that I came across a character so crazy and fascinating that I felt the need to devote a whole post to him.  So today let’s go down the rabbit hole together to explore the strange tale of John Barleycorn and what it might reveal about our Pagan history.  The Autumn Equinox, also known as Mabon, is the second of the three important harvest festivals.  Most Pagan harvest festivals embrace the idea of sacrifice, perhaps none more so than Mabon, which is the time when the last sheaf of wheat & barley would be harvested. This notion of Sacrifice is one of the key themes associated with the popular story of John Barleycorn. You may have heard one of the many musical variations of this story or perhaps you're more familiar with the Robert Berns version from 1782.  If you haven’t ever heard this English Folk Song, give it a listen The story of John Barleycorn actually has really old origins.  There is a Scottish poem with a very similar theme and wording included in the Bannatyne Manuscript of 1568, though it’s likely that John Barleycorn is even older.  This is because the Bannatyne Manuscript is a collection of pre-existing works, many coming from the ancient oral tradition.  And considering the many pagan themes in the story, it’s definitely possible that the origins lie in Pre-Christian times. Specifically there may even be a link between John Barleycorn and the mythical figure Beowa, which is a figure from Anglo-Saxon paganism whose name means "barley." Now, the prevailing theory is that the tale of John Barleycorn is a symbolic representation of the crop of barley being harvested each autumn. The song describes the process of preparing the land, sowing the seeds, waiting for the crop to grow, and eventually harvesting. Then the song describes making the products of beer and bread which were key staples of the diet of early agrarian people.  For the most part this all makes sense but those of you who have read the poem or listened to the song have probably noticed the really gruesome way that this harvest is worded.  For example: “They laid him out upon the floor, To work him further woe; And still, as signs of life appear’d, They toss’d him to and fro. They wasted o’er a scorching flame, The marrow of his bones; But a miller us’d him worse of all, For he crush’d him between two stones. And they hae taen his very heart’s blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound.” Sure, maybe that’s just meant to be a creative interpretation of how to turn barley into beer and perhaps the reason this story has survived so long is in part due to the violent imagery, which makes the story more interesting and memorable.  Though perhaps there’s a bit more to the story. I want to share a theory that I recently found that might have some merit. This theory proposes that the tale of John Barleycorn is more than just a metaphor for the barley harvest and that it in fact contains references to real human sacrifices that occurred in Ancient Britain. I know what you’re thinking - pagan human sacrifice is a big trope often used by others to slander paganism.   But hear me out for a second because there’s some really interesting passages in this poem that deserve further inspection. The poem begins with: “There were three men come out of the west, their fortunes for to try, And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn would die” It’s interesting that we start with 3 men coming out of the West.  We’re all familiar with the religious importance of the number three.  The Celtic triad & triple spiral are of course famous symbols in Celtic paganism.  I also think it’s interesting that these men are coming from the West because in Celtic myths coming from “The West” meant coming from the otherworld or realm of the Fae. Also, in the tale of John Barleycorn before the the cutting of the barley there is an interesting passage that states: “They let him stand till midsummer Till he looked both pale and wan, And little Sir John he growed a long beard And so became a man.” Of course the reference to midsummer is interesting from a pagan perspective but I’m even more interested in the “growing a long beard” part.  Firstly, I’m not sure how the beard part fits in if this poem is just a metaphor for the barley harvest.  Instead, I think it’s possible that it’s referencing the long beards of the druids.  The druids believed that our life-force was channeled through the extremities which is why Druid priests would grow their beards and hair long.  So perhaps our John Barleycorn is representing a sacrificial priest. Next in the story we have a death being depicted in the poem, but it’s a three-fold death.  The poem states: “They hired men with the scythes so sharp To cut him off at the knee, They rolled him and tied him by the waist, And served him most barbarously. They hired men with the sharp pitchforks Who pricked him to the heart.” The three-fold death is a really common theme in Celtic and Anglo-Saxon folklore.  Even Merlin in the Arthurian legends prophesied a three-fold death for himself which would occur by falling, stabbing, and then drowning. So already we’ve found references in the passages of John Barleycorn to: - The Celtic triad and the Faerie realm in the west - The spiritual tradition of beard growing among the Druids - The importance of the three-fold death in Celtic lore. So what’s really going on here? In the famous anthropological book called “The Golden Bough” by Sir James Frazer, he states that the Barley King was personified in ancient ritual practice by a real person.  This man was honored as a King during the yearly cycle and when it was harvest time he would be sacrificed and dismembered and his body was dragged through the fields to ensure a fertile harvest for next year. This reminds me of a particularly gruesome passage in the poem: “They've wheeled him around and around the field till they've come unto a barn And here they've kept their solemn word concerning Barleycorn They've hired men with the crab tree sticks to split his skin from bone.” If this is just a metaphor for harvesting the barley, then what is the purpose of wheeling him “around and around” the field.  Perhaps Sir James Frazer might be right and that this passage could be a reference to the sacrificed individual being dragged through the fields to ensure the fertile harvest. It’s definitely a pretty disturbing visual and I probably should point out that we don’t really have much historical evidence concerning Pagan religious sacrifice.  One of the most popular accounts of pagan human sacrifice comes from Julius Caesar during his conquest of Gaul where he reports to have seen the burning alive of victims in a large wooden effigy, which is now known as a wicker man.  Though considering the Celts were his enemy at the time it is possible he exaggerated some details.   So, while it’s likely that some human sacrifice occurred among the Celts and Anglo-Saxons we don’t really know too many details and it’s likely that the violence was probably a bit exaggerated. So when it comes to our story of John Barleycorn we have our two main theories: The first theory is that the story of John Barleycorn is just a metaphor of the barley harvest and that any violent wording was just added for extra flair and it doesn’t represent any wider themes. The second theory is that the story of John Barleycorn actually contains references to the practice of religious human sacrifice among the Celtic and the Anglo-Saxon pagans. So which theory is correct?  In my opinion I think it might be both.  I think the main purpose of the story is to be a metaphor for the autumn barley harvest.  Though because this story is in fact really old, I think it picked up some Pagan references, stereotypes, and motifs along the way.   But, I’d love to hear what you think the story of John Barleycorn represents.  So share your thoughts down below in the comments. 

#pagan #Autumn Equinox #traditional witchcraft #druid #english magic #english history #folklore #witches of the world #baby witch #wicca

[messrprcngs]

* VENUSENTHIUM, Part 3 .

SUMMARY : you explain what happened to sirius and remus, which brings you to starting realizations about both your relationship with your boyfriend and your relationship with your best friend.     part 1. part 2. marauders era PAIRING : sirius black x female!reader, remus lupin x female!reader WARNINGS : badly written flangst. read at your own risk, my dudes. also, there’s a mutual breakup so ? WORD COUNT : 2460 A/N : apologies for being so late with this update, friends. i know, it’s been months since i posted part two, and those of you who are actually looking forward to part three probably hate me. BUT, hopefully you don’t hate me enough to not read this. anyway, i hope you guys like it, and in february it will be two years since i wrote and posted the first part of venusenthium ( two years since i started this blog, too, but that’s less important ).

you were still looking at remus as you said those words, and from your peripheral you could see sirius’ head whip around to face you in surprise. you didn’t react, though; instead, you kept looking at remus, and watched as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"y/n . . . what?"

"it's my fault," you confirmed, still holding tight to the sleeve of remus' robes. "it's my fault that sirius doesn't recognize me."

remus breathed out a laugh through his nose. "y/n, love, that's ridiculous. why . . . how could it be your fault that this prick,” he jerked his chin in the direction of sirius, breaking eye contact with you for a moment to fix his best friend with a sharp glare that was reserved for when one of the boys had royally screwed up, “doesn’t recognize you?”

you took a deep breath, eyes searching remus’. you didn’t know what you were looking for, and weren’t sure if you’d found it or not.

you looked away from remus and brought your gaze to sirius only to find that he was already looking at you, presumably watching the interaction between you and his mate. you had to tell them what you’d done now, before you chickened out.

“earlier,” you started, dropping remus’ sleeve as you looked back up at him, “when we were in the library, i found an old spellbook. it - it’d fallen off the shelf when someone was re-shelving books on the other side, and it landed on the ground open to this page with a charm on it, and i picked it up and read it, y’know, because that’s - that’s what i do and, and -”

“y/n,” remus said, cutting you off. “slow down, love.” you hadn’t realized that you’d been talking so fast that sirius and remus could hardly follow your story, or that you’d begun to tear up again. you swallowed slowly, blinked away the oncoming tears, and continued on.

“the spellbook had opened to this page with a . . . well, it’d called it a beautification charm, and what it does is, well, you cast it, and then everyone around you sees the caster as whoever they think is the . . . the most -”

“the most beautiful person,” remus finished for you, and you nodded, sneaking a glance at sirius. his eyebrows were furrowed and he was staring down at his feet, clearly puzzled. but as you turned your head to look at him full-on, his brow relaxed, and he looked back up at you, a realization dawning in his eyes.

“so you cast the charm to what?” remus asked. “figure out who i think the most beautiful person i’ve seen is?”

you turn your head to him and shrug helplessly. “i wanted to figure out who you had a crush on, rem, because you wouldn’t tell me and i was so curious. but -”

“but she ran into me instead.” merlin, what was it today with people finishing your sentences for you? you were torn between being slightly miffed that you couldn’t finish your own tragic story and being relieved that you didn’t have to put everything that had happened into words.

you nodded, avoiding the boys’ gazes. “yeah.”

“jeez,” you heard remus same at the same time that you heard sirius heave a sigh, and you looked up to find both boys running their hands through their hair. sirius had one hand combed through the top of his hair, holding it in place, and remus was running his hand through his significantly shorter hair from the nape of his neck to the top of his head repeatedly.

“i’m - i’m sorry,” you said, and you knew the second that it came out of your mouth that it was a stupid thing to say. wasn’t if you who was supposed to be upset? upset with sirius, for him thinking you were marlene when you had a beautification charm cast on you? you felt the tears prickling at the back of your eyes again.

sirius’ head snapped up as soon as the apology had left your mouth. the movement attracted your attention, and though you saw remus - who was closer to you - move his hand in your direction, sirius was quicker. it took him a single stride to end up in front of you, and once he was toe-to-toe with you, he grabbed your forearm firmly and pulled you into his chest. he wrapped his other arm around your back, successfully trapping you in rib-crushing bear hug.

“no,” sirius said, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “you have nothing to apologize for, y/n. i should be the one apologizing. i’m so, so sorry, love.”

and that’s when you began to cry again.

your eyes were squeezed so tightly shut that you were beginning to see multicolored spots behind your eyelids. the sobs were violent and draining, and your whole body scrunched up each time you gasped and jerked every time you wailed.

sirius stood there and took it, letting you use his jumper as a snot rag. he didn’t make any noise, choosing instead to quietly stroke your hair as you got this wave of tears and heartbreak out of your system.

after what felt like forever, you’re gut-wrenching sobs subsided, and you tilted your head up while it was under his chin, signalling to him that you wanted to look at him. pulling away and peering down at you, sirius moved his hands to grip both of your shoulders. seeing his eyes, which were dark and beautiful as every, made you want to break down again. your own eyes, which you knew were rimmed in red, let a few more tears escape.

“i’m sorry,” sirius whispered again, and you knew he meant it. “i love you, y/n, i really do, i just . . .”

when sirius looked away and didn’t finish, you finished for him. “it’s just that you’re falling in love with marlene.”

sirius looked back to you and nodded, very, very slowly. “i s’pose so.”

you gave sirius a watery smile. “that’s all right. i understand. marlene’s beautiful, siri.”

sirius did nothing but frown at you, brows pulled together in concern.

“sirius . . . we need to break up.” you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding; that was the hardest sentence you’d ever had to say in your life.

sirius nodded, frowning slightly. when he spoke again, it was in a very quiet voice. “i know.”

“because if you like marlene, i don’t want to hold you back. i love you too much to do that to you.”

sirius was silent for a long moment, but finally he gave you a small, half smile. there was an immense fondness in his eyes, and you knew it was directed at you. “i know,” he said again.

you wished that you could kiss him; merlin, you wanted to kiss him. but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, so instead you shrugged your shoulders out from under his hands. you took a few steps backwards, away from sirius, only halting your movements when your back hit something warm, which you figured was remus. a pair of arms came up to tentatively wrap around your waist; definitely remus. you hadn’t realized up until then that he was still standing on the staircase landing with you and sirius.

sirius watched the interaction between you and remus, and his eyes still held that same fondness as before, only this time it was directed at both of you.

the three of you stood there like that, just watching each other, for what felt like an eternity. finally, sirius nodded once, firmly and surely, as if he’d confirmed some long-held suspicion. he looked satisfied.

“i’ll see you both at dinner,” he said. and then: “take care of her, remus.”

that last bit surprised you: you knew your boyfriend - ex boyfriend - overdid it with the histrionics, but he sounded serious (no pun intended) telling remus to take care of you. you wondered why.

remus’ arms tightened around you. “i will.”

sirius nodded again, and then turned on his heel and headed back the way he’d come - the way that you’d come as well, when you were a mess of hair and tears running from the man you loved.

you watched him leave, and when you couldn’t see him anymore, you turned around in remus’ hold and wound your arms around his own waist. “i’m exhausted.”

remus let out a humorless chuckle, but otherwise chose to ignore your words. “do you need to talk about it, n/n?”

instead of answering, you removed your arms from remus’ waist and walked over to and slid down the railing the two of you had been sitting against before. you pulled your knees up, feet flat against the cool stone of the landing, and put one arm on top of the other over your knees.

remus followed your lead, going back over to your spot against the stair rail, but instead of leaning back against it, he sat facing you, waiting patiently to talk. finally, you turned your head in his direction and opened your mouth.

“it’s just . . . i thought that sirius and i were going to be together for a long time.”

“you were together for a long time,” remus argued.

you signed through your nose. “not as long as i wanted.”

“i’m sorry.” you turned your head away from him so that you were facing forward again, your chin resting on your arms.

“s’not your fault, remus.”

“i know.”

the two of you stayed silent for a long, drawn out moment. it was exactly what you needed. you were tired, both emotionally and physically, and needed a long, long nap. maybe one that lasted until graduation. you didn’t feel like crying anymore, which was an unpleasant surprise, considering you’d just broken up with the boy you thought you’d be spending the rest of your life with. you realized now how daft you’d been, thinking you’d spend the rest of your life with sirius black.

you wanted to cry, because anything was better than the heavy feeling of being hollow with the lack of tears. with the lack of sirius.

you turned back to face remus. “hey rem?”

“hmm?”

“do i - i mean, is it over with? did the . . . did the spell wear off?”

remus didn’t answer, and instead flushed a bright shade of red.

“remus?”

“i - i don’t know if it wore off or not . . .”

“what?” you asked, incredulous. “how could you not know? what, are you immune to it or something? that sounds pretty bloody impossible, but i’m sure if i asked flitwick he’d tell me about some far-off case of wizards or muggles who charms like the beautification one are ineffective on.”

remus shook his head, still beet red. “it’s not . . . it’s not that the charm doesn’t work on me . . .”

“then what is it?” you thought back to earlier that afternoon when you’d looked at your reflection in the dorm room mirror. “if you aren’t immune to it, it’d be pretty clear if the spell’d worn off. y’know, no blurred edges, no shifting facial features or body parts.”

remus turned his body away from you to look up the staircase. “i suppose your hair was a bit darker than usual.”

you scoffed. “oh, come on, remus. that would mean -”

“i saw you.”

you blinked at him a few times, taken aback. but once the implication of his words began to sink in, you put your hands against the floor and pushed yourself up straighter, as if the new position would allow you to understand. it didn’t, but remus continued anyway.

“your hair had been just a little bit darker. er, has,” he corrected, continuing to look straight ahead. “and sometimes, your eyes have a bright amber in them or some dark, dark brown, but . . . but i can still tell it’s you. other than that, you . . .” remus’ head fell back against the side of the stairwell and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he opened them again and turned to look at you. when he did, you could see that his eyes were glossed over by unshed tears.

“. . . you still look like you.”

you didn’t say anything at first. you couldn’t find the right words. but when you did, they were: “so that means . . . that means that i - that you?”

remus chuckled dryly and rolled his head straight so that he could look up at the ceiling above you. “yes, n/n. it means that i have a crush on you.” and then, more absentmindedly: “i think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, y/n.”

“oh.”

“yeah, should have expected that,” remus said, and sighed.

“expected what?”

he closed his eyes again. “that response.”

you looked at remus, at his beautiful side profile, at the scars that littered his face. looking at your best friend was much easier for you to do when he had his eyes closed, because then it didn’t feel like he knew you were looking.

when you’d gotten your fill of looking, you scooted yourself closer to him and leaned your head on his shoulder. the action surprised remus, not enough to make him jolt, but enough to make him open his eyes and peer down at you. you knew he was looking, and when you moved your head to look up at him, your faces were incredibly close. you sat up a little straighter.

remus spent the time being so close to your face glancing between your eyes and your lips, so it was no real surprise to you when he asked, “can i kiss you?”

part of you wanted to say yes, because remus was sweet and kind and handsome, and he cared about you immensely. the rest of you knew, though, that letting remus kiss you when you’d just  broken up with someone wouldn’t be fair to him. or you.

“not . . . not yet,” you told him, though you stretched up to place a soft kiss to his cheek anyway. “i still need some time, remus.”

remus hardly even seemed to register what you said, he was so busy dreamily gazing into your eyes, but nodded anyway. “yeah,” he said, and he sounded breathless. “yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you want, n/n.”

you smiled up at him, and then put your head back onto his shoulder, slipping your arm around him as well. remus laid his head on yours and put his arm around your back, and for the first time since you’d been in the library earlier that afternoon, you were truly content. you knew it would take a long while and a lot of work before you could truly get over sirius, but you also knew that with remus by your side, you would get there eventually.

#sirius x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin #sirius black imagine #remus lupin imagine #oneshot #x reader #imagine #fandom imagines #fandom oneshots #finally a part three #fluff #eventual fluff #some angst #mutual breakup #hp #harry potter x reader #harry potter

[elletromil]

Don’t Go

Latest part of the Come Back (Home) verse (with nearly two years of delay but i never pretended I was good at keeping any kind of writing schedule)

For @honey-bee-britt <3 Sorry to have made you wait so long for this

--

It’s been about a month since he met Harry by chance.

(A month, two weeks, three days and roughly six hours. But no one’s counting. Especially not Eggsy.)

Since then, he’s been on three different missions. One was a simple recon, another was infiltration in a company to steal some plans and the one he just finished actually was a favor for Statesman and he just went as backup for Ginger. Well, Whiskey. It’s still kinda hard to call her that and he has to wonder how Tequila is faring with the change in names.

At least she doesn’t seem to mind when they make the inevitable mistake.

Not that it was an issue during their mission, since their cover story was of a rich scientist and her boytoy. Mostly, he just called her ma’am with an admiration that wasn’t at all faked. For being on her first undercover mission, she sure made it look like she’d been doing it for years.

But now he’s on his way home after debriefing and even if his last string of missions were a success, he feels weary to his very bones.

Part of it is because he’s only gotten about forty-eight hours of down time between each mission, but he doesn’t delude himself into thinking that’s the only reason.

The real reason why he feels the way he does is pretty simple.

He misses Harry.

He knows he’s being kind of ridiculous by letting himself be so affected by Harry’s absence. After all, they barely spent a whole day together after a year with next to no contact. He had been fine before their chance encounter.

He should be fine now.

But it's hard not to think of the what-might-have-beens when he's had a taste of it.

He's not so lost in his musings that he doesn't notice that there are lights on in his house where there really shouldn't be and he taps on his glasses as he walks up to his front door, much more carefully this time.

"Merlin, I think someone broke into my house."

He hears Merlin curses under his breath, but it ends in what can only be an exasperated sigh.

"It's okay Eggsy. Just don't kill the idiot."

It's cryptic as fuck and Eggsy hesitates with his hand on the doorknob, because what the hell? He would think Merlin would be slightly more worried that someone managed to get past the Kingsman issued security system, but he sounds more annoyed than anything else.

"Merlin?"

"I think it's best you discussed it with him. I'm sure he'll go if you want him gone."

It doesn't explain anything and it's putting Eggsy on edge. But at the same time, he trusts Merlin. Has never trusted anyone more than him in fact. If he's not concerned then Eggsy shouldn't be either.

Probably.

He lets himself in his own house silently, one hand ready to grab his gun if the intruder proves to be violent after all.

He stops abruptly when he comes into view of the brightly lit kitchen, not quite understanding what he's seeing.

Or well, it's easy to understand, he just can't believe it.

It's so obviously straight out of a fantasy that it can't be real.

Because right there with his back to Eggsy, Harry Hart is preparing something at the oven, expertly darting his way between the pug and terrier at his feet.

He's not aware of it but he must make a sound of surprise because at once Harry turns to him, the slight tension in his form melting at once when he catches sight of him, the smile on his face widening.

"Eggsy! You're just in time for dinner!"

The dogs notice him at the same moment and soon they are jumping at his legs and it's only by force of habits that he bends down to pet them.

Not that he is looking away from Harry though.

As if staring at the man would make any of this feel less surreal.

Whatever Harry was expecting however, it must not have been this because he starts frowning with obvious worry.

"Eggsy? Are you alright?"

Harry takes a step forward and that's what finally shakes him out of his torpor.

"What- what are you doing here?"

Harry starts saying something only to cut himself with a shake of his head. He doesn't look worried anymore, but neither is he smiling and Eggsy just can't begin to make sense of the situation.

"I- I missed you Eggsy. Immensely. After you left, I realised I was making a mistake and that I was the only one who could decide to come home or not."

They're still standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at one another. Harry with no small amount of fondness and Eggsy… Well Eggsy can't see his own expression, but he's pretty sure it's somewhere between intense disbelief and deep confusion.

"And I realise now I shouldn't have felt so confident of my welcome back into your life, but believe me when I say I do not expect anything out of tonight. I merely wanted to show you that I care deeply about you and thought you'd like a home-cooked meal upon your return.”

There’s something wistful to Harry’s expression now and Eggsy wonders if the reason he’s so easy to read is because he is out of practice guarding his emotions or if Harry simply doesn’t try to hide them with him.

Just the thought of that last possibility makes him feel strangely giddy.

Yes, Harry had been very open with him when they spent the night together, but this, right here? This is something completely different.

The last time, they both knew going in that their time together would be over before it had a chance to really start.

But tonight, with Harry back in London, back in his life if only Eggsy lets him, it could be the beginning of something. Something new and scary and wonderful and here is Harry, with no assurances that Eggsy even wants him here, opening himself up for rejection.

And maybe he’s no longer a spy, but he’s still the same brave man Eggsy has fallen in love with.

“Tonight’s obviously not a good time.” Harry smiles sheepishly when the silence between them stretches into awkwardness. “I’ll leave you to it, I’m sure you want to rest. Merlin can tell you how to reach me. If you want to.”

And just like that, Harry is leaving the kitchen, walking past Eggsy without sparing him a look. But he’s still not trying to hide anything and the disappointment and heartache can be read easily in the tensed lines of his shoulders.

Eggsy’s hand shoots out before Harry is out of reach, grabbing him gently by the elbow.

Because, see, the thing is, Eggsy knows he did the right thing when he left Harry to his new life the last time. When he didn’t ask him to come back. Because no matter what is happening now, at the time, Harry hadn’t been ready.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret it though.

And it doesn’t mean that this time, he’ll stop himself from asking what he really wants.

“Don’t go.” The words are still hard to get out, barely above a whisper. But once he says them once, he finds he cannot stop himself anymore. “Don’t go, please. Just stay. I want you to stay. Please, stay with me.”

He says more, he’s sure of it, but it’s muffled into Harry’s shoulder when the other man turns to embrace him, his arms tight around his waist and Eggsy feels like crying, he feels so safe.

And maybe he does a little, but he doesn’t care because Harry is here in London, in his kitchen, holding him like Eggsy has always dreamed of being held and his sweater is soft to the touch when Eggsy grabs handfuls of it and his beard feels weird against the side of his cheek and neck but oh, Eggsy could definitely learn to live with it if it means that Harry is staying.

It takes a while before Eggsy realises that Harry is speaking too, lips brushing against his ear.

“As long as you want me to. I’m not going anywhere.”

They’re promises he could never have made back when he was still a spy himself, not if he didn’t want to be made into a liar.

Now though, now he makes them without hesitation, voicing them as if they’re the only truth he knows.

And Eggsy believes him.

#hartwin #eggsy unwin #harry hart #merlin #ginger #angst #happy ending #getting together #come back (home) #kingsman #fanfic #me

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Swallow Part 2

My idea for a Kingdom Hearts IV–that will eventually have all that entails, like Shibuya and Verum Rex and Sora’s PoV–but that deals with the idea of a dark Kairi after everything she’s been through, because this girl deserves to be allowed to feel things. First chapter is from the TV show “Angel the Series”–as it’s Fox and Disney owns Fox now–but you don’t have to know Angel to get it.

Madness Surprisingly enough, it hadn’t been Kairi’s idea for her to train like it was the only thing she had left in the world. It had been Riku’s—as many things in her and Sora’s life had started out with him—as he had thought that she should actually try and do something and have less reason to hate herself that way. “But is that… really a good idea?” Kairi had asked him when he’d suggested it, as she’d sat on the paopu tree—the stupid place she had lost Sora at—and worked on making more lucky charms for him and letters, on the off-chance that one of them would work and bring her boy back to her. “Riku… maybe I just was never cut out for fighting. Sora paid a high price in bringing me back. Do you really think I should dishonor his sacrifice by putting myself into even more danger that I can’t handle?” Riku had looked like he wanted to push Kairi into the water beneath them then—and honestly, she could have hardly blamed him even if he had; she’d been so weak then, and she was ashamed to think of it now—and got right into her face as he said, “That’s not the girl who said she wanted to fight like me and Sora, so we wouldn’t be the only ones getting hurt… or who said that she was tired of getting left behind and that ‘wherever one of us goes, the other follows’. Kairi… you made all of these promises to Sora before the Keyblade Graveyard. Do you really want to go back on them now?” No, she hadn’t. That was the last thing in the world that she would have ever wanted. But the person she’d been a few months ago—who had said so much of that stuff—was so different from the girl she was now. That Kairi had gotten a Keyblade into her hand for the first time and had thought that with just a little training, she would easily become as strong as Sora and Riku were. That wasn’t the part of her that had gotten training and still couldn’t get her body to cooperate… and had had to realize that most of her worst nightmares might actually come true, as Terra-Xehanort had charged at her. And they had come true after that. Oh, how they had. Kairi had had one brief moment of peace and pride in herself—when she had kept Sora from fading away, that had then allowed him to save everyone else—but then it had all gone to hell, like so much of Kairi’s life had, and she didn’t know if she wanted to go there again. “Kairi, the problem is we had you train with someone who isn’t a Keyblade wielder at all… And is actually someone who uses his magic to stay away from enemies, when you—in pretty much using a sword—would be in close contact with people. That was our fault, not yours… I’ll properly train you now, so you never have to feel so horrible again. Just let me.” And that was what started it. Many hours a day—eight or more, as if they were working a full-time job and in Kairi’s eyes they were—Riku was training Kairi in the hours that they weren’t looking for any hint as to Sora’s whereabouts. And while it started out rough, and Kairi had continued to think that maybe she should just work on her light magic because of it, she steadily got better and better and even she could see it—it was nothing like what she had encountered with Merlin and Lea. It was actual tangible progress that she could see in her scars and feel in her muscles. And Kairi took it even further than that. She didn’t tell Riku or anyone about this because she didn’t want to worry them, but in the hours when she should have been sleeping or resting, she would do the familiar drills again until they were completely beaten into her. And then she was taking the gummi ship that Mickey had thankfully left for her and Riku out into the ocean between worlds, to find Heartless or Nobodies to fight: something that didn’t help her that much, because Kairi had been able to handle these just fine in the Keyblade War, but every little bit of actual experience helped. And she’d just hoped against hope that on her journeys she could run into some Darksides or Twilight Thorns, and how happy she was—the first time she’d been remotely that in ages—when she did, and began handling them better and better: with little injuries and destruction to her hair and outfits. And at one point—when Kairi had unintentionally taken a page out of Roxas, Xion, and Lea’s book—and had bested five giant Heartless in one night, she had finally felt good about herself… and that nothing could ever happen to her again. She wouldn’t let it. And that furthermore, she knew that she was going to find Sora and bring him home. But it was just when she was beginning to feel great, that such a feeling of euphoria didn’t last. Kairi heard a Corridor of Darkness open from behind her in Twilight Town—a sound she’d made certain she always knew now, as not being able to recognize it with Xemnas before had led to her death—and who would come out of it but someone cloaked in an Organization robe? Of course. Kairi had backed away from her assailant, growling at them as she prepared to send Firaja after Firaja after them. But first, she’d had to berate them a little bit. “You have got to be kidding! I thought the lot of you had been defeated in the Keyblade War. All that we did—which- which led to Sora’s death—was so we could defeat any of you who would survive to try and get the X-Blade again. So, who are you?! And are you at all connected to Sora’s fate?! Do you know where he is?! Tell me!” “Tsk tsk, little princess,” the attractive voice of a man replied—as he motioned with his hands that Kairi should calm down, in the way that Master Yen Sid often told the Keyblade wielders of the new generation to sit down. “It’s… good that you’re so strong now. Go, you! But don’t you know you’re killing yourself? So much sleep deprivation isn’t a good thing. And I know you’re not eating or drinking much, either. You’re going to be dead as a doornail soon, and your boyfriend’s going to come back to see that he sacrificed himself for you for nothing… or worse. That you’ve become a different person from the girl he loved… There’s blood on your hands now, isn’t there Kairi?” Kairi had wanted to deny this, of course. After all, she’d only been fighting Heartless and Nobodies and that was something that needed to be done! But at the same time… she knew that they had once been human, and the thought made her violently sick on the inside. But even more than that… she was hunting the things as sport now, whereas everyone else had only ever fought the beasts when they’d attacked them on their adventures… and she enjoyed killing them too much. And she kept score, the way Sora and Riku once had with their fighting. Every injury she got was a point against her, but each hurt she gave them was a point for her: especially if she could give them many of those without being touched at all. Kairi wasn’t trying to be quick or end their suffering fast at all, but to just use them as target practice as long as she could. And while Kairi hadn’t yet fought another human since the War, she worried that she would do the same when she faced them because it was such a routine now. Sora had only ever told her stories about how Clayton had wanted to kill the gorillas, but Kairi thought that if she herself ever run into him somehow… she’d fight him the way she was now Heartless, and be thrilled for it—that the fear he’d struck in Terk’s heart she could put in his. So, she was falling. Falling into darkness, it seemed… and this man had known this, and it had been only the start for her. “What do you know about it?!” Kairi had demanded then, furious. Throwing her hand out to the side in a way that Sora had used to when he glared at his enemies. “You know nothing. You don’t know me at all! You’re just a forgotten relic from a cause that’s already seen its best day. Now just tell me what you know and get lost, before I-” “Before you what, Kairi?” the voice had cut her off. And there was a sweet cadence in his voice that she hated, as if he’d talked to someone like her before and was trying to be a friend since he’d  apparently cared about this other person. “Do something unseemly to me and make Sora hate you even more that way? He loves his little light princess—that’s why he fights for you so much—so what do you think he’s going to do when he comes back and sees you aren’t like that at all anymore? Do you think he’ll stay the knight in shining armor, or will he move onto something bigger and better? “You’re also angry. So angry. And, hey: I applaud you for it—you’re entitled to those emotions, and I may even have use of them—but Sora preferred the sweet and loving little girl, not the one who’s going to get called to many worlds because of her fury now.” Furious? Was she really furious? Kairi had asked herself. She hadn’t felt it at the time—if torn between “bloodlust” and “fury”, she definitely had thought she was more bloodlust at the time—but the Kairi of the present could recognize how her blood had boiled back then, and continued to do so now. But having not liked what this man had said about her getting pulled into an adventure all about her madness—because that wasn’t her at all—Kairi had tried to backtrack a little. “Maybe… maybe I’ve been a little hard on you. You haven’t really done anything to me. Perhaps if anything, you’re just giving me some… helpful advice. And I guess you don’t have to be with Organization XIII... I know a Moogle has worn the coat before, I mean, and clearly they weren’t one of Xehanort’s vessels. So can you just tell me who you are, and what you wa-” “And how easily you fall back into the Naminé routine. Kairi, did you ever think that maybe the two of you were split for a reason? You may be the Princess of Heart… but you have far more fire to you than your Other did, and there’s a reason for it and you should relish it—you must do so—even if it means you can’t have Sora. You must let him go. Can’t you see that?” This had put Kairi in a horrible mood, and she’d cried. But not because she was sad, but because she waslivid—maybe this man was right about that—as it hit the nail on the head too much on how she’d been feeling lately: that fate was keeping her and Sora from being together. So Kairi made a decision. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should go back to just barely training from now on, and be who I once was. And I will. I won’t fall into your plan, and I’ll be what Sora wants me to be.” And partly to spite the man, Kairi had opened a Corridor of Light—something Master Yen Sid had taught her how to do—and left the guy alone. And she did try to make good on her promise to herself. But it never could’ve worked.. For far too long, Kairi had repressed her feelings… and she was done with that. And she had no idea that trying to force herself to do that again, would send her spiraling over the edge. Author’s Note: I was originally going to have more than just a flashback in this chapter… but since it ended up pretty long, I think I WILL cut it here. Maybe it’ll even work better to have flashbacks and present stuff in different chapters. IDK. But I hope you all enjoyed!

#fanfiction #long post #kairi #dark kairi #sokai #riku #sora #destiny trio #khiv #kh4 #kingdom hearts 4 #kingdom hearts iv #post-khiii #post-kh3 #post-kingdom hearts iii #post-kingdom hearts 3 #mine #my work #my writing #Shanna writes #swallow

[sharkmartini]

No Time Like the Present- Fic Preview & Meta Update

Remember when I said I’d write you guys a fic and it would be up ‘soonish’? Well, it’s now MONTHS later, and what was supposed to be a 2k chapter is now 20k. It’s almost done- I swear. In my personal life there’s a lot of bullshit going on (summer school, wedding planning, interviews) so it’s been slow progress, but I’m getting there. I don’t want to give a timeline because I never meet my own deadlines, because I’m trash like that.

Thanks to @krisrix for the lovely lovely comments that inspired me to develop this story more. It’s been really hard to do but it’s probably one of those things that builds character and blah blah blah. So thanks. Also thanks to anyone who has been waiting for this and isn’t turned off by this looooooooooong wait.

idk how long a preview is supposed to be, so ???

SIMON- Watford, 7th Year

 Two weeks after Baz and Penny’s really confusing act of solidarity finds me and Penny in the Wavering Woods again after dark.

“Why do we spend so much time here? I fucking hate the Wavering Wood.”

She nods distractedly.

“It’s only because of the full moon. You’ve got pay the blood tithe we owe from sending Simon back to his proper time. Once we’re done we won’t need to come back again.”

I summon the Sword of Mages and sigh.

“This sword hasn’t seen any action other than mild self-injury in ages. Seems kind of wasted for a historic weapon.”

“Pay attention Simon,” Penny chides, looking up at the clouds, “while you’re not necessarily casting a spell we’re dealing with powerful magic. We need to be concentrating.”

“Right,” I tell her, and drag the sword across my palm. The pain is sharp and immediate, and I feel the tacky swell of my own blood pooling in my palm. Merlin, I hope Baz hasn’t chosen to hunt in the forest tonight. He can probably smell this from miles away. (Or maybe I’m thinking of sharks.)

Penny opens the small bag of white rocks we’d gathered, and I smear my blood on them clumsily. Fuck, it really, really hurts. I’ll have to ask her to heal me up properly after, I’ve got a vampire as a roommate.

We spread the rocks out in a pentagram and I get a violent sense of déjà vu. Penny scratches some runes in the dirt and I frown. They don’t look like the same ones we used last month, but I’m sure she knows better than I do.

“What now?” I ask, retrieving a sour cherry scone from my pocket. She wrinkles her nose at me as I pick some lint off it before I begin eating. I should offer her a bit, but she doesn’t look too impressed with me, so I don’t think I’ll bother.

“We’ve got to see if the tithe is accepted. I’ve never done this before, but if it’s accepted we should see some sort of sign.”

The moon comes out from behind the clouds and shines on the stones. The runes don’t glow, but there’s definitely more to them than just scratches in the dirt.

The wind picks up suddenly, and a loud screech from an owl nearby causes me to jump. My magic spikes with the unexpected sound, and I feel it pulled from me, spreading out before concentrating on the pentagram-

#my fanfiction #fic preview #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on fanfiction #carry on #snowbaz fanart

[slytherinknowitall]

That Stupid Old Man!

A Christmas one-shot: Hogwarts’ snarky Potions Master, its smart but naïve Head Girl and an enchanted mistletoe – could it get any worse?

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

As much as Severus Snape hated most aspects of his teaching position at Hogwarts, doing early morning rounds through the school’s countless corridors wasn’t one of them. He was a morning person by nature and loved roaming through his beloved castle, having it all to himself without any pesky pupils – or looney headmasters, for that matter – disrupting his complex thoughts. He would often use this time to ponder over how to further perfect his brewing technique or even to try out new spells; every once in a while, however, he would also just enjoy the utter silence that was so rare to be found in a place like this filled with so many people.

It was during one of those rounds on a Monday in late autumn that something eventually disrupted that peaceful quiet. Walking through a particularly remote part of the castle, the wizard suddenly heard what sounded like soft humming coming from the corridor to his right. A gloating smirk crept across his hook-nosed face – longing for solitude or not, one of his favourite pastimes was and would always be catching unsuspecting students in the process of doing something prohibited.

That joyful feeling was rather short-lived, however; because the person he laid eyes upon after turning the corner was none other than Hermione Granger – the school’s current Head Girl who was definitely allowed outside of her common room past curfew as she too was expected to patrol the castle from time to time.

But Snape’s mood did lighten up a little when he noticed that she was wearing Muggle clothing – perfect! While students were normally permitted to wear their own clothes outside of class, they were required to dress in their uniform while fulfilling tasks given to them by staff; and doing rounds was certainly one of them. The Potions Master thought about it for a good second and ultimately figured that he could deduct at least 30 house points for that. And from what he could see, she was also not wearing her official Head Girl badge – that would be worth another 15 points.

Lurking in the shadows, he waited until Granger had come close enough so that jumping out of his hiding spot would score maximum dramatic effect.

“Tsk, tsk, what do we have –“

But before he could finish his sentence, Severus was suddenly pushed forward so violently that is almost knocked the air out of his lungs. He didn’t even have time to whip out his wand in order to fight of the invisible assailant before the exact same thing happened to the young woman, practically launching her into his arms. The two of them were now face to face, close enough to where he could have counted the individual freckles on her button nose if he’d wanted to.

“Professor Snape?” the Gryffindor shrieked, her eyes the size of saucers.

“Get off me at once!” But even after pushing her away, they were still uncomfortably close to each other. He tried to take a step back; however, his feet wouldn’t move. “What is the meaning of this! What did you do, Miss Granger?!”

“Nothing, I swear!”

“Don’t lie to me, you brat!”

“But I really didn’t do anything, sir!”

“Then what is going on?!” he snarled, turning his head left and right looking for the jokester that had trapped them, whether it was a student or Peeves – but there was no one. It wasn’t until Severus looked up that he saw the source of their problem.

“That stupid, old man!” he cursed under his breath. He had forgotten that today was December 1, the day that marked the beginning of Christmas time at Hogwarts. He’d been assigned one of the more secluded areas of the castle to patrol for this morning and since those were usually not as heavily decorated, he hadn’t caught on yet. And because he hadn’t been looking out for it, he was now stuck underneath Dumbledore’s ridiculous mistletoe with one third of the idiotic Golden Trio.

“Sir?” Granger was visibly confused.

He pointed towards the ceiling. “Another one of the headmaster’s glorious ideas: An enchanted mistletoe that traps any two people of age that stand underneath it at the same time. He puts it up every year on the first day of December and only takes it down the day after Boxing Day.”

“An enchanted mistletoe?” she asked, examining the decoration with obvious curiosity. “If Professor Dumbledore puts it up every year, how come I have never heard of it before?”

Snape smirked – the fact that there was something about Hogwarts that she hadn’t already known was obviously bothering her, and he enjoyed that wholeheartedly.

“He started this senseless tradition only a few years ago which is the reason for it not being mentioned in Hogwarts: A History, and since he always puts it up at random spots throughout the castle, there are some years during which not a single soul stumbles across it. Furthermore, most of the people living here aren’t adults yet, so it doesn’t work on them.” He made a short pause. “Last but not least, most of its victims get stuck unexpectedly, and unless they were lucky enough to get trapped with someone they fancied, I think that it is rather understandable why they wouldn’t want to broadcast their experience to the entire world.”

“But why?”

It was frustrating how naïve the girl was. “Because the only way to break its magic is to kiss.”

“Oh …”

Severus said nothing, patiently waiting for the dreadful epiphany that was sure to come.

“OH!”

Yep, there it was.

“Does that mean that we also have to …” The witch abruptly turned beet red.

“I am afraid so, Miss Granger – that is, unless we find another way out of this.”

She gasped loudly. “But is it even supposed to do this? Trapping teachers with students?!”

“Believe me when I say that I have voiced this as a concern to the headmaster multiple times in the past,” he answered, his voice almost too low to be heard. “Now, make yourself useful! There has to be something that will set us free.”

But ten minutes as well as dozens upon dozens of different spells and hexes later, they were still in the same uncomfortable position as before. The Head of Slytherin groaned in frustration – just why did that moronic geezer have to be such a highly skilled wizard! Already knowing that it wouldn’t help, he tried one last charm.

“I don’t think it’s working, sir.”

Severus could feel anger starting to erupt inside of him – not only was he trapped in such an inappropriate position with his fourth least favourite student, but now that brat also dared to speak to him in such a disrespectful tone!

“Miss Granger, if you really do know everything better, then please, use your humongous head to get us out of here, would you?!” he screamed just inches away from her face.

Granger’s eyes immediately started to water, and it didn’t take long before she broke out into tears, but he didn’t care. For a while, no one said anything; the only sound resonating from the stone walls was the brunette’s sobbing.

Suddenly, a loud chime interrupted the silence – it was the Clock Tower, indicating that it was now half past five in the morning. “Fuck!” Severus thought. Soon, the first wave of early bird students would start to stream out into the castle, and as they weren’t far from the Ravenclaw Tower, he knew that it wouldn’t be long before someone found them in this delicate position. He shuttered at the thought of having to kiss the Gryffindor Princess in front of the entire school – no one would ever take him seriously again!

“Oh, bloody hell!” And with that, he grabbed her tear-streaked face with his calloused hands before pressing his thin lips against hers tightly.

He had expected the surprised squeal that escaped her – but what he hadn’t been prepared for was the sudden bolt of electricity that travelled through his entire body at the speed of light upon their lips making contact. The Dungeon Bat’s eyes grew big, and he could see hers do the same; just two gigantic honey brown circles staring back at him with a mixture of shock and wonderment.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of them dared to move; Severus was still holding on to the sides of her round face, their lips were still joined together, and they were still looking at each other with an intensity that could set a room ablaze. But suddenly, to the black-haired man’s horror, Granger started to slowly close her eyes and her chapped but voluptuous lips, which at first had felt so hard against his, started to softened as her small hands came to a rest on his chest.

“What in Merlin’s name is she doing?!” the voice inside of his head screamed in a panic. But it was almost as though he wasn’t in control of his own body as his left arm found its way around her petite waist, pulling her closer to him, and his right hand got lost in the entanglement of curls at the nape of her neck, tipping her head up to create a better angle. He could feel his body melt into hers, painfully aware of the way her curves were pressed against him. He wanted to stop, wanted to just push her away from him and give her detention for the rest of the school year, but he couldn’t. He had kissed a fair share of women in his lifetime but it had never felt like this – it was a type of ecstasy that no potion or spell could ever give you. He wanted to possess the woman in his arms and give himself to her completely at the same time.

Whatever little self-control he had left, it was all gone as soon as the Muggle-born parted her lips just enough to let out a nearly inaudible moan. Snape attacked her open mouth with his tongue and relished in her taste – the tears running down her face made her taste salty but sweet, like sea water mixed with honey, like popcorn covered in powdered sugar. He pressed himself against her – close enough to where he was sure that she could hear and feel the rapid beat of his heart – and felt chills run down his spine when she wrapped her arms around his neck. He used his teeth to bite her lower lip – not hard enough to draw blood, but just enough to give her a sensation of that good kind of pain – and the sharp breath she drew in response only egged him on further.

Neither one of them had come to the realisation that the mistletoe’s spell had long been broken, or maybe they just didn’t care anymore; and was only when Severus felt something starting to stir in his lower region that he remembered who he was kissing and finally managed to pull himself away from her.

The Potions Master was absolutely horrified – he had just snogged a student! Oh, but it had felt so good; he had never felt this alive! He was trying hard to catch his breath after such an aggressive kiss, having a difficult time keeping his shaky legs from folding, and while he certainly did not want to, he forced himself to look up.

What he saw was a pale-faced Hermione Granger who was staring right at him but somehow still appeared to not notice him at all. In what seemed like a trance-like state, she slowly brought one of her hands up to her lips, touching them just ever so slightly, before looking at her fingers with what could only be described as astonishment.

Having long forgotten about how he had planned to obliviate her, Snape had to clear his throat before managing to say, “I think that you should return to your dorm now, Miss Granger.”

At last, the girl seemed to become aware of his presence again, and her white as chalk face quickly regained some much-needed colour as she started to blush.

“Yeah … I think so, too.” she mumbled. “Goodbye, Professor.”

“Goodbye, Miss Granger.”

#fanfictionbyusignolo #fanfiction by usignolo #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter #severus snape #hermione granger #Slytherin Know-It-All #slytherinknowitall #snanger #snamione #severus snape x hermione granger #one-shot #one shot #fluff #snermione #first kiss #christmas #hogwarts #mistletoe

[scarletwelly-boots]

Books Read 2018

I read 20 books in 2018, about 15 fewer books than last year (I work longer hours and have a further commute is my excuse). Technically I’m not even done with one of them, but I have like an hour or two to go of it and it’s an audiobook so it’ll be read faster than I could read it.

This is the third year I have done the Reading Challenge, which lists a number of categories to read books under (there were 40 categories this year, so I got a solid 50%). You can find the challenges I’ve done at least last, this, and next year, on Popsugar. (I don’t remember if I got the 2016 one from the same site). I also took some liberties with the categories and even changed a few to entries from last year’s list.

1. Jurassic Park, by Michael Crichton (A book made into a movie you’ve already seen). ‘Kay so. I liked it, of course I did. I like the movie and I’m in love with Ian Malcolm. It was interesting because it provide some context fro scenes in the movie or left out of the movie that I didn’t get when I watched it. It was different from the movie in a lot of spoiler-y ways that I won’t get into. Most of these differences were good with one exception that really upset me. I would recommend to read it anyway.

2. Leah on the Offbeat, by Becky Albertalli (The next book in a series you started). This is the sequel to Simon vs. The Homosapien Agenda and I’m gonna be honest. I LOVED it. Was it better than Simon? No, probably not. But the representation made me really happy. I’m also a fat bisexual and though I’m not always a woman, I was raised AFAB, so it was still really relatable to me. There were some plot holes, because I’m pretty sure Albertalli decided Leah was bi after Simon was published. I thought it was really cute, though, and I definitely recommend it.

3. Weird Ireland, assorted authors (A book involving a mythical creature). A very small, independently published book about paranormal, supernatural, and extra-terrestrial sightings in Ireland. It was okay. I finished it in two hours. I knew everything that was in it, and some of it they even got wrong. Even if you’re crazy-obsessed with Ireland like me, you can skip this one.

4. Wild Irish Women, by Marian Broderick (a book set in a country that fascinates you). This is the kind of history book I like. Each chapter follows the biography of a different person and provides some context about the time period in which they lived. I learned a lot about Irish women I had never heard of, learned more about women I already knew about, and reread what little is known about my hero and historical crush, Grainne Ni Mhaille. One shortcoming of this book was their inclusion and insistent misgendering of Dr. Barry, an Irish physician who made great strides in natal care for women and who at this point is pretty widely believed to have been a transman. As a genderfluid person, this frustrated me so much that about three sentences into his entry I grabbed a red pen and actually corrected the pronoun usage. All the same, I recommend the book if you like women’s or Irish history, or los dos, like myself.

5. A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L’Engle (a book with a time of day in the title). Hey, it had the word ‘time’; I say that counts! Guys, if you have never read this book, you need to. Even if you watched/sobbed during the movie. Dear god this book is so good. The theoretical physics is confusing, but that’s to be expected (my fifth graders were like ‘wth does this mean’ and I was like ‘you got me; this is why I teach elementary’). But it had some of my favorite themes, and Meg does her job as the oldest sibling, which as an oldest sibling, I respect and expect. (Never bring up the movie The Wind that Shakes the Barley with me; I am very, very firm about my Oldest Sibling Job responsibilities.) Anyway, read this goddamn book please.

6. Heart of the Fae, by Emma Hamm (A book with a villain or antihero). I am a sucker for all things Beauty and the Beast and all things Ireland, so when I saw a recommendation for this independently published Irish retelling of Beauty and the Beast on tumblr, I ordered it immediately. I really loved it. It’s also the first in a series and listen, the only thing better than a Beauty and the Beast retelling is a TRILOGY of a Beauty and the Beast retelling. I started the sequel but I haven’t finished yet. This book is so good. I highly recommend it.

7. The Upside of Unrequited, by Becky Albertalli (A book with alliteration in the title). This was...okay. It’s a companion to Simon vs. the Homosapien Agenda, and it follows Abby’s cousins. In a way, it was gayer than the others, because her cousins have two moms and one of the cousins is gay. But it’s from the POV of the straight one, so not as gay. Plus I really like the characters from the first two, and we didn’t even get very much Abby in this one. You kind of have to read it like its own novel with a couple cameos from Abby. As a standalone, it wasn’t bad, but as a series it was a bit of a letdown.

8. The Once and Future King, by TH White (a book about time travel). Look, Merlin ages opposite to the passage of time, so it counts as time travel. I have been trying to read this book for ten years. I liked most of it. I had a few qualms but given the climate in which it was written it makes sense for the time period (not that that should excuse some of the cringe-worthy parts). The last like fifty pages White waxes poetic on the capitalist system and it’s like, we get it, you’re a white man from the middle of the Cold War, but read a goddamn book. Additionally, at least three men were raped by women with some not-so-subtle victim blaming which pissed me the fuck off. But the overall story, the legend of King Arthur, was good. It’s definitely a cornerstone in the Arthurian saga. I might try to read Le Morte d’Arthur next year and see how it compares.

9. All the King’s Men, by Nora Sakavic (a book with song lyrics in the title). Humpty Dumpty is close enough to a song. This is book three of the All for the Game trilogy, and holy shit you have to read this. It’s the best book in the trilogy. It is a series about a college sports team who play a made up sport called Exy, which is basically a more violent version of lacrosse. I’m not a huge sports fan, but the way she writes Exy matches had me on the edge of my seat. The team is made up of all “at-risk” students, the main character being a kid on the run from his mob boss dad. Trigger warning for the series for violence, sexual assault/rape, abuse, drug use, I may be missing some things. It was so good though.

10. The War I Finally Won, by Kimberley Brubaker Bradley (A book with an LGBTQ+ protagonist). This is a really great sequel to another children’s book. See below for the synopsis.

11. The War that Saved My Life, by Kimberley Brubaker Bradley (a book about mental health). Okay, I don’t know why that is the category I put it in, other than the protagonist was told by her mother all her life that she was mentally disabled even though it was just physically. This book and it’s sequel above were AMAZING. It’s about a little girl and her brother in World War II England. The girl has a club foot and spends her life locked away in her abusive mother’s flat in London. She teaches herself to walk, and then she and her brother run away to join the other children being evacuated to the country. They are taken in by a woman who doesn’t want to care for them but in less than a day becomes totally ride-or-die for them (I love that trope). The woman is heavily implied to be gay and is grieving the death of her companion (hence the category above). I loved both books and highly recommend them.

12. Norse Mythology, by Neil Gaiman (a book by an author of a different ethnicity than you). British isn’t that different of an ethnicity from my pasty ass, but I was hard-pressed to put this wonderful book in a category. Apparently my disaster wife Loki is a dumbass and they just look clever because the other gods are stupider than they are. I loved all the stories but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t just pick this up exclusively because I’m fucking in love with Loki. I do really recommend it though.

13. Alexander Hamilton, by Ron Chernow (a book that is also a stage play or musical). I’ve been meaning to read this for ages. It was really interesting, and a lot of it didn’t make it into the musical since it’s like 600 pages long so I learned a lot. I’m still reading it, and I’ve reached the duel so I’m almost finished. Thank god for audiobooks; if my slow-ass self were reading this, I’d still be on page like 100 and I’ve been reading it for a month. If you liked the musical I recommend you read this.

14. Go Set a Watchman, by Harper Lee (a book that you borrowed or was given to you as a gift). I had a hard time following this book. Lee went back and forth between the present (Scout in her twenties) and the 15-or-so years in between the end of TKAM and the beginning of GSAW. It wasn’t bad, but given the stories from Scout’s high school years that were really amusing and the most engaging of the whole book, I’d have preferred if the sequel took place during those years. I think this is the proof as to why most classics don’t have sequels. Read it, but don’t expect much.

15. Making Thinking Visible, by Ron Ritchhart, Mark Church, etc. (a book by two authors). I had to read this for work. Meh.

16. Fence, by CS Pacat (a book about or involving a sport). This is a comic by the same author as The Captive Prince trilogy. I’m behind in issues, but I did really like it. It’s about fencing, which I love, and it’s supposed to be gay eventually. And I’m pretty sure there’s a genderfluid or gnc character which I was super excited about. I recommend it.

17. The Orphelines in the Enchanted Castle, by Natalie Savage Carlson (a childhood classic you’ve never read). Okay, don’t tell my mother, but I don’t remember anything about this book. This year (at twenty-four) was the first time I read this old, old book that I have had since I was six or seven (don’t tell my mom that, either). It was from my mom/the tooth fairy and she loved it as a kid. I guess read it if you can find it and remind me what happened in it?

18. Simon vs. The Homosapien Agenda, by Becky Albertalli (a book you meant to read in 2017 but didn’t get to). Obviously I really loved this book if I also read the sequel and companion books. It was really good, and I definitely cried. If you liked the movie, read the book. It’s different in several ways. I think if you’re thinking in terms of trueness to the book, the movie was maybe not as good, but they’re both good as their own standalone things. But I highly recommend both.

19. Because of Winn-Dixie, by Kate DiCamillo (a book that involves a bookstore or library). This book is so good. It was interesting to reread it as an adult when I last read it as a third grader. I think I understood more than I did then and got different things out of it. I think everyone should reread books from their childhood because the books can still impact you, and they’ll probably affect you differently than when you were a child. So if the last time you read this book was as a young child, pick it up again. If you’ve never read it, still read it.

20. Six of Crows, by Leigh Bardugo (your favorite prompt from the 2015, 2016, or 2017 Popsugar reading challenges: the first book in a series you haven’t read before). This was so good. It was a really interesting book with characters I’ve already kind-of met since my DM recycled some names from the book into our campaign. But I’ve come to know Waylan with similar traits but in a different context, so it was fun to be reintroduced to him. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book where I was already attached to a character in a different context before reading the book, so that was new. I’m terrible at synopses, so if you want to know what this book is about, Google it I guess. And then read it.

#books #book recommendations #book recs

[the-roanoke-society]

//I want to know more about the various time fracture and time travel missions where Succubus and Seraphim meet younger Harry and Hamish.

oh, gracious. well, buckle in, it’s a ride. the #concerning the mission with the time fracture and #concerning the time warp mission tags are both separate missions that somehow both take place on the Actual Timeline. the #time fracture incident happened first.

put under a read more because i severely underestimated how long this would get. some of the details of the time fracture mission are a smidge violet. proceed with caution.

seraphim and succubus had been sent out into a desert in the southern half of arizona to investigate some—very odd activity. lilith, upon initial review of the files, thought that maybe it was something demonic, so of course, those were the two agents that were picked.

but when they finally got to the sector of the desert where the strange “glitches” had been happening (in the words of the locals), they couldn’t find anything up until—well. it was sort of like reality, irritated at there being two people this close to what was essentially an open wound, ripped itself open.

seraphim and succubus, in short, were sucked through a fracture in time.

it’s not as romantic as it sounds.

it would have been fine, except for the fact that this was an unnatural rift, caused by some cult activity in the opposite corner of the state that they wouldn’t even investigate until the year after, when they began kidnapping and “sacrificing” sex workers traveling through the area. turns out the elder god they served was a nasty piece of work. but that’s another story.

this meant that it left bodies behind; granted, faux corpses, but corpses all the same. and lilith—she suspected. but she wasn’t sure. there had never been an incident like this where she, or any other women of her handle, had been able to be sure.

from the feeds, it rather looked like they were pulled forward, and then struck by lightning originating from chest-level space. both were violently knocked backwards, almost in half. the autopsies likened the internal lacerations and bruising more akin to blunt force trauma.

for all intents and purposes, seraphim and succubus were dead.

except–that they weren’t.

the actual, living, breathing agents landed roughly in an alleyway in london, circa nineteen-eighty-five.

and the bodies—were buried.

merlin laid his wife to rest. harry threw a rose onto the coffin of a woman he hadn’t yet gotten the chance to propose to. and their grief was shared by the society, the council, the order, and other agencies.

they stalked roanoke like ghosts, unwilling to leave their rooms, their stomping grounds, so quickly. this is the place where they’d do their mourning. kentucky could be a pretty gentle place, if you let it be.

lilith observed them from afar, trying to an eye on them—and signal receptors in the basement, by the gate.

she hoped in silence.

but what wasn’t silent was london in its punk phase.

and guess who just happened to be in the pub that succubus and seraphim woke up next to?

a much younger, much rougher hamish macoighre.

good news? not exactly.

hamish—we’ll just say that merlin was supremely refined through his recruitment into kingsman, his training, and his acceptance of his position.

this was before allllllll of that happened.

seraphim, more than a little panicked and in a bit of haze, wandered in and very stupidly just drank the first thing she could get her hands on—which happened to be hamish’s scotch. which, uhm. again. wouldn’t normally have been a problem.

but this hamish was a lot less kind. “oi! the fuck y’ think ye’re doin’?”

the scotch hit her brain before her common sense did, and it was coupled alongside the fact that seeing her husband closer to her own age was—jarring. her face wasn’t just flushed from the booze. “the fuck are you gonna do about it? hm?”

his friends around him egged him on, because “what, you gonna let some bird just drink what you paid for, ham’?”

and poor rae, she was trying to get seraphim out of there, but then: “go on, hit me, fucking asshole! you won’t—!”

joke was on seraphim. he walloped her right in the face and left her with a prize-winning shiner, which sent her into enough shock for succubus to finally get her out of the bar and back outside into the alleyway where they’d landed.

“okay, look, lillith, drake, someone is going to find us, but you can’t go around picking fights with your spouse—“

said spouse abruptly appeared around the corner of the alley, fury on his face like a mask—but he stopped, looking off to the side, at someone neither women could see.

and rae heard a familiar voice.

“hamish? what’s wrong? are you alright?”

no one was prepared for harry hart of the 80s. no one.

“… oh my god, harry is a fucking babe.”

“rae. focus.”

“this cunt—“ and what started ferociously sort of died because it was then that he started to look at seraphim like he had before. it wasn’t a look of recognition, not anything like that. more a look of—‘oh. oh she’s cute. i slightly regret decking her in the eye.’ “—stole my drink!”

“so you hit her? gracious, hamish, what on earth is wrong with you? our—“ and harry got real close to him, and the roanoke women sort of backed up, pretending not to hear—but they already had an idea of what he was muttering. “our training begins in three days. you know how much elias vouched for you. if he finds out you did this—“

“he won’t find out, harry, for fuck’s sake—“

“you can’t keep acting like this if you want to be a kingsman.” and then, a little louder. “apologize to that woman. i’m sure it was an accident, right miss?” that was the first time harry had actually looked at them. his eyes went straight to rae. as they had once before.

what a fucking cosmic joke.

“yes.” seraphim answered honestly—and a little timidly, because hamish was starting to walk towards her. “we’ve uhm—“ she blinked, shaking her head. her face was beginning to ache. “—had a rough day.: and the swallowed. “i’m sorry. if you want, i can get you another one—?”

succubus snorted, “with what money, genius?”

“oh—shit. right…”

“‘salright,” hamish began, grinning. “i—have a better idea.”

that better idea included going back into the bar, stealing an entire bottle of scotch behind the bartender’s back, and sneaking up onto the roof.

but succubus—she stayed down on the ground, with harry.

neither of them knew when they’d be pulled back home.

maybe it wasn’t so bad to make the most of it.

“thanks for uhm, helping my friend. my name’s rae. what’s yours?”

“oh, harry. harry hart.”

and eventually, one pair ended up at the bar, having a warm conversation over pints of guinness, and the other—kinda sorta ended up making out with a fantastic view of the london skyline, having split almost half a bottle of stolen liquor. seraphim discovered that hamish, her rock, the most stable person in her life—had been just as lost as she sometimes felt in her twenties. it was bittersweet.

they weren’t even the best versions of themselves yet—but seraphim and succubus, in their own way, saw that even if they’d met earlier, in another life—they would have fallen in love with them just the same.

and harry and hamish would have, too.

but this wasn’t the right place, or the right time.

rae felt it first.

“raeanna? is everything all right?”

“yes, uhm—i’m  sorry, but i need to find my friend. right now.”

and out in the alleyway: “morgan! morgan, come down!”

seraphim groaned. and not just because his lips had found her neck again. “shit—hold on, pause, i need to make sure rae’s all right—“

“what about if i’m all righ’?”

his voice was so husky and right in her ear that for a split second, she seriously considered fucking him on the roof.

but again. wrong place. wrong time.

“oh shut up. you’re fine. rae! hold on—we’re gonna play a game called can i get down a fire escape while this wasted—if i win, i don’t break my legs—“

as soon as seraphim’s feet hit the pavement with a grunt—she felt it, too. okay. not just the scotch, then.

someone had found their signals. they didn’t have much time.

rae grasped harry in quick embrace that left him breathless. “we’ve got to leave now, i’m sorry; you’re gonna do great things.” it was already happening, they had to get farther away from them. succubus hooked a hand around seraphim’s arm as she gave hamish one last kiss.

“remember—show them just what you’re made of.”

“wait—but you just—!“

whatever harry was trying to say we didn’t hear them. a bus passed by the front of the pub, loudly, and when it passed, the agents were gone.

they were in london’s past for only a few hours.

but in their home timeline—they had been dead for almost a month and a half.

harry and hamish had eaten more strawberries in that time than most people do in an entire year, and that’s when lilith knew for sure that no, they weren’t dead, they were just lost. and she just had to wait. the craving for strawberries was a dead giveaway to her hunch.

but she said nothing to the kingsman agents, who slept in their beds, burying their faces into anything that smelled like them at night. grief!masturbation definitely happened, but that’s another post.

it was hard to watch. other members of the society generally, very quietly, stayed out of their ways, for the most part.

when the gate snapped them back—it was 3:16 in the morning. the manor was dead silent. “i don’t think they expected us,” seraphim whispered. they were both afraid to even make noise. something felt—different.

very quietly, they walked upstairs and went to the kitchen, where eggsy was making cups of tea for him and lycan, who still had some trouble sleeping.

as soon as he turned and saw them, standing in the doorway looking more than a little bewildered, he dropped both mugs. lilith woke up to the sound of shattering ceramic.

seraphim sprinted to her room as soon as it sort of hit what had happened, when eggsy explained through joyful tears that it’d been almost two months, we thought you were dead, we thought you were never coming home.

oh, but they were.

and harry, harry’d woken up too, and put on a robe before stepping into the hallway. he stopped, because he thought he saw seraphim run past the corridor opening, and that couldn’t be right. what was all this noise in the kitchen?

as soon as he saw his girlfriend, back from the apparent dead, he fainted. the thud reverberated throughout the house.

seraphim found merlin asleep on her bed, and jake wide awake, who quickly started barking. “no, no no no, jake, shhhh, it’s okay, we gotta be quiet, okay, people are—“ oh. he was looking at her. “—sleeping. hamish? … hamish. sweetheart, it’s me.”

but he’d had nightmares like this before. he didn’t trust his own eyes. and he rolled up into a sitting position, watching as she took one step towards him, then another, until she was sitting next to him, her thigh against his, her hands on his face. “i’m sorry,” she said. “if i had known—we would have tried to get back quicker…”

his face crumpled and he crushed her to him, sobbing freely into the crook of her neck.

much harry did in medical. he very carefully felt rae’s body next to him as he woke up. made very sure that she was there, with him, actually with him. and then he slipped one arm around her. and broke. he couldn’t speak.

turns out this fracture mended itself like a bone, much like any other. that’s what allowed them to be pulled back.

both of them were treated, of course—the ride back had left them with heavy bruising on their ribs, legs and spines. and lllith insisted of a few weeks of leave—but that may have been more for harry and hamish’s sakes.

it was a rough summer.

as for the time warp mission—that happened about a year later, and that was planned. of course harry and hamish threw fits, understandably, but lilith, wyvern and drake all assured them that they’d be able to come home safely.

the mission, in a roundabout way, was ness’s idea/request. over tea one afternoon, she’d been pondering ways of preventing another moor mission scenario, where borley was left defenseless against an aspect of the unknown that had only happened because of societal stigma. she wondered if they’d only started teaching earlier, if they’d started collaborating with the kingsman agency years ago, if things would have played out differently. would fewer lives have been lost.

… then she remembered our gate.

she remembered she had a way to find out.

so it happened that seraphim and succubus were again sent back to london, circa 1987. harry, as it turned out, hadn’t lost his romanticism or softness, not just yet. and hamish, while well on his way to become the man that seraphim knew—was still clinging to a handful of what were essentially fuckboy tendencies. they were sent to borley, with a letter from ness, to—herself. holy shit, they thought, she looked exactly the same? how old was this woman?

and they set about building a curriculum, bridging the gaps between borley mission aesthetics, and kingsman.

there was just one rule.

do not get too attached to harry and hamish. to galahad and merlin. don’t do it.

if you’re expecting a situation a little like the uh, the graduate—uhm. well. you aren’t entirely wrong.

turns out when two people are meant to be together, life–finds a way. and sometimes that entails sneaking out to a bar in the middle of the night and discovering that no, the boys didn’t know how to kiss them—but the ladies knew. that—caught them off guard.

of course, lilith found out. pretty quickly. she’s not a moron.

the mission was not ultimately a failure, but seraphim and succubus would find out in a while that it hadn’t been quite a success, either. their on-boarding with borley didn’t go as smoothly as you’d think. their reputations and qualifications at roanoke didn’t carry the same weight overseas, and neither did their specialties.

lilith, in a fit of rage, blanked out their memories of their husbands—but just for a week. which could also be another post.

hopefully! this answered some questions (and wasn’t terrible). we haven’t done a mission where we’ve come across harry and hamish as very young boys, or somehow had them transported into our time yet.

but i’d be very, very curious to see how that would play out.

#seraphim speaks #agent succubus #kingsman #former agent galahad #butterfly knife #concerning the mission with the time fracture #concerning the time warp mission #agent seraphim #merlin #hymns & holograms #white hymnals #lepidoptery & lace #technical officer drake #the washington avenue project #agent galahad #agent lycan #puppy love #jakob called jake #technical officer wyvern #the borley council #ness #lilith

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Darkness Within (15/?)

Summary: When washed-up paranormal investigator Rum Gold meets Belle French, he does not quite know what to make of her claim of a supernatural presence in her life, but sensing her genuine fear, he begins to investigate. What he uncovers shakes the cynicism he has so long held to its very core, and he calls in the help of disgraced ex-priest Father Macavoy to help him lay some demons to rest…

A slow burn, eventual rumbellavoy. The rating may increase in later chapters.

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [AO3]

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CW for this chapter: alcoholism

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Fifteen

I am the dark.

Sitting on the floor of his living room, surrounded by pretty much every book he owned and every single notebook he had ever written in, his computer sitting on a chair beside him, Joseph looked at the enlarged print-out of Belle’s question sheet that he had made and sighed. The sheet was now covered in post-its and bits of sticky-tape where he had been trying to translate all words that made no sense, and he had finally made a breakthrough. Unfortunately, it was not a very encouraging breakthrough.

Having identified one of the languages that the entity was using to communicate as 5th century Scots Gaelic, he had got to work on translating it and researching what other languages were in use around the world during the same time period and before; languages that were not Latin, because he would have been able to identify that. Hebrew and Aramaic had turned up nothing, so at least he could work by a process of elimination if nothing else.

He had, however, managed to translate the Scots Gaelic with the help of a few forums of contemporary Scots Gaelic speakers and the theses of various academics who’d studied the evolution of the language.

I am the dark.

That was exactly what he wanted to see, a nice happy message. He knew that he was never going to translate it and find that the entity was completely benign and just wanted a cup of tea, or something similarly mundane, but that was really rather ominous.

He scanned over the paper, studying each of the squiggles of gibberish for anything similar. For a moment he wondered if the words looked so strange because the entity was attempting to write down words from languages that either had no written alphabet, or was transcribing words from languages with a non-latin alphabet into letters that Belle would recognise. Perhaps it was time to start going by the sounds, rather than the sight. He grabbed the laptop and found a phonetic translation program. Contrary to popular belief, Joseph was not as technologically illiterate as a lot of people liked to think that he was, and despite the Catholic church’s attachment to tradition and holding on to the past, it was not at all technophobic when it came to its research. The entrenched perception was something that Gold and Joseph had often found useful when they had been investigating together, especially the cases that were more obvious frauds. No-one ever expected the mild-mannered priest to get out a computer and start fact-checking.

Whilst he was waiting for the program to do its work, he hefted the tome of Arthurian mythology onto his lap, flicking back to the bookmarked page for Nimue. With a character who had been around for so long and undergone so many different interpretations, it was virtually impossible to work out precisely which one that the entity was referring to. The name had been scrawled at the very bottom of the page, ostensibly beneath the question ‘what are you looking for?’ The connection, the broken bloodline… Gold had said that he thought it was his own bloodline that had been broken, and that they would find any clues in his family tree rather than Belle’s.

What are you looking for?

The bloodline was broken.

Nimue.

Joseph sighed and rubbed his forehead against the rapidly oncoming headache that was beginning to bloom there.

Could it be that in the midst of all the Arthurian mythology and all the legends that had sprung up about it, Nimue had been a real person back in the depths of history? Could it be that it was her bloodline that the entity was looking for? He had already worked out that he needed to go back several centuries in order to work out where all this had begun, so now it was time to take a different tack. Enough of the stories and the legends and the books of mythology that had been written and re-written so many times over the years. Enough of the various different interpretations of the character, as a seductress or as a benevolent Lady of the Lake, an enemy or an apprentice of Merlin, a benefactor of Arthur and Avalon. Leave aside the fiction and get down to the facts, whatever they might be.

He shut the book with a definitive thump and turned back to the computer as it beeped to show a new incoming message on Skype. It was a contact request from Belle French.

Joseph hesitated before opening the message. Thus far, all he knew about Belle had come from Gold, and whilst he had been thinking that it might be useful for him to talk to Belle herself about her experiences, he had not mentioned that to Gold yet. Gold had obviously given Belle his name and she was seeking him out for herself. At least it showed that she was taking an active interest in solving her own problem, he supposed, but something made him wary.

He clicked on the message.

Hi Joseph, sorry if I’m overstepping a mark in contacting you directly but I thought it would be easier than having Rum passing messages all the time. If you’d rather go through him as a sanity check/to stay further removed from the case, that’s fine. Kind regards, Belle.

Perhaps against his better judgement, he accepted the contact request.

It’s very nice to meet you, Belle.

He sat back, waiting for her next message, and he wondered what it was that had made her seek him out personally. He was still going to pass all his findings on to Gold; for simplicity’s sake if nothing else. He didn’t want to be having to keep track of whom he had told what to, considering that sometimes he had trouble keeping track of what day of the week it was. Having a juicy mystery to keep his mind occupied had certainly helped his mental state in the last few days, but right now, despite having made something of a breakthrough, he was itching to open the whisky bottle, just to take the edge off and let him concentrate further on what he was doing. The phonetic translation program turned up nothing, just even more gibberish than he was already dealing with.

Joseph frowned, and took the results of his research, running them through the program to translate it back. Perhaps there was something he could work with there. It was of secondary importance really, because it was clear that Nimue was the key to the whole thing. The entity wouldn’t have been so violent when writing her name if it wasn’t important. A simple Google search had not revealed much in terms of anything new, all the entries on the first few pages were all to do with the character or with various beauty companies of the same name. Probably wanting to evoke the image of the eternally beautiful Lady of the Lake. There was nothing obvious about a real person called Nimue, either in the present day or back in the annals of time. Of course, going back to the era before the Internet was always going to pull up some interesting results, but Joseph had hoped that he could at least find something to be going on with. Skype pinged again with a message from Belle.

How’s it going? Sorry, I don’t want to sound pushy. I’m just interested. The Thing’s been quiet lately so we don’t have any more information to go on and I don’t want to try and goad it out in case something bad happens.

Joseph smiled; he liked how she called it the Thing, and he replied to her.

You seem worried by its silence.

I am a little. It’s been a constant presence and annoyance until I moved here and when I first got here, it was very active. The sudden quiet is unusual.

Well, I’ll let Gold know as soon as I have anything.

Although Joseph was not suspicious of Belle in and of herself, he thought that perhaps it would be better to keep the details that he had uncovered between himself and Gold; who had more of a day to day handle on the situation. He did not want to inadvertently arm the entity with knowledge that could make it harder to tackle in the long run.

Thank you so much. I’m sorry you’re getting dragged into this, but it really means a lot. This has been affecting me my entire life, and the thought that I might finally be free of it is a hopeful one.

Joseph thought back to the details that Gold had already given him about Belle’s life, right back to the prediction that the psychic had made to her pregnant mother. The entity had been with Belle since before she was born, but it had not been passed through her bloodline, or else the black cloud the psychic had seen would have been present around her mother as well, not just the child. His fingers paused over the keyboard as a theory occurred to him. It was just a thread, something very faint, and he had no way of knowing whether pulling on it would pull him down a rabbit hole that he didn’t want to visit. Finally he decided to bite the bullet and go for it.

Belle, did your parents ever go to Scotland before you were born?

There was a long pause, and Joseph was beginning to think that he’d jumped in with both feet far too quickly and she was thinking that he was some kind of weirdo. Well, he had no idea how much Gold had already told her about him so she might already think that he was some kind of weirdo.

Not as far as I know. My aunt lived there for a couple of months though. That was in the seventies. She died before I was born so I can’t really elaborate much.

Suddenly a whole new line of enquiry opened up before him. Scotland was the one link he had. Gold had been born there, a member of Belle’s family had lived there, and the entity spoke an ancient Scottish language. It was a tenuous link, but it was a link nonetheless. He only hoped that Gold’s research into his own family tree would prove fruitful. It was becoming ever clearer that this entity was linked to the both of them.

Another message from Belle arrived.

Is everything all right?

I have absolutely no idea, Joseph replied honestly. It looked like he was going to have to go to Scotland.

Well, good luck. And thanks again.

You’re welcome.

Belle’s icon became unavailable, and it was clear that the conversation was closed. Joseph wondered if he would ever meet her in the flesh. He’d looked her up online after Gold had mentioned her, just as Gold himself had, and he had seen the grainy photo with the shadows under her eyes belying something much deeper and darker at work beneath the surface. He shook his head. He was getting far too close, far too involved, and the last time that had happened, it had brought about a catastrophic end to his career. It had often been said that Joseph’s problem was caring too much. He wanted to help people, he always had, and that coupled with his interest in the supernatural had been what had led him to the priesthood and his particular niche calling within it in the first place. When he had been defrocked, he had vowed never to get involved again, but here he was, not only getting involved but considering the possibility of getting more involved.

The last time he had got involved, too involved, someone had ended up dead, and he really did not want that to happen to Belle. He was going to have to keep his distance, but at the same time, the mystery kept drawing him in, kept him wanting to help and wanting to solve it. All he could hope was that he had learned from his mistakes and would be able to avoid repeating them.

Never underestimate an entity. It was one of the cardinal rules of dealing with demons and evil forces, and it was one that Joseph was determined not to do again. If he had to confront this one, then he would take all the necessary precautions and then some. With any luck, it would not come down to a confrontation. He had never really liked that word anyway, with its foreboding connotations of a final battle between good and evil when really, he was just a messenger in the grander scheme of things. With any luck, they could work out what the entity was and how to appease it. Gold would be able to find out about his family’s history with this entity, they would be able to put it back on the right track peaceably, without the need for an exorcism.

Only God could help them if it came down to that.

#rumbelle fic #Belle French #Joseph Macavoy #Fic: The Darkness Within #cw: alcoholism

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Bret you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Peter Pettigrew!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

We were so happy to see your application in our inbox! Your application shone with your amazing writing and the thought that you’ve put into Peter. It’s been a joy to see him before -- and it’s going to be amazing seeing how you develop him further Your para sample was a joy to read -- especially how you delved into Peter’s mindset and how he views the world so differently from the rest of the Marauders -- and even starting with your reason for choosing him as a second character, it was clear that you had a handle on how tragic his story can be and how isolated Peter feels. 

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Bret, Twenty Five, EST. She/Her.

ACTIVITY

7/10. I plan on dividing my threads between days, so a few on each character depending on what amount of muse I have. I think I could do a lot between the two characters because of all of the time I’ve accumulated this summer. And even if my girlfriend has my computer for work, I’ve rebooted hers so I’ll just use this ole piece of dust.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Originally it was through a member, but I’ve been here for ages!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Arabella Figg. Before this roleplay I was obsessed with her homely nature, and how willing she was to protect Harry. Plus, her love for kneazles definitely is equal to mine with kittens. But now that I play her, and I’ve fleshed her out, I’m realizing how much she truly is like me. Of course that comes with playing her, but it doesn’t matter. I identify with her so, so much.  

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nope!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Peter Pettigrew

FACE CLAIM

Dane DeHaan

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

Peter Pettigrew is an insanely under appreciated character that deserves to be explored.

Aside from his involvement with the Marauders, his defection from the Order during the first war, and his involvement in the second, we don’t know much about him. Introverted, clumsy, and not very clever - those are the few traits the books give him. But what draws me to his character is that there is much more to him beneath the surface that has yet to be touched. I don’t believe that Peter is as cowardly as people make him to be, but I also don’t believe he is incredibly intelligent. I think he’s a hoarder, he’s exhausted, and he’s not very friendly to strangers.

Hogwarts, in my opinion, was a difficult time for him and after graduation he was lost and grasping to find a niche he belonged to. That isolation is a small fragment of the reason that he joined the Death Eaters, though reluctantly. They didn’t accept him but they made him feel important. Enough so that he was willing to pretend his friends no longer mattered, though the three were always nagging at the corners of his brain. Peter is a character who needs people to guide him, comfort him, and make him feel special.

He’s a young boy in the midst of a war, barely out of school, and confused about his life path. The decisions he makes are rash and thoughtless, all because he’s just a teenager, and they all come to bite him later in life. I want to explore his descent into the Death Eaters and becoming a spy, his relationships, and his entire life now that the war is at a climax.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Peter/Chemistry. He/Him.

Peter is a closeted bisexual. He believes that homosexuality is immoral because that was what his father pressed whenever he asked about other boys. When he was younger he was envious of their looks and their nature, and sometimes he found envy turning to lust. But always he would remind himself that to be attracted to boys would make his father furious and suddenly Peter would throw himself at girls. And their rejection made him isolated and scared, and the cycle would begin again. Now that his father is dead and his mother hasn’t spoken to him, Peter is more liable to give in to temptation. But as of now the war matters more than sex or love, both of which he has never tasted.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Headcanons.

001. Honeydukes is the only place that Peter truly misses from his Hogsmeade trips. Lemon drops, peppermint sticks, chocolate frogs, and Bertie Botts. He remembers the trips through snow and falling leaves and warm cobblestone. His memory is flooded with laughter and giving and the gentle touch of a friend. Honeydukes was never just a shop of sweets and childhood happiness, it was the one place that had never been tainted by a bad Professor or embarrassing moment. He clings to it dearly even after others have forgotten.

002. After his father died, his mother stopped responding to his letters. It had come as a surprise for Peter to find his owls returned empty handed because he considered himself to have been rather close with his mom. Now he continues to write her in the hopes that she will come back to him, but in the meantime it has inspired him to find work and make a living. He wants to impress her should she find her way back into his life.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Invisibility. I want to be a fly on the wall sometimes. Rats aren’t small enough to hide forever and my friends already know what I look like, y'know? I only want a potion that wears off after a few hours, but nothing disgusting. I bloody want one that tastes like peppermint, or coffee, or something sweet. And it would be smooth and work without pain. Just invisibility without any strings. I wouldn’t name it! Otherwise people would find out and they’d steal it from me. I’d never want that.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“I have to pick one person? Remus has always been the nicest towards me…as an individual. But I would like everyone there. Sirius and James, too, though they’d make jokes about me being a bloody coward. And I am, alright? I don’t want to go ink the Forbidden Forest at night. I never have. As for what I’d bring…whatever James needed me to. I could only imagine we’re going in there for one of his schemes, or Sirius’ pranks. I’d just have whatever they need.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“What to do, when to do it. I used to believe I was independent but I’ve never been, not really. I’ve always needed someone to guide me. I just bloody wish I was normal, like my mates. I can barely take care of myself and they’re having full lives.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I’m dumb. People always assume that because my marks were bad, that I’m stupid. Well, I am. But they’re not allowed to say it, right? I need to hold some dignity. Only my mates can say it because they’re just taking the piss. It’s normal. Other people saying it will make me…Merlin, I’m not bloody violent. Not really. I won’t do anything…I just don’t want them to say it.”

WRITING SAMPLE

The world was black, and white, and smelled of mud.

Peter felt the lasting tug of freedom as he scuttled down the corridor and felt the coolness of stone beneath his paw pads. The soft clack of long nails were the only sound invading the heavy silence of the air, but he was sure no human would think twice about it. Another old house settling into its foundation, creating creepy noises in its wake. He was just another sound to the people in that room, he was just another creature lost among the hundreds of things surviving in the towering building.

A sharp left and he found himself face to face with a slightly ajar door, the wood warped from years of deprivation and unable to close entirely. He could see the splinters that would catch in his amber fur and embed in the flesh of his back, but this was for the greater good and he would manage through the pain. It was nothing in comparison to what his mates had done previously on their own missions, or what he would be asked to do in the future.

Who would he be spying on next?

The thought stopped him, and Peter felt his heart thundering in his chest. The Order trusted him but they didn’t give him the incentive that he wanted. It wasn’t enough to fight for equality and justice, it wasn’t enough to get a pat on the back when he didn’t completely fuck something up. He wanted real pride, and danger, and the sweet taste of adrenaline. But the thought of his friends had him questioning what had gone wrong in his childhood to make him okay with betrayal. Would he ever truly be happy? What if it came down to murder, or a duel, or looking at James and telling him you were never meant to be good?

He forced himself to move and slid under the door, refraining from eliciting a noise as the splinters tore into his back. Later he would ask Remus to pluck them out and he would smile and pretend that the mission went beautifully. Later he would tell them that he hadn’t thought twice about eavesdropping on the Death Eaters.

Later he would lie and give them false information.

His human form was uncomfortable and awkward as he emerged from his rat body. The group would be in the next room, but he had chosen to come as an Animagus to avoid being seen until that moment. A silver mask was affixed to his face but it made breathing impossibly difficult and he ached to take it off. This wasn’t him, his head screamed. This was not Peter Pettigrew of the Order who followed his mates around every day.

This boy was nothing like that child, and he doubted he’d ever be allowed to go back.

#hp rp #lsrpg #harry potter rp #marauders era rp #literate rp #accepted app