#'what are you?' (said with horror and fear) 'your friend' (said with unending love and determination) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greenteaandtattoos · 3 years

Text

Memories like Thorns: A Ruby Rose One-Shot

Ruby slung the red skirt and cape over the makeshift clothesline that she had made with some sticks she had found lying on the beach and rope she had stashed in her pockets after the incident with the Ace Ops and the Command Center in Atlas.

The sand was warm beneath her bare feet, her boots drying nearby. Her belt, tights, corset, and forearm bracers were laid out on a rock. She hoped they would absorb the heat from the face of the rock and dry faster. She had used a sharp stone to tear off the long-sleeves of her dress and discarded them entirely. It was hot, and she didn’t want to suffer from heatstroke. Crescent Rose rested against a giant seashell.

So, there she stood, in just her shorts and a now-sleeveless blouse. She sighed.

How did it come to this? She remembered the cruel triumph on Cinder’s face as she loomed above her as Ruby clung to the leg of Neo, the girl who had been trying to kill her only moments ago. She remembered the screams of Blake and Penny. She remembered Blake’s grip on her as she attempted to rescue her. She remembered the feeling in her stomach as she and Blake fell after Cinder cut the ribbon on Gambol Shroud, sending them falling to their deaths. She remembered the feeling of free-falling, and then crashing into water, which she eventually discovered was the ocean of this world she could only assume was the afterlife.

She had been lucky her father had taught Ruby and Yang how to swim at a young age. She had managed to swim to the surface of the ocean, spitting up salt water. Through her blurry and burning vision, she had seen the island not too far from where she had fallen, and had managed to swim to the surface. After lying in the sand for what felt like a couple of hours, she had managed to get to her feet and function properly. It was warm now, but who knows what it would get during the night, and she didn’t want to risk freezing.

Not that I can die twice, she thought dryly. Gazing around, she finally took in her surroundings. The sand that made up the beach was tawny in color, and all around her were flourishing trees and colorful flowers. The giant seashell she had rested Crescent Rose against was just one of many that dotted the beach. A massive cliff loomed over her, and on top of that was a tree of gargantuan size, sporting rainbow foliage. Beyond that… she didn’t know, but she heard birdsong.

“We should have asked for guardrails,” Ruby muttered to herself, mentally scolding herself for not thinking of everything like she had hoped. We made more than one foolish oversight, she thought, referring to how they had so easily forgotten that Penny wasn’t the only maiden in Atlas.

Then, I wonder where the others are? Though she and Blake had lost hold on each other when they fell, she was fairly certain she should have fallen somewhat close to her. Yang… she had no idea. Weiss and Penny and Jaune, I hope they’re okay. Last she had seen, they were okay.

Oscar. The thought of the former farmhand scorched through her mind, and she clutched her chest. She hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Oscar.

All of a sudden, a horrifying thought entered her mind. Uncle Qrow. He doesn’t know what happened to us. When he does learn… Oh gods, he’s lost all of his family, now. The thought made her want to vomit and her knees weak. She stumbled and managed to catch herself on one of the branches she had used to make the makeshift clothesline. Her cape, still damp but warm from the sun, brushed against her cheek. She froze suddenly, a memory surfacing.

The feel of velvet brushing against her face, a crimson swathe enveloping her, the warmth of familiar arms wrapped around her in a warm hug. Silver eyes flashed above her as her mother gazed at her, unending love swimming in them. She smiled widely as she clasped her arms around the child in a tight hug, bundling her in her cape. The warmth and the velvet were snug and the child couldn’t imagine leaving the warmth of her mother’s embrace.

Ruby took a step back, her focus returning to the present. She stared at her own crimson clothes. She reached out to touch the cape that had been with her through thick and thin. She grasped it tightly, feeling the damp cloth wrap around her hand.

Her mother’s hug before she left on her final mission was one of the only memories she had of her mother. Her final mission. She grit her teeth. Her final mission that led to her falling into Salem’s clutches. To be experimented on, to be subjected to horrors unfathomable.

All so Salem could spit into Ozpin’s and the God of Light’s face, she thought bitterly. She could imagine the cruel glee that Salem must have felt when she discovered that she could turn the God of Light’s warriors into her own. Her hands trembled, out of anger or fear, she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

She remembered Oscar’s lament after they picked him up from the slums. “Every choice I made was the wrong one,” he had said forlornly. But it was her choices that had been wrong at every turn. It was her choice to lie to Ironwood, to waste time trying to put out a message with the naive assumption that help would come. Anger and regret surged through her forcing her to sit down. She criss-crossed her legs and stared up at her drying clothes. She wanted nothing more than to be lost in the red, like she was so long ago while in the embrace of her mother.

When she was younger, she had tried very hard not to lie. After all, heroes in fairy tales didn’t lie. They were truthful and brave, and she wanted to be just like them. Of course, she had told little white lies here and there, like when she ate all the raw cookie dough that Yang had made to bake cookies. She remembered when she told her first big lie.

It had been when she first got accepted into Signal Academy, and she chose her combat gear. When she returned home from shopping, decked in all red - and most notably - a red cape, the look on her family’s faces was unforgettable. Qrow - who had come over for a visit - and her father had looked at her with strange, twisted expressions, which in hindsight, she realized was because she looked so similar to her mother.

Yang, on the other hand, had been so proud. “Copying Uncle Qrow, eh?” Yang had asked, in a knowing, teasing voice, jabbing her with her elbows. “The red suits you. Matches your hair.”

The twisted expression had melted off Qrow’s face, replaced with immense pride. “You look good, kiddo. Everyone will know you’re my niece, all right,” he had crowed. Mischief glinted in his pinkish-red gaze as he added, “But don’t think I’ll go easy on you. No favoritism from me. Nope.”

They had looked so happy, and Ruby hadn’t been able to remember the last time the whole family had been so happy, all together like that. Qrow and her father could rarely be in the same room without an argument breaking out, and Yang spent more time at school or hanging out with her school friends than at home.

“Yeah!” Ruby had laughed with them. “I just wanted to look like my hero!” Qrow had puffed out his chest and stretched out an arm ruffling her hair. But deep down, she wasn’t laughing, because it wasn’t true. She hadn’t picked her outfit to look like Qrow. She had chosen the red-soled boots and the corset and the cape because when she thought back to her mother, all she could see was red. From pictures around the house, she knew her mother had a white cape, with a crimson interior.

All she could remember of her mother was the warm embrace of arms hugged tightly around her, the feel of velvet on her face, and bright red. It had been like being embraced by rose petals. And so, when she saw the crimson cape hanging on the clothes hanger, nearly hidden by other capes of varying colors, she had picked it almost immediately. From there, she picked out the rest of her outfit based on the cape and complimentary colors. When she had put it on in the dressing room, it had felt so right.

But she hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment, and so she lied. Guilt had squirmed in her stomach for days after. She had finally managed to dispel it after she convinced herself that by lying, she was keeping her family from feeling sad. She remembered quite vividly how her father got whenever she brought up her mother. He seemed to wither, and while pride and love glimmered in his eyes whenever he spoke of his former partner, his voice became hollow.

Another lie, one that she kept to herself and told no one, was that she was jealous of Yang. She loved her sister more than anything, but sometimes jealousy burned hot in her stomach when she talked about their mother. Because Yang remembered her more than Ruby, and it made her feel emotions that she hated herself for feeling.

It had been a new memory of her mother that had allowed her to activate her eyes against the Leviathan. She had been so excited about the new memory that she had told Yang. Yang had been so happy, and had gone on a long tangent about their mother in an attempt to jog some more memories out of Ruby. Ruby had once again felt the hot bubbles of jealousy in her stomach.

And when Salem had caused a new memory to surface, Ruby had never felt such despair in her life. She remembered the witch’s words, she had burned them into her mind. “Your mother said those words to me. She was wrong, too.”

And then that attacked the Schnee Manor. She remembered the face of the Faunus that had been revealed to be the core of the Hound Grimm. Horrific scars and boils and patches of raw, exposed muscle covered his face and neck, and a strange white spider-web-like substance covered half of his face. Ruby could only assume that Salem had removed his eye on that side. His eye… She had noticed it right away, the dull flash of silver from his remaining eye. He had looked at her, his eye void of any emotion and yet full of an agony that he could not voice as he repeated the same sentence over and over. “Take. The Girl.”

The answer to the question she had asked for 15 years came to her in an instant. This was what had happened to her mother. This was why she never returned. When she had told Yang of her suspicion, for once, she did not feel any jealousy as Yang broke down. All she could feel was overwhelming sorrow and guilt as Yang attempted to comfort her because she knew. She knew why her mother had left her and her family to face Salem.

It was because of her. Because she had inherited her mother’s eyes, and became a target that Salem would eventually come for. For once, she had cursed herself for the color of her eyes. She had previously thought of her eyes as a way to help people, but all they had done was sentence her mother, and indirectly, every silver-eyed warrior that came after her, to a fate worse than death.

She shifted in the sand. A warm, moist wind blew through her hair. None of it mattered now. Because her eyes had failed her, and she had failed her friends, her family, and now she was here. She was dead. She took a deep breath of the salt-scented air. Her heart was rolling with emotions, but all she could do was sit there.

A new sound reached her ears, breaking the lull of birdsong. She instantly became alert. She quickly rose to her feet and snatched up Crescent Rose, brandishing it as her eyes scanned the treeline, where the noise had come from.

A crack of a foot breaking a twig, the rustle of a body brushing against leaves. She tightened her grip on Crescent Rose. A thought suddenly came to her. Wait. I’m dead. Whatever is out there can’t kill me.

The thought wasn’t very comforting, but she did relax her shoulders, keeping her eyes on the treeline, waiting for whatever creature was in there to emerge. Then she saw it, the flash of white, the gleam of silver in sunlight, and the furry black ears that twitched with each step.

Ruby lowered her scythe.

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby 9 hiatus #rwby one-shot #angst was ordered today #summer rose #qrow branwen #yang xiao long

22 notes · View notes

equalseleventhirds · 4 years

Text

Pilgrimage

I made a fun & friendly post about considering all the fates worse than death for a tragedy, and I got to talking to myself about it. Self, I said, if you were asked to write a terrible fate worse than death for these boys, what would it be? Well about that…

- - -

Georgie hasn’t been to visit Jon since the apocalypse ended. Or, before that probably, she certainly hadn’t been popping in for a cuppa when she was trying to cut him out of her life. But then the world ended, and then unended, and Melanie has been insisting on having him around for dinner, or to go on a shopping trip, or just to visit the Admiral. Because they’re friends. Because this is what friends do: meet up, talk, and make sure their other friends aren’t alone.

Melanie’s been to visit Jon. Georgie hadn’t gone with her.

The… place where he lives is too creepy, she thinks. It was probably creepy back when Smirke built it, it was extra creepy when it was some impossible tower, and it’s still creepy now, even if it’s fallen down to earth. The Eye’s tower.

“So this is it? The Panopticon, or whatever?” Georgie felt Melanie’s hand shaking, and tightened her grip.

“…yes. I’m afraid so.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “See what I said about him being ominous?”

Jon opens the door before she knocks. It’s either some remnant of power in him, or he’d been watching out the window after Melanie called him. Georgie doesn’t ask.

“Hey, Jon.”

“Georgie. Hi.”

She steps inside, then stops. “Shoes on or off?”

“Oh, er… on. I haven’t quite finished cleaning all the… Shoes are probably better on.”

Jon was panting, standing over the nearly-empty chair where Jonah Magnus once sat. Martin laid a hand on his arm. “You did it, Jon. He’s gone.”

“That’s it? All done? You killed the big bad guy, so the apocalypse ends?”

He barely even winced at her tone. “It’s—I don’t think it’s going to be quite that simple—”

“Then why are we here—”

“Melanie sends her love, by the way.”

“Does she?”

“Yes.” She holds his gaze as levelly as she can. He just grins at her, holding his hand palm-out until she rolls her eyes and reaches into her bag. “Fine, and she sends her latest batch of halwa.”

“Thank you,” he says, plucking the container out of her hand and immediately popping it open to try a piece. “Mm… you can tell her she’s almost as good as my grandmother now.”

Georgie can’t hold back her laugh at that, short and disbelieving and a laugh, which she wasn’t sure she’d ever accomplish here. “Your grandmother always bought halwa at the store, you told me so—”

“Ah, yes. But I haven’t told Melanie, have I?”

“Jonathan Sims!”

It hurt. She’d thought she was immune to fear, to the fears, and maybe she was, to smaller ones. Normal ones. Real ones. But every ounce of impossible, enormous Fear that had clawed its way into their universe was bearing down on the tower at once, and Georgie wasn’t afraid, but it hurt.

“What now? What do we do? Jon, Jon, what happened, what do we do?”

“I…” She could see a trickle of blood coming from his nose… his eye… Hadn’t Martin said Jon couldn’t See anything about the Fears? Was that what he was trying to do? “I think… we can still stop it, maybe, but it’s… the tower, Jonah’s throne…”

“What do we have to do?”

They make it through about an hour, sharing out the halwa between them and chatting, about the books Jon finally has time to read, about the podcasts Georgie’s gotten Melanie into, about the really huge rug Jon’s planning to order when he gets everything cleaned up enough. It’s… it isn’t normal, but nothing’s really ever going to be normal again, is it? But it’s almost nice.

Except then she has to go and say the halwa’s made her thirsty (and it is sweet and dense and perfect, Melanie did an amazing job and she’s going to rat Jon out as soon as she gets home, and Georgie really cannot eat something that sweet at her age without something to wash it down). And then Jon gets up to make tea. And stops at the cupboard, and pulls out three mugs.

He doesn’t look at her, keeps his eyes on the kettle, on the mugs, on the tea bags, on his hands. But eventually he says, low but clear: “Whenever I make tea, I. Um. Bring some to him. He can’t really drink it, but it helps me feel better.”

And what can she say to that?

Jon stared at the seat, the throne, horror dawning on his face. She could tell—they all could tell—that he Knew what to do. He just had to tell them.

Martin grabbed his arm, shook him, spun him around to look at them. “Jon. I know this is—hard, for you. But what do we need to do?”

“Not us. Me. What I need to do. Someone touched by the eye, and who more than me?” He was biting at his lips, and she recognized the rhythm, from when he was stressed from essay after essay and trying to calm himself. “I have to take his seat. There has to be a king.”

“If there’s a king—” Melanie’s voice was strained, from the fear or the Fear, and Georgie tightened her grip again “—then wouldn’t it just be the same? Someone ruling over this, this ‘ruined world’?”

Jon was already shaking his head. “No, not if it’s now. Not if it’s someone who wants to stop it. Dream logic, remember? Except.”

“Except?” Melanie prompted.

“Except they won’t be able to leave. They’ll be—be trapped in the fear forever. In everyone’s fears, forever. Like I was, with the dreams, but for seven billion people—”

Georgie couldn’t help the gasp at that. “The dreams like we—with you watching all the time—”

“—or, more like our journey here, when we went through all those domains,” he continued, as if he couldn’t hear her. Maybe he couldn’t, with all his attention locked on Martin, drinking him in like it would be the last time he ever saw his face. “Because, because it’s here, and I said—Martin, I told you at the beginning, the eye can’t see inside itself, so I’d be—”

“Alone,” Martin whispered. “Always watching, and alone.”

She goes with him. Of course she goes with him. On some level, that’s what this visit has been about—seeing Jon, sure, but also seeing… Martin.

Martin is the whole reason Jon’s here, after all. Living in the ruins of the Panopticon. Living at all.

Georgie doesn’t look away. Doesn’t wait in the other room (the little living space Jon had made with curtains and boxes and a folding divider Melanie found for him), safe and ignorant. She knows Jon wouldn’t blame her. Might encourage her, if she brought it up, even if she said she had to go.

She thinks she might blame herself if she did.

It’s still difficult to stand there and watch without some kind of distraction, though, so she does bring her tea with her. Bobs the bag up and down (Jon remembers she likes to leave it in even after she adds sugar and milk, like some kind of monster, he’d teased back in uni, before that word became so damn loaded), clinks the spoon against the side.

She’s trying not to stare, but there’s not a lot else to look at, besides… there’s not a lot else to look at. He must have brought that little end table in here pretty soon after moving in, set it up next to the chair with a lamp and a book and… a pillow on the floor next to it.

She doesn’t ask.

Now Jon sets the third mug down and carefully, carefully pries Martin’s hand off the arm of the chair, pushes his fingers to curl around the mug, guides them down together to the table. He keeps one hand on the mug, like he’s afraid Martin will move suddenly and spill it. Maybe it’s happened before.

There’s only so long she can avoid looking, of course. And Martin looks… a lot like the last time she saw him, just after the end of the end of the world. Very, very still, sitting upright, although Jon’s gotten him some cushions and a blanket since then. His eyes are still wide, too wide, and staring at nothing. At everything. At everything but what matters.

And his lips are slowly, slowly moving.

“But why does it have to be you! It’s always you! The whole world is touched by the Eye now, isn’t it? Can’t it be—I wanted you to—”

“I’m—I ended the world, Martin, it’s only right I fix it.” He was pleading now. “I just—Martin, please.” Jon reached up, curling his hand around the back of Martin’s neck, and pulled him down until their lips just brushed.

He closed his eyes, and Georgie wanted to look away, leave them this one last moment together. She’d be glad, later, that she didn’t, that she kept watching, watched them kiss, watched their tears, watched Jon break away and head towards the chair. Watched Martin grab him and push him away, taking the seat himself.

“Martin, no—”

Martin turned his head, slow, so slow, smiling one last time at Jon. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself?”

“Is he… talking?” She moves closer, squinting. “What… what’s he saying?”

Jon smiles, brushing his thumb over Martin’s slow-moving lips. “The same things he said to people in the apocalypse, of course. No matter how many times I told him they couldn’t hear him.”

And Georgie can see it now, the minute shapes, forming words as familiar as any casual conversation.

Excuse me… Sorry about this… How are you?… You’ll get through this… Just hang on… Hi there…

- - -

End notes: Every once in a while (not every night, bcos he has 7 billion ppl to get through), if someone were to look at the unchanging body of Martin Blackwood, and if they were good at reading lips, that someone might be able to see him talking one Jonathan Sims through his fear dreams. Of course, no one does see that; the only person who’s close enough would be asleep at the time.

#algie writes things #fanfiction #ABSOLUTELY NOT A HAPPY FANFICTION #jmart sad end from georgie's pov p much #flashbacks make a sorta nonlinear timeline but u get the drift p quick i think #sidenote jon's indian but specifically malyasian indian #bcos kim coralreefskim has a galaxy brain #looked up some malaysian indian halwa recipes and they look. so good. so GOOD #my personal headcanon for melanie didn't make it into this fic but however u hc her sometimes ur cooking after the end of the world #and u learn how to make ur friend's favorite dessert bcos it comforts him #even if he keeps insisting his grandmother made it better #...listen sometimes there are bits of happiness in grief. but also the grief is horrific and overwhelming. things happen.#the magnus archives #god absolutely not trying to maintag this can u imagine.#ppl just had to deal with sadness already u want this now???#anyway. i turn martin's politeness into Bad Foreshadowing.#aren't u glad i'm not jonathan jonny writerman sims and do not have control over this narrative. aren't u glad.

122 notes · View notes

hey-hamlet · 4 years

Text

BNHA FIC PROMPTS

A collection of all of the fic ideas from that ask game, as of now. I’ll throw in new ones if i get any and when I remember. Feel free to use any of them, I’d love a link if you did!

with hands to the sky, I beg (what will save us?)

Izuku is a god who asks to be reborn as a human to try and help. He is warned he can’t return to being a god and will join the mortal realm, ever reincarnated. He agrees.

Izuku is a child with faint memories of a life he never lived, who knows too much about the world but not enough about the people around him. He’s not listed as having a quirk but he’s never gotten sick, never been hurt. He scares the other children and the adults don’t like his precocious nature. Inko loves her little miracle.

My Soul is Like a Supernova

Things happen around Izuku. Always have. Everything from earthquakes and villain attacks to miraculous healing and lottery wins. He’s always attracted big events like this - as if even the universe can see how important he is and it warps itself around him.

He sees this as perfectly normal. 1A is begining to notice a stressful pattern.

This one regret of mine

Character study of Inko and how she deeply regrets so many things she’s done in her life, from her husband, to giving up on her carrier, to telling Izuku he couldn’t be a hero and then letting him keep going to UA.

But no matter what she’d never regret her son.

Of souls and lost causes

A good ol’ Izuku sees dead people AU, focused more on his younger years when he’d wander around the city helping as many spirits as he could, only to return home at the end of the day exhausted and dirty to an increasingly worried mother who believed the doctor when he said seeing ghosts as a quirk would be impossible.

my life.your choice

Underground heroics AU (i dont think ive ever posted that au huh): Izuku is the well-known son of japan’s immortal emperor, All for One. Born quirkless, he’s been emotionally abused but violently protected his whole life by his father, his mother killed before his eyes for trying to take him away. He’s never been able to make a choice for himself save for his bodyguard - his childhood friend, Bakugo Katsuki.

Katsuki made a pledge to protect him when they were in kindergarten and he’ll be damned if he breaks it now. And if it takes the two of them joining the resistance, meeting a vigilante by the name of All Might thought long dead and Izuku receiving a near-mythical quirk? Well, that just makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?

I forgot that you existed

Izuku gets hit with a quirk that not only makes people forget him, it prevents them from seeing him as well - all but erasing him from reality for everyone he knows. He can still interact with things but all it manages to do is just UA shut down under fear of villain infiltration. They find Izuku 18 hours later when the quirk wears off - a motion tracking gun trained on his forehead.

certain uncertainties

No one can predict the quirks trapped in One for All or when they’ll show up. Anthology fic of Izuku discovering each of them, some being rather helpful, and at least one piece of merch being sent into a low orbit.

Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

Set in the same universe I wrote console reset in; during the two heroes movie: they never defeat Nine and he slaughters the whole island and his class, leaving Izuku till last. He comes back at the start of their first day on the island and doggedly makes friends with every islander he can because while it hurt seeming them die, it hurt even more knowing he’d never even learnt most of their names.

They win this time the first time they meet him, even if it’s a marathon fight of 8 hours with him and Bakugo doggedly wearing him down. No one dies. Izuku thinks it’s worth dying as many times as he has to to keep the people he loves smiling.

The immortality of the heroic spirit

One of the quirks in One for All is determination: if you have something you desperately want to do, you can’t die - no matter how much blood you lose or home many pieces your body is crushed into - you’ll just heal back to where you were before you died. All Might and Aizawa find this out to horrifying effect during a brutal villain fight they are stuck watching on the news with the rest of a terrified UA.

In hindsight this makes a lot of sense to Izuku. Aizawa wants to scream. All Might has coughed up more blood than is probably healthy and all of 1A bruised hands from where they were clutching each other’s when it got too tense.

Shine on you invincible legacy

Izuku becomes a top 10 hero before hes even out of high school, hitting No.2 the second he graduates and taking No.1 from Hawks literally the next time the ranking is counted. 1A will not stop throwing him parties each time he moves up in the ranking, even if in 3rd year it was every other week. All Might comes to ever one of them.

Shake the Dirt from Your Shoes

Izuku will be a hero and no one will stop him - an AU a fair bit like the beginning of canon except Izuku fights back, remains unending optimistic and maybe engages in a light bit of technically legal vigilantism, accidentally befriending a vast array of heroes and a student or two.

To his horror, they recognise him out of costume as soon as he speaks to them, resulting in a very eventful first day at UA.

do you feel with a heart of steel

Original Sin AU, young Izuku finding feeling emotions difficult and not knowing why. He finds a dying animal on the way home and sits with it, patting it until it passes away. He doesn’t think he feels anything, but his cheeks feel wet.

all you want is milk and honey

Villains have been trying to use Izuku his entire life, much to his annoyance and confusion (I wonder who in his family might make him known to villains? hm). He’s gotten very good at being intimidating, even as a child.

When he gets kidnapped with Bakugo on a primary school field trip he decides to hell with it and breaks out all the stops. Turns out villains don’t tend to want a 10-year-old who can describe in great detail how they would hang you with your own intestines.

Bakugo decides that fuck Izuku being quirkless, he’s kind of amazing.

Even the stars

Izuku dies young and no one but the stars cry for him. They bring him back, but his body is cold and he has a nova burning where his heart should be. A four-year-old who has known death and walked among the stars is a terrifying thing. His skin has a shimmer to it, his eyes look like planets with no visible pupil, and he knows far too much.

The stars still speak to him, and they see everything.

bitter dreams and optimistic nightmares

Bakugo and Izuku grow up good friends, until Izuku is taken by villains age 9.

Bakugo’s determined to be a hero to save Izuku, even if it hurts to be at UA without him.

Izuku hates hurting people but he’s determined to make the most of his horrible situation by leaking information to heroes whenever he can. He’s given to All for One to serve as a lab hand to the doctor when All for One finds out this rag tag outpost of his had been hiding a valuable resource.

They meet at the USJ.

Mind Games for Two Shinsou and Izuku are both gen ed students in the same class, but with Shinsou stubbornly refusing to make friends and Izuku being the vice president they are almost strangers. UA has a no quirkless students policy and Shinsou has accidentally discovered that he student in his class with an analysis quirk, doesn’t, actually, have one. Izuku is aware Shinsou knows. They both want to get into the hero course but are under the impression there is only one spot.

It’s tense.

The Melody Stuck in My Soul

Izuku has an empathy/emotional control quirk that hears other’s emotions like music. He uses this both to read people, to defend himself, and, because hes Izuku, to ramp up his adrenaline/motivation/anger to kick ass. He and Bakugo are friends because baby Bakugo was lowkey impressed Izuku managed to weaponize his tears.

Advantage of the musical element: it gives him something concrete to latch on to and change, and it was very easy to work out which emotions were which. Also he has his own theme song, even if he’s the only one who can hear it.

Disadvantage: He cant turn it off. The stronger the emotion the ‘louder’ the music (it doesn’t cover up natural sounds because its not technically there, you get me?)

Error 404, childhood not found

A Hero’s Son AU, snapshot’s of Izuku’s childhood with No.1 Hero All for One as his abusive father.

Age 4 when his quirk never comes in and All for One abandons all pretences of loving him. Age 6 when he realises his son is intelligent and has a use as a lab assistant for the doctor. Age 8 when Bakugo first realises something is wrong. Age 9 when his father is almost killed by the No.1 villain All Might. Age 9 when he’s made to work in the labs with the doctor.

Age 14 when he meets All Might. Age 15 when he makes it into UA.

Darkness Growing (The Light Ever Smaller)

Villains take over Japan after the current arc, leaving all heroes and students that don’t switch sides on the run. 1A is instantly separated with a few of them being killed, most of the living students with Aizawa and Izuku and Bakugo by themselves, both too stubborn to leave the other.

Aizawa is desperately trying to get to Izuku and Bakugo in an attempt to keep them safe, while the two of them are avoiding Aizawa to keep the rest of their class safe(er), all while avoiding the villains, turncoat heroes and police out to get them. Public support is spotty at best with anyone found ‘harboring a criminal’ given the same punishment as the hero.

Lost soul of last hope

The first wielder has been Izuku’s imaginary friend since he can remember. He’s not very imaginary.

Featuring Izuku with the world’s strangest older brother, Inko coming to the realisation her son can see a ghost, but only one ghost and no one will believe them, Izuku’s quirk being listed as Inko’s because the first wielder can help him fake it, and Izuku wondering why first looks so much like that picture of his father on his mother’s bedside table.

The kids the system failed

100% The 1A run aways au with 1A, Aizawa and Mic being runaways kids of various ages that band together to stay alive and maybe do a little vigilante work on the side.

Izuku has All for One and uses it like you’d expect a traumatised kid to - cautiously at first but when he gets the hang of it there are suddenly no more criminals with quirks in their area, and it looks suspiciously like Uraraka can fly.

Just a second to soon? For the Fic thing?

Aizawa struggles and gets knocked out just before Shigaraki lunges at Tsuyu. She and Izuku are left horribly injured by his quirk with massive facial scarring, and in Tsuyu’s case, the loss of an eye.

Daze

An illusion/fear quirk makes his teachers look like villains and convinces him he’s in danger. They try and stop him without hurting him but it’s difficult considering Izuku is convinced he’s protecting his friends, considering he can only see them broken and bloodied with villains he thought were locked away loaming over them.

Even as Aizawa cuts out his quirk Izuku still tries to shield his friends, snarling ferally.

Morning Glories and Forget-me-nots

A memory quirk of unknown duration hits Izuku, leaving him remembering none of his life. 1A starts to fall apart without one of their pillar’s.

hopeless but not broken

The Long Con au where Izuku asks All Might if he could be a hero without a quirk - he’s really asking if he can stop pretending to be a villain, if he’s worth anything without the quirks he’s been given, if he’s worth something as himself rather than the limited use he can provide. He doesn’t know how to say all of that, so he just asks if he could be a hero.

All Might says no. And Izuku basically decides right then that the only way he’ll ever be able to help people is by being a mole for the heroes like he’s been since he was 10 - that he isn’t worth anything because he’s quirkless and to be considered just as valuable as the people around him are he needs to give his life and more.

He shows up to the bar crying because of All Might and Shigaraki moves his murder plot forward a few months.

Sunflowers and Summer Gardens

All Might starts a garden on campus and 1A like to help. He uses it as a nice place to chill and as physical therapy. He likes to give the different classes bunches of flowers when they sprout.

For Dos and For Donts

Izuku runs into some of his old bullies when out with some of his friends. Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki, Shinsou and Asui intimidate the fuck out of them, and Izuku realises hes not scared of them any more. Then they get frozen yoghurt!

your mistakes, my unbecoming

Aizawa assigns a project on quirk related issues, Izuku ends up with quirkless discrimination, Aizawa assumes his discomfort is just him being upset he doesn’t get to talk about quirks. He doesn’t realise his mistake until he finds Izuku dissociating on the roof.

one and one into the vast

Original Sin AU, All for One and Izuku seeing the vestiges together. One for All sees his brother for the first time and Izuku learns a lot about the voice in his head.

All for One has a mini-crisis about his not son learning he’s a horrific villain, especially considering he has the power to cast his soul out at any time, killing him at will. Izuku doesn’t kill him. He admits its probably not right of him to let AfO remain considering the things he’s done, but All for One is a part of him now and it would be like killing a friend.

All for One quietly decides to hold off on the villainy until all of 1A is dead, for Izuku’s sake.

between the stars of our souls

Izuku and All Might are old gods who keep getting reborn into human forms with their memories regained when they turn 4. Normally finding each other takes a while, and their last reincarnation they never found each other, so this time he resolves to make himself as easy to find as possible, all while saving as many people as he can.

Izuku, aged 4, memories fresh in his head, makes it his mission to get into contact with the man he knows is his father/mentor’s reincarnation. All Might’s agency was not expecting a 4 year old to repeatedly try breaking in to their office, and they especially weren’t expecting him to be so good at it.

you really should have thought this through

Different (and ill-advised) attempts at special moves or team up combo moves. Featuring:

Izuku managing to break Kirishima’s nose.

Uraraka sending Bakugo so high he broke the sound barrier coming back down to earth.

Kaminari and Shouto managing to electrify ice.

Izuku, Todoroki and Bakugo levelling a whole suburb (at least it was condemned???)

I'll Break Anything You Give Me

Different times Izuku desperately tried to repair his relationship with Izuku over the years and the one time Bakugo fully grasps how much he fucked up and reaches out his hand to try to fix it for the first time. Probably includes a lot of screaming, Bakugo learning how to say sorry, a field trip and them having a conversation on Aldera’s roof.

Sinking

One for All kind of possesses Izuku during a quiet night at the dorms. One for All, made of 8 people, 7 of which are dead and had their last experiences in life be rather painful and violent, breaks down, Izuku alone not enough to drown them out. They lash out at anyone who tries to touch them, their quirks tearing Izuku’s body apart.

All Might’s vestige reaches out a hand to Izuku to keep his mind from being torn apart as 1A set about both trying to protect Izuku and get Aizawa who was off campus on patrol.

Feat. Bakugo and All Might being the only people with any idea about what’s going on and getting more and more stressed each second that passes. Iida, Uraraka and Todoroki being good heroes and even better friends. Blood King deciding he’s never watching 1A for Aizawa again, and Aizawa deciding he’s never leaving 1A alone ever again.

A Long Way From Home

Shirakumo wakes up in Kurogiri’s body in Tartarus with only shadowed memories of his time as a villain. He’s scared and alone and he just wants to see his friends again, even if he’s scared they hate him because at least that’s something he knows.

Too Far Gone

The other side AU, it comes out Izuku is a villain with (knockoff) All for One and he has a showdown with Mirio. He and Izuku trained together under All Might and Mirio tries to plead with him but Izuku has to basically tell him to go to hell to not ruin his placet as crown prince of the underworld.

Of course, he’s not only doing this to save people, he’s also doing it with All Might’s blessing - taking over from All Might himself serving as a villain after he killed All for One to prevent a power vacuum.

Doesn’t mean that his friends in 1A know that.

Snowy hills and sunlit peaks

Probably an AU about All Might being a mountain spirit with a little shrine that Izuku is the only one who visits - Izuku gets in trouble and All Might manifests himself, saves him, and tells everyone to keep their hands off his human son.

Wilting

Izuku gets sick and he tries to hide it because he’s scared its something serious but he just gets worse and worse. His friends are the ones who eventually step in and comfort him.

I’d probably write two endings with one being a bad end and the other a good end.

My wish came true without me realising

Izuku wakes up one morning, comes downstairs and just starts crying. Everyone panics and he reassures them they are happy tears and that he's just glad to be here. They all call him sappy and give him a hug. Later in the day he and Bakugo chat and Izuku reveals he never even expected to live this long, let alone become a hero. Bakugo grumbles that he’s too stubborn to die, and not to get too cocky. Izuku promises he wont.

#38 of them damn #bnha prompts #mha prompts #prompt list #bnha #mha #bnha au #boku no hero #my hero academia #hero aca

111 notes · View notes

decadenceisnomore · 3 years

Text

Info

- Frisk: The Fallen Child. * It's a curious child, but gets afraid pretty easily. Items: Broken Stick and Bandage. Stats: 2 ATK 5 DEF 20 HP - Flowey: Your Only Friend * A scared Desert Flower/Black Flower. * Tries to attack Frisk, but soon he joins Frisk on their journey. * Usually hums classical music when bored Stats: 3 ATK 1 DEF ?? HP His themes are "Your Only Friend", "Your Only Savior" and "FINALE" - Napstablook: The Lonely Beat Maker * Not really feeling up to. sorry. His theme is "Espiritual Strife" - Toriel: The Guardian Of The Decaying Catacombs * Can act super protective with Frisk, but is a sweet person to anyone who is nice with them. * She bakes Cheesecakes, but she isn't really good at it so she bakes a pie instead. * Won't let you leave that easily. * Nobody have ever saw her without the hood, that covers half of her face with a shadow. * Loves reading suspense and horror books. Stats: 75 ATK 55 DEF 450 HP Her theme is "Heartattack" - Sans: The Easiest Enemy...? * Always trying to earn some money so he can sustain his brother and himself. * Really enjoys telling puns, mostly involving dark humour or imature humour. * Sells chili dogs for high prices, but usually making discounts to his friends. * His favorite drink is Mayonnese. * He calls frisk "Poker-face" and "My Safe Box" * The judgement eye is blind. Stats: HP 1 ATK 1 DEF 2 His themes are "smells like rotten bones.", "Song That Will Play When Sans Judges You", "There is a storm somewhere" and "Sentence." Check: He won't lose to a stupid child that easily. - Papyrus: The Evilest and Coolest Skeleton * Wants to be a part of the Royal Guard, but got rejected 5 times in a row for being too stupid. * Loves making puzzles and traps, but mostly fails on making his traps actually harmful. * He cooks meatballs, but sometimes he tries to cook spaghetti or lasagna, but always fails to cook it. * Likes to say "Nyar har har" * Hates seeing sans smoking, but he always tries to not just slap his cigar * He got his scar and battle body while fighting undyne and supposely winning. Stats: ATK 40 DEF 30 HP 750 His themes are "Facing The True Evil" and "Sharpboned Cataclysm" Check: Likes to laugh like a goofy maniac. - Undyne: The Black Eyed Hero...? * She is the capitain of the Royal Guard. * On one of her fights, she got injured on her eyes, making her get hyphema on both eyes. * She liked to play piano, but stopped after the situation of the underground got a bit worse. * She doesn't use much armor, meaning why her body is full of scars and marks. * After the fight she had with Papyrus, they don't talk much like before. * She thinks sans is a weirdo and is a little afraid of what he hides. Stats: ATK 60 DEF 30 HP 2000 Her themes are "Agonizing Spears Of Fear" and "Confronting The Most Malignent Hero" - Alphys: The Royal Scientist * As said, she is the Royal Scientist of the underground, got promoted after the previous scientist disappeared. * Even tho she might look like a mad scientist, she is pretty chill, but sometimes she might get a bit out of control during her experiments. * Loves to eat spicy noodles and watching she buys illegaly. * As undertale alphys, she is romantic attracted to Undyne, but she can hide her attracting better than her undertale counterpart. * She was the one who created Mettatron, but didn't really worked well on him. Stats: Unknown Her theme is "Alphys..." - Mettatron: A Broken Robot * Was the first experiment of Alphys that actually worked. * His humanoid body is just a prototype. * When on box form, he have four hands with destroyed arms, that are just connected to each other by some unknown liquid. * While on EX Form, smoke comes out of some of his orifices, mostly because his body is overheating. * He have a whole brand called MTT Enterprise. * Usully his brand makes every type of stuff, but usually focus on the food market. Stats: HP 9999 (Box) ATK 40 (Box) DEF 300 (Box) HP 2000 (EX) ATK 64 (EX) DEF 40 (EX) HP 30000 (NEO) ATK 90 (NEO) DEF 5 (NEO) His themes are "Metal Slammer", "Tragic Death By Charm" and "The Lethal Power of NEO" - Muffet: The Negotiatior * She is still as greedy as undertale muffet, but she have great administration skills. * She owns a sodas and snacks brand named "Muffety's Sweets Inc." * Her brand is Mettaton's biggest competitor. * She have a small shop hidden at the Decaying Ruins. Stats: ATK 45 DEF 20 HP 135O Her theme is: "Arachno Swing" - Asgore: The King of The Underground * Haven't appeared to the public in a while. * His garden is full of Black Flowers/Desert Flowers. * He says that he likes how his garden looks like a huge hole. * He won't let Frisk get out that easily. Stats: ATK 100 DEF 100 HP 4000 His themes are "Foran deres konge" and "THE KING ASGORE." - Asriel: ... * The King and Queen's son. Stats: ATK ∞ DEF ∞ HP 9999 His themes are "His old theme...", "Destruction and Despair", "BURN!" and "SAVE the world" Decadent Society's basic story: Once upon a time, there was two races, monsters and humans One day by the monsters greediness, a war broke between the two races But unfortunately, the humans ended victorious They took a huge indemnity from the monsters and sealed them in the underground Mount Ynadd 20XX Legendes say that whoever climbs the mysterious mountain never comes back Basic information about the locations Forgotten Palace: ruins replacement, once the first hideout for the monster kind, now just an abandoned castle, it's dark but there is a lot of plants growing there, with huge trees included Foggyville: snowdin replacement, the most poor city of the underground, contains a small amount of establishments and has most just houses, instead of snow, there is a lot of fog, but is still as cold as snowdin... somehow Submerged: waterfall replacement, once a decent city, now completely flooded by the sudden unending rain, contains ruined/submerged buildings, with just some specific locations still not submerged VolcanoNation: hotland replacement, an industry only location, with both abandoned and still working buildings, the location of muffet's and mettaton's brand industries The CORE: still da core, is powered by the volcano's lava, might turn off at any moment as the volcano is in risk of dying Capital: the most rich city, based around Brooklyn on it's 80's Precious Home: new home replacement, a small and dark house All of the info was made between July 13, 2020 and September 21, 2020

12 notes · View notes

kingofthewilderwest · 3 years

Note

9, 10, 12, 19, 20, 21 for the fandom asks! (i'm gonna create the question for 21. it is "which fandoms have you inadvertently become a part of through osmosis from friends?" or "which fandoms did you infect your friends with?" whoops two questions, whatever. enjoy, nerdface. my specialty is being a nosy fucker with too many questions)

Love you too, you obnoxious fucker. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Fandom Asks Memes

9. Do you like prequels?

I find absolutely nothing wrong with prequels! My philosophy is that, for any universe that can be cleverly and beautifully expanded upon with heart, doing so is a positive effect. The key to this is that it has to be done with inspiration and good intent. Crappy prequels that have nothing to say are bogus. Good prequels that provide a positive contribution? Yeah, sure, totes, go for it. I’d be interested in checking them out.

There’s lots of inherent dangers to writing prequels that mean some of them can be crappy. But I’ll enthusiastically endorse any contribution to media so long as I think it holds merit to its existence in the broader franchise.

10. Characters that deserved worse? >:]

I don’t believe in “deserves worse” for real life humans, so I think about that even less when we’re talking fiction. So long as it’s written well narratively, I’m fine with villains getting away with anything, antiheroes not being reprimanded for questionable actions, etc.

That said. Watching FMA 2003? I fucking wanted Shou Tucker fucking dead 3,000,000,000 episodes ago. WHY DID YOU GUYS KEEP HIM ALIVE!?!?!?! UAHGHGHGHGHGHghghghghghghg. Every time he was on screen, I was seethingly thinking, “I want that motherfucking thing dead, I am so sick of seeing him on screen.”

12. If you could change one ending to a book/show/game/etc, what would you change about it?

Alright! Let’s see. Can we call “The Hidden World” the “ending” of the broad How to Train Your Dragon franchise? I don’t want to change just the end of HTTYD3; I want to change HTTYD3. I would write a movie in which the villain had more apparent impact to the world around him, I would focus on Toothless having leadership problems with the dragons as a whole rather than centering a plot around him and one female, I would write Hiccup interacting with more sense of leadership over the whole tribe instead of hanging out merely with his group of young buds, and I would axe (intentional choice of words) the will-we-won’t-we subplot regarding Hiccstrid and marriage. For starters.

19. If you could be a part of any story, which story would you want to tag along in?

Take me to Narnia.

20. Name a song that reminds you heavily of a specific fandom or character.

Mars by Sleeping at Last. It describes the Ishvalan War, the fear of the Ishvalans, and the young Amestrian soldiers like Roy, Maes, Alex, and Riza who found themselves, to their horror, on the wrong end of a genocide.

“We were full of life. We could barely hold it in. We were amateurs at war, strangers to suffering. We made our families proud but scared at the same time. We promised we'd be safe--another lie from the front lines. Our backs against the wall, we're surrounded and afraid, our lives now in the hands of the soldiers taking aim. Our questions ricochet like broken satellites... how our bodies, born to heal, become so prone to die.”

21a. Which fandoms have you inadvertently become a part of through osmosis from friends?

How dare you ask me two 21′s. ;)

I’m not sure on this one. Maybe Doctor Who. In high school, a bunch of my friends invited me over for a movie night. Well, when I got there, they were cooking a bunch of foods. They decided to watch The Eleventh Hour, and when it came time for the Doctor to try eating a bunch of foods, my friends started eating fish fingers and custard, like some sort of fucking ritual. And I was like, “What the HECK is happening?!?!” My friends had been talking about how great this show was. This was my first exposure to it. Over the next few years, I did get a bit into Doctor Who, and followed it through the first half of college. XD

Also in the junior high, I had multiple friends who talked about Runescape so frequently that, even though I never even saw a SCREENSHOT of the game, I knew so much about it that I was able to follow along and contribute to their convos. Never played Runescape though.

21b. Which fandoms did you infect your friends with?

[cackles] now that one? quite a ton!

I don’t mean to. I hate people coming up to me and saying, “You should watch X!” or “You NEED to watch Y!” I don’t like being judged for my tastes instead of letting me decide my own taste. I have so many things I already want to watch and I don’t want someone else trying to change my priorities around, even if I know they’re just trying to recommend something fun to me. I don’t have time for these things and I don’t want people assuming that I have time for those things. I’ll never get to anything someone says. I don’t like recommendations. Especially after this tumblr blog got big and I got a ton of unsolicited recommendations, it became a pet peeve. So I try hard not to force friends to watch anything. I don’t want to annoy them either with unsolicited recs. I want to be nice. <3 But I guess my natural, unending enthusiasm for things has gotten my friends curious and pulled into the same fandoms I love. XD XD XD Whoops! XD XD XD XD XD One second I’m screaming about a fandom... the next, three of my friends are screaming to me about it, too!

I have seen groups of friends follow me into...... Undertale, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Mass Effect, Deponia, Gravity Falls, and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. And I guess also bluegrass. If that can count as a “fandom.”

13 notes · View notes

writerwile17 · 3 years

Text

Oderria’s Last Light and the Counterfeit Hero, Entry 1

Below is attached a photo of Oderria’s last known haven: Tearkah Fortress

Prologue

Buried within another time, world, dimension, or perhaps simply your mind, there lies a fantastical land of discovery. Welcome to a country filled with empirical magic, infection, and a dying hope. A plain of existence where fantasy and reality entwine. A compilation of unlikely characters bound by insurmountable odds. Welcome to Oderria.

Who am I? No one special. Simply a guide graced with the key to this land. When the gates of wonder are opened, we will, as friends and historians, journey through the mystery, action, and magic. And maybe–just maybe–we’ll learn a few things along the way.

…

I direct you to a moonlit town at the edge of poison’s stronghold. In the confusion of the outburst skirmish, the black-haired boy ran, his pious face held high. Tonight was the last stand, the last plea that would bring restoration from the ashes of a dying hope. The time was nigh.

“In order to bring the true hero into this magical nation,

Journey next to the capital of those with evil derivation.

Gather twenty White Jewels at the Pedestal of Light.

The wizard’s apprentice will find a hero that night.”

The boy repeated these words in a refined melody. They were his only source of encouragement as he fled in a desperate attempt to reach the opening between worlds. His lungs burned, his heart raced, and his legs throbbed. He fled through a crumbling grainery, surrounded by a maelstrom of clashing weapons, armored and hooded silhouettes, and the sounds of warriors bellowing the cries of war. When outside, he witnessed, with a chill, an old mill crumble to nothing as flames and electricity winded unnaturally about it. This was their doing. The boy heard a noise, looked back, and to his horror saw, trailing after him, a savage, sable figure, shrouded by the undulating mass of a cloak.

A Dark Sage.

With determined speed and quavery hatred, the fiend tore through anything and anyone that dared cross his path. The boy would be lucky if he could escape.

His speed and fear escalated as he raced through the disparaged remains of smithies and masonry shops and up the jutting terrain until he was at the center of town. He darted into a violent throng of heroic knights and evil hooded beings with weapons of glowing purple.

While he shoved his way through the thick cluster of people, the child glanced back. The shadowed man had changed. He was now a beast. Glaring at the boy with glowing orange eyes, this monster shoveled people out of its way with its crinite arms, horned face, and earth-shaking hooved feet, heading toward him rapidly.

Choked with dread, the boy’s pace quickened. He darted up a tall hill laden with obtrusive stones and thorns, reached in his leather bag, and pulled out a red gem, which had on it a winding symbol of fire. The monster’s shadow looming over him, he pointed his Erythro Jewel over his shoulder. Mounds of boiling lava burst out of the jewel and onto the monster. In pain, it gave an ear-splitting screech, and as if by the lava, its form began to shrivel and diminish, then it altered and grew.

The animal quickly grew bigger and bigger as its skin turned into rough black scales, some of which were extending out from its back. Swiftly, the creature’s two back extensions formed into umbrella-like wings while the rest of its body turned as big as an elephant and as scaley as a lizard. It grew massive keen talons and, inside its gigantuous mouth, foaming fangs to match the size of the claws.

He tried to sprint away, but he did not get far before the large dragon was directly above him. From the boy’s jewel there emanated a transparent red shield that looked as if it was made of a strange mixture of glass and wind.

The dragon pounced down on the shield and relentlessly clawed at it, slowly fragmenting it.

His heart racing, his breath hollow, the boy struggled to keep the shield standing. “You are failing them,” his thoughts rang out. “You are failing yourself.”

The steam-like shield had little strength remaining. The boy felt a shadow pass over him, and he closed his eyes expectantly. When pain did not come to him, his eyes opened. He saw an immense mass fly above him and ram into the black beast, and next thing he knew, the black animal had plunged down the hill. The child looked up and saw the thing that had done this was another dragon with muscly arms and glistening orange scales. The boy’s eyes were wide with astonishment. He was saved.

As the orange creature began to claw at the black dragon, it said in a distinct low-pitched voice, “Hurry, boy, get to the portal!”

“It’s Chad!” the boy thought aloud, immediately recognizing the comforting voice of an age-old friend.

The boy smiled fervidly as he and the orange dragon’s eyes met. Then in fatherly protection, the creature lunged, swiped, and charged through the other dragon’s breath of flames, the boy’s safety of higher concern than his own.

“Dear boy, this could be our last goodbye. Find the kid, get the gem, and don’t trust anybody, or else they’ll get you!” stated the shape-shifted man as he hardly held back the adversary. Though he had said this in his more casual tongue, he still sounded so unnaturally stoic, as if the message carried the weight of the world. “Now, hurry to the Ingress! Go!”

The child bolted away, tears streaming down his face.

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

Eventually, he stood beside the pedestal filled with arcane carvings and upheld by sculpted gems of dragons. The portal’s source opened before him.

The boy took one final look at his world. His mentor may have been gone, and he would soon inherit a tremendous responsibility. He was at a crossroads between worlds, and from now on, nothing would ever be the same. His hands were trembling. He clenched his fists, glared at the portal, then jumped in.

…

Another dream.

Jeramy struggled against a dark, cloak-like mass that closed around him. His eyes flew open as he jumped out of his bed in a panicky sweat, one foot landing on something soft and the other on something fiercely sharp.

Instantly, his feet returned to his bed as he stared down at the floor, infested with the scattered remains of old school papers, forgotten T-shirts longing to be washed, and action figures with sharp accessories. The latter two were the culprit behind his pain. His hands brushed against his blanket and he then realized this was the item he had just fought against for dear life. He glared at the bedroom window through which there shone the bright-golden glow of a summer day and his mind drifted into its usual ponderings.

The boy, the figure, the violence, the destruction, the seemingly medieval town–it had all felt so vivid, so real. He could smell the plumes of smoke, hear the sound of chaos, he could even feel the wind of weapons just an inch away from maiming him. And, like a tormenting curse, he saw, night after night, through the eyes of the child, the same beast, the same chaotic battle; the same dream. It was yet another question, yet another unknown to leave him in eminent, insurmountable fear. Because of both this and his curiosity, he could not help but wonder, as he had many times before if this dream meant something, and he could not help but feel that—somehow, some way—he was connected to it. He felt accursed, for the reality of this dream would seemingly leave him imprisoned in endless confusion.

He almost accepted the events in the dream as reality, but then, as usual, he questioned the things presented to him.

“Magic jewels? Portals? Shape-shifters? How can it be?” And with this, he had quickly dispelled the thought from his mind, knowing that he was being absurd. Of course, it was not real.

Still, the usual sliver of doubt buried within him kept his mind troubled by his ponderings.

After maneuvering through his cluttered room, he gazed out the window and hardly stirred. He saw blooming spindly trees and savored the warmth of the sun. Because of his pull to nature and the way it seemed to clear his head, he concluded to go on a walk and empty his mind of the dream that afflicted him with unending questions. He headed downstairs and opened the door when, suddenly, a voice rang out from the other end of the house. “Jeramy mu’ boy, you going on a walk? I’ll join ya’!”

The origin of this southern accent was undoubtedly his mother. His mom could hear the tiniest noise from a whole mile away, and like some manic beast, she pounced. Jeramy rolled his eyes and sighed in irritation. He wanted to run out that door right away, but he restrained himself. Of course, he loved his mother, but he hoped his mom would not love him to death, especially when he was in public.

As the boy headed out the door, his mother joining him, his thoughts drifted back to the dream. He remembered the mysterious plea of the dreampt child’s magical protector. It had sounded desperate, yet strong, tense, yet informal. There had seemed to be much behind the creature’s words. What, he wondered, could they mean?

#fantasy #magic #medieval #medieval fantasy #narrative fiction #original story #hobbit fan #lord of the rings fan #top new stories #latest #contemporary #contemporarywriting

3 notes · View notes

tazzytypes · 4 years

Text

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Prologue

Read on AO3 or read more chapters on the master post!

Hope ya’ll enjoy this! Uploaded it a thousand times because for some reason it wasn’t showing up in the tags. Keep in mind this is a slow burn so the first few chapters will just be setting up the story... there will be a LOT more to come. A LOT.

If you can reblog and/or give this a like. Haven’t posted my writing online in a long, long time and we authors are thirsty for readers opinions.

Fists banged against the glass shield that had settled into place before her, knuckles white as paper. She might have been crying. Honestly, she felt detached from her own body — a ghost. All she could hear was the overwhelming silence of whatever room she had been thrown into and the echo of her fists hitting the glass.

“What about you?” She screamed at the person who stood on the other side of the glass, voice cracking and trembling, “You’re going to die!”

The world was shifting around her, head light and heart pounding. She stared at the man before her, dressed to the nines in a black suit. At first, she had been angry at him, viewed him as the enemy. What was she supposed to think? He and a SWAT team had barged into her home and thrown her into the back of an armored car.

How things could change in the matter of a day.

“You’ll find the things you’ve requested in your assigned room,” He told her, voice even and calm. The only sign of fear was in the bead of sweat falling down a dark brow. “Should the others not reach you, you have enough food to last you for at least twenty years or more.”

Panic set in, she began gasping. The man had been her handler for the past day. He hadn’t given her his name.

“Complimentary,” he had said. He liked that word a lot. She was only given the vaguest idea of why she was here. The world was ending. Revelations had come and Emily was one of the chosen few to survive.

When he looked upon her, he felt pity. Pulled from the east coast to the west, their only option was to transport her directly to the bunker. His pity could only go so far… she got to live, after all.

He continued as calmly as one could when faced with immediate and horrible death, “The bunker is designed to withstand 2,000 feet of impact and could withstand the heat of the sun should things not go according to plan.”

This all felt like a dream. Nuclear war… of course, it would be nuclear war. Anger was set ablaze in her belly. Those men at the seats of power. The corrupt scum that saw dollar signs and their own pride before they saw people. Selfish, irredeemable—

A thick metal door began to close on top of the glass one that separated her from her companion. It eclipsed the only light she had from the outside world.

“No,” She begged, choking on the frog in her throat, “no, no, no, no, no, no—”

She yelped as a blast of air hit her from behind, hands going over her head as she quickly curled into a ball. When she finally looked up she could only see a sliver of light. Her eyes nearly bulged from her head as the clear afternoon sky was taken up in colors of red and orange. It looked like blood was striking into her prison. It was but an instant, but it would be burned into her mind until the day she died.

Then her world was cast into shadow.

Trembling and sniveling, Emily pulled out her phone. Pushing short and curly brown hair out of her eyes, she turned it on and cast it upon the room she was in. It was small and square with dark wood walls.

On hands and knees, she began searching. The man had pressed something into her hands before pushing her in here, causing her to stumble and drop whatever it was in the process. It wasn’t a hard or long search, finding it in the matter of a few seconds. A piece of paper had fluttered to the corner of the room, in pen there was a hastily written script which was slightly smudged.

“Room 6” it read, accompanied by an iron key taped below.

Carefully, she took the paper in her hand and flipped it over, doing her best to keep the light steady enough to see. A picture of a sunny day was on the other side, blue skies with clouds that reminded her of those she had seen in oil paintings. The light shook even more as a low whine left her mouth, hot, salty tears falling down her face. Sobs turned into screams, partly out of fear and partly out of rage but either way deafening. The way the walls were formed made it sound like a hundred people were screaming into her ear but she couldn’t stop. It felt like her body was caving into itself, back arching as she curled against the floor wishing for it all to be a dream. She wanted to ram her head into the floor until she was forced to wake up.

Finally, her voice went raw and she couldn’t cry another tear. Everything was numb and heavy. Slowly, she rose to her feet, pocketing the picture and casting the light onto the rest of her surroundings. On one half of the room sat a control pad with numbers and familiar symbols — elevator keys. There were only a few floors to choose from, three or four. She pressed a level with a star etched beside it.

It didn’t light up, didn’t make a sound. Part of her was afraid it was busted and she’d spend the rest of her life in this small chamber like a vestal virgin sentenced to death to retain the balance.

“Damnit!” she muttered, slamming a fist into the wall.

“Damnit!” She shouted, voice like an old crone as she kicked out in frustration. The elevator lurched, making her fall back and land painfully on her back with a grunt. She could hear mechanical whirring under her ear. Another lurch caused her to sit up and brace herself for a quick descent down a shaft possibly a mile deep. Instead, she was surprised by a slow descent.

It felt like a horror movie, but after being kidnapped and watching the world end right before her eyes she had grown accustomed to the feeling. Didn’t convince her heart to stop pounding in her ears, however… or her palms from being covered in a cold sweat. Why couldn’t they at least install lights?

She emerged at the bottom floor with caution and with her light hidden away. Just because that man said she was welcome didn’t mean she was. That’s how cults worked, right? What if she was a doomsday sacrifice? Or was it more like Cloverfield Lane?

Hands out to feel for her surroundings, Emily turned her head this way and that to listen for any sounds of life. The silence, as before, was deafening. Her ears couldn’t stand it, ringing ever slightly in revolt.

Once she was certain of her solitude, she once again turned on the flashlight on her phone. It was an underground mansion with innumerable hallways and elaborate stairwells one would expect to see in a movie. She couldn’t even begin to wonder where room 6 was. It took all her brainpower to remember how to get back to the elevator. Every step brought her further and further into an unending maze.

A rumbling beneath her feet made her pause. Were the bombs really that close? Would the walls cave in around her? She pushed herself forward until another, more intense shaking made her stop. Her body vibrated with anxiety and it took all her control not to fall into a panic attack.

“Keep moving,” she told herself, a mantra to get her to focus on anything other than what was happening up above and keep her legs from turning to stone, “keep moving.”

Another shake, strong enough to make her curl up on the floor with her hands over her head, made dust fall from the ceiling and bits of paint to the floor in front of her. Panic rose in her belly and she covered her mouth to keep herself from being sick. A chime made her yelp, her phone buzzing in her hand. Then another chime, then another. Her phone sounded like it was screaming, multiple chimes and dings echoing through the halls.

Something had returned the signal to her phone, but when she looked at her lock screen she really wished it hadn’t. Final messages poured in from her friends — shock, followed by fear and finally resignation. She cried as she got messages from people she hadn’t heard from in years, apologizing for wrongs and reminding her of their love. A message popped up saying her voice-mail was full, asking her if it wanted to play what she missed.

Emily threw her phone to the side as the messages began to play, not even realizing she had hit the button to do so. There was screaming, there was crying, there was begging for salvation. She couldn’t stand it, hands going to cover her ears to block out the world. The earth shook again and again, bombs falling somewhere above her head. All those people-- all the people she cared about were gone.

“It’s not real,” She muttered, voice catching as she rocked back and forth, “it’s not— it can’t—”

The worst part of this wasn’t that everything was gone. It was that she was alone.

#michael langdon x oc #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon #ahs apocalypse

26 notes · View notes

rabiid-bunny · 4 years

Note

The newest chapter of Lovers was AMAZING! Thank you so much for taking the time to write us another incredible addition to your story and for letting us get to know your boys. Can you talk to us a bit about your Headmaster? Headcanons? Backstory? Please.

I’m so glad you enjoyed! You always inspire me to write to my hearts content.

Ah yes, Headmaster Dorian Chambers

The headmaster’s black robes billowed out behind him as he floated across the stage. Elijah watched as he began to talk, watched beautiful straight black strands of hair lay upon Dorian’s shoulders while the rest remained secured in a ponytail behind his back. “You need fear not, dear ones. There are times to panic and there are times to take action.” Two silver streaks, each coming from his temples, did nothing but add to his ethereal appearance. His eyes were as blue as Elijah’s memories of the ocean. He watched him, a beautiful creature of sorts, speak amongst a crowd of a hundred or so boys in fear who soon, with each word he spoke, became young men encouraged to fight their fears and accomplish their dreams. His speeches, though the students were not gifted with them often at all, were enchanted poetry.

Dorian is the epitome of Gothic Horror Daddy (or Master, if you will). He is a mere 43, quite young for a headmaster. His late uncle bequeathed the role to him, if he were fit enough to take hold of it, that is. He is coveted by many and gives himself to none (note here the word “gives”)

Young Dorian grew up under the watchful eye of his father. He was well loved at his school with quite a few friends. He stuffed himself with poetry and piano lessons. His father did not approve of Dorian’s attachment to the arts. It was a heated argument one day where he confessed to his father he’d not like to get any more haircuts that had Mr. Chambers shipping his son away to his uncle’s all boys academy.

That’s right. Dorian Chambers was a student at Laurwich Academy.

With no will to make friends with anyone in spite of having to leave his buddies behind, Dorian kept to himself. He spent most of his days in Garther’s Hall Library. That’s where he met his lover, Christopher James. The passion was immediate and unending. The two would sneak off together, travel the gardens at night, sing in an abandoned music hall. Christopher encouraged Dorian’s love of arts and poetry. He made fun of his pretty face and how his lips rounded while reciting literature. Christopher tended to Dorian’s loneliness, embraced him with kindness and whispered lovingly into the crook of his neck all the places they would travel together. He encouraged Dorian to grow his hair out. He encouraged Dorian to live, really. And to love. It was fiery, the intimacy they shared.

Until Dorian’s uncle, the current headmaster, got wind of the affair. His uncle never spoke much to him but Dorian always felt he wasn’t much liked. He’d heard rumors back home of how his uncle had fallen in love with his mother only to be rejected before she married Dorian’s father instead. His uncle only said one thing to Dorian the day of her funeral: “You have your mother’s face.”

Christopher was murdered by the headmaster. Dorian’s uncle attempted to rape him so as to teach his nephew a lesson. When Christopher fought back, the uncle put an end to him just as Dorian came through the door.

So Dorian put an end to his uncle.

Through immeasurable amounts of heartache, Dorian slept within the arms of his dead lover. He was awoken the next morning by a very horror stricken and taken aback staff. He told the story of what happened and the academy protected him. Within the locked drawer of the headmaster’s desk was a letter to his nephew. Dorian was to be the next headmaster. It was his uncle’s wish to gift the only part of Dorian’s mother, whom he loved, in the only way he could.

So after graduating, Dorian Chambers became Laurwich Academy’s youngest headmaster. He led with grace and charming ambiguity. And down every hall, he searched for his Christopher. Within every smiling face, he looked for those adolescent eyes filled with passion.

And with every year to pass, he became the person that he hated the most.

. . .

“The Curse of the Laurwich Lovers”

#the curse of the laurwich lovers #ow #dorian chambers

13 notes · View notes

dusky-dancing · 4 years

Text

Sky and Sea

Summary: After being swallowed by the Heartless storm, Kairi finds herself in a place of unending Darkness and up against a formidable enemy. There’s one person who can save them all, and Kairi is willing to do anything to keep him safe.

Length: ~2500 words

Rating: T

Genre: Romance

Content warning: mild depictions of violence and disturbing imagery.

Basically, my super late piece for SoKai Day

****************************************************************************

Last Kairi remembered, Axel lay unconscious beside her as the enemy continued to grow around them. Clouds of dust made it hard to see, but she could feel the heavy Darkness.

Next she knew, a wave of Shadows swept them both up. She tried to fight it, but pulling the weight of both herself and Axel made it impossible. Even her full strength wouldn’t have been able to resist the sheer power. Her stomach rose to her chest, but there was no physical pain like she’d expected.

Last she saw, Sora reached out to her amidst the thickening Darkness.

She stretched her arm as far as she physically could, wishing for just a few more inches. It wasn’t enough as the storm pulled her straight to its center.

Last she heard, he let out a guttural scream. One she hoped never to hear from him. The pain in his voice reverberated within her heart.

Sora, hold on, she thought.

A moment later she found herself alone. The winds had died, the Heartless had disappeared, and she stood stationary with her hand still stretched out.

Where...am I?

All around her was dark, but as her eyes adjusted, more of her surroundings revealed themselves. Her only light source was a dim blue ceiling far above her.

Is this...death?

A distant figure came into view not far away. They were floating but still, as if asleep. As she approached, she recognized her.

“Aqua!” she broke into a sprint.

Up close, Kairi knew it was Aqua, yet the Keyblade Master barely retained her form. All color had been drained from her, nothing left but a transparent shell shimmering under the light. Kairi tried to touch her arm, but her hand passed straight through.

Kairi covered her mouth as she backed away.

What happened to you?

Her peripheral caught a glimpse of movement, and she quickly turned only to find more darkness.

“Your Majesty? Is that you?” she called out, slowly stepping forward. “Donald? Goofy? Ventus?”

Soon she found all four of them scattered around the same area, but their condition was no better than Aqua’s.

No.

No no no!

“Axel!” she cried, “please, answer me!”

Her eye caught movement once more, but whatever it was escaped her gaze again. That time, a strange sound of deep wind chimes accompanied it.

What she did find, however, was Axel. His body floated, yet it differed from the rest. His entire form was still there, filled with color and tangible. She grasped his arm and shook him, “Axel, please wake up. Tell me you’re okay.”

He remained unresponsive. Whether he was asleep or unconscious, he was still breathing. That much mattered.

She felt trapped, hopeless, with no way to rescue her friends. Tears formed in her eyes, but before any could fall, a giant shape rushed out of the shadows at her.

No scream escaped her as she fell back. Instead of attacking or coming any closer, it floated over her and Axel. She stared straight through the large heart-shaped hole in the center of its chest. It wielded a staff of similar shape. Chains clanked together beneath its short robes, making the familiar chiming sound she’d heard.

A Heartless. But unlike any she’d fought before.

She remained frozen in fear when it raised its staff. Both the heart in its staff and the creatures chest swelled with a pale pink glow. Before she could summon her weapon, the staff drained all life and color from Axel’s body.

She watched in horror, unable to move or breathe as Axel’s form became the same transparent luminescence as the rest. Heartless fed off of people’s hearts, she knew that much, but had never witnessed the act so dreadfully before.

The creature just stared at her for a moment and tilted its head. A heart floated in the center of its previously empty chest, and she didn’t have to guess whose it was.

She leapt to her feet, Destiny’s Embrace firm in her grasp, “Return Axel’s heart, you monster!” she shouted. To think he’d just gotten it back, only to have it stolen again so quickly.

Unsurprisingly, her words held no affect. It raised its staff once more, and a sharp pain overtook her chest. It was brief, however, as the Heartless quickly recoiled back with pain.

Heartless didn’t just feed off of people’s hearts, but the Darkness within them.

Right.

Her posture straightened. “You can’t touch me,” she glared straight into its yellow eyes, breathing heavily. Whether it could actually understand her or not, she didn’t care. “Now, give my friends their hearts back!”

She and Axel were the last to go, which left only Sora and Riku in the Realm of Light. If she could recover everyone’s hearts, then maybe -

A flashing light from above interrupted her thoughts, and another glowing form descended. She recognized him immediately.

Riku.

“No,” pain gripped her heart once more, only it wasn’t from the Heartless that time. She kept her composure. That was, until a second figure appeared.

“Sora...” she muttered.

Please, not him.

Anyone but him.

Tears blurred her vision. Her legs didn’t even wait for the rest of her body to respond and took off towards Riku. A swirl of wind rose up from under her feet, throwing her into the air. She landed hard, and the Heartless dashed past her as she recovered.

There was no way to beat it. It was more swift, more powerful than she was. She reached out helplessly as the monster did to Riku what it had done to everyone else.

She turned to Sora, who had now come to rest a short ways from her. And, unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one with eyes on him.

She sprinted once again, but not towards Sora. Instead, she aimed to intercept the Heartless before it could even reach him. It had its gluttonous eyes so focused on him that she surprised it by jumping and ripping its staff right out of its grip.

“Try using your magic without this,” she grumbled, and threw it as far away from Sora as she possibly could. Her own strength surprised her, and the Heartless quickly abandoned its path to retrieve the focus of its power.

There was no time to celebrate. It was still faster than her, and she needed all the extra time she could spare.

She quickly ran to Sora. Even as the jangling of chains grew closer, she pushed her legs to move faster.

Before long, he was a mere few feet from her. She did the only thing that made sense and threw herself forward.

With Destiny’s Embrace raised high, she shouted, “Shield!” and protected his body with her own. If nothing else worked, that thing would have to get through her before it touched him.

He smelled like the desert, his skin, clothes and hair brushed with sand from their previous battle. None of that mattered, though. She held him close, gripped him tight, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d slip from her grasp again.

But that didn’t happen.

There was a loud crack, then complete silence. Her head slowly lifted from his chest, only for her vision to be obscured by a half-transparent dome of Light surrounding them. The Heartless floated on the other side, but kept its intense glowing stare on Sora.

A relieved laugh escaped from her, but her hold on Sora didn’t let up one bit.

He looked so peaceful, always smiling even in his sleep. She brushed a few strands of hair out of his face and smiled. If anyone was going to rescue their friends’ hearts, it was him. No matter what happened, he needed to live.

“Sora, I’m here,” she said. “Please. If you can hear me, show me you’re still here too.”

As she held him, trying to reach his heart with words, a thought crossed her mind:

I’m in love with him, aren’t I?

Her heart flared with warmth, like being embraced from within. Her smile brightened; so the legend of the paopu fruit was true. She still cried, but her tears were that of joy instead of loss.

With the sudden warmth, the protective dome around them expanded. Instead of a cold dark ground, her knees dampened in water. It was shallow, barely an inch deep, yet had no end, no shore, no waves. As the dome grew rapidly, it revealed a vast blue sky filled with dancing clouds. Not dark storm clouds, but light and fluffy ones.

Her gaze shifted back to the boy in her arms. His eyes were still closed, his chest rising and falling with each sigh. A smile crept across her face as tears continued to fall down her cheek.

“I’ve got you, Sora.”

Suddenly, a dark clawed hand shot out of the water right beneath them, grasping desperately for the heart it hungered for. Kairi moved swiftly, pushing Sora out of its reach. Instead of clutching Sora, its claws dug deep into Kairi’s ankle. She winced with pain and looked to a motionless Sora once more. He needed more, something to wake him and protect him.

She fought as the Heartless tried to pull her under, her hips now completely submerged in the seemingly shallow water. Summoning Destiny’s Embrace, she directed it at him and shouted, “Sora, take my Light! You need it more than I do.”

As a glowing light shot from her Keyblade, her strength weakened. In one swift motion, the Heartless pulled her under.

As the surface grew further and further away, the last she saw was a burst of Light where Sora once lay. The growing pressure, the pain in her ankle, the pull of the Heartless, none of it mattered anymore. She smiled.

He would be okay.

“I believe in you.”

She turned and faced the Heartless. If she could still do anything, she had to keep it as far away from Sora as possible until he was ready.

Surprisingly, Destiny’s Embrace still remained clutched in her hand. Despite her Light residing within someone else, the weapon stayed with her.

With her free leg, she kicked the Heartless loose and dove down after it. She drove her Keyblade right into its center, and pushed further with all her strength. Their roles had reversed. Now she was in control.

Water rushed past her with exceeding pressure, but Destiny’s Embrace helped when her own strength waned. The creature was helplessly incapacitated by the time it tried to free itself.

Suddenly, a new surface approached, darker than the other. They broke through, and gravity shifted, landing them on the surface they’d just emerged from. Kairi stumbled and coughed, her lungs desperate for air. The sudden shift in gravity only added more disorientation.

The scenery was identical to the one she’d first found herself in, with the transparent forms of her companions resting around her once again.

She looked up, and the Heartless floated above, staff in hand. Pulling the wet hair from her face, she took a fighting stance and prepared Destiny’s Embrace.

“His heart doesn’t belong to you.”

A familiar wind swirled beneath her feet, and she dodged out of the way in time to evade the whirlwind. She took the opening and leapt at the Heartless, landing one, two, three blows onto its body.

It teleported away before allowing a fourth hit, leaving behind a gaseous duplicate that stung to inhale. She landed coughing and quickly located the real one. It raised its staff, and three fireballs honed in on her. Luckily, raising Destiny’s Embrace was enough to guard against them.

She prepared a ranged Pearl attack from her Keyblade, but no Light formed at the end of her weapon. She’d gotten so used to using Light magic liberally that she’d forgotten where it originated from. Though Destiny’s Embrace stayed with her, her magic was tied directly to her Light. And in that moment, it was in a more important place.

“That’s okay,” she took an offensive stance, “I don’t need it.”

They continued to trade blows, neither really able to pin down the other. The Heartless had everything at its disposal, however, while Kairi was without any magic to heal herself with. The Darkness began to weigh down her movements, and she grew tired. Still, she fought with all her strength, doing her part.

The Heartless caught her in another gust of wind and knocked her onto her back. Before she could get up, it pushed her back down with its hand against her neck. She kicked it away and slashed at it again.

It rushed back down at her with its staff held high, and she held it back with her Keyblade. As her elbows began to buckle under its strength, it became clear that she’d reached her limit.

She’d keep fighting. Even if she perished now, atleast she’d gotten to keep Sora safe, to share the paopu fruit with him, to keep her promise.

A flicker of light caught the corner of her eye, and she dared to look away from her assailant. Riku’s form began to glow. She knew exactly what that meant and smiled through the strain. Sora was awake, and he was fighting.

The Heartless turned its attention away from Kairi and rushed at Riku. Before it could reach him, a light flashed, and he was gone.

Kairi picked herself up onto her knees and chuckled, “Looks like you’ve got bigger problems now.”

The Heartless no longer regarded her presence. It quickly disappeared into Darkness, leaving her alone with the rest of her friends. She sat to rest her exhausted legs and massage her sore shoulders. Now she was the one waiting, trusting that Sora would pull through. It was no easy foe, but Sora had handled worse.

The few minutes of silence felt like hours. There was no wind, no noise, only the sound of her own breathing.

Another light flashed where Riku had been, and she sat up attentively. Inch by inch, Riku’s form pieced itself back together, color returned to his face, and a glowing pink heart entered his chest. His eyes shot open as he gasped for air.

He landed on his feet and glanced around, startled by his sudden emergence just as she had been.

“Riku!” she ran and threw her arms around him, causing him to stumble back.

“Kairi...where are we?”

“Sora did it,” tears welled in her eyes, “he’s bringing everyone back.”

Riku thought for a moment then chuckled. “He really is hopeless without us, isn’t he?”

She laughed while wiping tears from her face. Suddenly, a ray of light enveloped his entire body, lifting him from the ground. Before she could say goodbye, it shot straight up, bringing him with it.

Riku was safe back in the Realm of Light. They’d sort out the details later; all that mattered was getting everyone back - getting Sora back.

One by one, each guardian’s heart returned to its rightful place, and they were swiftly brought back to the Realm of Light. Soon only she remained.

But she knew she wasn’t alone. Her heart retained the same warmth as before. Despite the long silence, she had no fear of being left behind. She kept her hands intertwined over her heart and her gaze towards the surface.

When the beam of Light came for her, she welcomed it. Her feet lifted from the ground effortlessly, like an invisible tether pulling her through. When her Light returned to her heart, she knew it was him.

“Sora…”

She reached out her hand, ready to go home.

#kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #sokai #sora #kairi #kh3 #kh3 spoilers #romance #tw: violence #my writing #dusky writing #long post #was gonna post this next week #but now seems like a good time with...recent news ;)

60 notes · View notes

dbdfranksgirl · 4 years

Text

No hard feelings ( Frank Morrison X Fem reader / Part 1 -18+ )

You were sitting at the campfire with all the others and thinking as usual when will you get out from this Hell. It’s been so long , at least that’s what it was feeling like hence it didn’t even seem to have any real day or night here. You were stucked in this realm. No one really knew when this will end and it could been a horror movie, you never thought something like this would even happen to you.

You looked at the other’s who have been your “friends” after you came here. Feeling uncomfortable , you hug your knees and stare at the fire in front of you, sinking into your thoughts as you remember the first time you went into a trial.

You remember when you opened your eyes after feeling the fog became thicker around you , you were completely somewhere else and no one was around. You looked panicked around and started running around the forest which seemed like an unending maze. “ where i am? what is this place?“ you think as you keep running and suddenly see a shadow from far. Without hesitating you call out with a loud “ Hello?! “. Suddenly you felt and hand grabbing you and holding your mouth with another hand.

Your heart starts beating fast. “ Don’t move and stay quiet..unless you wanna get killed as first person.” you heared an older man whispering to you. Unsure of how to behave, you only nod once and he lets go of you. What the hell is going on? Is this a tv prank? You turn around to see it’s indeed a older person and he looks like some Veteran. “ W..who are you and what’s going on here? “ you whisper to him while you both crouch behind the huge Stone he took you to. “ I see you are new into this goddamn hell, I’m Bill and we don’t have time to talk right now the others work on the generators already, follow me quietly ok? “ He whispers to you, gesturing you to follow him crouched.

Generators? What is this guy talking about?. “ Listen i don’t know where i am and why im supposed to even follow someone i just met ? I don’t wanna partipicate in this bullsh...”. Suddenly you hear a female’s voice screaming and you look around clueless of whats going on. “ Listen, this isn’t a prank or staged show, we all wish it was! Either you follow me or you stand here acting stubborn and die, understood?” Bill tells you in a grumpy tone yet still whispering. Suddenly Bill feels how you clinge onto his arm with tears in your eyes. “ I don’t wanna die please don’t leave me alone Will ! “ you cry to him.

Bill rolls his eyes, great a crybaby seemed to joined his group. “ It’s Bill and fine, stop this overacting and follow me.” . You nod and let go of his arm, whiping your tears away with both hands, confused and scared of what is going to happen you follow Bill and hear suddenly another scream which sounds like a female again but different. Bill walks towards some machine and looks at you. “ This is a generator now listen carefully, we need to repair 5 of these to give power to a Gate which can let us escape from the Killer.”

“ Killer?! “ you say loud and instantly cover your mouth with both hands. “ Didn’t i tell you be quiet?! YES killer , we are like cat and mouse here, He will hunt all of us and kill us if we can’t cooperate and finish these generators, which with someone like YOU will be harder from now on.” You look at him and bite the inside of your cheek annoyed. Why some older guy has to look down on you.

Bill starts working on the generator and you crouch next to him, watching what he is doing as you suddenly hear a guy’s voice yelling in pain. “ w..who..whats happening? “ you ask with shaky voice. “ They are probably been taken down by the killer, not sure which killer is in this trial trying to fuck us up.” he answers back while still working on the generator. “ We shouldn’t help your friends? They will die won’t they? And you sit here fixing a stupid gener..”.

Bill grabs your hand as you both hear footsteps getting closer. He hides you behind a bush and looks around carefully. It seems like it was the Killer but he must have changed his direction. Without a word Bill runs off and leaves you alone. “ H..Hey don’t leave me alone here! “ you tell him as he is running off somehwere else. You sit on your knees and look at the generator. Honestly all you want is this all getting over and going home, whatever is going on. Slowly and careful you stand up and walk towards the generator, you approach it and crouch down. “ If i fix this thing i can finally leave..” . You fumble on it and suddenly you see how the generator explodes a bit. Have you touched something wrong? Bill was fixing the same spot. As you try to figure out what could been going wrong you sense someone is watching you. “ You never seen a girl crouching in a skirt? And that was really mean to run away and leave me alone! help me fixing this shit ! “. You assume it’s Bill. No response came back.

You sigh and turn around. What you see is deffinetely not Bill. A guy was crouching behind you and watching you with his head tilted , wearing some white mask with drawn eyes and a smile. He has a knife in his hand and it’s bloody same as his leather jacket , rather seems amused to watch you. You fall on your butt and move backwards terrified. “ Wh..who..what..please” is all you can bring out from your sudden dry throat. This must be the killer Bill was telling you about. He doesn’t move and you can hear is heavy breathing beneath the mask. He stands up and walks towards you suddenly. “ I..i.. please don’t kill me! “ you tell him and keep crawling back till your back hits a tree. The killer seems to stare at you. “ How long ya want to keep this show up? “ he asks in a deep resting his arms on his knees. “ W..what? “ you ask with a trembling voice.

He points with his knife at your open legs. “ This. “ . You suddenly realize your legs are open and completely flashing your panties to him. Without hesitating you close your legs and pull your skirt with both hands down. “ Damn ain’t seen such stupid survivor in this realm.” He stands up just to get close to you and cup your chin with his bloody hand. “ So innocent too.. what should i do with you? Maybe..” he bends down to your ear and whispers “ Maybe i should play around a bit with such stupid girl like you..”.Sliding his knife down your throat. Something warm runs down your neck. It’s your blood which comes out from the thin cut the killer made from sliding his knife down your throat. You sit there frozen, your body seems paralized from fear. He lets go of your chin and pats your head once. “ Good girl, not saying any word, that’s what i like.”

You swallow hard and suddenly scream loud “ BILL HELP ME!”. Suddenly you feel how the killer grabs your neck pulls you up and pushes you hard against the tree behind you. “ Ah, ah ah. Good girls don’t act like this. “. He squeezes on your throat harder and chuckles. “ You little stupid thing..” he whispers annoyed to you. You almost can feel he smiles below that mask sadistic. “ Wanna see how long it takes for me to kill your lovely friends?”. You try to shake your head while tears form in your eyes. “ S..st..op” you manage to say. The killer seems to enjoy the view. “ Stop? The fun is about to begin”. He smashes the back of your head against the tree while still choking you. “ Be a good girl for me till im back.” He tells you in his deep voice, pointing his knife to you and throws you then to the side on the ground. You fall on your side and cough hard, trying to catch your breath. Never have you been this scared in your life. Will he kill you? What will happen? Can you still escape?

Coming back to sense you see the killer isnt there anymore. You try to get up but your legs feel shaky and you fall down again. “ Damn.. whats wrong with me..why..” At same time you hear screams and you can’t bare hearing it. You cover your ears and shut your eyes. “ Im dreaming..maybe a dream yes..i..im dreaming i get up soon” you tell yourself to find a bit comfort. It seemed to take forever to not hear screams anymore. You open your eyes, is it over? Maybe it’s really only a staged play or a prank and you go home after this?. Looking around you slowly get up and try to walk, your legs are still shaky and you fall on your face. In the silent of this big forest your quiet crying can be heared . “ I wanna go home..why this has to happen..”.

Not bothering to get up, you keep crying with your face against the cold grass.

“ Man..didn’t expect ya really sit here and cry”. You look up and see its the killer again. “ Just kill me if this isn’t a prank or movie stunt”. He crouches down to you “ Tssk what a naive girl you are”. He grabs your chin “ Look at me when im talking to you, See? Like this , ain’t that hard.” He mocks you. You look at him with teary eyes but look away then. He turns your chin hard towards him. “ I said look at me or ya want the hard way?”. You shake your head. “ Good girl”. The killers gets closer to your face. “ I can sense how scared you are..and let me tell you it really turns me on seeing those terrified eyes of yours..” he whispers to you slowly . “ What i do with you now..hook you? Mori your small body? .. yes that would be it ”. He goes then with the same hand holding your chin , towards your cheeks and squeezes them with one hand. “ Or should i let you stay alive? “. His thumb brushes against your lips and your heart starts beating fast. “ you are quite charming i have to admit..maybe i should use my time different with you yes?”. He starts parting your lips with his dirty bloody thumb. “ If ya think someone will rescue you, wait for the next trial because they are all dead. “ he says while chuckling. Obviously he is teasing and playing you and really enjoying it. So it means.. Bill is dead and his friends too? What does next trial mean?. “ i like submissive girls like you..heh look at ya, listening and not moving. I could do anything..” he pulls his mask a bit up and you can see his sharp jawline , his lips and nose and you have to admit he looks handsome from the little bit you can see of him. “Anything i want to you..” he whispers in your ear in his raspy voice while still squeezing your cheeks. “ Let me go please you never see me again i.. i promise !”.

You feel how his lips brush lightly against your ear. “ You don’t like seeing me again little doll? “. You shiver from his hot breath against your ear. “ You are a psycho , you are crazy and i never wanna see YOU again !”

The killer laughs at you and plays with your lips still . “ Pshht , don’t get so noisy the only time you should be is when i take your virginity..”. Your cheeks start to get red from being embarressed and angry at the same time. “ You not answering is a clear answer to me”, teasing you on porpuse. “ I so will report you to the police for harrassment whatever this prank is!” You shout at him angry.

He lowers his mask again , “ You don’t seem to realize this isn’t a joke nor prank “. The killer tries to push his thumb into your mouth . “ i bet you are that kind of girl who is into daddy kinks.. like a slut, open!”. You bite into his finger , “ Go to hell you perverted pshycho !” he groans and slaps your face hard “ Aghh..you little bitch..”. You whimper from the pain that guy seems to not joke around with you. The killer stands up and grabs your arm to get you up too, he turns you around so you back is towards him. places his knife on your neck. “ I can kill you now if you want so you can see if this is a prank or not, or you be good girl and i let you escape, decide”. Your heart is beating extremely fast. “ Let me escape..” you feel his chest against your back. “ Yes..? you want that badly to stay alive? i never met a person like you here, your innocense makes me wanting to crush that small body of yours.. i let you escape of course.”.

“ R..really?”. You ask unsure. “ Ya..but first..”. The killer suddenly turns your around and pushes you on your knees in front of him. “ You know nothing comes for free doll. “. You look disgusted up to him, no way is this guy serious? “ You..are..crazy”. He looks down to you and throws his knife up and down in his hand in a boring manner . “ Yes and you didn’t see all of it yet, What are you waiting for. “. You deffinetely don’t wanna die if this isn’t a joke. You bring your hands up as they shake you never done something like this before. “ Just like that , good girl “ He whispers to you. You suddenly get up and kick him between his legs. “ ARGHH..You are so dead you dumb bitch wait til i get... my fuckn hands on you !!” the killer yells as you run away. But where? where can you go? you keep running and pause at a large stone. God why is this happening to you. “ Come out before i close the Hatch and force you to come out ” you hear from a distance. Hatch? is this a way to escape this place?. You slowly walk around and search carefully. “ You little stupid bitch, I can’t wait to cut through that innocenlt flesh of yours and hear you screaming, All the things i do to you if i get my hands on you again doll.”.

You keep walking even with the fact your legs hurt from all the running and walking and trying to ignore a crazy psychopath searching for you, suddenly you see something on the ground, You look inside its pitch black. “ Is this.. the hatch? “ you ask yourself. But there is no time left to think as someone grabs your shoulder from behind. “ There you are baby “. The killer turns you to him and tries to stab you, you hold his hand but you are to weak to stop him from stabbing. “ It won’t hurt if you stop struggling”. he grabs one of your hands while your other is trying to stop him from stabbing you. “Now Now, damn you turn me on so much with this behaviour.” You keep struggling “ Let go of me you crazy pervert !”. Suddenly as you step back you fall into the hatch with your back. All you see is the killer crouching at it “ Wish you don’t see me again princess” is all you hear as you fall and lose your consciousness .

A hand shakes your shoulder. “ Hey stop day dreaming so much”. its Meg who tries to get you back into reality. Your first time being in a trial was what you remembered , The first killer being the so called Legion. The others in the group told you about that group with 4 members. Apperanlty there is two guys and two girls in it but which guy have you approached long ago who was playing with you instead of killing you..he had mercy? Or was it his enjoyment of seeing someone new in a trial to tease. You already had trials after it with other killers and you learned the hard way that getting killed feels terrible yet you come back on this place with your new friends, Not injured anymore and this keeps repeating. You never seen the legion again after your first encounter but something tells you with the fog getting thicker now.. maybe this time its him again.

--------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed ! There will be a part 2. I take requests , one shots too ^-^ Con/ Non con allowed / NSFW

#the legion #frank morrison #dead by daylight #dbd #dbd frank #frank morisson x reader #the legion x reader #dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #the legion dbd #frank dbd x reader #first fanfic #frank morrison dbd x reader

14 notes · View notes

fuwafuwamedb · 4 years

Text

Singularity Subspecies V: The Holy Land: Jerusalem: Jerusalem of Holy Sin - Chapter Eighteen

Chapters: Prologue - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six – Chapter Seven – Chapter Eight – Chapter Nine – Chapter Ten – Chapter Eleven – Chapter Twelve – Chapter Thirteen – Chapter Fourteen – Chapter Fifteen – Chapter Sixteen – Chapter Seventeen

____

They rushed the stairs, Ramses fast at her heels as Nefertari looked up the staircases. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the absurd amount of mana in the room ahead, knowing that they were finally growing close.

Together, they shoved through the doors.

It’d been so long. Truly, she hadn’t been able to remember his face very well from memory. Even when she’d caught glimpses in the city, it had only been for a moment.

Looking at the silver haired man before her now, Nefertari could feel her heart breaking.

He was still so young looking, bearing the bare face of a boy rather than a fully grown man. Those eyes were staring over her shoulder, seeing the brother that he’d left behind.

“Moses.”

“This kingdom was the safe haven of my people,” the man before them growled. That gaze drifted over them all, landing on her last before he averted his gaze. “These people… these souls who deserved nothing but the joys of life… they’re suffering again and its entirely your faults!”

“What nonsense is this?!”

“SILENCE!”

Nefertari pressed a hand to Ramses, stopping him from yelling back at his brother. He would make things worse again without meaning to. They always had a tendency of fighting worse than normal when Moses was feeling passionate about something.

“Nefer… Caster,” the man corrected himself. “…Leave.”

“I can’t leave,” she replied simply.

“You would stand in the path between right and wrong? You would side with these invaders?”

“Ramses would never harm the world you built here.”

He didn’t believe her.

In fact, the buzzing around them said that the man failed to believe her at all. She could feel her skin crawling at the familiar sound, but Ozymandias waved his staff.

The sphinxes were climbing forth from the floors. She could see the bugs descending, but the cats-

And then the two lunged.

Moses moved first, his dagger coming forth a moment before it struck against the pharaoh’s staff. Gudako shouted orders, but the sphinxes were protecting them. She moved to Gudako, standing back to back with her.

“Nef!” Gudako looked around. “Do you have any ideas?!”

“I do, but you may want to hold your breath.”

Her eyes closed, her mana gathered once more before she found herself pouring her mana into her attack. The burst of light shone through the windows, piercing through the darkness outside only to blast through the locusts swarming at them.

Her eyes landed on something in the corner.

“Gudako!”

The woman nodded.

“A demon pillar.”

A demon pillar?

She wasn’t sure what to make of it, but the power that flowed through Moses was coming from that thing. Its eyes were looking around wildly without the locusts covering it.

“OZY!”

She wasn’t going to make it. The two weren’t listening. A power was accumulating around the pillar.

She rushed it.

Running as fast and as hard as she could, Nefertari shoved the two men aside a moment before she summoned forth her noble phantasm.

The five shields she created formed a barrier, protecting her friends and her family from the demon pillar’s attack. Her eyes fell to the swarm closing in around her, her shield began to crack.

“NEFERTARI!”

She could hear both Moses and Ozymandias call out to her.

“You are my precious sister now,” Moses had told her, flicking her nose as she trembled. “Do not fear your wedding night with my brother. You could carve his heart from his chest and he would love you without equal.”

The locusts were pulling back, the sound of running coming her way from behind her as she met the unending attack of the pillar. The shield she had, clear enough for her to see through, was breaking further.

“I was not strong enough for him,” Ramses murmured, his golden eyes flooded with the depths of that sorrow that tortured his soul. “I will never fail you in that manner. I will never let our children think less of him. He was my blood. Our blood. And he will always remain a pharaoh in spirit.”

The shield shattered, her friends and family crying out as she was hit by the end of the attack.

As she fell, she felt two pairs of arms wrap around her body, taking the fall as they rolled across the palace floors together.

“Nefertari!”

“NO!” The silver haired man stared at her in horror. “Y-You were supposed to leave!”

She pressed her hand to his chest, pushing forth what little mana remained.

“I won’t let you suffer alone again.” Nefertari murmured. Her eyes drifted up to his. “This beast… This monster… He took you away from Ramses and I this time. It wants to do nothing but destroy those you love.”

She smiled, despite the pain, despite the sight of her body turning to nothingness once more.

“Family protects each other. Isn’t that what Ramses always said? Your people are our people. And a pharaoh never backs down. We’re foolish that way.”

Her eyes fell to Gudako as the two begged for her to stop. She could feel Ramses trying to heal her, but it was too late.

“Please care for my husband and brother,” she pleaded with her last breath. “I love them more than anything in my life.”

#drabble #drabbles #singularity drabble

14 notes · View notes

i-growl-growl-growl · 5 years

Note

Could you do a reaction where the boys see that their lover commited suicide because of their acts?

Since the unit for this request isn’t specified, I will go with the 127 members, however, I hit the maximum limit on tumblr for text boxes for this post so Jungwoo to Haechan will be done later if you’d like. Also, if you want the rest of the members (other than 127), feel free to request for more in the future! From what I assume, the “acts” you mention are their yandere deeds. Correct me if I’m wrong!

Sorry if it was really long, I got carried away with a lot of the reactions…especially with WinWin’s…If you don’t mind, I wrote scenarios to go with it!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of suicide, blood, self-harm; please do not read if you are uncomfortable with this topic. Please do not be influenced by the character’s decisions in the imagine, this is pure fiction. GRAPHIC!

Taeil

When Taeil came home that evening, he expected to see you, chained to the bed and sleeping alone. But when he soon found that you were nowhere to be seen, he freaked out.

He went out on a rampage, looking in every nook and cranny of the house the two of you shared. You weren’t in the closet, definitely not hiding under the counter, why the hell weren’t you hiding in the pantry like last time?

Suddenly, Taeil snapped to his thoughts. The bathroom.

As he tore though the hallway, Taeil tried to think of all the ways you could’ve escaped from the chains on the bed. Taeil had punished you last night, but he didn’t think it would affect you that badly.

Storming into the bathroom, he saw your unconscious body on the cold tiles. Taeil’s sleeping pills had been scattered everywhere on the floor and you were without a doubt, dead.

Devastated, Taeil tried to shake you awake as if you would open your eyes and laugh at him and say it was a stupid joke. But it wasn’t. This was all real.

Taeil fell to the floor and cried, hugging your corpse like a teddy bear. It was too much for the boy to handle, despite him being the source of your pain.

Many questions ran through his head as he embraced your dead body. How did you escape those chains? How did you find those pills even though he was the only one who knew where they were? Not to mention, those pills were locked up like diamonds in a safe.

Left with questions unanswered, Taeil was confused but beyond heartbroken that he had driven you to your breaking point. But unlike the time you ran away in the mall, you had ran away forever.

Johnny

You had gone missing a few hours ago. It was after Johnny finally agreed to take you to the movies after being well-behaved for the past four months. Of course, he should’ve expected you to use the bathroom excuse and make a run for it outside. Sadly for him, Johnny didn’t think that far ahead and sat in the dark theater, wondering when you would come back. It shouldn’t have taken that long to have changed a pad, right?

Only then did Johnny realize how foolish and stupid he was for letting you go. How far could you have ran away? And how much time did he have left to find you?

Unfortunately for him, the headlines of the newspaper the following day had in bold letters, “Drowned Girl found by the River; Suspected Suicide.” By then, Johnny clutched tighter onto the paper and took a deep sip of the coffee in his hand. Rather than feeling sad, strangely, he felt angry.

He was angry that you didn’t feel fulfilled by his unending love towards you and chose to escape that by following the route of suicide. He was upset that you didn’t even bother to talk to him about your problems, though he never would’ve listened and continued to hurt you. But most of all, Johnny was furious that you thought death was the only way to escape from this love.

How could you have been so cruel to leave him alone? But not all hope was lost; who said death could separate the two of you?

Taeyong

“Y/N! Y/N! Open the damn door!”

You were currently hiding in your room, Taeyong furiously knocking. Your parents had left on a business trip and thought you were old enough to take care of yourself on your own.

Unfortunately for you, a crucial thing your parents didn’t know was your psycho ex-boyfriend, Taeyong, somehow found out with his stalkerish ways and hunted down your location. He had barged in through the window of the second-floor hallway with a small pistol in his hand.

“Y/N! If you don’t open up the damn door, I’ll blow it down myself!”

His yelling was only making the adrenaline in your body accelerate and your heart thumped louder and louder. Any second longer and Taeyong would come in and kidnap you.

Your dignity and survival was at stake. You were sick of Taeyong coming into your life and running it like a madman. Taeyong wasn’t even normal, he was insane!

The long curtains were just at your reach. Grasping onto the thick fabric, you tried to make a rope out of it. If you were going to die, you weren’t going to let Taeyong get to it first!

As Taeyong continued to bang on the door, you threw up your makeshift rope onto the poles of your bed. Thank goodness your parents had insisted on a canopy bed to make your room more “grand”.

Tying the “rope” onto the bed and giving it a firm triple knot, you held your breath as you tied it around your neck. You felt your throat slowly closing up and suffocating you.

Taeyong never blew down the door. He finally punched it open but he was much too late. Your dead body hung up from the curtain rope on full display.

He felt tears spring up to his eyes as the thought of you dead finally struck him. Taeyong walked closer and closer to your hanging corpse. Grabbing your chest, he tried to listen for a heartbeat or a pulse. But alas, he couldn’t find one.

“No…no…NO! Y/N! Please tell me this is some awful trick! You’re not really dead, right? No! Please wake up! I’m sorry!”

Through his quiet sobs, Taeyong fell to his knees, the pistol popping out of his jean pockets and onto the carpet.

“I can’t live without you…”

Yuta

Again. This happened again.

The same creepy letters were coming to your locker. But there wasn’t much that you could do to escape that. You just transferred to this school and your parents (guardians) didn’t want to move again after finally settling into your new home.

There weren’t many suspects that you could rat on. You were the new kid and that kinda meant you were an easy target. You still hadn’t made friends that could’ve supported you through this and track down the stalker.

Weeks went on and the letters became more and more graphic. Eventually, photos of you changing, walking to school, eating at a cafe, or even brushing your teeth were included with each and every one of them! It was a surprise you still hadn’t found out the person considering there was a signature at the bottom of each note.

You fell into great paranoia and depression. It hurt to even move, fearing for your life that the stalked would be there and ready to take a picture and document it on who knows what. What made it the absolute worst though was the threats included at the bottom portion.

If you find out who I am and report me darling, don’t be surprised to attend your mother’s (or guardian’s) funeral.

Love you too,

xoxo N.Y.

N.Y.? There were multiple people with that name. Nina Yoshima. Nicholas Yen. Nancy Yerevas. Noah Yackley. Nathan Yakish. Who on earth was it?

This drove you into a frenzy. Soon, rather than counting down the days for school to end, you counted down the days to die. Why?

You were going to end your life. You had it. This was too much for you and it was becoming so overwhelming. So you did it. When your parents left you on your own for a family emergency, you released carbon monoxide into the air, quickly killing you.

Nakamoto Yuta. The very boy who bestowed this tragic fate unto you. And now he had to pay, seeing the news flash with your suicide all over the headlines. He hadn’t meant for it to go so far like most yanderes, he just wanted your attention and for you to notice him!

He grieved for his mistakes and refused to eat and drink. Locking himself in his room, no one saw him ever again, lounging in the back of the classroom with a juice box in one hand and a pen in the other.

Doyoung

Doyoung had heard about your death through the school’s gossip. He was absolutely heartbroken, knowing that he had crossed the line when he fought with you about your friend group. His jealousy blinded him to the point where he took action; he killed your younger friend Renjun out of rage.

You were terribly upset about that and cursed Doyoung out. For that, he slapped you hard on the face and threatened to shoot you too with the gun in his hand. But to his surprise, you grabbed onto the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight into your chest and your white blouse started to stain with the crimson blood.

Collapsing to the floor, Doyoung looked at you in horror. As he stood there, internally panicking, he soon realized that you were mumbling something.

I will never, in all my days, forgive you, Kim Doyoung.

So here he was with his friend Kun, at this cheap frat party. Scratch that, it was Kun’s party and only God knows how wealthy his family actually is. They’re too busy bathing in hundred dollar bills to even keep track of the damn bills!

Even though it was probably the biggest party of the whole school year, Doyoung couldn’t bear to see the drunk boys and girls dancing the night away. He tried to walk out into the balcony, but was faced with a gang of youngsters, smoking some weed. The smell was suffocating and hurt Doyoung’s eyes, so he went to the only place he knew where he could find solace.

The bathroom. Doyoung locked himself up in the cold bathroom. He sat on the toilet and buried his face in his shaking hands. The memories of your suicide haunted him to this day, even though it was over a year ago.

He sobbed and sobbed over and over again. Doyoung called out your name numerous times and screamed out of agony in the bathroom until someone knocked through the door and asked him to shut up.

Doyoung would have one of the hardest times out of all the yanderes to recover from your suicide in my opinion because of his personality. He seems to be a yandere who is sadistic, but a true softie when you actually get hurt. Your death took quite a toll on him…

Jaehyun

Jaehyun had walked into his art studio, ready to paint you again. You were posed on the sofa, lying so still that anyone could’ve mistaken that you were dead.

Only this time you were. You had stabbed yourself to death with the knife Jaehyun had you pose with. So imagine his horror that his art model and lover was dead and surrounded with blood.

But in the beginning, Jaehyun truly believed that someone had broken into the studio and killed you. Because of this belief, he tried to trace down as much evidence as he could, mainly because he didn’t want to think that your suicide was your doing. Jaehyun wanted to hope that rather than it was his fault, it was someone else’s evil deed.

Eventually, Jaehyun gave up and declared to himself that your death was indeed, a suicide. From there, the disasters began.

He didn’t expect you to resort to something so drastic like suicide, especially when the night before, you seemed surprisingly cheery, willing to cook dinner for once rather than mope around in bed. In fact, there was no sign of despair and to any stranger’s eyes, it would seem like you were a loving couple rather than a helpless girl trapped in a relationship with a psychopath.

The shock would consume Jaehyun up and it wouldn’t be until a few days later when he embalmed your body since he didn’t want to bury you that it truly hit him that you were gone.

And to think that it was all his fault that pushed you to the brink of life and death. Jaehyun would be devastated and bedridden with guilt. Even more so, he would be ashamed to feel like he was the very person who took away the girl he wanted all to himself.

During this mourning period, Jaehyun would fall into a great depression. He would take out his anger using his art until it drove him crazy. Jaehyun wouldn’t be able to focus or bear the memories of you dying. So he packed up everything and left the country, off to a new land for adventure and a new life in America.

WinWin

I will use WinWin’s real name (Sicheng) for this reaction as it is much more fitting for the scenario.

Sicheng was the son and heir of a powerful and influential company in Tianjin, China. He was spoiled rotten as a child and was used to having things his way.

So when you entered in the building as a new intern on that fateful day, he was practically bursting with excitement. Sicheng had never been exposed to many people when he was younger and most of the employees working at his father’s company were in their 40′s and 50′s.

Young and fresh-faced, you were a new person and a new friend to Sicheng. You fell for his smooth talk and innocent eyes like any normal girl would. He had his charms and quirks that intrigued you, deeper and deeper into a trap you couldn’t escape.

About two years had passed since the two of you had become couple when Sicheng placed that diamond ring on your finger and asked you to marry him. You, being completely unaware that your sweet and gentle boyfriend would show his true colors later, accepted without hesitation.

It was only on your honeymoon did Sicheng begin to reveal his cruel and manipulative ways as a yandere. He pressured you to always be by his side as he was insecure about his persona and wanted to make sure that you would never leave him.

But this new lifestyle had become unbearable for you. Constantly calling WinWin every hour. Texting him every twenty minutes a long summary of what you did. Mindlessly waiting in your shared room, locked up with a key and the windows shut with steel shutters.

You tried to take every opportunity that came your way to run from his clutches and escape. But he was always two steps ahead of you. He planned out your every move, took your passport, and any possible weapons that you could’ve wielded. Sicheng didn’t even let you cut a damn apple without his supervision. And half the time, he did it himself, afraid that you would hurt him.

Unable to carry the weight of the relationship, you took the route that seemed like the only way out; suicide.

Sicheng had to bring you to banquet outside, much to his dismay. However, this may have been the only way for you to vanish from him for good. So you walked in, ready to inhale the flashing cameras and the reporters shoving microphones in your face, questioning your latest disappearance.

When Sicheng turned his back from you to talk to some of his father’s clients, you made a break for the window. But the champagne you had drank beforehand wasn’t sitting well with you, intoxicating you so you couldn’t think straight.

Rather than finding a height that would be decent to jump from and still live in your six-inch heels, you ran for the balcony on the ninth floor of the hotel. Without a second thought, you threw yourself off the building and smashed onto the concrete, sealing the deal.

The ruckus outside certainly drew some attention on the inside as the reporters clamored in to see what had just happened. And there you were, dripping with blood all over your nice ballroom gown and several broken limbs.

An ambulance was called and Sicheng began to freak out. The next 24 hours was him pleading the doctors to save your life and to do everything they could to help you live, even if it was just a bit longer. But it was no use. You were declared dead as an “accident” until Sicheng’s own mother demanded for an autopsy to find out the truth. She had always known her own son was a bit insane in the head, but the elderly woman felt something sinister was lurking around.

Several weeks later and your apparent “accident” was changed to a suicide after the official autopsy. Signs of trauma and depression were found as investigators dug deeper into the mystery of your sudden death.

All over social media, it was absolute madness. Articles read with Sicheng on the front cover with suspected abuse, finally drawing the attention of the authorities to bring Sicheng into custody. However, with the help of some connections and his great acting, Sicheng managed to be released within a few hours and was “confirmed innocent”.

Surprisingly, your suicide was just as shocking for Sicheng as it was for the media and the people around him. But slowly, after people began to forget about the whole scandal and your death, the Dong’s company was having some peace and quiet.

Yet it wasn’t at all peaceful in Sicheng’s heart. It still didn’t click in his mind that the only reason you jumped off that balcony as a last resort was because of him. He continued to blame your death on well…you.

That still didn’t stop Sicheng from mourning your loss. As much as he hurt you emotionally and mentally, he loved you from the bottom of his heart; he just didn’t know how to express it. His days were soon filled with tears and exhaustion.

_ _ _

And that’s it! I hit the max number of text blocks for the post so I’m sorry about that. I’ll continue on another post if you’d like!

Edit: For some reason the “read more” button after the trigger warning isn’t showing, so I’ll try and get that fixed.

#suicide #trigger warning #self-harm #yandere nct #nct yandere #kpop yandere #yandere scenario #yandere reactions #yandere jaehyun #yandere taeyong #yandere yuta #yandere winwin #yandere imagines #yandere taeil #yandere johnny #yandere doyoung #tw: suicide #tw: self harm

537 notes · View notes

thisbitchinthecorner · 4 years

Text

1987- Day 22 Warmth Prompt

This one is a M rating, as it includes violence, hate speech and vengeance. Proceed with caution.

Also, I cheated a bit with this chapter, I had already written it before this challenge existed, but since I’m short on time (I’m at the airport now) and this fits with the theme, here it is. Sorry.

For @drawlight

1987

In Soho’s restaurant district, a single figure walks, umbrella overhead to protect him from the slight drizzle that has given the pavement a smooth sheen that reflects a dazzling rainbow of colors created by the various neon lights above. The gentleman, clearly a gentleman in his tidy appearance and eloquent manner, had just finished a more than satisfactory dinner consisting of a cheese tasting plate, caviar stuffed gnocchi blanched in a nage reduction, a delightful duck confit with seared Brussels sprouts and finished off with a bottle of 1963 Chateau Lafite Rothschild.

This mild mannered gentleman hummed softly to himself as he turned the corner, leading him down a dimly lit side street. Three shadows slinked menacingly under the glow of a hazy street lamp. He looked up, noting a sinister chill in the air as the three shadows, belonging to three young men, strode towards him with ill intent.

“Good evening,” Aziraphale nodded and offered a smile. “Fine weather we’re having.”

The three young men triangulated themselves around him, the eldest of the trio sneered as the other two crossed their arms.

“Look what we have here! A proper pansy all dressed in his Sunday best.” The eldest spat bitterly. “Well, well, well. Do we take kindly to faggots on our turf boys?”

The other two men remained silent as they shook their heads.

“See here, I do not want any trouble.” Aziraphale attempting to appeal to their rational sides, said calmly as he lowered his umbrella.

“Don’t want no trouble, eh homo? Just out of the prowl for a boy to fuck, and we’re supposed to just let you, you disgusting pervert?” The elder man laughed cruelly. “Aye Merrill, show him how we deal with boy-fuckers ‘round here.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the tallest of the three throws a punch, striking Aziraphale under the left eye, causing him to stagger backwards. The other man forces Aziraphale to the ground with a sharp kick, knocking the breath from his chest. The eldest man, laughing with sickening glee, kicked him once more in the ribs. Aziraphale desperately tried to cover his face, dazed as another blow hit him in the back of the head. All the while, the men were shouting such terrible, terrible things at him.

The leader of the trio takes a step back and from the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulls a serrated knife that he flips once over in his hand.

“Oy Tommy, you didn’t say anything about pulling a knife.” The one called Merrill said in a low voice. “He owns that bookshop downtown, you can’t just...”

“Don’t be a faggot,” Tommy sneered. “It’s just a bit a blood. Hold him up, will ya!” On command, the two men grabbed him by an arm and dragged him to his knees in the middle of the street. The elder boy, grinned with delight as he gripped the knife’s handle tighter, his hand steady as he pointed the blade at Aziraphale. “Time to die, disgusting pansy. Any last words?”

“You don’t have to do this.” Aziraphale pleaded as blood dripped from a gash on his head.

The man named Tommy laughed as he raised the blade, poised to strike Aziraphale in the chest.

Suddenly, two huge yellow eyes struck without warning, an enormous black snake latched it’s fangs into Tommy’s arm, tearing tendon and flesh as he struggled to break free, his limp hand released the knife and it fell to the ground with a clang. Mitchell let out a blood curdling scream as he frantically sprinted away. The other man attempted to help pry the massive snake from his friend’s unfortunate appendage, and for his efforts, was bitten in the thigh, a deep wound that most certainly would never heal fully. Both men recoiled in horror as the serpent lifted its great head and seemed to grow and grow and grow until it was as tall as them. The towering figure seamless morphed from beast to man, yet any who would be so unfortunate as to catch a glimpse of this creature knew that it was nothing of this earth; a slender, yet menacing creature with hair ablaze and wings as black as night. Wings that when stretched out, filled the entire street, blocking out the light from the overhead lamp until the only sight visible were those two, huge and furious golden eyes. The figure growled in a low, ancient hiss that filled the air surrounding lower London with a grim terror; stirring nightmares and malcontent in its wake. “Sssss leave now before I send you to Hell.”

The men, clutching their bleeding wounds, stumbled off into the night. Unknowing that their souls were already marked for unending torment, forever scarred and eternally cursed.

“Arizaphale!” The demon cried, lowering his wings and defenses, cradled the angel in his arms.

“Crowley,” he whispered. “Oh Crowley. You didn’t kill them, did you?”

“I should have.” Crowley snarled through tears as he tried his best to wipe the blood from Aziraphale’s face.

“Take me home, my dear.” Aziraphale begged, still trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and leaned in against Crowley; finding strength and a softness that made him feel safe.

He helped him to his feet, and together miracled themselves into Aziraphale’s bookshop. He drew some water into one of Aziraphale’s numerous antique china bowls and drew a tartan handkerchief from the stack the angel kept on his oak desk.

“Come on, let me have a look.” Crowley sighed as he dipped the kerchief in the water, and began to clean off the blood. As he wiped, the cuts and bruises healed, leaving no signs of damage upon the angel. “A little demonic miracle of my own.” He muttered, trying desperately to get a reaction from Aziraphale.

“They were so angry, Crowley. I could feel their hatred the moment I saw them. Why?” His bright blue eyes filled with tears, and soon they were streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, don’t cry angel! It’s over now. Then won’t hurt you ever again.” Crowley had always found it impossible to understand human emotions, much less the nuanced reactions to handling them. Normally, he would have retreated to the only coping mechanism he had actually learned from humanity over the millennia, and poured both he and Aziraphale a large glass of whatever alcohol was on hand. But this, seeing his angel in this state, nearly brought him to his knees in despair.

Crowley set the kerchief down in the bowl, and sat beside Aziraphale on the plush upholstered couch.

“I don’t know, angel.” He said softly. “I don’t understand why hate comes so easily to them.”

“Imagine that it wasn’t me they ran into tonight, but another young man- like they were, and they took out their hatred upon him instead...” Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide in fear. “They would have killed him.”

“They were going to kill you. If they had, they would be spending eternity in Hell, and even that is too good for them.” Crowley replied.

“But why? What is it about love that inspires such hate?” The angel asked.

“You know how humans are, their capacity for evil, evil deeds outweighs anything we demons could conjure.” He reasoned.

“They called me terrible names.” Aziraphale whispered.

Aziraphale’s mind goes back to the assault, back to the pain, back to Crowley. “I have never see you like that before. The last time you took serpent form was...”

“The Ark.” The demon’s voice flat and without affect.

“Your hair was on fire.” Aziraphale, suddenly finding a deep need to run his fingers through those fiery locks, whispered.

“Hmmm.” Crowley nodded as he continued to brush the dirt from Aziraphale’s clothing.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” The angel said, clearly impressed.

“I’ve never been angry enough before.” Suddenly Crowley stopped moving and raised his eyes to meet the angel’s. “That man was ready to kill you.”

“Lucky for me you were there to save me.” Aziraphale said gently, longing to reach out and take the demon’s hand, but thought better.

Crowley straightened himself, “I don’t see why people get so upset over how others choose to live their lives anyway. Seems to me that humans were given free will, only natural they would use it in any way pleasing to them.”

“Does that include love?” The angel asked delicately.

“Eh.” Crowley shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, I think love is a spectacular feeling.” Aziraphale mused. “Love feels as if all the goodness in the world is spinning around you, surrounding you in a beacon of light that fills your heart with such joy. It’s all so very wonderful.”

“Yes, well demons aren’t capable of love. No warm lights, no fuzzy auras and certainly no wonderful feelings.” The demon said quickly, as he silently miracles away the rips in Aziraphale’s usually well kept clothing.

The angel studied the creature before him; as he worked, he felt the familiar heat radiating from him, a brilliant glow of warmth surrounded the demon, a dazzling dance of white light glinted and reflected from the ochre of his eyes. Such a display of affection he had felt and seen several times before, but this time, there was an aura of pronounced protection. He knew the encounter tonight had left him rattled, perhaps more so than himself. So he watched, silently adoring the one being who burned so brightly, who loved so fiercely, and who tried so desperately to play his role of evil if only to protect him- to protect them both from the recourse of Heaven and Hell. If only you could see yourself right now, through my eyes. He thought. What good would come from admitting his own feelings, to confessing that long has he stifled his own longing and desire to give his love and receive love in return? But he knows, in his heart, he knows that there is no greater joy than the love he feels in this moment, and for right now, that will have to suffice. “Oh Crowley,” he sighed as he gazed upon the vibrant swell of light surrounding his demon. “So sorry to hear it.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, angel.” The demon had finished his mending, and sat carefully inspecting his handiwork. “Just the nature of being a demon.”

“Crowley,” His voice just above a whisper. “Thank you. You’re always there for me when I need you. It’s quite a miracle, really.”

“Well, suppose it’s just the luck of the Devil.” The demon grinned, but the angel knew better; this was Crowley’s way of diffusing the tension, adding humor to quell the complication of his feelings, feelings that mirrored his own. For this, he would always be thankful and for Crowley, his love would remain ever faithful and ever patient.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #bamf crowley #justenoughofabastardtobeworthknowing

15 notes · View notes

tellthosewithpowersafeintower · 5 years

Text

This is Davey, By The Way

Summary: Davey writes Jack a letter from the Refuge. So maybe he's a little in love with him and maybe he wants more than anything to know they're all going to be okay and maybe, maybe he's a little bit gone over Crutchie too and doesn't know what to do- but he'll be fine.

He will.

...And if he isn't, Davey has a few things he would like to know he said to the boys he loves one last time.

Trigger Warnings: The Refuge. Violence, references to blood/injuries, child abuse, very very brief allusions to period-typical homophobia

Notes: Holy heck it's finally here! Hi friends, and... welcome to my newest AU becoming a series. I was originally nervous about whether I should post this for Strike Day, but here we go. A huge shoutout to @all-the-lovely-newsies because I LOVE THEM and they were the first person to listen to me talk about this when I sent them like a couple paragraphs rambling about my ideas

Go take a look at @jackie-think-about-it. They made me art for this fic (an art writing combo pair)! I am so happy right now, it's so beautiful, please go give them love they're just... the sweetest and I love their work so much. Thank you so much!

A quick note: this is a Davey in the Refuge/his Letter From The Refuge AU, and in it his father had his accident at work a few months sooner and thereby Davey knew Jack, Crutchie, and the rest of the boys better by the time the story starts. I've really loved writing this and I look forward to sharing it with you all

(read it on ao3, I like... really prefer the formatting on there asdfghjkl;)

Dear Jack,

The harsh scribble of a pen on paper was as subdued as he could make it. The lanky, dark-haired boy was hunched over, perched on the edge of the top bunk. He was curled up, taking up as little space as he could manage and a mix of sweat and blood stuck his faintly damp hair to his forehead. His eye was beginning to bruise, colors pressing deeper near to the side of his nose, and two large blots of bruises were visible stretching both sides of his jawline. Davey Jacobs inhaled, a shuddery, ragged and stared down at the first words he'd managed.

The room was cold, and dark, and any sense of light seemed blotted out in an almost starless night distanced by solid stone walls, cell bars, and an island walled off from the rest of the city. The shame of New York City. Davey hesitated, tapping his pen to his chin, once, then twice. He sighed and scribbled it out.

Jack,

No. Davey groaned quietly and after rapidly removing his second attempt furiously scrubbed at the paper. His wrists were marked with neat white lines from too-tight cuffs and he wondered idly if they'd look worse in a few hours time. Had it really only been a few hours since he'd stood in the Square, side-by-side with the others? Had it really only been hours since he last heard Crutchie laugh, watched him help Les tear a pape with his crutch, or felt his heart stall in his chest in terror when the bulls showed?

His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms and his vest was strewn awkwardly and torn around the edges. Some of his buttons were torn off and most every sense of the prim, neatly done school clothes and decorum had been entirely abandoned. Davey had no idea where his tie might even be.

He rolled the pen between his fingers, hands trembling faintly before he huffed and pressed the tip and started to write again.

Dear Jack, Greetings from the Refuge.

Better. Davey sighed, ribs seizing painfully in protest. Dirt and soot smudged along his cheeks and face, and when he glanced down and around the tightly packed bunks and hunched, gaunt bodies he heard someone cough. Davey grimaced. He supposed it was a fitting intro.

How are you?

He paused and bit his lip. He pulled his leg up to his chest to brace himself and he hissed sharply. Davey's breathing went ragged and he tried to purse his lips to quiet it, his ribs twinging and vision swimming dangerously. This... Davey was more bruised than he'd ever been before. He ached in more ways than one. A thought struck him and he lurched forwards, pen shaking in his hand as he ignored the sudden spasm of pain in his chest.

Is Les okay? I suppose I wasn't much help yesterday.

Davey ground his teeth and breathed in sharply through his nose. This wasn't- this wasn't working the way he wanted it to. He reached up to scrub furiously at his eyes.

He really hoped Les had gotten out before the worst of it. The other boys had been in the midst of chaos, full out panic and screaming, and Crutchie...

Crutchie.

Maybe if he'd moved sooner they could've-

No. He couldn't go there. Davey dropped his gaze and felt his fingers twitch before he picked up the pen and tried to press on.

Les needed to be okay. He had to be okay because if he wasn't Davey- a harsh choked sound tore its way from his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth, breathing in sharply. He went rigid, body going taught at this fierce shushing from the boys below him. He opened and closed his mouth, something twisting in his chest and he wanted to apologize. His mouth was dry and when he opened his mouth no sound came out.

He didn't think the kids here or the guards would talk too kindly to stammered apologies anyway.

(He didn't think they would take too kindly to the way sound and light burned too much too much too much and some days for all his smarts he couldn't make a noise. He didn't think the guards would like the way he blurted things out without realizing it was not supposed to be spoken and send senseless things casually and didn't like lifting his head to met someone's gaze.)

Snyder soaked us real good and went for Crutch.

Davey blinked, eyes flicking wider and he chewed at his lip nervously. Oh! Oh, right.

Oh, uh, Jack? This is David

He faltered and swallowed hard. "No," the word was a murmur but his voice was cracked and rougher than he expected. The tall boy pressed closer to the scrap of parchment and traced out in neat script.

This is Davey, by the way.

Davey breathed his name and found the faintest hints of a smile on his features. Davey. Something about the way it fell from Jack's lips made something flutter inside his chest. He didn't think he'd be anything but harsh inflections of 'David' in days to come. He flinched at the thought and made a noise of pain at the way his ribs shifted unpleasantly. He wouldn't be all that surprised to find if they were badly bruised.

He wanted to hold on to being Davey as long as he could.

All these guards, they're just rude. They say jump, boy, you jump or you're screwed.

Davey winced back. He shouldn't- he shouldn't say that. The words in his head sounded suspiciously like the newsboys' voices swelling in his head. Voices he wanted to cling to.

Jack knew that.

He'd been here before- he'd gotten out.

He didn't need to worry about Davey. He and Crutchie, the boys, they shouldn't- they didn't need to worry about kids like him.

But hands faintly trembling and something swelling in his throat, Davey couldn't bring himself to erase the words glaring up at him.

The food isn't so bad, not so far Since so far they've brought us no food!

That... there was at least one positive, right? He made a noise and deadpanned in a murmur as he wrote:

Ha. Ha.

Davey had never been much good at humor. He'd never really understood it, and he wasn't really sure anyone would find it all that funny. He raised a hand to swipe the hair out of his eyes and felt his lips quirk into a sad, bitter half-smile.

I miss the newsies Sellin papers in the evening, And a partner at your side.

He bit his lip and tried very hard not to cry. Being draped under the arm of Jack Kelly, hearing the echoing cries of "strike" when all there was was bright laughter and friendly pats and being yanked into lingering embraces, all the echoes of vibrant unending life. Maybe he was poor at hawking headlines, but he'd loved it. He'd loved the-

The next words came without thought, scratching themselves out before his brain could catch up. The pen was shakier and moved faster in his hand than he expected.

No strike or blood to pay to just get by. Any way, you know what? The square took a fair bit of thought: Coax the bulls and get goons to the window. They were scared so they took the first shot!

An army of cops and goons- that couldn't be coincidence. It couldn't be coincidence that they'd taken brutal force against kids. They'd been ready to arrest whoever they could get their hands on first, to hit kids and cart them away with cold iron cuffs pinched against too soft skin. It couldn't be a coincidence they were lying in wait to pounce on the kids the moment they took a stand for themselves.

Crutchie had gotten out. Davey could only hope he was okay. The Delancey's had shoved him pretty hard but- but Crutchie was tough as nails and had landed a few good hits of his own and the boys had him. Crutchie had gotten out and, grasping for his crutch, had made it out of the Square with Race's help long before Davey finally let himself scream.

He couldn't go there (and maybe it hurt a little that it was hard to think of Crutchie without seeing horror and tasting fear fear bitter, biting terror and lungs burning but unable to scream).

He didn't want his last memories of Crutchie to be the way he saw him last so he tried to grasp- a witty comment, the way a proud half-smile curled on his features after perfectly Crutchie snark

Crutchie who made Davey's heart do stupid flips and feelings he had no idea how to decipher because what even were feelings and why didn't they make sense- Crutchie who smiled and laughed like pure sunshine and yellow, beautiful, beautiful golden rays and Davey didn't know where to start but Crutchie was nice.

He missed them so much he ached in ways he didn't know people could ache and he didn't like it.

The cops appearance at the Square couldn't be a coincidence, the adults lying in wait to stop and smother any light or spark of life. It was too well-planned for that, Davey knew behind narrowed analytical eyes, and he thought the boys would be smart enough to realize that too.

He took a deep, steadying breath and shoved his other thoughts as far back to his mind as he could muster (he didn't want to remember) before scrawling out his next words.

It was hell for a night.

Davey felt his finger twitch, a compulsive jerk when he realized the curse had just escaped him, inked neatly onto paper. He could imagine his parent's disapproval- but all Davey managed was a tired smile.

It seemed silly and a thousand miles away by now.

That doesn't mean we've lost our fight! Pulitzer's regime's coming down, And then Jack I was thinking

Davey's words crashed to a stop, and he felt as though the atmosphere around him had shifted. He froze. His breath was heavy and he blinked furiously against the burning of his eyes.

We might just go, If you were staying? We could run away an evening To the theater, or away And if Crutchie'd come

The words spilled away, faster and faster, and that book-smart, smart-mouthed boy who'd fumbled into the streets with a slew of words echoed in his eyes. A lifetime of too many thoughts held away aching to be let out one last time.

Maybe Davey had spent too much time with Jack and his dreams of Santa Fe, but when he closed his eyes for a moment he wondered what it would be like. Beyond the cold damp walls and shuddering concrete, Jack and Crutchie's laughter filling the back of the theater. Just the three of them, together, somewhere beautiful and perfect.

His eyes flicked open and he remembered a too similar cry- was it only a day ago?

And if Crutchie'd come we'd seize our day

He let out a shuddery breath. It sounded perfect. It sounded like a date, the ones stolen for boys and pretty girls and maybe Davey wasn't supposed to want a stolen night of kisses with a boy, let alone two, but he didn't care.

He could do it. One night of stolen moments with three friends, and maybe, maybe they wouldn't think the same and all it would be is friendship but he would take anything if it came from them. Anything at all.

When he curled his fists, he wondered if the same need to cling to that dream of just a night of Jack and Crutchie and him was the reason Jack had never given up on Santa Fe.

Santa Fe.

The seeds of a dream, not a plan. But there was something so comforting, achingly perfect about that. If a place was Jack's, and Jack's want for home, somewhere to love and breathe and belong then Davey knew his was Jack and Crutchie. Without a doubt. Maybe he was a little too late for that.

Maybe Jack and Crutchie deserved better than a kid who was street stupid and stuttered eagerly through long explanations about whatever oddity fascinated him the most, oblivious to the fact no one else seemed to care, and shied under attention and burning eyes and fumbled with words when um's and uh's and uncertain odd syllables twisted on his tongue.

Once the strike makes-

The door skidded open and the reaction was like a gunshot. Boys jolted upright, leaping into position. His pen jerked hard, dragging an ugly line but Davey didn't have time to think about that. He desperately shoved the materials out of sight, hands trembling as he flung a mess of whatever cloth was nearest over his lifeline. He swung around, eyes wide, watching the looming figure who'd entered, held his breath and silently prayed.

When he stumbled back to his space in the bunk, Davey was bleeding. Badly. He was still shaking, feeling freshly forming bruises and aches he wasn't sure how to start to describe and he had to shut his eyes tightly to try and still his swaying his vision. With shaky hands, he fumbled in the dark and felt a weight of relief drop as he exhaled when his hands found the crinkling parchment of the letter. He drew it close and let his eyes rove down it and tried to smile.

Leaning into the candlelight, Davey ran a thumb along the dent and harsh scribbled line off the page at the end of his earlier phrase and winced.

Swiping blood to try to keep it from getting in his eyes, he coughed, or sobbed, some short painful noise that was gone as quickly as it came.

Damn this place.

The garbled curse was all he could muster. He didn't know what else to say. Shakily, he flicked a hand and tried to scrub the scarlet scattered drops off onto his pants and Davey somehow manage to keep blood off the paper. He swallowed a choked cry.

I'll be fine

He bit his lip hard and pushed on, hoping he could get himself to believe it.

Good as new

He didn't think he would be okay.

Look there's one thing I need you to do Newsies taught me what it all means to look after each other

I've never had friends, Jack, he wanted to whisper with that faint twinge of awe he felt hours earlier. I've never had no one like Crutch and you.

Eyes setting with determination, he scribbled out his next message.

Please tell all the fellas for me to protect one another The end

What was this, a novel?

When he heard a rattling cough and the bed creaked dangerously, Davey had to force himself to breathe. He didn't think he would be able to come out of here.

The strike had to go on.

Davey wasn't going to be there to see it.

So he set the pen to paper and hoped his smarts might be enough to give the boys one last push.

Your friend Your close friend

Davey swiped away a few shaky tears, breath hitching. And, selfishly, he decided on something he needed for himself. He breathed out and scrawled out with every ounce of care he had left.

My love, Davey

37 notes · View notes

capmerthur · 5 years

Text

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART VIII:

"You cannot be my manservant anymore, Merlin."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER VIII)

VIII. (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur has noticed another oddity in Merlin's memories: Gwaine - or better said: his absence. He's seen Gaius, Leon, Percival - all older than he had known them. But there has been no Gwaine; and Arthur doesn't dare to ask. On the one hand, Arthur knows Gwaine's loyalty had always been to Merlin first, so perhaps be had decided to keep at Merlin's side at the lake? On the other hand though... It feels too positive to be true though, and Arthur fears Gwaine wasn't only absent from Camelot but from everywhere else too. And so, Arthur doesn't ask - he simply doesn't want Merlin to have to relive nor explain any of it, in case it might be the second option.

As he's pondering on this all, he starts undoing the ties at his wrists - he evidently doesn't need his armour (as Merlin doesn't seem expecting an attack), and his body reminds him he'd like to get dry...

Merlin is suddenly in front of him - "Sorry Arthur, I should have realized-" - aiming for the ties; and Arthur swiftly moves his arm further away, out of Merlin's reach:

"What do you think you are doing?"

Merlin looks at him as if he's lost his head:

"Helping you out of your armour, as I should have done already by now?"

And so Arthur has to spell out the obvious, apparently:

"You cannot be my manservant anymore, Merlin."

Merlin's head tilts, and his eyebrows furrow; but in worry more than puzzlement.

"Because I have magic?"

And Arthur feels like slapping himself. No matter how defiant it might sound, there is an undertone in Merlin's voice - a hurt, fragile, fearful tone Arthur has heard only once: when he had pushed Merlin away after he had revealed his secret. Of course Merlin misread the swift withdrawal of his arm coupled with such words for disgust or fear! Arthur inches now closer to Merlin, wishing to make sure Merlin knows he doesn't - *doesn't* - fear him nor feel repulsed by him, and corrects him with a shy smile:

"Because you are the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth. And now that I'm aware of it, it doesn't feel right to have you wash my socks and emptying my chamber pot? There surely must be greater things for you to do."

Merlin seems stunned for a moment - and then he shakes his head.

"I swear this is the most ridiculous thought you ever had. What should my abilities have to do with being adequate or not for being your manservant? And why taking care of my mother made me a loving son, but taking care of you should be demeaning?"

Arthur can only sigh:

"Because your mother didn't throw buckets of water over your head nor throw stuff at you?"

Merlin seems surprised by Arthur's sudden open shame at his own past behaviour. Then Merlin's eyes turn softer, and his voice now sort of soothing:

"I accepted it as part of the job, Arthur... I never complained, right?"

"You should have. I was searching for your limit, I think, in a way; because there seem to be none; and I... appreciated that. But I know I sometimes went too far..."

It's Merlin's turn to sigh:

"Don't you see? I didn't want to complain. You never really minded my bad mouthing you either, did you? So surely, you must understand. Believe me, I didn't want to complain. Because somehow, I sort of relied on it. It kept me grounded."

Arthur hadn't expected such an answer; but indeed, it makes sense. Power can easily get to the head. Especially such as Merlin's - alledgedly unparalleled. And knowing Merlin's *kindness*? Of course he'd fear to succomb to its lure...

And yet, Arthur knows he sometimes abused his. And only rarely, and never straightforwardly, apologized.

"Your playful insolence cannot equal some of my faults, Merlin. You never took out on me your anger for something I had no responsability in..."

"Again, Arthur: I accepted it as part of the job."

"A manservant isn't supposed to be a receptacle for one's fury."

"No. But a good friend can be."

Arthur has to close his eyes. Friend. No matter how many times he had repeated to Merlin that they could never be friends (not that he didn't want Merlin as his friend; simply because he couldn't - a King is alone); he knows that's what they became, indeed. And this time, at least, finally, even if he's not saying it, he doesn't want to deny it out loud. Even if it only makes his past behaviour even more shameful. He gives Merlin a sad smile:

"Well, in that case... Just as a powerful sorcerer, a good friend shouldn't be a manservant, either."

Merlins smiles back:

"Wrong again. *Only* a good friend should be a manservant. Because it definitely isn't limited to tending to one's physical needs. (a smirk) And anyway, to tell the truth; if it bothers you that much? I never actually touched your dirty laundry, nor your chamber pot."

Arthur can't help but laugh at that.

"Is there anything you've actually done with your two hands?"

He sobers right away though, not wanting Merlin to think he actually means any of it.

"I know there is, Merlin", Arthur pledges.

My armour.

My food. (As Arthur suddenly realizes Merlin's habit of 'stealing' from his plate has probably been about protecting him from poisons more than about keeping him in shape).

"I know."

"Good. So now that the matter is settled, will you grant me the honour?"

Only Merlin could utter those words with both such mirth (in his eyes) yet so much devotion (in his voice).

Arthur smiles, warmly this time, bringing his arm in Merlin's wainting hand.

"As long as you know the honour is mine."

Merlin shakes his head and sighs.

Arthur knows though from the blush that reaches his ears that Merlin heard he meant it.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred's sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can't believe he has found it; still can't believe it's actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn't blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn't have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn't, wouldn't come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness... For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn't deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn't (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn't ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn't it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn't known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever...) Merlin wasn't sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn't it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn't he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn't been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn't taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that's how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn't change anything anyway...

Well, you bet Merlin hadn't been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*... So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn't the only blade he could use... Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

And here, now, finally, is Mordred's sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that's how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn't linger around in the open, huh...

Yes.

Let Mordred's blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur's mother sigil (AN) and Camelot's ruler's ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I'm coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don't have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn't, wouldn't leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn't trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn't physically *go* there before they were 'found'). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a 'male red mode through the ages' museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred's sword after having localized it though his magic - and that's what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also... A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I'm still a newbie around here so I definitely haven't read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I've read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they're both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven't yet!) but I haven't seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur's return, in the fics I've read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

III. (MERLIN POV)

"I'm fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn't heard for over a millenium...

"Arthur?" is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can't help but want; can't help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur's already fragile smile falters: "Don't you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears." The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur's voice somehow breaks as it ends: "Especially not me."

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin. I should have remembered the butterfly (AN)."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin. 'There is no place for magic in Camelot'? How hard it must have been for you to say-"

Merlin can't help but shake his head, about to interject. Not because (even if it's true) one exception shouldn't and couldn't be enough to break a rule anyway; at least not at once, and not until Arthur would understand that magic itself isn't corrupt. Not even because it hadn't been hard in fact to say those words - at least not hard enough, and that will always feel wrong. But simply because real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: "But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don't you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn't intended nor meant to be an order; and I've done it so often, haven't I... 'Do not put me into that position again'? 'Tell me it's gone'? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It's not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. And I'm not asking for you to forgive me; I even think you shouldn't forgive me. But please, at least, can you b-"

"Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing." Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no' for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur's wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur's hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

AN: Tiny quotes from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn't NOT put it there, it just FITS...

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic... but please don't expect me to write it? sorry?)

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

"Now, let's go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor."

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let's go home?

It's real! Of course it's real. If Arthur doesn't know- It's real! Arthur is truly back! And that's...

But *Arthur doesn't know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn't he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn't know... and he is not prepared for Arthur's emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can't help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It's too cruel. Merlin shouldn't be the one to break Arthur's heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

"Don't worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don't want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn't do - Morgana... All Camelot should know what they owe y-"

And Merlin can't bear Arthur's concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn't want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn't be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

"It's not- (deep breath) I'm so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I'm so, so, sorry."

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur's eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur's eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

"No. I remember just-" His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn't been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) "And you look exactly-"

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur's spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

"They're all-"

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: "I'm so sorry" - again.

"My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere..."

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur's broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen's name and his head turns away.

"I'm so sorry."

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude...

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

"Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?"

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It's Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur's anger hasn't faded; but isn't directed towards Merlin anymore.

"But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn't you have - if it had been in your power..."

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

"I'm so sorry..."

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin's A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere... Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you...

V. (ARTHUR POV)

Merlin hasn't said the word; but Arthur heard it anyway.

Dead.

He'd been dead.

And for such a long, long time, Merlin had said; even though it feels merely minutes since he closed his eyes?

It makes no sense; it feels unreal - impossible. Merlin hasn't aged a day...

And yet... The grief in Merlin's eyes tells him it's true. Everyone he knows, except Merlin, is gone. Arthur doesn't know what feels worse. To know that he will never see any of them again; or to know that he has failed them all... He feels unfulfilled, hollowed out; utterly lost, even though knowing exactly where he is...

He feels furious, too. What is the point of coming back to life, if it's coming back *too late*?

But Arthur simply knows, somehow, that Merlin - who has literally collapsed upon seeing him emerge from the lake; who has seemed so utterly shattered by his apology; and who looks now so honestly sorry for his loss, gazing up at him from the ground, nothing but stabbing understanding and concern in his eyes - isn't to blame for that lost time.

Which means his presence, here and now, is puzzling indeed:

"What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?"

VI. (ARTHUR POV)

("What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?")

Merlin seems to hesitate - looking embarrassed?

"I was waiting. Since you- I've been waiting for you."

And this just doesn't make sense.

"Why would you think I would, I could, ever come back, if I was...?"

"There is a prophecy, Arthur. So you were to return, in order to fullfill it."

"A prophecy?"

Arthur is stunned shocked. He had expected some malicious sorcery at work and Merlin having heard of it and come over - it would have made sense; and it would have given him the opportunity to fight, if not to save then at least to honour his lost people. But Fate? How is he supposed to make Fate pay? And what is Its intent to begin with? A prophecy about him? Arthur feels powerless. Is his life not even his own?

Then Arthur remembers the puzzling word has passed Merlin's lips once before.

(I'm sorry. I thought I'd defied the prophecy.)

So. Merlin had known about this? Before...? And had never said a word - again? Another secret Merlin has kept from him; but this time, about himself - about *his death*? It feels even worse than Merlin hiding his magic. After all, Merlin's magic concerned Merlin, indeed. But how and why could Merlin - who Arthur considered as his true friend, no matter how often he had repeated they couldn't be - keep something that concerned HIM from him? Especially something that monumental?

It hurts. Arthur wants to scream. But all that comes out is a shocked whisper:

"All those years; and you never said a word. You knew how and when I was to die; and you never said a word."

Merlin looks shattered by the accusation - but he doesn't refute it; only try to explain the unexplainable, eyes apologetic under Arthur's blaming gaze, voice so evidently full of guilt and regrets:

"Because I believed I could actually prevent it from happening, Arthur. You are the once and future king who will unite Albion and bring magic back to the land; and helping you achieve such a goal is to be my destiny. So says the prophecy. So I believed I was the one, the only one, able to prevent it from happening. And as it depended on me alone anyway, I thought I should spare you from the weight of such a burden."

Merlin lets out a deep sigh before meeting his eyes fully again, his voice turning urgent and pleading:

"What was I supposed to say? That your loved ones would turn against you? You wouldn't have believed me. And even if you had... I didn't want you to have to worry all the time and about everything. You have no idea how it feels - the infuriating and desperate helplessness; to constantly fight to stop something you constantly fear, but to see everything you ever try twist and turn against you; to realize at every corner that what you thought you understood means something entirely different; and that nothing you ever do makes a difference in the end... 'Once and future'? I used to think it meant you would win the war; take your throne back for good. Or die trying, by Mordred's hand and Morgana's will - but only if I failed. There were two stories, and I thought it was to be or/or; but it was and/and. I was such a fool, Arthur; such a blind fool. It's only when you- when you- that I understood what it truly meant as a whole."

Merlin sounds utterly sincere; not only heartbroken but even empty after his confession.

And Arthur wants to believe that Merlin's silence had been well-meant.

But Arthur can't help but feel betrayed still, lingering on the echo of yet another odd word he hadn't realized to be literal at the time.

(It's my destiny. As it has been since the day we met.)

And Arthur finally understands what he has never been able to comprehend until now. Merlin's puzzling bone-deep *devotion* to him; that dumbfounding unequivocal absolute *commitment* he has never wanted to doubt nor question. Well; it turns out it has in fact little to do with him... He is just a mean to an end, right? Arthur can't help but replay their shared years through his head now with this new knowledge; and it all slashes through him like a double treachery. Arthur can't even tell what feels the worst:

Did I ever know you at all?

Do you even like me at all?

'I want you to always be you', he had said - and he had meant it: the magic, all in all, had only been an addition to who Merlin was. But this? This isn't a simple revelation. This feels like a revolution - a definitive, shattering change. And it hurts, losing Merlin; even though he's right in front of him. Does the person he had always believed Merlin to be even exist? Yet another grief, on top of his fresh mourning for everyone and everything he's lost...

Arthur's hands turn into fists at his sides to suppress his urge to snarl.

"So that's why you came to Camelot. For me to bring magic back."

"What? No! I had no idea- My mother hoped Gaius might be able to guide me: I had questions, about my magic, and-"

Merlin seems honestly surprised - and appalled - by his train of thoughts; at once standing and coming closer in his urge to explain. But Arthur moves away, keeping distance between them. He cannot trust anymore in his abilities to see straight through Merlin without further information. He has never seen straight through Merlin, apparently.

"When did you hear about it then?"

"A few days after I had arrived in Camelot", Merlin confesses right away; eyes pleading, definitely understanding the terrible weight of his words yet obviously choosing to come clean - but not moving closer this time, knowing it would only be rejected.

And it's here, again; in those little things. The way Merlin not only respects his boundaries, but respects them *even at his own expense*. The way Merlin has kept so much hidden, and for so long; yet can't actually tell a lie right to his face when asked for the outright truth, even to save his own skin. It cannot be pretense, right? On the one hand, Merlin's face tells him all he needs to know. But on the other hand, Arthur still needs more answers, and he commands them.

"Who told you?" (Not Gaius, right? Please; not Gaius.)

"Kilgarrah."

"Kilga- who?" Arthur is honestly puzzled. He surely never heard of someone with such a name in Camelot.

"The dragon your father kept prisoner under the castle."

"What are you speaking about?" Arthur doesn't let Merlin time to answer though, cutting him once more as he opens his mouth - collateral information must wait for later, when faced with such an enormity. "No matter; one treacherous beast just said (can dragons even talk?) *this nonsense*, and you believed it? It's insane!"

"The druids spoke about it too."

"That's even more insane! Why would the druids trust- They hated Camelot. They hated me."

"They didn't. Not all of them, at least. (helpless sigh) Anyway, the prophecy is truth, Arthur. Your return is proof of it. You were to rise again; when Albion's need would be greatest. And you just did, Arthur. You just did."

The words stab through Arthur, making him see red. So Arthur cannot be softened by the evident not only wonder but even joy in Merlin's voice and eyes and everything. It comes out in a roar.

"My people needed me! What need can ever be greater than that responsability!"

Silence falls, all the more shattering after his outburst.

But Merlin has heard his need for an answer, and so he gives him one - even if it's none; shaking his head in helplessness, voice breaking and eyes begging:

"I do not know, Arthur."

Merlin is nothing but obviously caring, and sorry - sorry for him; holding his gaze with only patience and commiseration - hurt about his hurt, regrets about his regrets, and helplessness about his helplessness.

And somehow, having to see Merlin's hurt and regrets and helplessness feels worse - worse than his own hurt and regrets and helplessness, somehow: because the pain on Merlin's features is his own doing, again - even though Arthur has sworn to himself only moments ago never to hurt Merlin that badly anew; and even though Arthur knows that none of the injustice he feels is Merlin's fault to start with, if everything had already been written in the stars anyway. Arthur now feels guilty for having lashed out.

Besides, Arthur knows his rage cannot and will not change a thing, sadly. Even Merlin's supposedly unparalleled magic is powerless, obviously. So. His whole purpose, his reason to be, has simply vanished. The desperate rage finally turns into crushing grief, the shout into a devastated whisper.

"The only destiny I ever wished for was to be the King Camelot needed. And now Camelot is gone."

"No."

The fiery professed word brings his attention back to Merlin - Arthur hasn't been expecting an answer; it hasn't been a question. Merlin shakes his head, a clear denial; and then kneels down on one knee, all reverent, head bowed down.

"For as long as I draw breath, Camelot still stands, Arthur. I may have grown up in Ealdor, but you have always been and will always be my King."

The words ring nothing but deeply heartfelt. But to Arthur, they only feel infuriating. Merlin officially bowing to him off formal ceremonial occasions makes him sick. Because surely Merlin is deferent in any way but not that one, especially when it's just the two of them. And most of all, because this is fake and wrong. Arthur wouldn't tolerate even for the most helpless person to bow to him simply because he should to start with; so the greatest warlock to walk the Earth, the most powerful being alive probably? The idea isn't only ludicrous, it's simply nauseating.

"Because a prophecy says that you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. Arthur lets out a deep sigh though at the edge he couldn't keep out from his tone, realising in fact and no matter what, he is more angry at Merlin's Fate than at Merlin himself. How come Merlin isn't enraged too, to start with? He is just as much a puppet of Fate as he is, isn't he? "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. And it is not often indeed that Merlin actually raises his voice in anger at him; and it startles Arthur silent.

Arthur has crossed a line, apparently. The most startling though is to realize that Merlin's lines aren't about himself (he sure never looked angry over buckets full of cold water over his head or anything): they're about Arthur - once about Arthur creeping around in the woods unprotected for example; now about Arthur misreading him. Merlin's eyes are now boring into his, nothing but fierce and ardent; even though his voice turns again gentle and even adamant:

"You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had, indeed. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you. That's why my magic is for you; and only for you, Arthur. Not because I am supposed to; but because I want to. Because I believe in you. And if my destiny is to be of any help to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

As always, Merlin just sounds sincere, radiating unwavering loyalty; and Arthur is baffled. Can it still be true, despite it all?

"Please get up, Merlin," Arthur repeats, this time more gently.

"Not yet."

Stubborn - as always, again. It would make Arthur smile if it didn't feel so heartbreaking.

But then, Merlin lowers his gaze once more as his hand moves about his collar, and Merlin is presenting him with Camelot's ruler's ring, holding it out.

"Here. Gwen had what is rightly yours - according to each soul in Camelot - sent to me; so that I could give it back to you on your return."

And Arthur is paralyzed. It means so much. But he cannot take it. It is both too much and not enough. And more importantly: he has no right to - he has let his people down.

"Please, Sire."

And Arthur hears the word exactly for what it is. 'Sire' had used to be his official appellation in Merlin's language in their beginning ('My Lord' being restricted for sarcastic comments since its first use). But its meaning has grown over time - as Arthur had let simply his first name or nothing at all become the norm between them - and Merlin only uses it now on special occasions: whenever Arthur needs an extra boost in confidence and Merlin feels like insisting on his allegiance to him. Some things apparently truly never change.

"It doesn't have to be for me; nor for you."

He's transparent to Merlin, isn't he? Always has been, probably. It doesn't feel worrying though. It is a gift, to have someone who understands him that intrinsically.

"It is the wish of your people. Take back your ring. Wear it with pride. For the love of Camelot."

And how could Arthur deny this? The rallying cry is deep embedded in his soul, indeed - and he would never turn it down. No matter his guilt or inadequacy, Arthur will honor his people's will.

"For the love of Camelot."

Arthur finally takes the ring from Merlin's hand and puts it on.

AN:

I swear, those two will be the end of me. Everything about them is so LOADED, and it hurts :( Their shared history is heavy. Merlin's lonesome centuries are heavy. Arthur losing in a wink his reason for being is heavy. I'll never rest until they get some happiness, they just deserve it :(

Also, please don't be angry at Arthur. He's not at his best in this bit, I agree; but his purpose for being alive is gone for good and he's supposed to be all right 'because it's meant to be'? He has a lot to go through, and it is a lot to take in. So remember two chapters ago. Arthur isn't good with talking about feelings; but he's brave, and when it matters, he speaks - and he actually said A LOT to Merlin then, for someone usually emotionnally constipated who expresses his affection by throwing punches, right...

VII. (ALTERNATE POV)

Merlin sadly but undeniably beams at him - and still doesn't seem willing yet to stand up. So Arthur gets down - sitting on the ground instead of commanding Merlin up once more. It's the result that matters anyway: to get them both on the same level. And it works, Merlin finally quitting bowing down to simply sit too.

Arthur focuses for some time on the ring back around his finger, and finally exhales:

"I was unnecessarily harsh, wasn't I?"

And he knows Merlin hears it for the apology it is - and accepts it:

"It's all right, Arthur. I realize it is a lot to take in."

And somehow reassured by Merlin's understanding, Arthur finally dares to ask:

"Will you tell me - what happened?"

Arthur can't help but hold his breath - his loved ones being long dead is bad enough; Arthur isn't sure he could deal with learning that the circumstances of their deaths had been bad too...

Merlin feels stabbed in the heart. Because of the swift cut from his own pain at his losses - still, no matter how long ago. And because he can read not only Arthur's pain but also Arthur's fear in Arthur's features.

So Merlin hurries to give Arthur both a firm nod and a fragile but positive smile - a silent soothing promise that it is not the worst, at least:

"I can even *show* you; if you want. Share my memories?"

It's out before Merlin had time to weigh the pros and cons; but Merlin won't back off. Sharing his memories implies sharing how he feels about them - and Merlin of course doesn't want Arthur to get more hurt in the process. But sharing his memories brings an added level of truth and certainty and knowledge to what only words ever could - and Merlin's priority right now is simply to make sure Arthur never gets to wonder about how much he might have edulcorated the past in his retelling.

Arthur starts breathing again, but still has to ask for confirmation, in probably the tiniest voice Merlin ever heard from his King: "They aren't bad, right?"

And Merlin just knows what he should mention first; what Arthur fears the most:

"Gwen lived a full life, and brought Camelot his golden age in your name."

Arthur seems to absorb the information. And then, he smiles - a smile both fond and proud:

"I always knew she would be the greatest Queen."

Arthur meets Merlin's eyes again; sad, of course, but assured:

"I'd like to see, then."

"All right."

Merlin moves closer, extending a hand towards Arthur's forehead, explaining:

"We'll have to be connected. And you must close your eyes."

Arthur studies his eyes a moment - not his hand; then gives a nod, doing as requested. Merlin presses his hand against Arthur's skin; not even taking the time to relish on its welcome warmth - alive! alive! - before plunging inwards.

Merlin focuses on Gwen, and there she is.

"I understand why you need to stay here. But please don't become a stranger?"

And so Merlin had taken a pebble from the ground and had enchanted it before giving it to Gwen. If she held it in her hands, they could communicate through their minds.

And that's why Merlin can show to Arthur how she reigned - or, in fact, not. She soon took the title of First Guardian instead of Queen, taking care of Camelot until the return of its true ruler, and ruled Camelot with her Concil of Knights. One guardian in waiting was elected right away, and then every five years, by and from Camelot's commoners, both to assist and to be trained as next Guardian, so that there would always be continuity by people aware of the kingdom's affairs in case Gwen would suddenly disappear. The new Concil Knights were chosen by all Knights from the Knights ranks whenever a Concil Knight had to be replaced. The First Knight (Sir Leon had been the first of course) was elected by his fellow Concil Knights. The next Guardian was to be chosen from and by the guardians in waiting. Everyone admired Gwen's natural grace, intelligence and gentle heart. She was a just and concerned ruler, and her people thrived to be worthy of her. Merlin had placed magicals protections on Camelot's borders, so attacks were rare, and never a surprise. There were winters harder than others, and summers harder than others; but all in all, life in Camelot was good.

His last memory of Gwen still brings tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you too, my dear old friend; but my time is coming to an end. I can feel it, Merlin. This is our last conversation. And I thank you, for all you did for Camelot, for all I know you will continue doing for Camelot, and most of all, for being here for Arthur, when he finally returns."

Merlin needs a pause.

Arthur is crying silent tears when Merlin cuts their connection.

Arthur doesn't know how to deal with the force of it all. He hadn't realized he would not only see but FEEL Merlin's thoughts as clearly as his own - nor that Merlin's feelings would be as conflicted as hiw own.

Because Arthur feels relieved, from what he saw: Guinevere had been well, indeed. And Arthur is grateful, and amazed, and proud, and grateful, again, for all she accomplished, indeed. But he can't help but ponder about what he didn't get to see - or better said, to hear: her laugh.

"Was she happy?"

Merlin confirms his doubt, making a face and hesitating before answering; and Arthur can't help but wince.

"Happiness comes in all sorts, Arthur. After all that had happened... But all in all, she was *content*, I believe. Satisfied about what she had achieved, about her people living in peace and prosperity. It brought her joy, and fullfillment. You know she was always happy for anyone being happy. That counts too, Arthur."

"She never remarried?"

"She didn't."

And Arthur's first emotion at Merlin's words is guilt.

"I've doomed her, haven't I? My love for her trapped her into becoming this resplendissant but melancolic Queen." She had been his Queen, and she would always be his Queen, no matter the title she had chosen to wear.

"No. Her love for you."

"I let her down."

"It was neither your fault nor your wish to begin with, Arthur; she knew that."

"But I did it all the same. I had sworn to take care of her; and I didn't."

Arthur can't help but let out a huge sigh.

"She would have been happier with Lancelot, wouldn't have she? If only they had escape-"

Merlin's heart definitely cracks at the honesty in Arthur's words. Because Arthur loves Gwen that much indeed - to put her first; even if too late. And because Arthur's remorse is only wishful thinking anyway.

"It wasn't Lancelot at the time, Arthur."

"What do you mean?"

"Lancelot had passed behind the veil, and never came out of it. It was a shade, an empty shell brought back and controlled by Morgana to tear you apart. Remember how he was different? So Gaius and I checked. It wasn't Lancelot."

Again, Arthur doesn't know how to deal with this new information.

On the one hand, it makes sense, indeed. Lancelot loved Guinevere; had always loved Guinevere - Arthur had realized in retrospect after his Knight's death. But he was nothing but honorable to start with. The Lancelot he knew wouldn't have tried to...

On the other hand, if it hadn't been real, why hadn't Merlin explained it? Merlin had known Arthur had felt guilty for being the reason for Lancelot's death - again. Merlin had known Arthur had blamed Guinevere, even as he had missed her.

But Arthur understands, eventually.

Because it didn't change anything in the end.

Arthur was still the reason for Lancelot's first (and only) death. And Guinevere still loved Lancelot to start with. Arthur had realized that too, long before then - as she had mourned his passing. Knowing bad magic had been involved explained why things had actually happened - Lancelot wasn't Lancelot and Guinevere was enchanted - but it didn't erase the reason things happened from...

Still, it mattered.

Because even if it didn't change the reason, it had taken away Guinevere's choice in the matter, hadn't it? Arthur had accepted not once but twice that he was her second best. Because he loved her. And because she loved him - Arthur had never doubted her love, even though knowing 'With all my heart' meant 'With all there is left of my heart to give'. So Arthur had chosen to forgive her, of course; but he had blamed her, at first. And he knows Guinevere had always blamed herself. But knowing now what he knows? Arthur believes there would have been nothing to blame her(self) for, if no magic had been at play. Even if Lancelot had been real and she had chosen Lancelot over him? She would have told him, before, instead of...

"Did you ever tell her?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

AN:

It's canon after all magical beings *can* communicate through their minds. Merlin is just powerful enough to create such a link even with not magical persons, bear with me. I mean - he could even communicate with Lancelot's mind after his death, right ! (so no, no, no, this has nothing to do with me being too a Trekkie in love with mind melds...)

Also: I have a lot of feelings about how BBC butchered my heart with 4.09 (and their lousy treatment of its aftermath) and it shows, sorry?

#merlin #merthur #bbcmerlin #bbc merlin #merthur fic #the once and future fic #my own two spells #fanfic #fic #text

8 notes · View notes