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granolabird · 2 years

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Take a Break

Weekly hournite fic is here :) Post 3x06, we get some Rick and Beth at the Pit Stop just before Beth goes home and finds out about the security cameras. .

After the confrontation with Cindy, and then the second confrontation with Courtney, the Pit Stop is silent. There’s an air of quiet despair as Rick, Yolanda, and Beth all sit together around the table. Yolanda keeps staring longingly at the door, somewhere between enraged and forlorn, as if she’s waiting for Courtney to come back and say it was all one big prank. She doesn’t. Nor does Pat, or Sylvester. The trio are entirely alone, left to their own devices as they try to comprehend what’s just happened. Rick is pissed, and rightfully so. He can’t shake the rage that fills him, no matter how hard he tries to focus on anything else. His thoughts don’t stop racing. The Hourglass is working again, you should be happy- I would be happier if Courtney hadn’t lied to us- You aced that test from last week- The test in the class with Courtney, who lied to us- Beth looks cute in that jacket- She would look cuter if he wasn’t so sad.

That seems to snap Rick’s brain back into focus. Beth is sad, that's a red alert on the Rick radar. His rage subsides, if only slightly. In the back of his mind he wonders if it’s the hourglass doing this to him. Heightening his emotions tenfold, making him unable to think straight. He hasn’t turned it over yet, just in case. Just in case Cindy Burman, or Cameron Mahkent, or any other villain decides to bust in and threaten them. He knows it’s unlikely, but every time he reaches to turn the hourglass over he hesitates. It’s like something doesn’t want him to. So he doesn’t. Not after an hour passes and there’s no sign of anyone showing up. Not after Yolanda finally gives up and leaves, leaving only Rick and Beth at the Pit Stop alone. Not even after Beth carefully rests her hand on his knee to stop his incessant leg bouncing.

“Rick?”

“Yeah? Hey.”

Rick looks up from where he’d been crumpling and uncrumpling the same sheet of homework over and over until it’s basically a shredded mess.

“Are you alright?” Beth asks, moving her hand from his knee onto his hand for just a moment, before sliding the paper, or what's left of it, away from him.

“Of course. Why?”

“Because you’re like a rabbit on caffeine. You haven’t stopped moving since you got back from Cindy’s house.” Beth sighs, looking him over worriedly. “It’s the new hourglass, that’s all. It gives me a lot more energy.” Rick explains, holding it up for emphasis.

Beth leans forward, looking at the hourglass quietly studying it as the tiny glowing particles float aimlessly in the glass.

“You haven’t turned it off?”

“No. I didn’t think I needed to.” Rick admits with a shrug, and Beth’s face of wonder instantly turns to one of concern.

“Rick… Do you even know if it has any side effects?” She asks, putting on the voice Rick knows best as the ‘Beth Chapel doctor voice’. She only does that when she’s serious.

“None, other than being stronger for longer.” Rick deflects, tucking his hourglass back away.

He doesn’t make eye contact for the fear that one look at Beth would make him regret everything he’s done today.

“Are you sure?” She leans closer, forcing him to look at her.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve had it on all day and nothing bad has happened yet, so-”

“All day!?” Beth gasps.

“Beth, I’m okay, I promise. Here, I can show you if you want. C’mon.”

She looks like she’s going to decline, so Rick acts quick. He gets up, offering Beth a hand to help herself up, before leading her to the training room. He doesn’t let go of Beth’s hand. He doesn’t want to. Usually he would be flustered, absolutely a blushing mess, but right now he feels confident. Apparently he needs to wear his hourglass more often, if this is the result he gets. As soon as they reach the training room, Rick lets go of Beth’s hand and leans his weight from foot to foot, scanning the room for something to lift.

“Okay, how should I start?”

“I… don’t know? This was your idea, I’m not sure what your plan is here.” Beth says, looking at him expectantly.

She’s right, he brought her here, he has to do his best to show her what he’s talking about.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry. Here, lemme just…”

Rick walks over to the corner of the room and picks up a four stack of tires effortlessly, walking it around the room. He considers attempting to juggle them just to show off even further, but he has to remind himself the hourglass heightens his strength, not his reflexes. It probably wouldn’t end well. Rick doesn’t miss the way Beth’s eyes lock onto his arms as he passes by, however, and he slows as he walks by her, trying his best to show off while still balancing the tires.

“Y’know this morning I lifted over six hundred pounds.” He tells her, slowly returning to his route around the room.

“Six hundred? Have you ever done that before?” She wonders, trailing behind him.

“Close, but never that much. It’s a new record for me.” Rick admits, putting the tire stack back into the corner.

“All because of your hourglass improvements? That’s incredible!”

Rick smiles and nods, proud of himself, until he clocks the troubled look that crosses Beth’s face.

“But also dangerous.”

Ah. There it is.

“What do you mean?” Rick asks, looking for any elaboration on what she could possibly think was dangerous about his ability upgrade.

Beth sighs, “Rick, it’s not safe. You don’t know the long term side effects of using the hourglass for this long, and you don’t know what you could do, even accidentally, with it on. You’re more powerful than ever, and with that comes a lot of potential for injury.”

Rick feels all the pride he had been feeling previously be replaced with frustration. He knows Beth means well, but he knows his limits. He has to prove it to her somehow.

“I know what I can do, Beth. I could walk right out into that garage and pick up the truck that Pat’s been working on if I wanted to. Here, look.”

Rick heads towards the door to go prove his point, but Beth runs forward and grabs his arm.

“I… I get the point. Demonstration not necessary.” She says, though she doesn’t seem entirely sure of her words.

She keeps staring at his arms, and she hasn’t let go yet. Rick raises his eyebrows, and she immediately realises what she’s been doing, dropping her hands to her side.

“Sorry. I’m just… um… Not used to seeing you using the hourglass without your suit on is all. It’s weird. Not weird, but like, different. I don’t usually see your arms, is all. I think the hourglass makes you a little buffer.”

“Noted.” Rick huffs with a smile, glancing down at his own arm.

He doesn’t notice much difference, but he has had the hourglass on all day. He makes a mental note to wear shirts that show off his arms while the hourglass is running more often, to see how Beth reacts. Just for personal amusement, of course.

There's a pause, an awkward silence as Beth tries her best not to look at Rick, and Rick searches the room for something else to lift. Finally, Beth breaks the silence to say,

“You can turn it off now, you know? Nobody is coming for us. We’re safe.”

Rick glances down at the faint glow of the hourglass through his shirt, and shakes his head.

“We’re not safe until the murder is solved, and Cameron Mahkent and Cindy Burman are out of this town. Then, maybe I can relax.”

“Rick, you don’t have to keep everyone safe. You’re putting too much on yourself. It’s okay to just take off the hourglass and relax. You’re allowed to take a break.” Beth tells him, but Rick just keeps shaking his head.

“Yeah, but what if I take a break and something goes wrong?”

“Then you’ll have the hourglass ready, just like before when it only worked for an hour.”

“I… don’t know.” He sighs, lifting up the hourglass to look at it.

“Every time I go to turn it over, it’s like something stops me. Like there’s a voice in the back of my head that’s telling me everything is gonna go to shit if I flip it over.”

Beth seems to stop to think to herself for a moment, before giving a small nod.

“Then let me do it.”

“What?”

“Come here.” Beth says, gesturing for Rick to come forward.

Rick shuffles towards her, letting go of the hourglass allowing Beth to take it. She reaches up to hold it, carefully cradling it in her hands. Rick almost backs away but he forces himself to stay rooted, eyes locked on Beth as she slowly, carefully, turns the hourglass over. She looks up at him with wide concerned eyes, as he feels the power leaving his body. She doesn’t let go of the hourglass, hands pressed lightly against his chest as she studies his face, clearly waiting for his strength to subside entirely.

“Are you better?” She whispers, as if her speaking normally would break the moment.

Rick takes a moment to breathe, as the stress of the entire day hits his body all at once. He wobbles on his feet a little, but steadies himself, looking down at Beth. He feels his breath stutter as it finally hits him how close she is. He could lean down and kiss her if he wanted to. He does want to, but the more energy from the hourglass he loses, the less courage he has. He blinks, backing up slightly, forcing Beth to let go of the hourglass.

“I’m alright. Sorry it’s just, everything is hitting me now. Everything that’s happened today, it’s… a lot. I guess I wasn’t processing it because of the hourglass, but now it’s all kinda crashing down on me. Ugh, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Can I turn this thing back over?” Rick groans half jokingly as he stumbles.

Beth shoots him a look. “No you can’t. But, you can sit with me while I try to decode the files from the Gamblers laptop until you feel a little better. Then I’ve gotta go home.”

Rick winces, rubbing at his eyes, but forces himself forward, following Beth as she heads out of the training room, trailing behind her with heavy steps.

“Fiiine. I’m still driving you home, right?” He asks, exhaustion pervading his every word.

“If you feel well enough, yes. If not, I can call my parents to come pick me up.” Beth tells him matter of factly as she pulls out a chair for Rick to sit beside her.

Rick slumps as soon as he’s seated, flopping his head down onto his arms.

“Nope. Don’t do that. I’ll drive you, just give me a few minutes.”

“Alright.” Beth says with a bemused huff as she grabs her laptop.

“Rick?”

“Mm?”

“What you did back there was impressive, just so you know. The fact you managed to not only fix the hourglass, but improve it, it’s something to be proud of. Don’t think that I’m not excited for you, I just worry.”

Rick knows he says, “I know. That’s why I like you so much.”, but his head is buried in his arms, and his words are slurred, so it comes out more like “Ifknw. Thswhyliksmch.” Which is verifiably illegible.

Beth blinks at him, taking a minute to try and decipher what on earth Rick is trying to say, before giving up.

“Just rest for a while.”

Rick can barely muster the energy to nod as he already feels sleep tugging at his brain, pulling the world out of focus. He wishes he could be as cool and confident as he was with the hourglass on, not stupid, and sleepy, and weak, but then Beth looks at him with a soft, sweet smile, and he thinks maybe he doesn’t need the hourglass as much as he thought he did. Maybe Beth likes him better like this. He tries his best to smile back at her, but he’s pretty sure he’s failing. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, giggling quietly at his lopsided smile. That’s the last thing he sees before sleep consumes him. Beth trying her best to keep her laughter quiet as she looks at him, hand covering her mouth and eyes alight with something Rick can’t identify. He wonders if it’s love. He hopes it is, because at least then he’d have one less thing to worry about. If she feels the same about him… The thought doesn’t even get to conclude, as he fades out of consciousness, leaving Beth to her work, and his dreams to fill his mind. When he wakes, he’ll drive Beth home, and think over everything she’s said. But for now, he’s doing exactly what Beth told him to. He’s going to take a break.

#Stargirl #3x06 #Stargirl spoilers #Hournite #Hournite fic #Rick Tyler #Beth Chapel #Hourman #doctor mid nite #Stargirl fic #rick x beth #Very excited for the hournite content in upcoming episodes

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kicksnscribs · 2 years

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Meh I’m bored and I have nothing else better to do so why not post old TF writings that are uncompleted lol

Notes on this for the printout i found:

Prowl is claustrophobic and has a shit memory for long term details. Doesn’t like to be caged or cornered as a result.

Prowl isn’t pleased with Pax’s involvement (this is set before the events of Patternisms but after Pax confronts the Senate. He (prowl) is sure to let’s his displeasure known through body language rather than words since the order did come from a superior officer.

There is wildlife and it wants to kill them so bad. Pax find this to be more of a threat than whatever “cursed object” they have been given by their connection. (All boys are OCs unless otherwise stated)

The object in question may or may not be cursed. No one will ever know. They do always seem to end up with a bad spot of luck each time they open it and pull it out of its case. Original concept was to base it off of the Dybbuk Box.

Syringe hounds (now GryndHounds) are a threat but are then confronted by a Crystal Drake. Thoughts on the supernatural powers of the object are once again called into question since Crystal Drakes are extremely rare due to their main source of food, the Ruststriders, are on the brink of extinction.

The two always feel as though there is a “poor connection of an EM field” constantly brushing up against them, causing 5em to feel incredibly uneasy and incredibly jumpy by the end of it all.

Prowl swears to Primus that something keeps whispering in his audial. Pax keeps getting false readings on his HUD.

What the FUCK is going ON???

Prowl practically tosses the damned thing away from him at the end of the mission, feeling soiled and possibly unable to recharge properly for the next few cycles.

Still doesn’t believe in the paranormal nonsense.

*-*-*

Prowl and Pax go on an Adventure~*

“Cursed? Your telling me that we are traveling hundreds of miles across Cybertron to pick up and item that is supposedly…cursed?” Prowl couldn’t believe he was saying this. He had narrowed his optics to the point where Orion Pax’s bulky figure was starting to blur. His processor was unwilling to believe that this mission, given to them by Dai Atlas himself, would turn into nothing more than a silly little fetch-and-carry quest. And through one of Polyhex’s more structurally disastrous regions no less!

Being reduced to a simple errand mech wasn’t enough of a demotion to an officer of his rank, apparently. Now Orion Pax had to go and insult his intelligence by adding supernatural causes to the mix.

“That was the word of choice Trailfire used, yes.” Rumbled Orion Pax plainly, clearly not as bothered by this tidbit of information as he should be. As far as he was concerned, he was just interested in making small talk. Eager to cover up the horrid sounds coming from their dilapidated car as it sped towards Polyhex. More specifically to the drop off location that was described (in Orion Pax’s own words, mind you) as being “wonderful, accommodating, and lovely” Balefire Hill.

He was being horribly sarcastic Prowl noticed, his dermal plating squeezing tighter around his frame in a desperate attempt to avoid any possible physical contact with his temporary partner. He wasn’t sure he appreciated the poor attempt at humor or despised it. It was hard for him to properly gather his thoughts when his temporary partner had managed to scrunch him into the smallest corner of their pitifully small car due to Pax’s absolutely massive frame taking up damn near seventy five percent of it.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling…cornered.

And his anxiety wasn’t exactly eased at the thought of being dropped off so close to the southern borders of Polyhex, an area known for rolling blackouts and tendency for wildlife to run rampant in the streets in their attempts to seek shelter from the newer constant rust storms.

An unfortunate side effect living next to the Vents, he figured.

He had to face facts: this was officially The Worst Day Ever™️. Worse than the days when he was but a young cadet slugging along the sewers of Kaon in search of whatever flotsam had been mistakenly thrown out by some highpolish up in the High-Rises.

Worse than when he had to trek it out into the Wastelands after some syphonist who somehow managed to get lucky and make off with a veritable fortune in off world currency only to frag it all up and tumble down into the reaches of the Sonic Canyons, never to be seen again.

Worse than whatever the hell kind of music was playing through the car’s crackling speakers at the current moment…

He cast a dirty look upwards to the grimy ceiling where the offending sounds were emanating from. Surely, the only reason why it sounded so horrid was due to the fact that there was not one properly working speaker in the car to begin with. Once he had taken in all that he needed he dropped his gaze slowly downwards to examine the rest of the car properly and with disdain:

Outside of their car was the telltale calling card of the Sea of Rust: a swirling, coppery red was of dust that beat across the windows with no signs of giving up anytime soon, giving one the feeling of being submerged in what could only be the filthiest liquid possible. The seats were in a state of disrepair, and the many advertising bars that hung low above them were either busted and broken or were so faded that there was no possible way anyone could figure out what was being sold.

*-*-*

I lost the rest of this sadly, but I liked the way it came out bc I was working on some personal canon stuff and this showcases some terminology.

The rest of the story involved them getting their hands on the object before a rolling blackout hits and they scramble to find a safe spot to ride out the rush of wildlife seeking shelter from the storms. Alongside a bunch of other supernatural nonsense that seems to be following them along the way.

#transformers #maccadams #prowl #Orion pax #my scribbles 22 #unfinished #idk how else to tag this lol

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hxney-lemcn · 2 years

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Awkward Confessions — Timothy Klitz x fem! reader

Summery: Reader gains the nerves to ask her crush out, though Klitz fumbles...

tw: Eli, that's it

wc: 0.7k

Master List

“Did you bang her?” The oh so familiar voice of Eli whisper shouted. Currently, I sat at lunch with Eli, Matt, and Klitz. I joined their group in my sophomore year. My friend group was really bad (they excluded me from everything), so when I met Klitz and I started to hang out with him and his friends, I decided that I would cut off my old friend group.

And honestly? It was amazing now. Okay that may be an exaggeration, my old friend group would completely ignore me like they never knew me, but it’s better than them bullying me. But still, having a group of friends that actually seem to like me and invite me out with them was much better than before.

“Is that always your go to?” I asked incredulously. “Actually never mind, I know it is.”

“Why’d you even ask?” Klitz asked with a small laugh.

“No Eli,” Matt sighed out. “I did not bang her, she literally just asked me to move over because I was blocking her locker.”

“I don’t know Matt,” I said out in a teasing tone. “I think that’s a signal that she wanted to fuck. I mean that’s all women want to do apparently.”

“You’re different ok (Y/n),” Eli groaned and I raised an eyebrow in questioning.

“Am I?” I asked with a tilt of my head.

“Well you’re just...” Eli trailed waving a hand towards me. “You’re just you.”

“Oh so you’ve seen me past your objectified view,” I nodded. Yeah I wasn’t afraid to call Eli out on his behavior towards women, but he always took it as a joke...or he probably complained about me after I left.

“Not this again,” Eli groaned out rolling his eyes. “I can’t help that women are hot.”

“So I’m not hot?” I asked.

“I mean you’re cute I guess,” Eli shrugged. “Just not exactly hot material.”

Klitz smacked the back of Eli’s head, “That’s just rude.”

“Well you think she’s hot shit,” Eli said defensively.

I felt my heart stutter at the revelation as Klitz looked away. This didn’t help my crush I held on Klitz. I started realizing my crush on him this year (it being near the end of junior year). The way he was so kind to me, and how well we got along. It just kinda clicked in my head randomly that I liked him.

~~~~

“OH MY GOD!” My friend shouted at me, shaking my shoulders. They were the only friend I trusted enough to tell about my crush. They had all the info so this only sparked them to say what I already knew.

“Just ask him out already!” They exclaimed in frustration. “And I’m serious! What’s even stopping you?”

“Well let’s see,” I said fake thinking. “He doesn’t actually like me and its just a joke between the three of them and I ruin everything.”

“That just sounds like your anxiety talking,” They replied crossing their arms.

“I mean yeah...” I trailed off. “But it’s still a possibility.”

All of a sudden Klitz passed us as he left the school (it was the end of the day after all) and my friend abruptly called out his name. Effectively stopping him in his tracks and turning to us, and I did notice the way his eyes lingered on me.

“Did you need something?” He asked out sweetly, and I stared at my friend, gravely concerned at what they may respond with.

“Yeah, I just wanted to tell you that (Y/n) over here has-” I cut them off by covering their mouth. They tried to wrestle with me but I was literally whisperering to them to stop talking and that I would tell him. This seemed to please them.

“W-what?” Klitz stuttered out confused.

“Let’s go home together and I’ll tell you,” I sighed out and let go of my friend. I glared at them as Klitz nodded in agreement. Gripping the strap of my backpack, we walked alongside each other towards his car. I tried to think of a way to recover but I decided my friend was right. I needed to get this out, even if it means I stop being friends with Klitz.

But that thought churned my stomach. I felt sick. I lifted my gaze slowly towards Klitz’s side profile but I was surprised when I made eye contact.

Awkwardly coughing, Klitz spoke up first, “If you don’t want to tell me then you don’t have to.”

Taking in a deep breath I replied, “No, no it’s fine. I should tell you, I’m just scared.”

“Scared?” He asked as we approached his car. He unlocked it and I entered the passenger side. I fiddled with the seatbelt as he started the car.

“M-maybe nervous is a more accurate term,” I shrugged, glancing up at him.

“Did I do something to make you feel this way?” He asked quickly, a look of concern across his features. “You can always tell me something, I swear I won’t judge.”

I felt my stomach flutter. That was the problem Klitz! You’re so sweet and actually care about me, it makes my head spin! You make me feel too many things, and I can’t get you out of my head!

“I...can I say it before I leave?” I asked in a hopeful tone. “Even if you don’t have a bad reaction, you know I’m a big chicken and I just...I don’t think I could handle the reaction I think you’re going to have.”

“Yeah,” Klitz breathed out. “Yeah that’s fine, whatever you’re comfortable with.” And with that he drove off. I knew my words made him anxious as well and I felt bad for that. I didn’t want to be the cause for such negative feelings.

“What I’m gonna tell you isn’t bad, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I tried to reassure. “I’m not pregnant or anything I swear.” He smiled slightly at the joke I cracked.

“I’d hope that wouldn’t be a worry,” He joked back.

“Well if I were than it’d actually be a ‘miracle’ from God because I still haven’t done anything of the sort,” I laughed lightly. The previous tension wasn’t all gone, but it was nicer now, our old energy coming back.

All too quickly, we pulled up in front of my house. I stared out for a second, trying to not second guess my next few actions I was going to do. Looking back at Klitz who was smiling at me, I felt my heart melt. Well here goes nothing.

“Klitz,” I called out, already having his attention. “I...I have a crush on you, and I just wanted you to know. You probably don’t like me like that, but I just...yeah. I hope we can still be friends, or like...not hate me or anything.”

Once I finished rambling it was dead silent. The only noise being the car engine. I waited for a few seconds, Klitz seemingly stunned to silence. I couldn’t take it though. So I opened the door and quickly got out.

“Bye Klitz, drive home safely,” And then I closed the door. I basically sprinted into my house, trying not to cry. Shit, shit, shit, shit! I ran into my room and just laid there thinking about my life and how it got to this point.

~~~~

“YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING BACK?” Eli shouted into his phone receiver. “YOU’VE BEEN WANTING TO FUCK HER FOR FOREVER!”

“I was shocked!” Klitz retaliated. “And now I fucked it up and she probably thinks I hate her.”

“Dude,” Eli said strangely calm. “Hang the fuck up, and call her right now.” Before Klitz could do just that, his phone beeped, alerting him that Eli hung up.

Staring at his phone, he took in a deep breath. Then he pulled up the girl of his dreams phone number, still in awe that he even had it. Slightly hesitating, not exactly sure what he was going to say, he decided to just press call and hope for the best.

~~~~

“Hello?” I asked, confused as to why Klitz called me so late. It was obviously something to do with my shitty confession, but I didn’t want to think about it.

“(Y/n),” Klitz sighed out in relief. “I don’t hate you.”

A small smile made its way onto my face. Its kinda cute how that was what he was worried about.

“Well that’s a relief,” I said with an awkward laugh.

“I could never hate you,” Klitz continued, just letting his feelings take over. “It’s kinda the opposite. I’ve had a crush on you for as long as I can remember.” I felt my heart flip at his confession. I couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “I really really like you, and honestly...I never thought you’d like me like that.”

“Well I do,” I replied back. I couldn’t stop beaming. “Perhaps we could go on a date tomorrow.”

“YES! I-I mean yeah, of course!”

“See you tomorrow then,” I said, hugging myself.

“See you.” I squealed as quietly as I could, rolling around in my bed. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

#klitz #timothy klitz #x reader #xreader #klitz x reader #paul dano #paul dano x reader #paul dano nation #danonation #danocel #the girl next door #eli #matt

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lone-changelings-journal · 4 months

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2/2/149

Start this entry with the previous night’s conversation about Silver Moon Company and then continue from there in order. Remy Talked about the company after writing the above entry and that day ended with Taelia using magic to put her to sleep, hence why it’s in this entry and not in the previous one. But start this one with how much she hates Kor’aas for yelling at her

I hate Kor’aas. I hate him! He’s awful, I don’t want to travel with him anymore! Gods, he’s so mean for no reason and he’s the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met. He… Reminds me of father… Ugh, he’s EXACTLY like father! I hate this, it’s awful. Of all the people I’m stuck with I’m stuck with the one person who reminds me of the person I’m trying to get away from…

Just… Gods… All I was trying to do was ask if he’d seen Umbra. That’s all I wanted to do, and he just… Freaked out… I mean, I know I interrupted him. I shouldn’t have interrupted him, but was all that… Necessary? I just… I can’t… This morning has been so awkward, no one’s talking to each other and it’s all my fault. I should have just waited for Umbra to get back, I shouldn’t have bothered him.

It sucks, because last night seemed to be going so well. Taelia noticed I wasn’t doing so well and offered to heal me even more. After that we talked about their guild a bit more. Writing about that might help get my mind off things. Let’s see… After I finished talking to Morr I went back inside. I’d already let everyone know I was talking to my boss, so they didn’t have any questions when I told them I’d sent Umbra back to her to pick something up for me. Dandelion was happy the scroll he made for me worked and was happier to hear I would be joining them back to South City. He’s definitely the most sociable of everyone in the group.

Hearing about the guild was surprising. Apparently all three of them work for the Silver Moon Company which… I don’t know how I feel about that. See, on one hand they’re definitely the most reputable merchant’s guilds in Aestoria by a long shot. In terms of getting shipments to people on time, anyway. To the average person it’s a perfectly fine company, but I’m not an average person. Father used to order from them. A lot. And with his business being what it is, well… Let’s just say these people know how to source materials that aren’t generally allowed in the city.

I’ve always thought they were a little suspect considering they managed to get their hands on Wandercaps. Father LOVED using those instead of anestesia because you only had to eat an 8th of one for their effects to kick in. Gods, the kinds of things you see after eating one of those. You can’t move after eating one because your body goes into a trance, so you’re kinda just forced to sit and hope for the best. Last time I remember being forced to take them I kept seeing moths everywhere. Like… Crawling out of my wounds and out of people’s faces and flying everywhere all over the wall. I don’t like moths anymore.

But yeah they work for Silver Moon Company. Kor’aas has been working there the longest. I think he said three years? Dandelion has been working there a little over a year, and Taelia has been working there for three months. Makes me wonder why she’s the only one working directly under Tyvar. If he’s a higher ranking member of the company it’s weird she’s so new. But if he’s not it doesn’t make sense why Dandelion and Kor’aas are getting involved. Or… Am I overthinking this? All I know is father refused to work with anyone who’d been with them for less than two years. I wonder if Kor’aas has ever worked with him. It’d explain why he’s so horrible…

Once we finished talking I mentioned I was turning in early for the night. Taelia had healed me again, but her healing doesn’t really grant you energy, it just fixes your wounds. She was concerned about me not being able to sleep well because, well… Honestly, I wasn’t. I wasn’t doing well yesterday and I’m sure as the hells not doing any better today. Either way, she was concerned and offered to help me fall asleep. I’ll be honest, I had no idea what she was going to do. At first I said no and that I’d be fine. Surely the others were just as horrified. But… No. She was worried about me and she wasn’t letting up. So I let her do what she was going to do. It felt… Nice. She had me close my eyes and she placed her hand on my forehead. My body started feeling tingly and numb and heavy and then I woke up. She used a spell to make me sleep. I’m… That feels weird to me… But it was probably the best night’s sleep I ever had…

Of course something had to come along and ruin it. Umbra wasn’t there when I woke up, but everyone was awake so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Maybe she had gotten back but wasn’t in the room. So I asked Dandelion and Taelia if they’d seen her. They hadn’t, and Dandelion told me to try asking Kor’aas. He was outside talking to… Someone. I don’t know who exactly. All I know is when I went out there I waited for him to be done speaking with whoever it was. You shouldn’t interrupt people. Me being there at all made him upset, though. His version of interrupting is different than what I’m used to…

Anyway he got really upset with me. He snapped that it was a private conversation and that I needed to wait. He yelled that I needed to be more considerate and that even a child knows not to interrupt. He did ask what was so important that I needed to barge in and I managed to ask if he’d seen Umbra and that… Made the situation worse. Honestly it was my fault. I should have had more faith in Umbra. She’s capable of handling herself, I shouldn’t have bothered him. I just don’t want him to yell at me again. He’s… Really intimidating…

I went back inside and I guess it was obvious something was wrong. I’m such a terrible liar, I wasn’t able to convince them everything was fine and it turned into this whole massive ordeal. The second Kor’aas came back in Dandelion made another untasteful joke about him talking with some secret lover, male or female, and asking who it was. He got angry we were trying to pry into his personal life and then Taelia yelled at him for being a hypocrite because we aren’t allowed to question his personal life but all he’s done is questioned ours. I don’t even remember what I said, I broke down. I remember being called a child and trying to apologize and… I don’t know. They just kept yelling at each other until eventually Taelia put a stop to it. How she did I don’t know.

It’s horrible. Everyone’s been all tense and quiet. We’ve been walking all day and the only time anyone else said anything was when Umbra came back with her new collar on. The thing Morr gave me to communicate with her is a magic gemstone that’s attached to a collar. I don’t know if she put it on the collar just so Umbra could bring it to me or if it’s supposed to stay there. The gem’s fixed in place pretty well, so I assume it’s supposed to stay on the collar. Either way I’d probably keep it on because it’s really pretty around Umbra’s neck. The gem is the same orange as she and Morr’s eyes and it has this nice mystical swirl thing inside of it. It’s nice. The group acknowledged Umbra had returned and after that we just… Left… No one’s said anything since. It’s… Horrible…

I’m writing this during my watch. Well, part of it. I wrote some before going to bed and decided to continue now because it’s better than sitting awake alone in the cold. Now that we’re actually on the way to South City we aren’t sleeping in the cabin. Thankfully it isn’t too cold out. I mean, it is, but not as cold as it was when I first ran away. Besides, now I have a bedroll and winter clothes and Umbra to keep me warm. I’m mostly worried about my hands. I guess shouldn’t be writing if that’s the case. The only gloves I have are too thick to write in so I had to take them off. Maybe it’d be best to end this off here. Besides, I should be keeping an eye out for danger. I just… Needed to vent my frustrations. Keeping all this bottled up wouldn’t do much good for me…

#lonechangeling #remythechangeling #dungeonsanddragons #faerun #roleplay #lonechangelingsjournal #creative writing #journal entry #fiction

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xykesh · 1 year

Text

The Girl in the Cage, Part 3

Genre: New Adult Fantasy, D&D-esque Fantasy Wordcount: 1,420 Summary: Valerie investigates the truth behind the monster attacks. The monster strikes again.

List really had given her shit directions.

And yet, Valerie found it hard to put too much of the blame on her. If she were trying to give directions to the shed in the woods outside of town, she wouldn’t really have had much more to add beyond “half an hour that way.”

“Half an hour,” incidentally, turned out to be a lot closer to three hours when you were searching a forest for a tiny, half destroyed shack with no real landmarks and only a vague heading.

But, eventually, and more through luck and persistence than any skill with navigating the woods, she found it. In a small clearing only slightly larger than the structure itself stood an old, overgrown building.

She could see why List had called it a shed. It certainly wasn’t much bigger than one. But it looked closer to the jail back in town than something a person might use to store their tools.

The walls were thick and sturdy, built out of logs stacked on each other and held in place with multiple braces. There were no windows, and the door frame featured metal rungs that could have been used to bar the door shut . . . from the outside.

The door, incidentally, was in mostly rotted away pieces scattered around the forest floor. What was left of it, along with the door frame and the whole of the otherwise bare interior, was covered in long, deep claw marks.

Now that she was here, she could make out something in the forest floor she could call a path, if she squinted. She never would have noticed it if she’d just been walking through, but actually looking for it and knowing this was where it led, there was a clear part of the forest where the brush had thinned out, where fallen twigs were more scarce. Abandoned, much like the shack, but not long enough for the forest to fully reclaim it.

She could see why List hadn’t slept here. The sheer number of deep, jagged scratches in the walls gave the place the air of a brutalized animal corpse—a sign of a violent predator, to be avoided at all costs.

The beginnings of a theory took shape in her mind, but pieces were missing. She needed more information to give it shape, confirm a few things, and fill in the gaps. And for that, she needed to go back to town.

Even though he was the one who seemed to be the most comfortable around her, Valerie chose to stay away from Sheriff Darshan for now, opting instead to take her chances with the rest of the town. She walked the town, catching people who weren’t in a hurry, and started asking questions.

It was more of a struggle than she expected.

When she wasn’t met with outright distrust and dismissal, she got confused reactions from people who thought the monster problem was over and done with already. At first, she’d tried to convince the people that they were wrong, that List wasn’t their monster, but too many people had apparently seen the fight she’d put up getting dragged into the cage, and the rest had heard even more wildly exaggerated versions of it.

So eventually, she stopped trying to convince them, and just started lying.

“I’m just trying to collect a complete record of events. This kind of information is invaluable in the event something like this happens again.”

“Just because it’s in a cage doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. If I can figure out exactly what kind of monster it is, I can make sure it doesn’t have any more surprises up its sleeve.”

“The sheriff is concerned there might be more than one. Which is why I’m looking into things. There are certain behaviors that give away whether a monster is alone.”

Invoking the sheriff in particular proved extremely effective, dissolving some of people’s worst attitudes toward her and more often than not leading to compliance. She hesitated to use it too much, though, lest word work its way back to the man himself faster than she wanted. He was going to find out what she was doing, if he was even halfway decent at his job, but as long as Valerie finished her investigation before he turned up and interfered, she didn’t care.

No one knew anything about a shack in the woods, and asking if people ever spent a lot of time out there in a town of hunters and loggers just got her laughed at. The only halfway useful tip she got was to ask the sheriff, since he used to go into the woods often with his wife, before the monster had arrived.

The attacks had begun a month ago, with the sheriff’s wife being the very first victim. On a romantic evening in the forest, the couple had been ambushed, with the sheriff only barely escaping with his life.

Intermittent sightings followed in the forest, along with several mauled animals. Initially, the sheriff forbade search parties to search for the monster, advising people to stay within the town as much as possible and only enter the woods in groups for hunting and logging. But then the first attack inside the town happened.

Late at night, while everyone was at home asleep, a family living at the edge of town were woken up to the sound of their front door being torn off its hinges. The thing that attacked them in the dark was fast and vicious. It was driven back, but not before it had taken a woman’s arm, blinded her husband, and left all of her children with nightmares that still hadn’t gone away.

Several people left town the next morning, and that was when the search parties began. But up until the night they’d caught List, they always either came up empty handed, or had to flee the woods for their lives.

What intrigued Valerie the most was one person who swore on their unborn children that they’d heard the monster in the woods before the sheriff and his wife were attacked. Months before. When she asked where they’d heard the monster, the area lined up tellingly close to where she’d found the shack.

The late afternoon found her back in the town’s tavern, collecting her thoughts over a mug of cider.

Technically speaking, she’d done her job. She’d been sent here ahead of a real monster expert to do the groundwork of an investigation. Get a lay of the land and a basic understanding of the situation to separate fact from rumor. She’d done that and then some.

And yet, she felt so close to doing so much more than that. She could feel the momentum of her investigation, and she was terrified of losing it. She had to keep going. Keep digging.

A bell ran somewhere in the town, and everyone in the tavern stiffened. A moment later, a haggard, terrified man came storming in, red in the face as he gasped out, “Monster!”

One word, and the entire tavern exploded in a chorus of voices.

“How?”

“Did it escape?”

“There’s more of them! What did I tell you, there’s more!”

“We should have killed it when we had the chance. It’s called for help!”

“Sheriff said—” The messenger paused to take a few more ragged breaths. “—everyone inside! Shut the windows! Lock the doors!”

“The sheriff! Where’s the sheriff?”

“He’s going to try and run it off, and make sure the one in the cage don’t get out!”

“Gods above.”

“It’ll kill him!”

“Shut up! The sheriff knows what he’s doing.”

For her part, Valerie hadn’t moved since she’d heard the word monster, as she absorbed the town’s messenger’s words. The sheriff was out, potentially in path of the thing that had really killed his wife and terrorized his town, by himself, while everyone else was instructed to lock themselves indoors.

She almost felt the click in her mind as the last piece of the puzzle fit into place.

She stood up in her seat, and made straight for the door.

“What are you doing?” someone shouted. “We can’t go out there! It’s too dangerous.”

“You’re right, it is,” Valerie said. She fingered the safety mechanism of her wristbow, and the arms of the weapon sprang into place with a metallic snap. “In fact, you should barricade this door as soon as I’m gone.”

With that, she scooped her hat back onto her head, and marched out of the tavern.

#outsiders of xykesh #fantasy #fiction #webfic #webfiction #web serial #writing #asher #dnd #episodes #blood hunter #investigation #csi: xykesh #town under siege

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

For a prompt, what if Wen Xu arrives to burn down the Cloud Recesses while everyone is studying there

Home Alone - ao3

“All right,” Wei Wuxian said, when Lan Qiren announced that the Cloud Recesses would be imminently under attack by Wen Xu and the Wen sect armies, the calm in his monotone voice belied by the wrinkle of concern in his forehead. “We’re going to make that bastard wish he’d never been born, right?”

He was speaking lightly, as he always did, trying to make those around him feel more comfortable, braver, less afraid – his was the language of confidence and arrogance, of never backing down, and he didn’t know how else to speak.

He didn’t mean anything in particular by it, or at least not more than he usually did.

He wasn’t expecting Lan Qiren to look at him and say, “If you have any ideas, now is the time to contribute them.”

“So what exactly do you do again?” Wei Wuxian asked, following the older Lan sect disciple around – at least, the man was dressed like a Lan sect disciple, and with a forehead ribbon suggesting that he shared blood with the main clan, too, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t so sure he really was one.

“I blow stuff up, usually,” Lan Yueheng said cheerfully.

That was why Wei Wuxian had doubts.

The man was practically skipping. There was no way he was a Lan.

“Shishu is an alchemist,” Lan Wangji said. His hands were folded behind his back, as always, and he looked tense as might be expected, what with an imminent attack on his home by a colossal army intent on ravaging and destroying everything in its path – but the way he looked at Lan Yueheng was unaccountably fond, as if he were someone he was close to. Wei Wuxian hadn’t known there was anyone other than Lan Qiren or Lan Xichen that Lan Wangji was close to. He was oddly jealous. “Not always successfully.”

“Hey, at blowing things up, I am the most successful!” Lan Yueheng grinned. A moment later, though, the grin faded, and he looked anxious. “Wangji, are you sure you won’t go with your brother?”

“Brother will protect the sect books,” Lan Wangji said solemnly. “I will stay here to defend the sect and the guest disciples.”

Wei Wuxian appreciated that, being one of said guest disciples.

Anyway, it made sense. Lan Qiren had seriously considered trying to send them away with Lan Xichen, saying that their lives were more important than some extra books – other Lan elders hadn’t necessarily agreed, judging by their expressions – but regretfully concluded that adding more people to Lan Xichen’s escape route would do nothing but reveal its existence, dooming all of them.

So they’d split up: Lan Xichen, heading out virtually alone with the most precious Lan sect books, and all the rest of them here to try to resist as much as they could – even Lan Wangji.

Lan Yueheng didn’t try to argue with Lan Wangji, only sighed, sounding as though he’d expected nothing less from him and had only felt the need to make a token protest before accepting it as inevitable. It seemed he really was close to Lan Wangji.

Yeah, Wei Wuxian was definitely jealous.

“All right, then,” Lan Yueheng said, shaking his head and resuming his cheer. “Blowing things up in self-defense plan it is! You’re both talented in music, right?”

“What does music have to do with explosions?” Wei Wuxian asked.

The answer, apparently, was a lot – at least when you were an experimental alchemist in a musically inclined sect and you’d developed a way to trigger explosions via certain combinations of musical notes.

“So, did you know that Teacher Lan was scary?” Wei Wuxian asked Jiang Cheng, who’d finally returned from helping get all the elderly and children and civilians to evacuate – and refusing to join them, of course, even though he was entitled to go in order to preserve his life, being the heir of a sect and all that, completely typical Jiang Cheng – and was now pacing around, eager for a fight.

“Just because he punished you a few times doesn’t make him scary,” Jiang Cheng said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “You know what does make him scary? Playing music that makes his opponents try to cut their own necks.”

“…what?”

“Apparently he gets really upset when you mess with his students,” Wei Wuxian said wisely.

Unlike Jiang Cheng, he’d had time to adjust to the concept of Lan Qiren being terrifying: they were on the fifth wave of scouts, and this set wasn’t doing any better than the first four, not even when they’d realized it would be better if they stopped their ears with wax before approaching.

That’d only made Lan Qiren shift tactics – and songs.

Some of which had an even wider area of impact.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said, looking at him suspiciously. “What did you do?”

“I convinced Teacher Lan that guerrilla warfare that destroyed as much of the enemy as possible would be more effective than just trying to defend the sect’s territory, since that was clearly a lost cause,” Wei Wuxian said promptly. “He agreed, but said that he could only do so much since he wasn’t a very good sword fighter. And then I asked him if he knew anything else that could be used as an attack and he said ‘no’ and then he said ‘well, I suppose’ and then he listed off a few things that – according to him – aren’t meant to be used in warfare but, and this is a direct quote, ‘could be put to a destructive use if one so wished it’.”

“And we now ‘so wish it’?”

“Yup. Oh, and watch out for anything that has a Lan sect cloud with a three-looped circle carved into the side of it, and I do mean anything– those explode.”

“Of course they do.”

“Hey! For once it has nothing to do with me!”

“I thought you said he said he was bad at swordfighting,” Jiang Cheng said suspiciously.

Wei Wuxian held out his hands helplessly in a ‘don’t look at me’ gesture, trying to defend himself from a sharp and pointy elbow to the side while also not pulling his eyes away from the ongoing battlefield for even a single moment.

“Shufu considers himself to be of average skill at the sword,” Lan Wangji said in the peaceable tone of someone who had been taught the basics of swordfighting by the person in question. The basics of really awesome swordfighting. “His real strength is in music, as you’ve seen.”

“I get that, really, I do, his music is terrifying,” Wei Wuxian said, and meant it completely. Between the two, he’d rather go up against Lan Qiren with a sword, where he’d at least be able to make a decent showing of himself before getting chopped to bits by the man’s fluid and almost seemingly delicate style that was nevertheless highly effective at skewering Wen sect disciples left and right; it would be better than with music, where he might as well just cut his own throat or strangle himself with guqin strings now to save Lan Qiren’s fingers the trouble. “But Jiang Cheng’s still right, okay – why in the world does he consider that to be ‘average’? Who is he comparing himself to?”

Lan Wangji considered the question for a long moment, then finally said: “A statistical outlier.”

“I wish we had aerial attacks we could use against the Wen sect’s swords,” Wei Wuxian said wistfully, and next to him Jiang Cheng nodded with a sight of longing – it was so frustrating seeing more and more Wen sect soldiers arriving in groups, like flocks of birds that started to fill the skies because they couldn’t be so easily shot down. “But if we try anything, they’ll just shield against us.”

“Teacher Lan said we can’t use spiritual energy against them, since we’d lose,” Jiang Cheng said, and as much as they all regretted it, Lan Qiren was probably right: they might be better trained than the Wen sect soldiers, might be better cultivators and stronger in spiritual energy individually, but they were young and immature, and at a serious numerical disadvantage.

It would be far too easy for the flying cultivators to stop their flying just long enough to set up a defensive array, block whatever spiritual attack they sent out, and then keep going to find and stab them before they’d even recovered from the energy expenditure.

“I didn’t mean spiritual energy,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. “I just meant, you know, like the explosives we’ve laid in all over the ground – something like that. If we could attach those to something…”

“I don’t think we have anything that flies anyway,” Lan Yueheng said regretfully.

“You have lanterns, don’t you?” Nie Huaisang said, and everyone turned to look at him. “Fill them with something that explodes when disturbed and send them floating into the air. Better yet, write ‘peace’ on the side of them to make it look like you’re making some sort of meaningful gesture designed to shame them. The Wen sect won’t be able to resist kicking them aside as an insult, and that’ll trigger them.”

They all stared at him.

He shrugged.

“We have a lot of defenses set up against invasion, at home,” he said. “And not always the budget to pay for anything fancy, so we’ve come up with some slightly more unorthodox ideas, too.”

“It’s a really good idea,” Wei Wuxian said, suddenly focused on the hitherto ignored Nie Huaisang. Clearly he’d made a tactical error, thinking of himself as the only person who knew how to get up to tricks. “Do you have any other ideas like that?”

Nie Huaisang smiled.

“Teacher Lan, I have an idea,” Wei Wuxian said, inserting himself briefly into the clearing near the Lan sect gate where Lan Qiren was sitting to rest in preparation for the Wen sect’s next attack. “But you’re going to hate it.”

“You may proceed,” Lan Qiren said, not looking up.

“Wait,” Wei Wuxian said, blinking. “Really? You’re not even going to ask what it is? Or why you’d hate it so much?”

“There is no time for that,” Lan Qiren said, and finally spared him a glance. He looked tired. “Things will get worse very soon.”

“But we’re winning!”

“No,” Lan Qiren said, shaking out his fingers – even despite occasionally alternating to using the sword when necessary, he’d played his guqin to the point of drawing blood and breaking nails, and was continuing despite everyone pleading with him to stop and swap out for someone else for a while. He’d said that there was no one else on his level, and he was probably right, but still, surely, just for a little… “We are surviving. Do not mistake the two.”

“Okay, so,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his hands together. “Resentful energy –”

“No,” Lan Wangji said.

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian said to Jin Zixuan, who’d probably just saved his life by stabbing a Wen sect cultivator in the back right before the man had been able to stop Wei Wuxian from activating another series of explosions. “I guess I owe you one?”

“Don’t mention it,” Jin Zixuan said. “How else can I help?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian said, scratching his head and thinking about Nie Huaisang as precedent. There wasn’t time for schoolyard rivalries right now. “Do you have anything really unexpected that could be used to hurt people? Be creative – they’re guarded against all the usual defenses, so the weirder the better, anything goes. I won’t judge.”

Jin Zixuan thought about it. “I’m pretty sure I have a drug that puts people to sleep?”

“…why do you have something like that?”

Jin Zixuna grimaced. “My father gave it to me along with another one that he said not to use in excess, though I don’t actually know what that one does because that was about when my mom ran in and started throwing things at him. I can’t throw it away because it was a gift from my father, but I put it as deep into my bags as I could so that I’d never have to see or touch it. Ever.”

Wei Wuxian’s nose wrinkled. He’d never before felt pity for Jin Zixuan, but having to put up with Jin Guangshan on a regular basis was pretty bad – much less owing him filial piety.

No wonder Jin Zixuan was so twitchy all the time.

“Okay, so one sleep drug and one…uh…”

“Enhancement. Presumably. Can we throw it at the other side? Maybe turn it into incense and make smoke-bombs or something?”

“You know what,” Wei Wuxian said. “Why not? If nothing else, it’d be distracting, right?”

“This doesn’t feel honorable,” Jiang Cheng said, watching the fun. They’d raided the Lan sect’s medicine cabinets and kitchens for other noxious and irritating substances that might make for good smoke-bombs – Jiang Cheng himself had even located a whole patch of something not unlike poison ivy that had been quickly repurposed for the cause. “Strictly speaking.”

“Honor’s overrated,” Wei Wuxian said. “Making the Wen bastards pay for attacking Lan Zhan’s home is what’s important.”

Lan Wangji didn’t smile, exactly, but Wei Wuxian took his expression as a win regardless.

It turned out that music could also make plants grow really fast.

According to Lan Qiren, the spell ruined the plants’ nutritional value and made them basically useless.

Well.

Useless if your goal was eating them, anyway.

(First they could grow under their enemies’ feet and attack them, roots and vines twining around them to strangle them, and then they could be used up in the smoke-bombs – two for the price of one!)

“Are you sure about not doing the whole resentful energy thing?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said. “No.”

“Hey, Wei-xiong, do you have or can you create any more papermen?” Jin Zixuan asked.

“Yes, sure, plenty,” Wei Wuxian said. He’d like to say that he’d known he’d one day need such a skill, and that that was why he’d learned the trick so thoroughly, but that was a complete lie. “Why?”

“Nie-xiong, Jiang-xiong and I are going to use them to make a shadow-play to lure a bunch of Wen sect cultivators into another plant-and-explosives trap.”

“…that’s amazing, Jin-xiong,” Wei Wuxian said, marveling. “How do you even think of that?”

“Even I get into trouble sometimes,” Jin Zixuan said, and was startled into an unexpected smile when Jiang Cheng punched his shoulder approvingly.

Wei Wuxian was actually having a pretty good time with it all right up until the main force of the Wen sect decided to ignore all their traps and charge straight towards the classroom they’d fallen back to using as a headquarters, and then suddenly he wasn’t having a good time at all.

“Run,” Lan Qiren said, and put down his guqin, drawing his sword once more.

“But we can fight!” Jiang Cheng argued.

“Run.”

“Shufu –”

“Run.”

They ran.

“If you don’t come out, I’m going to make him pay,” Wen Xu called.

His fingers were knotted in Lan Qiren’s hair, pulling their teacher’s head back to show how his face was covered in blood, how it was seeping out through his mouth and nose, how one of his eyes was badly bruised and swollen from having been beaten down by sheer force of numbers.

Lan Qiren had made them pay dearly for their efforts to bring him down –

But there were just so many of them.

“How dare he,” Jiang Cheng hissed. “He was once one of Teacher Lan’s students, too!”

Wei Wuxian was holding Lan Wangji back, but only barely; his fingers were starting to go numb from the sheer effort of it. If Jin Zixuan and Jiang Cheng weren’t there to help him hold him down, Lan Wangji would have already given away their position, rushing out to make some futile gesture in his overwhelming rage. Wei Wuxian was focusing with all his being on how much he had to stop Lan Wangji from doing something like that, because if he wasn’t, if he let himself think about anything else for even a single moment, he’d have also run out there, sword drawn, without so much as a care – he hadn’t realized he’d be so angry over it, so furious, so betrayed and horrified by Wen Xu’s cruelty.

Prior to today, he wouldn’t have said he even liked Lan Qiren!

“My students are not so foolish as to fall for so obvious a scheme as that,” Lan Qiren said, his tone as monotonous as it ever was during his lectures – for the briefest moment, Wei Wuxian felt that he was dreaming, that he had merely dreamt everything that had happened: surely it was still yesterday, with Lan Qiren standing tall, safe and healthy, at the front of the classroom, lecturing about one of the Lan sect rules…which one had it been? Shoulder the weight of morality? Have a strong will and anything can be achieved? Be mighty, and others will die for you?

Do not break faith?

Somehow, despite everything that had happened, Lan Qiren’s eyes curved ever so slightly.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

Wen Xu threw him down to the ground, mouth twisting and teeth gnashing with offended anger.

“Beat him,” he ordered his men. “Make it hurt. I want him screaming – let’s see how his precious students like that. Or maybe it’s just that they don’t care?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, eyes red with unshed tears and barely swallowed rage. “Tell me your idea about resentful energy.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Qiren said, then paused briefly to cough up some blood. His voice, when he resumed speaking, was hoarse. “Perhaps I should have reviewed your idea more closely when you first proposed it.”

“Possibly,” Wei Wuxian said, offering up some cloth to help wipe away the blood. Lan Wangji was busy bandaging his uncle’s injuries up, while Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan, and Nie Huaisang hovered by the door, only barely pretending to be keeping a lookout the way they were supposed to. “In my defense, I didn’t quite expect…that.”

Everyone politely did not ask him to elaborate.

The effects had been…well, it turned out using resentful energy the way Wei Wuxian had thought was possible, to say the least, and also that they’d taken down an awful lot of Wen sect soldiers in their defensive efforts.

“You will all have been affected by the resentful energy you used to summon the corpses,” Lan Qiren said. “Although the method you devised appears to avoid the most immediate consequences, which – let me remind you – include qi deviation and death in some instances, there is always the possibility that it has left traces of resentful energy within your meridians. If it is allowed to build up, it will escalate into a backlash that would rip your body and soul to pieces. There are spells and songs that can help clear your spirits and ease the effects.”

“Nie Huaisang has been playing some of them for us, since he can’t fight,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie sect ones – they’re…uh, not especially calming, more of a cleanse-by-force thing, but they seem to be working.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. “We’ll listen to any others that you’d like, Teacher Lan,” he said, anxious, and the rest of them nodded. “Just say which ones. If there’s any array or anything – or if you want us to write an essay about why using resentful energy is dangerous and wrong –”

Even Wei Wuxian nodded at that – even Nie Huaisang nodded, and he hated essays more than anything.

Lan Qiren huffed lightly. “Now you’re all so obedient.”

They all bowed their heads.

“…you did a good job,” Lan Qiren finally said, and they all looked up to stare at him. “You rescued me and repelled the Wen sect, however temporarily. Even though you used demonic cultivation, which is forbidden, you did not purposefully disturb graves, and you can make recompense to the spirits later. It was well done, and I thank you for it.”

He noticed that they were gaping and frowned at them.

“What have I taught you?” he scolded, and he sounded enough like he normally did that Wei Wuxian had the sudden urge to burst into totally inexplicable tears. “The preservation of human life is the priority, always. Why is this a surprise?”

“Shufu is right,” Lan Wangji said, and there was something of peace and calm in his eyes, the foundation of his world steady and unfaltering – he was almost glowing with it, satisfied and happy, and he was so utterly beautiful in Wei Wuxian’s eyes that it was almost blinding. “We acknowledge Teacher’s words.”

“We acknowledge Teacher’s words,” everyone else quickly agreed.

Lan Qiren shook his head, nodding in appreciation. “What is your next step now?” he asked. “The Wen sect was only repulsed, not defeated. They will not be gone long – they are already regrouping outside our gate, and this time they will be prepared for the effects of your demonic cultivation. In the end, they still have the advantage of numbers.”

“I don’t think we got as far as that in our plan,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing the back of his head.

His thinking had mostly stopped at get Teacher Lan back and make them pay. He was pretty sure the same was true for Lan Wangji, and probably all the rest of the, too.

“Maybe you didn’t,” Nie Huaisang said with a sniff, and damnit, Wei Wuxian really needed to stop underestimating him just because he was a bad cultivator and a bit empty-headed. “I, on the other hand, sent a message back to my da-ge way back when this first started, and he should be here very soon with an army of his own.”

There were those in the Jiang sect that liked to mock the Nie sect as being unduly paranoid, always preparing for war and speaking grimly of its inevitability, always training their disciples and soldiers as if each one of them would need to fight five or ten of the enemy at once.

If Wei Wuxian ever met any of those people ever again, he was going to punch them in the face.

“Just be sure to get your sect ready when you get back,” Nie Mingjue advised them all grimly when it was all done and Wen Xu’s head was stuck on a pike at the entrance to the Cloud Recesses as a warning. The Nie sect’s forces were smaller than the Wen sect’s invasion force, but their people were better trained; even after flying all the way from Qinghe, they’d come down on the remaining invasion force like a hammer. “This isn’t over, not by a long shot.”

“We understand. There is still war to come.”

“Not just war, but uneven and unbalanced war, and not in our favor,” Nie Mingjue said heavily. “Understand that even with this loss, the forces of all the cultivation world put together can’t match up to the armies under Wen Ruohan’s command.”

“Actually,” Lan Qiren said, and gave all of his students a pointed look, probably on account of the fact that they all still owed him the essay they'd promised to write, “I think you’ll find that there’s something more that we can add…”

#mdzs #wei wuxian #lan qiren #lan wangji #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #jin zixuan #my fic #my fics #home alone

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lovelybarnes · 3 years

Text

baby blue- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, tony stark bruce banner, steve rogers, sam wilson warnings: child bucky, language, this is long. why is this so long about: requested by @cherry-season (apparently can't tag you)! bucky turns into a baby/toddler and is clingy a/n: okay so i know virtually nothing about three-year-olds. can you tell? thank you so much for requesting!! I had so much fun writing this <333

[@tylard-blog1]

bucky’s day wasn’t particularly fantastic to begin with.

he was already exhausted when he woke up in the early lights of the morning, his nightmares had kept him up all night-- which you theorized was due to the mission the day before that took place in one of the same hydra bases bucky had been held in. you had frowned when you realized it the day of, turning your attention to bucky and making sure he was okay with it because if he wasn’t, you would make sure someone else took care of it. he had insisted it was fine, even though the next night proved him wrong. you had done what you could, running your fingers through his hair and humming lightly until you fell asleep and he refused to wake you up, resigning himself to a sleepless night.

his morning started with his flesh arm reaching out to feel your side of the bed, hoping to find your soft, warm skin to pull you closer, but instead being met with the unkind sheets that missed the gentleness of your body. he had frowned when he realized you had already left for a meeting with some important hotshot in space with carol (you couldn’t find a better excuse to go get breakfast at your favorite alien restaurant with your favorite aliens) and wouldn’t be back for a solid few hours too long. groaning, and with no real reason to stay in bed for any longer without the excuse of getting to feel you for a few more hours, he dragged himself out of bed.

it didn’t get much better from there, because he was greeted with the sight of sam eating the last bowl of the last box of cereal in the whole damn tower because everyone rejected to go grocery shopping. since bucky refused to eat any of the frozen breakfasts tony loved so much and the stark kid swore were “the best thing ever,” he grunted at sam and walked away without eating, knowing he’d regret it later when his stomach would growl and you would immediately know he skipped breakfast.

for some unknown reason, tony had found out about bucky’s lack of things to do, and with a few winks and manipulative large-worded engineering phrases, convinced him to join him in the lab, which bucky had only really been able to see through the clear glass that separated the lab from the rest of the tower, and from the occasions where he would take food and drinks to you while you locked yourself away inside, building something alongside tony.

being inside, so close to the various machines and objects bucky cant begin to figure out the purpose of, his memories of being in school and at the top of his math and engineering classes bubble to the surface, filling him with the pride he remembers having every day at school. the thought that he could probably understand everything if you or tony explained it to him passes through his mind and urges him to ask tony to do just that, but tony beats him before he can get the chance.

bruce is eyeing them wearily from the other side of the lab, attention mostly on the test tubes in front of him. he gives bucky a smile when he comes in, but seems to ignore him for the most part until tony shows bucky to bruce’s work station, pointing out a blue liquid in a test tube marked TESTING. bruce’s neck snaps to them when tony open his big mouth, “you know, y/n was actually supposed to test something out for me today,” tony begins innocently, a suggestion laced in his words that bucky catches but decides to ignore because of the high he feels from understanding the equations scribbled on the clear glass, “do you know where she is?”

bucky narrows his eyes at him, then looks up at the clock, realizing it’s still a while before you get back, “not even on earth,” he recipes blandly, slyly sneaking a glance at the liquid for any indications of what it could be.

tony sighs dramatically, his shoulders sagging, “oh no, how do i test this now?” bruce shoots tony a warning glance that is blatantly ignored.

bucky’s shrugging before he can help it, the reminder that since you were going to do it, what could be the harm if he did? “i could do it.”

tony claps, “great!” he gestures to a door behind him, “please go in there to sign non-disclosure agreements and wash your hands.”

bucky’s shoved inside before he can fully understand the implications of his stupid offer.

the thought of asking the basic questions he should have asked before he agreed to test an unidentified liquid comes to bucky nearly an hour later, when the small vial of weird blue liquid sits in front of him, waiting to be drunk. tony and bruce sit in chairs a couple of feet away, clipboards in both of their hands, and interested expressions settled on their features.

“what does this do again?” he asks, squinting at the vial that he doesn’t notice tony isn’t looking at, furrowing his eyebrows when tony waves him off, “something super smart. no side effects or anything.” bucky’s eyes flit down to the little vial again, before they nearly bug out of his head at the humongous laser that is rolled into the room, “what the hell is that.”

“ah,” tony grins, bouncing from his seat to stand next to his invention proudly, “this is what you’re testing out.” bucky cocks his head at the man, “i thought i was drinking blue water. y/n was going to drink blue water.” tony shakes his head, adjusting some dials on the machine, “yeah, no, it was this. pretty sure i told you.”

“you didn’t-” bruce is looking at tony in concern, about to tell him to slow down so bucky has a chance to think all this through again and maybe ask if there is any chance the laser will melt him, when tony clicks a large red button and a bright white light clouds bucky’s vision just as he sees the clock on the exact same time he saw an hour ago, realizing the clock in the billion-dollar lab is broken, and you’re probably getting home any second.

“tony!” he hears bruce yell before his vision goes dark.

it’s only a second until he can pry open his eyes again, a hand curling into a fist, ready to pound stark into tomorrow when he can suddenly feel the nails of his hand digging into his palm. the surprising feeling of it where his vibranium arm should be forces him to look down at a small arm, fully skin and thin. he looks around, noticing his surroundings suddenly have grown very large around him, and the sound of his voice is higher when he tries to speak again.

“what the f-” he mumbles, cutting himself off when a sudden memory of his ma yelling at him to wash his mouth out if he wants to talk like that floods his mind, and he stares down at himself, eyebrows furrowing when he spots his short stature and the tiny hands and feet that look up at him. realization floods him like a wave, raising his chin at the two, tall, gobsmacked men in front of. “was that supposed to happen?” bruce asks quietly, nodding slowly when tony shakes his head, “no.”

there’s a light knock at the door, your hand pushing it open before anyone can stop you, and your tired face peeks in, a glowing smiling adorning your face and your eyes searching for your boyfriend, “hey, do you guys know where bucky is-” your voice cuts through the stunned silence, pausing when you catch the little boy’s eye. at first, you stare at him, your eyebrows pulling together as you get a good look at the familiar cerulean of his eyes and scan the clothing you’d seen on bucky before. for a second, everything is silent, bucky’s eyes are wide and staring as yours bore into them, searching for something you’re nearly touching until you gasp, “bucky?” you choke, reaching for him when he nods, his legs already trying to reach you as fast as they possibly can but they buckle. bucky realizes just then how old he must be now. “oh, baby,” you murmur, gathering him up in your arms before he can fall to the hard ground of the lab. “what the hell did you idiots do to my boyfriend?” you demand, turning to the two scientists who are going over tony’s notes.

bruce glances at tony, tilting his head at him as if to say him. you roll your eyes, not having any more information than when you asked, “tony?” you growl, walking over to the man, not missing the way little bucky’s hand grabs onto your shirt.

“it didn’t- that wasn’t supposed to happen,” tony defends weakly, a lazy shrug pulling at his shoulders. your eyes flash with velvet red, and, without moving a finger, tony’s pulled in front of you, wrapped in red swirls bucky can’t help but gawk at.

“fix it.” you order. tony nods, pursing his lips, “we’ll do that.” bruce looks a little taken aback, looking up from tony’s scribbles and equations. “i don’t think it’ll last more than a day,” he offers helpfully, “whatever it was tony was trying to do wasn’t either.”

bucky’s eyes start to droop, which he assumes is an effect of the sleepless night he just had on his infant body, something that usually wouldn’t affect him in his one-hundred-and-six-year-old self. he hums when he realizes the irony, leaning his head against the welcoming crook of your neck and catching your attention. you turn to him for a moment, softening a little before turning back to tony and glaring at him, “fix it.”

steve catches you when you walk out of the lab, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he spots the toddler in your arms, “holy shit, that looks exactly like bucky,” he breathes, scanning the dark mussed-up hair and stepping back when bucky opens his eyes. from next to him, sam looks from bucky to you, “did you two have a kid and not tell anyone, because this-”

“is bucky. that’s bucky.” you interrupt, looking at the toddler, “tony messed up with something and… this happened, i don’t completely… bucky’s a baby.”

steve raises an eyebrow, squinting at his best friend, “ha,” he laughs, “wow, he looks exactly like his pictures. he must be about three years old.” bucky blinks at him. “his ma said he was chatting up a storm at that age, though,” steve informs, looking back up at you. sam grins, “has he said anything? i kinda want to hear if he still sounds old.” bucky frowns at him, his pout deepening when sam bursts into laughter, “his grumpy face is the same!”

you look at your boyfriend, tilting your head and smiling a little when you realize he’s right, “you’re cute,” you coo now that you get a good look at him, “you’re so cute,” you murmur, poking his nose with your finger. bucky can’t help the blush that comes to his cheeks. but he slaps away sam’s fingers, scowling at him, “no.” he argues, “no.”

sam frowns, “no old man voice.”

“i hate you,” bucky says to sam, and you laugh, “i think we should leave for now. i need to figure out what will make three-year-old bucky not as grumpy.” sam looks at bucky’s furrowed brows and the same two little lines between them, his eyes flickering back up to yours, “i think that may just be a bucky thing.”

you bring bucky to the living room, sitting him down at the edge of the couch and crouching in front of him, watching him and his little crossed arms, bottom lip jutted out against his own will. bucky isn’t used to the emotional control of a child who’s three and can’t control the frustration that’s coursing through him at the moment. the only thing he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want you to leave him again.

“bucky?” you start, looking deep into the wide blue eyes that let you know it is bucky you’re speaking to. “what do you want to do? are you hungry? d’you want to sleep?” bucky shakes his head stubbornly at you, “i want tony to fix this.”

you sigh, “i know, baby. i do too, but until he finds a cure to this, you’re gonna stay small for a couple more hours.” he pouts at that, and you smooth your thumb over his cheek, “no pouting. we can do whatever you want, buck.”

just as he’s about to reject any idea you have, his stomach rumbles loudly, directing your attention to the arms that guiltily cover up his middle. “bucky... did you eat breakfast today?” you query, a lecturing tone sneaking into your words. “sam ate my cereal,” bucky grumbles, crossing his arms.

“bucky!” you exclaim, standing up to turn to the kitchen, “that’s no excuse. i told you you needed to eat--” you’re barely three steps into the kitchen when you hear the pattering of his feet towards you, grubby hands pawing at your legs.

“don’t leave,” he whines, hugging your ankles and sitting down on the floor, “you left all morning,” he mumbles, smushing his cheeks against your calf.

“i’m sorry,” you apologize, bending over to brush away the hair that falls over his eyes. “c’mere,” you murmur, reaching down to pick him up again and bounce him on your hip while you head to the kitchen. “what do you want to eat?” bucky thinks about it for a minute, before smiling, “i want pizza and ice cream.” you frown at him, “i don’t think three-year-olds can eat that. actually, i don’t think anyone should.”

after consulting google on what three-year-olds should eat, you have bucky’s head resting on your shoulder, refusing to let you put him down even as you made him the mac and cheese he had agreed to, still a little upset over the fact you wouldn’t let him eat all the other things he wanted. the only time he let you not carry him was when he was eating, still insisting you sit right next to him to watch as he smeared cheese all over tony’s expensive table.

“okay,” you whisper breathlessly after watching him eat his third bowl of the meal, “i think that’s good.” you shove the dirty dishes in the sink, washing bucky’s hands and wiping at him cheeks with a warm cloth to get the mess he managed to create off. “did you forget how to eat?” you wonder aloud when you finally fnish cleaning him up, watching his small shoulders shrug.

“what do you want to do now? anything you want,” you propose.

“i want you,” he says, reaching his stubby arms out, “cuddles. ‘m sleepy,” he yawns, making grabby hands at you when you take too long to pick him up. “bucky,” you chuckle, complying with him and bringing him into your chest, where he leans his head on your shoulder. “you sure you don’t want to play or something? you don’t want to…” you trail off, trying to think of what three-year-olds do, “walk or read or something?”

bucky grunts in your ear, his eyelids already closing again, “cuddles,” he repeats, balling your shirt up in his little hands.

“okay,” you sigh, bouncing him gently while you walk to your shared bedroom. you pick up a stuffed animal you brought for bucky from one of your most recent missions, “did you sleep last night? is that why you’re so tired?” bucky hums, cuddling further into your chest when you lay down with him on top of you. you hand him the little dog plush, pressing a kiss to his head when he takes the gift, hugging it with you. “honey, i’m sorry,” you frown, gently threading your fingers through his short hair, humming the same song bucky sings to you when you can’t get to sleep. it doesn’t take long to lull him into the calmness of rest.

you only wake up when the weight on you is suddenly multiplied, completely taking your breath away, “bucky!-” you exclaim, rolling from underneath him to meet his closed eyes. you shake your head with a light laugh, drawing a strand of hair behind his ear before you press your lips to his cheeks, snuggling in with him again, “sweet dreams, darling,” you murmur, placing the stuffed animal he dropped on your dresser.

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startanewdream · 3 years

Text

goodnight kiss

there was this very cute post telling how Ginny kissing Harry goodnight is canon and this idea has been playing around in my mind for a while, so here's a missing moment set during Harry and Ginny's first days of relationship:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time it happens, Harry thinks it's his fault for being too distracted.

They are in the Common Room and in an effort to prove that he isn't abandoning his best friends just because he is dating now—and a bit to set an example for Ron and Hermione, just in case—, Harry spends the evening finishing an essay with Hermione and then playing chess with Ron. And if his gaze keeps drifting to Ginny, well, he won't feel guilty about it.

She keeps winking at him every time she sees him, her concentrated face breaking into his favourite grin and it takes even more effort to not drop everything and go to her side. But he endures and he is really involved in his match by the time he feels her sweet flowery perfume; he turns at once.

Ginny gives him a bright smile, places a soft kiss that ends even before he registers the feeling of her lips, and waves at the other two.

"I can't keep my eyes open one second longer," she declares heavily. "See you tomorrow."

And then she is gone to her dormitory leaving only the trace of her scent and Harry can't stop the feeling that he must have done something wrong.

The thought slips from his mind until two days later, when it happens again. Ginny is standing against his legs, reading her notes, when she jumps to her feet, stretching her back lazily. "I think I'm gonna crash early today."

"History of Magic?" Harry guesses, eyeing her notes.

"What else?” A smirk blossoms at her lips. “Maybe tomorrow you could help me study something more interesting."

"I could help you now."

"Tempting," she admits unashamedly. "But I'm really tired and I'd rather keep my stamina for a happy Sunday tomorrow."

And Ginny winks at him, lowering her head enough to brush her lips against his—Harry opens his mouth, desperate to feel her taste, to pull her closer—but she is gone before he has the chance.

It bothers him.

The next night, after a very productive day—not for studies if studies are limited to subjects taught at Hogwarts, that's it—, when they are finally saying their goodbyes by the stairs to her dorm, Harry doesn’t leave it to chance.

He pulls her into his arms and even as his hands are cupping her face, fingers feeling the strands of her hair, his mouth captures her, tongue searching for a permission that she grants him at once, and then there is only her sweet taste and the feeling that Harry never found anywhere else but in her. A moan escapes her lips—a sound that Harry treasures each time he hears it—and when they break apart, at last, oblivious to the wolf-whistling in the room and a break of nervous giggles, her face is all flushed.

“Wow,” she whispers, beaming, her eyes the colour of melted chocolate. “What was that for?”

“A goodnight kiss,” he says, but it sounds more like a question.

“It’ll be really hard to sleep after this, but I appreciate it anyway.”

And then Ginny does it again—she kisses him softly, a peck he barely feels with the way his lips are still tingling after that perfect goodnight kiss, and she is gone.

What is he doing wrong?

The question keeps pounding on his mind all night and the following day. By then even Ron is noticing there is something wrong, but Harry can’t share his struggles with him. For one, Harry is sure Ron never faced the same trouble: he and Lavender only did full snog sessions. For two, it’s about Ginny. He can’t ask her brother what is wrong with his kiss.

Ginny finds him by lunchtime, meeting him in front of the Great Hall with a small basket and asking him if he doesn’t wanna have lunch with her on the grounds. Harry doesn’t miss the glance exchanged between Ginny and Hermione and this doesn’t help much.

Ginny waits until they are sitting by the shadow of their favourite tree to start it. “So, what’s bothering you?”

If it was anyone else, Harry would ignore it or divert the subject. But he doesn’t know anyone else but Ginny who would ask him directly like that and this is one of the things he most likes about her anyway, so his answer is truthful.

“Am I a bad kisser?”

Ginny blinks; whatever she was expecting, it clearly wasn’t this. “The amount of time I’ve spent kissing you for the last week shows that I think you’re a very good kisser,” she says slowly. “Where is this coming from?”

He pursues his lips. “You’re avoiding kissing me.”

Another blink. “Er… no?”

“At night at last.” Another of his concerns arise. “Is it bad breath? I can brush—”

“I like your breath,” she assures him at once. “I like everything about kissing you actually. In case it’s not obvious, which apparently isn’t.”

“You—you avoid snogging me at night. As in you give me this… this peck and then you are gone and—”

“That’s just a goodnight kiss, Harry,” she replies quietly. “We don’t have to turn every kiss into a makeout session—not that I’d mind, but also… I enjoy every kiss we share.” A frown marks her forehead suddenly. “Unless you’re not happy with them? I get it if you were hoping we’d have more moments, it’s just with classes and—”

“No, no.” Now another panic floods him. “Every moment we spend together it’s… like something I could never have even imagined. Or if I could—it’s better.”

She breathes slowly. “Good. Because I swear even a little peck just makes me… sparkle.”

“Sparkle?”

A blush spreads across her face but Ginny looks resolute. “Yeah, let me try to show you. Close your eyes—and don’t move.”

He obeys her diligently, closing his eyes and standing still even as he feels the shadow of her face over his. And then he feels her lips over his very gently, tugging at his lower lip, then upper lip; he never really appreciated before how soft her mouth feels as he stands there, feeling their brush. Then she places a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth, the touch sending shivers down his body as effectively as when they are fully kissing.

“Oh,” he whispers when he opens his eyes to find her staring at him nervously. “I see sparkles.”

A beam draws away any worry from her face.

Later that night, Harry finds Ginny exchanging Charms notes with her colleagues.

“You’ll be staying up?” he asks, glancing at her watch. It’s almost midnight.

“We’re almost finishing the revision for Fourth Grade spells.”

“Do you want me to wait for you?”

“No, go rest. I’m fine. We can meet for breakfast tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” he agrees, smiling, and Ginny turns briefly to him, sharing a quick kiss—her mates giggle, still unused to them, but Harry hopes to win them over with time.

“Good dreams.”

He is sure he will dream about her, but Harry feels this is not the moment to disclose this information. Instead, he just nods. “And you too.”

And for good measure, he lowers his head to place a soft kiss on her cheek, admiring how the blood flushes there as if attracted to his mouth. Harry smiles to himself. Perhaps he can start his own goodnight kiss tradition.

#Hinny #HBP Missing Moment #HBP Hinny will always be my fave moment #all good feelings

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

The Hell he’s been through;

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

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

Part 2(final part)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How the fuck did you do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

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

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

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

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

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

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

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

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

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

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

“... I made sure of that .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened, Merlin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

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

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

“Why do you think?!-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

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

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

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

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

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

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

“Come on, next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwaine perks up slightly:

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

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

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

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

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

“Next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

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

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we please stop now?”

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

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

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

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

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

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

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

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

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

“C...cave.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Episode??”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End of part 1!!!

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

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

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

#dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat #bio!dad au #Bio!mom Harley Quinn #Bio!Dad joker #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Harley’s Plea for Help #platonic brucinette #platonic jasonette #platonic Harley Quinn x Marinette

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