#everyone in that chamber room almost died and THAT wasn’t your tipping point???

[the-death-of-duty]

Break Me, I'm Yours

By AliaTurin

Aemond waited for the woman. He was sitting on the bed, enjoying the silence. He had to fix many things in the castle, and part of him regretted killing the Strongs. They would work on the place’s upkeep if they were still alive. He was a prince and a dragon rider, not a castellan, even if that was the largest castle ever built.

“You asked for me, my prince,” Alys said after she knocked and walked into the room.

Aemond didn’t answer, just smiled. It was probably foolish to sleep with anyone, true born or not, related to the people he had just killed, but he felt so attracted to her that he couldn’t deny himself. For years he had wondered how Aegon found so much lust in himself to sleep with all these women and his wife, but now he felt it as well. Unlike his brother, this was the first time he felt an attraction that strong, making his mind wander even during the day when he was busy with other tasks.

“It was my understanding you would share my bed whenever I want it. However, I want it. I was displeased not seeing you here and asking someone else to bring you.” Aemond got up, kicking the boots off his feet. “Come to me.”

She walked closer, her long green dress brushing the floor and creating the only sound in the room. His chambers were enormous, making her move take longer than it should have, but he used the moment to admire her. Alys’ face was pretty, a timeless beauty he imagined only goddesses possessed. Her body was slender but curved in all the right places. He couldn’t imagine a woman like that had no idea what she was doing, yet her head was down.

“Look at me.” The prince commanded as she was in front of him, and she did it. Her full lips were made for kissing. He moved a strand of her hair behind her shoulders, revealing the deep neckline of her dress. He wanted to rip off her clothes, but he suppressed his most animalistic instinct. He leaned forward to kiss her. Today he would take it slow, not as he did yesterday, taking her as many times as he could without controlling his impulses. As Aemond’s lips pressed against hers, he felt something sharp against his side. The prince looked down, and she was holding a knife pointed at his abdomen. “I’m not sure you want to do that.”

“No?” The way she smiled made him think of a cat satisfied with the mischief she had just created. “Perhaps here, then?’ She moved the knife up the tip pressing against the most vulnerable part of his throat. Aemond was familiar with killing - sword, knife, fire, and he wasn’t unfamiliar with how people died. She would need strength to push the blade into him, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

“I’m still not sure you want to do that.” He could quickly slap the blade away from her hand; she was smaller than him, and he was significantly stronger.

“Do I have a choice?” He heard the desperation in her voice. “You killed everyone I know and could call family. You keep me because of my looks. I am not stupid. How long before you get tired of me, and I am another Strong bastard you can add to the casualty list? There are other women here, and I am aware of your reputation, my prince.”

Aemond was impressed. He had not thought about getting rid of her, maybe because he had enjoyed her too much, but she was a Strong, even if bastard, and he had something of a reputation with their family.

“Pointing a knife at me is a certain way to get yourself killed.” With one hand, he slapped the blade away; with the other, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her toward himself, her back pressing against his chest. Aemond pulled her as close as he could, his mouth immediately on her neck, his teeth brushing against the tender skin. Instead of biting, he ran his tongue over her neck almost tenderly. “If you don’t want to be here, you can walk out, and I will forget about your little presumption you can kill me. But if you stay, you will have to endure your punishment.” He loosened his grip on her hair and around her body, he was still holding her, but Alys wanted to walk away right now. She could.

A moment passed, and the woman in his hand didn’t run away from him. She pressed her body closer to his making him press his hardness against her back.

Alys thought about it. Within the short seconds, she had, she was sure every possible scenario ran through her head. She could leave the castle, provided he was sincere about his offer. She was terrified of him, and with good reason, but there was something more. The way she had felt yesterday when he held her, no matter how rough he was, was different than any other man had done in the past. He had touched and handled her as if she was the only thing that mattered in the world. They had barely met, she probably imagined all that, but Alys also felt as if he had bewitched her - the irony of all that.

She turned around in his grip and pressed her lips against his. Alys thought she had probably lost her mind. It was almost like knowing dragons were dangerous and still walking into the dent of one and wanting to be friends. Every rational thought in her mind told her to run. Whatever had happened until now was passion and physical need on his end. There was no way that would end well for her, yet she did not move.

The prince didn’t lose a second and kissed her back savagely. There was passion in hunger in the way his mouth took over hers. Aemond’s hands ran over her back and dug into the dress, tearing the fabric off her body.

“I’ll need a new one.” Alys joked as she stepped back and let the ruined fabric fall off her body.

“No, you don’t.” His lips were curved in a predator smile. “You don't require clothes.”

Aemond stepped closer to her, the smile not leaving his lips. He grabbed her waist and turned Alys around. She lost her balance, and her palms hit the bed as her ass pressed against him.

“My prince is eager.” She laughed as she felt him lean forward, his foot pushing hers and making her spread her legs.

“Shut up.” There was anger in his voice, which was to be expected. After all, she had the full intention to kill the man tonight, and her fear and odd attraction to him had stopped her. He ran a hand over Aly’s abdomen, slowly reaching between her legs. She shivered in pleasure as his digits ran over clit and hoovered over her wetness. Alys didn’t see the smirk on his lips, but she felt it as his lips kissed her neck. “My lady, who would care for you if you pushed that knife in my guts?”

His words made her push herself against his cock again, his hips rocking forward to meet her, but he was still dressed, and there was no relief. Instead, Aemon pushed a finger in her, his thumb drawing slow circles around her clit.

“What turned you on? The thought of killing me, the memory of what we did yesterday…all of it? I can sympathize with how murder turns someone on.” He whispered in her ear as he pushed a second finger into her, moving very slowly. His other hand wrapped around her throat. Alys didn’t have an answer. Her mind was too busy with the need growing between her legs and the fact that his hand was playing with her, not truly providing any relief.

Alys’ fingers dug into the bedcovers, and a moan escaped her lip, inviting him to give her more, and surprisingly he obliged. He pushed a third finger into her, making her feel fuller than she had ever been, his thumb still working on her bundle of nerves, this time harder and faster. She started shivering, her legs barely holding her together from her approaching orgasm and the pace he had picked. She could feel her stomach curling, and she was so close when he suddenly pulled his hand away from her. Probably a second she came around his fingers.

Alys turned her head toward him, and this satisfied smirk was on his lips.

“I said it’s a punishment, not a reward, for trying to kill me.” Aemond gently kissed her back, but at the same time, he shoved his fingers in her again, almost as if he had never stopped. Alys tried to wiggle away, not even sure where. She wanted him to continue, but she also wanted release, and something told her he was not about to give her that. This time her orgasm approached faster, her body squeezing around his digit, and he pulled out again, probably a second before she finally got what she needed.

He repeated that three more times, his lips placing almost loving kisses on her neck, back, and cheeks while his hand fucked her roughly, stopping at the right moment.

“My prince, please.” Alys finally moaned. Her thighs were drenched, and so was his hand, but above everything, she needed more of him and wanted more.

“Please…what?” His hot breath brushed against her ear. “Please continue?” He pushed just one finger into her, it wasn’t enough, but she was so sensitive at that point even that drove her crazy. “Please stop?” He pulled his finger away. “Please let me go?” He suddenly stepped backward, and Alys looked at him in panic, feeling the coldness of the room where his body used to be. “You are free to go. I am not holding you.”

Aemond admired his handiwork as the confusion on her face begged him to do something. This wasn’t how he imagined this night going, but the anger of her pressing a knife against him, the amusement, and his desire for her had taken things in this direction. He didn’t want her to go, but he was a man of his word and told her she could leave.

“My prince, please, I need you in me.” He should have been prepared for her words. After all, it was what he hoped for her, but the pleading in her voice and these green eyes staring at him with need made his lower abdomen feel tighter and his pants significantly smaller. He felt her words before properly hearing them.

Using whatever little self-control he had, Aemond was on her within a second, pushing his body so hard against her that her arms finally gave in, and she was face down on the bed. He pressed his weight on her as he played with the ties on his pants, tugging and pulling impatiently. He pushed the hand he used to tease her within her mouth, making her taste herself from him as he finally slid his cock over her witness. Alys wiggled under him in need, moaning around his digit, and it took a lot of him not to take her immediately. He continued teasing, enjoying how she squirmed under him in need. Eventually, he gave in, realizing he was also coming close to losing control over his body. His cock sank in her making her groan around his fingers.

Aemond picked up a relentless pace, his hips pushing hard and fast, quickly finding that sweet spot that made her clench herself around his length. The prince felt high on the sweet sounds she made, pulling his hand out of her mouth to let her voice fill the room. He was driving as deep into her, his weight keeping her in place. Aemond felt the familiar signs on her body, the muscles tensing around him, and he pushed his wet hand between her legs, drawing circles around her clit. Alys shivered violently, her head turning to face him, and Aemond could see her wonder if he would finally let her be. It crossed his mind to pull out, but he leaned forward.

“Come for me.” He whispered in her ear as he continued to fuck her brutally, and a second later, she was coming around him. He didn’t stop through her orgasm, chasing his relief as fast as he could until he eventually spilled himself in her. His body relaxed on top of her, and it took all the effort in the world for him to roll over. Neither of them moved. Her breathing was as labored as his.

Alys moved first, but he pulled her closer to himself, making her head relax on his chest. Just now, he realized he was mostly dressed. His fingers lazily trailed over the smooth skin of her back as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I’m not going to be that generous next time you press a knife against me.” Aemond had no idea what he would do next time, but he had developed a strong liking for the woman. It wasn’t just the physical part, although that certainly had helped.

“No?” Alys lifted her head and looked him in the eye. “Then how do I get more of that?”

“Ask.” Aemond laughed.

#alysmonddaily #aemond x alys #alysmond #alysmond daily #alysmondfic #hotd smut #aemond targaryen #alys rivers #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #alys #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #prince aemond

[stuhde]

i bloody hate this country

#acquitted??? ACCQUITTED? #SERIOUSLY??? #everyone in that chamber room almost died and THAT wasn’t your tipping point??? #why the hell am i graduating with a degree in public service #why the heck do i want to go to law school #when at the end of day... #when the time comes to use the law and hold people accountable #you don’t #f! Everything #i truly hate it here #and don’t believe in any of the work i do anymore #current events #tw: politics #tw: us politics #politics #lama makes a monologue

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin’s previously hidden horrific past comes to light;

The gang learn that everything they know about Merlin is a well-constructed façade when the truth about his “Military” history comes out.

TW: Child soldiers, abuse + torture, lots of blood and death and nightmares, potential PTSD?

When King Arthur had received the official looking letter requesting an audience about troubles with the border, he’d thought nothing much of it; the tone of the letter didn’t lead him to think there would be any serious conflict.

He replied to the Essetirian Lord, figuring it would end up being a simple issue of river boundaries or overstepping patrols, they could discuss it and fix the problem amicably, and then part ways without issue.

Arthur wasn’t a fan of the way Essetir worked; they were far too authoritarian for his liking, and they were known for their use of slave labour, terror tactics, and child soldiers, but peace had been harboured between the Kingdoms, so he could hardly complain.

The fact that Arthur didn’t see it as a big deal, means he didn’t mention it to Merlin until the day of the Lord’s arrival, and even then, he didn’t mention the Lord’s name, or where in Essetir he came from.

Merlin may have seemed a little tense at the mention of Essetirian Lords, but Arthur shrugged it off, figuring high taxes and village raids probably left him with a mistrust of authority from his home kingdom.

~

Arthur was sat in his throne, crown atop his head, when the Lord arrived. His roundtable knights and a few select members of his council sat in their own chairs at the side of the room, and Merlin stood dutifully beside him.

He preferred to have a small audience when first greeting foreign authority, hence only having nine people, including himself, in the room. 

Arthur trusted Leon, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Guinevere, Gaius, and Merlin, to subtly analyse and scrutinize the visitor for anything troubling, and report back to him truthfully later. Arthur trusted his wider council, of course he did, but experience with these particular people told him they were better equipped to handle any sort of conflict or worries.

Which means when Merlin quietly took in a sharp breath, tensed up, and stepped back to be behind him when The Lord walked in, he immediately noticed.

He makes no motion to question him though, assuming that perhaps this particular Lord had passed through Ealdor at some point, and made a mental note to question Merlin later.

The Lord bows deeply, and raises to meet Arthur’s gaze with a wide, friendly smile:

“I am Lord Severin of Essetir, I appreciate your quick response to my letter, and am grateful for the invitation to your beautiful kingdom, My Lord.”

At first, Arthur had been curious, and mildly concerned, but Gaius’s sharp intake of breath and stiffening back at the mention of the Lord’s name, tip him right over the line into being officially worried.

Did this particular Lord have some sort of reputation Arthur was unaware of? He, again, makes no moves to suggest that he had noticed Gaius’s reaction, and instead returns the Lord’s smile:

“Of course, you’re more than welcome. Guest chambers have been set up for you, if you would like to stay for a few days? I can imagine it was a long journey.”

The Lord nods, and keeping his smile, says:

“Thank you, I had planned on booking a room for a few nights, but if you’ll have me?”

Arthur nods in return, quickly speaking before the Lord can thank him again:

“Of course. Is the border discussion a lengthy issue, or something we can resolve quickly now? I have my most trusted advisors with us, should there be a political issue?”

Lord Severin shakes his head roughly, giving Arthur a sympathetic shrug:

“In all honestly, My Lord, as far as I’m concerned there isn’t an issue, but a few of my men were worried, and the only way I could see to resolve it was an official meeting to reassure them.-”

Arthur smiles, gesturing for him to continue:

“-Over the past several years, multiple Camelot Knights have been seen crossing the boundary, and spending a few days at a time in a small border-village on the Essetir side. I am under no impression that anything underhanded is happening, but a few of my inferiors were getting twitchy about it.”

Arthur once again hears Merlin take in a shaky breath, and furrows his eyebrow in curiosity:

“Which village?”

“It’s name is Ealdor, My Lord.”

Arthur smiles widely in understanding and nods his head, relaxing:

“Ah yes. A highly ranked member of the castle staff has family there, and depending on how dangerous the journey is predicted to be, I’ll often send him with a knight escort when he visits home.”

Lord Severin nods his head, before tilting it curiously and saying:

“Might I ask which member of staff? I spent some time in Ealdor a few years back, colour me... curious.”

The smile on his face is a little sharper now, but Arthur hardly sees the harm in telling him; he’ll only be here for a few days at most anyway. 

Arthur gestures a hand behind him:

“Merlin.”

He looks back and frowns, questioning his decision, when he sees Merlin staring blankly at the floor. He’s statue still, but Arthur can see the way his jaw tenses, and the paleness of his skin.

He turns back to see the Lord staring up at Merlin with an inquisitive expression. Just as Arthur resigns himself to say something, a look of wolfish realisation crosses the Lord’s face, and he speaks softly, as if to himself:

“Merlin from Ealdor, eh?-”

His grin turns even more wicked, and his volume rises:

“-I was under the impression that you had died, my dear boy.”

Arthur furrows his brows in confusion, and Merlin, without raising his gaze, quietly replies:

“No, My Lord.”

Severin chuckles, a hint of cruelty in the noise, but before he can say anything Arthur asks:

“You know each other?”

The Lord looks to him, as if only just remembering he was in the presence of a King, and smirks:

“Know each other? Why, Merlin was once one of my best. You’re astoundingly lucky to have a bodyguard with such incredible skill, My Lord. I was sad to lose him.”

Arthur glances at Merlin, who seems somehow even paler, before looking back to Severin in confusion, tilting his head:

“Merlin isn’t my bodyguard, he can barely carry a sword. He’s my personal manservant. Perhaps you have the wrong man?”

Severin shakes his head resolutely, before staring at Merlin:

“No, that’s him, I would recognise him anywhere. Like I said, I was sad to see him go.”

At Arthur’s continued confusion, Lord Severin gives him a patronising smile, quietly saying:

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order-”

He turns back to Merlin, speaking loudly this time, as Arthur and the others look on in bewilderment. Gaius however, looks increasingly worried, rather than confused.

“-Step forward, Merlin.”

Merlin, without hesitation, walks stiffly forward, standing to attention just in front of Arthur, hands straight by his side, and his gaze unwaveringly forward, focussed on the wall behind Severin. 

Arthur stands from his throne, moving to stand by the council chairs so he could see Merlin’s face. What he spies however, is a tense blankness that he’s only even seen in the brief moments when Merlin thinks no one is looking at him.

The Lord rolls his eyes condescendingly at Merlin:

“You know I hate it when you stand so stiffly Merlin, it’s bad form. Stand at ease.”

Again, without hesitation, Merlin kicks ones of his legs out slightly, and moves his hands to be tightly clutched behind his back, shaking almost imperceptibly. Still, he does not change his expression as the gang look on worriedly.

“Are you armed, Merlin?”

Merlin gives one firm nod, before saying in a monotonous voice:

“Always, My Lord.”

Severin gestures vaguely with his hand, muttering:

“Show me.”

With that, Merlin taps his right wrist to his hip before flicking his arm out to the side, and with the movement, a dagger slides from a hidden holster under his sleeve, and falls gracefully into Merlin’s hand.

Everyone in the gang, bar Gaius, was taken aback, They’d known Merlin for years, ten in the cases of Arthur, Leon, and Gwen. How had they never known that Merlin was always carrying a weapon?

The Lord looks only mildly impressed as he holds a hand out, crooking his fingers towards himself slightly. Merlin throws the knife gently, his aim perfect as the handle lands in the centre of Severin’s palm.

He passes the blade from hand to hand, humming thoughtfully, before saying:

“It’s not very well weighted, incredibly poor quality, but-”

With that, he looks back up at Merlin, the wolfish grin having returned to his face, but the gang only have a second to be confused before the Lord pulls his hand back, and hurls the knife directly at Merlin’s head.

The velocity at which the blade moves through the air... well, a slower man would have died. But Merlin is apparently not a slow man.

With his focus still on the wall somewhere behind the Lord, he whips his hand up, quicker than lightening, and catches the handle of knife with the blade just an inch away from his eye. Only then, does his gaze move across to the dagger, and he brings his hand down, slipping it back into it’s holster as if he was entirely unbothered by what had just happened. The Lord finishes his sentence:

“-anything can be a weapon in the hands of a killer. Back to your post, Merlin.”

Merlin bows slightly, and moves back, expression still blank as the gang stare at him with various expressions of shock and confusion.

Arthur moves back to his throne, careful to keep his face blank, though struggling not to stare at Merlin worriedly, before he says:

“Well, that was quite a display. Any other uh... stories to tell, Lord Severin?”

The man shakes his head, laughing, and replies:

“No, Your Majesty, that is all. I will reassure my employees that the visits to Ealdor are purely personal, and order them to leave it be.”

Arthur gulps and frowns slightly at the sudden change it topic, wanting desperately to look back and check on Merlin, but not daring to, as he replies:

“Of course. I’m afraid I will not be able to join you for dinner tonight, or breakfast in the morning, though I extend my invitation for you to visit the training grounds before noon. I have my best scheduled for tomorrow.”

As he says this, he gestures to the five roundtable knights, who all wipe the confusion off their faces as the Lord glances at them. In actual fact, none of them were scheduled to train tomorrow morning, but it had become habit over the years for Arthur to use them as a subtle display of strength whenever a visitor unnerved or worried him.

Severin looks back to the King, giving him a nod as he accepts:

“I would love nothing more, My Lord.”

Arthur smiles tightly and nods before dismissing him, his harsh gaze not leaving the Lord’s back until the door shuts behind him.

The moment he’s left the room, Arthur stands up, dizzyingly quickly, and steps around the throne to question Merlin, only to find that the manservant gone, slipped away through the servant’s door.

He speedily goes to follow him, wanting to get to the bottom of whatever the hell that was, but Gwen’s desperate voice halts him:

“Stop! He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it right now, we should leave him be-”

Arthur turns around and goes to retort, but Gwen cuts him off:

“-and besides, no one knows this castle better than Merlin, he’s long gone. If he doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be found. Leave him be for a while.”

The King desperately wants to argue, but he begrudgingly nods, knowing that Gwen is right. He frowns at the desperate and questioning looks that Lancelot sends to Gaius, unaware that Arthur is looking at them.

Gaius shakes his head slightly, and Lancelot visibly relaxes, only to tense again when Arthur asks:

“Lancelot, Gaius? Do you know what just happened?”

The knights averts his gaze after giving a brief shake of the head, the Physician looks to Arthur, clearly mentally debating on the best way to answer the question. He gulps before speaking slowly:

“Other than Merlin’s mother, I am the only one to know the truth. However it is a very... personal, and frankly traumatising, topic for Merlin, and I don’t feel it’s my place to tell you. Might I request that you allow Merlin to keep his distance from Lord Severin?”

Arthur looks like he wants to argue, but the warning looks he receives from Leon and Gwen stop him, and he once again begrudgingly nods:

“I... fine. But I’ll want to know eventually. If I’m to have dealings with this Lord, I need to know if he’s involved in anything troubling."

Gaius sighs and nods:

“It is... nothing that Essetirian Lords aren’t already known for, My Lord.”

Arthur tilts his head in confusion, that doesn’t sound like it bodes particularly well but... he’d already agreed not to pry. Gaius was clearly trying not to let too much on and trying to hide how freaked out he was. Which also didn’t bode well.

Arthur copies Gaius’s sigh, nodding to himself as he gestures vaguely at the group and tiredly says:

“Alright, you’re all dismissed. Keep an eye out for Merlin, and I want to know where that Lord is at all times. There was a servant in the corridor waiting to take him to his rooms, so I would appreciate it if one of you could go check he made it. I want to know if anything happens. Rest well tonight, I want you at your best for tomorrow.”

Everyone gives a decisive nod, Leon stalking off to follow the Lord, and the others separating out to complete their normal tasks. Half-heartedly mind you, as all of them were more focussed on trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened.

~

None of them saw Merlin for the rest of the day, or the next morning. They would have been more worried, but nothing was missing from his room, a few of the castle staff had reported seeing him briefly, here and there, and the Lord had yet to try anything untoward.

When Arthur had gotten to his room that night, dinner was ready and waiting, the room had been tidied, his sleep clothes had been folded and laid on his pillow, and the hearth had been lit.

The next morning was the same. Arthur woke to to see that his empty dinner tray had been replaced with a full breakfast tray, his clothes for the day had been laid out, and his desk had been organised with a list of today’s duties left in the centre.

Arthur huffed at Merlin��s absence. He hadn’t gotten that much sleep last night, the more he thought about what had happened, the more restless he became.

There was a lot of things to worry about.

Gaius being openly shaken and worried was especially concerning. The man was usually unflappable, so whatever it was... it was bad.

And what had Lancelot been so scared about? He seemed genuinely confused but he still knows something.

And what Merlin had done with that knife...

Arthur could understand Merlin hiding a part of his life, just not mentioning it, especially if it was as traumatising as Gaius let on, but to actively lie?? To put up a clumsy, useless front with no prompting?? That was most certainly worrying. “Incredible skill” Severin had said. “One of my best”, what does that even mean??

He had called Merlin a Killer.

Still, Arthur didn’t call for his manservant to be summoned. The man was clearly after some privacy, and despite Arthur’s powerful curiosity, Gaius’s fear and Merlin’s disappearing act held him back, at least for the time being.

After finishing some paperwork, Arthur headed down to the armoury, to be met by a squire who had clearly been waiting for him. At Arthur’s confused expression, the boy tells him that he had been instructed by Merlin to help The King with his armour, and that he would be round later.

Arthur nodded, hiding his confusion. Merlin was usually incredibly protective of Arthur’s armour, BUT he said he’d be coming by later, so it wasn’t as if he were fully disposed for the whole day. Hmm.

Perhaps he was simply trying to avoid being in close quarters with Arthur, alone. Being stood at the side of a field whilst the Knights sparred was hardly the same as helping Arthur dress, one-on-one.

Still, Arthur didn’t call for his manservant to be summoned. If he weren’t so worried about Merlin, he’d be childishly proud of himself for being so selfless and caring.

He met the other five knights on the training field, satisfied to see them all in full armour, preparing for full-contact sparring. Apparently they all wanted to intimidate this Lord just as much as Arthur did. Now all they had to do was wait for the guy to show.

But Merlin appeared first. No one noticed him for a little while, but Gwaine getting distracted in the middle of a fight and allowing himself to be tripped by Elyan, certainly bought everyone’s attention to the raven-haired servant stood at the side of the field that had caught his eye.

Merlin’s expression was the same as it was yesterday. Meaning: expressionless, blank.

He doesn’t react at all as the knights stare at him, and only nods slightly when Arthur raises a hand in greeting, despite not looking directly at him. Leon’s quiet-

“Sire?”

-breaks Arthur out of his stupor, and he mutters back:

“Leave him be. He usually stands much closer than that, so he’s clearly still not in the mood to talk.”

Elyan furrows his brows as he finally helps Gwaine to his feet, before saying:

“He knows the Lord is meant to be here. If he wanted to avoid him, why come?”

Arthur shrugs but Lancelot looks surprised, and speaks as though the answer was the most obvious thing in the world:

“He’s protective of Arthur. No matter the history between Severin and himself, if he thinks the Lord is dangerous he wouldn’t allow Arthur to be in his presence without being there as well.”

Arthur frowns and huffs, but doesn’t say anything as the others nod their heads. He gestures for Leon to step into the ring with him, conscious of the fact that they had just been stood around talking.

Luckily, Severin showed up just as Arthur and Leon started to get into the swing of things, and the other knights could tell the exact moment the two of them noticed the Lord, stood about ten feet to Merlin’s left; the fight got much more... vicious.

A pro of having worked together practically their whole knighthoods (and before, for Arthur), was that Arthur and Leon could give their absolute all in matches against each other, and not have to worry about miss-stepping or accidentally hurting one another.

The sparring sessions between them often drew large crowds, but Arthur had ordered the training grounds cleared this morning, meaning that the four other knights, the Lord, and a much tenser-looking Merlin, is all their audience consisted of.

Finally, the fight came to an end, Arthur victorious as he knocks Leon to the floor. They shake hands, and Leon has to hide the swell of pride in him at the man he had trained for managing to beat him, before they make their way over to Lord Severin, closely followed by the others.

The Lord claps his hands, a wide smile on his face, and Arthur stops himself from looking at Merlin when he sees the man flinch slightly at the noise.

“Very impressive, My Lord. Your knights truly are something to behold!”

Arthur gives him a strained smile:

“Yes, I take a lot of pride in the strength of my best.”

Severin’s eyes widen, and his grin once again turns sharp. Arthur has a feeling he isn’t going to like what the man says next:

“Well, if we’re talking about the best, might I suggest that your... ah, manservant, shows off his skills? I imagine we would all find that mighty entertaining, especially considering you were previously unaware of his abilities?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, glancing at Merlin. The King was taken aback when Merlin held his gaze for the first time since before the Lord had arrived yesterday. 

Arthur answers, without looking away from Merlin, and regrets his words the moment they exit his mouth:

“I’m alright with it, but only if Merlin agrees.”

Merlin widens his eyes, only slightly, but it’s enough to show Arthur that that was the wrong thing to say. Whatever the history between Severin and Merlin was, the manservant was unable to say no to him. Arthur hadn’t given Merlin a choice, he’d allowed Severin to dictate Merlin’s answer.

The Lord claps his hands again, wolfish smile growing as he loudly proclaims:

“Brilliant! I will divert to your judgement, on who his opponent should be, My Lord.”

Merlin clenches his jaw, turning and walking towards the spare swords. He grabs one from the rack, and enters the ring, standing stiffly, waiting.

Arthur frowns at Merlin’s sudden, easy capability, before nodding at Lancelot. He was reluctant (NOT jealous) to admit it, but he and Merlin were very close, if anyone could pretend to fight Merlin convincingly without actually hurting him, it would be Lancelot.

Lancelot returns his nod, understanding his King’s thought process, before looking to Merlin with a concerned frown on his face:

“Do you not want any armour, Merlin?”

The Lord laughs as Merlin mutely shakes his head, answering for him:

“Oh, he won’t need it sir knight, like I keep saying, he’s quite skilled.”

Lancelot still looks reluctant, but at Arthur’s stiff nod and the questioning tilt of Merlin’s head, he walks into the ring and stands opposite his best friend.

He gives Merlin a nod, and hides his worry when Merlin just stares at him blankly, his stance turning loose, but sword held tightly in his hand.

Arthur signals for them to start, and Lancelot immediately has to take a rushed step back as Merlin moves quickly forward, swinging his sword up.

Lancelot just about manages to block the strike, but the strength of the hit has the bones in his arms vibrating, and his shock gives Merlin just enough time to twist his body, taking another swing before Lancelot even processes what’s happening.

The second wide arc of Merlin’s sword knocks the knight’s arm to the side violently, and he stumbles back, only just managing to keep hold of the blade. Merlin takes advantage of Lance’s newly exposed chest, and using the last of his momentum, brings a leg up and lands a harsh kick to the centre of his chest-plate.

The force throws him back and he lands sprawled on the floor several feet away.

The others knights gasp as the Lord jovially laughs and Lancelot stares at the sky in shock. All in all, that spar had lasted about five seconds, and consisted of Merlin swinging his sword only twice, and kicking him so hard he dented his armour.

Lancelot hadn’t even had time to think before it was over, and was still wide-eyed when Merlin wordlessly pulled him to his feet, frowning as he runs a hand over the damaged metal.

The other knights are still staring in shock as Lancelot lifts a hand to put it on Merlin’s shoulder. When the servant flinches backwards, he lowers his hand again, but still whispers:

“Gods, Merlin. Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

Merlin’s frown deepens and he clenches his jaw as he glances at the amused Lord, before stepping back, out of Lance’s reach.

Before anyone can say anything, Severin loudly exclaims:

“That’s my boy! I knew I could count on you to have not forgotten your training. How about you?”

He gestures to Elyan, and the knight looks to Arthur for confirmation. Merlin stays in the ring, waiting, back to being expressionless. He hadn’t even broken a sweat during his fight with Lancelot, didn’t even look out of breath, and Arthur’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him as he nods at Elyan.

The knight stepped into the ring, taking Lancelot’s place opposite Merlin.

Arthur gives the signal to start, and Elyan is the first one to strike this time, but Merlin moves easily out of the way, with speed and grace that no one had ever seen him express before.

Honestly, Arthur thinks the first fight might have been a fluke, because this time, Merlin spends the first twenty-five seconds blocking and dodging, making no offensive moves, and staying well out of Elyan’s way.

But Merlin makes the swap quicker than anyone can see, going from defence to offense in the blink of an eye, and within seconds of the change, Elyan is on the floor, Merlin’s sword at his throat, and his own sword lost somewhere to the side.

Merlin had moved so quickly, Elyan hadn’t really any clue how he’d ended up on the floor as he blinks up at the previously thought-to-be clumsy manservant.

After a moment, the knights once again shocked and the Lord once again cheerfully laughing, Merlin leans down and pulls the knight to his feet.

Elyan nods his thanks dumbly before picking up his sword, and heading over to the side lines, still looking confused as his brain tried to catch up with the last thirty seconds.

Merlin had, once again, not even broken a sweat, and Arthur gulps as he looks at his manservant. On the surface, he seemed... absent. Like he wasn’t really aware of what was going on, and was just waiting for it to be over. But upon closer inspection, Arthur could tell that wasn’t true.

Merlin’s stance may have been loose, but the position of his feet and the grip on his sword showed that he was fully prepared to jump into a fight without hesitation. That, the clench of his jaw, and the focus in his eyes as he stared back at Arthur, told The King that Merlin was fully aware of his surroundings.

Severin’s laugh petered out, and he points a finger at Gwaine, looking at Arthur as he questioned:

“My Lord?”

Arthur nods, and Gwaine huffs angrily. He gives The King an incredulous look but, perhaps a little selfishly, Arthur was curious about the extent of Merlin’s... abilities, so he ignores it, and Gwaine reluctantly walks to stand in front of his friend.

Merlin’s gaze drifts from Arthur to Gwaine, and he tilts his head slightly, adjusting his stance, his expression remaining in the same blank position it had been through all of the matches.

Once again, Arthur finds himself signalling the start of a fight between his best-friend (slash love of his life but like... shhh) and one of his most trusted knights.

Neither of them make a move at first, they just circle each other slowly, Gwaine’s sword raised, but Merlin’s pointed to the floor as he makes a point of keeping his stance fluid.

The Lord claps his hands together, just once, but the loud noise triggers an immediate reaction in Merlin and he pounces forward.

Gwaine takes the defensive as Merlin throws hit after hit, each one precise and specific. Gwaine is stronger than Merlin, but Merlin knows this, striking quickly and needling holes in Gwaine’s defence, moving back before he has time to launch a counter attack.

This fight goes on a lot longer than the last two, but Gwaine quickly begins to tire. At the first stumble in the knight’s step, Merlin takes a pace back, and presents his opponent with a miniscule opening.

Apparently it had been deliberate; the moment Gwaine follows him to take a swing at the gap, Merlin feints to the side, and lands a single blow that knocks Gwaine to the floor.

He chuckles darkly as his chest makes contact with the grass, realising immediately what his mistake had been. He rolls to his feet, holding his sword-less hands up in surrender. The man is breathing deeply, and even Merlin looks slightly more tired than he had before, but only slightly.

Leon lets out a deep breath, and all the knights seem to realise simultaneously that... at no point had Merlin not been in full control of each fight, setting the pace exactly how he wanted it, and taking advantage of each of their weaknesses perfectly.

Lancelot was reluctant to fight Merlin, so Merlin threw a few quick hits and had him on the floor before the knight realised he didn’t have to hold back.

Elyan had seen Merlin’s speed against Lance, and had therefore rushed to try and surprise him. Merlin took the defensive, biding his time until Elyan eventually made a mistake, and struck so quickly and harshly, he only needed one move to take him out.

With Gwaine he’d done the opposite. The man was much stronger than Merlin, so he couldn’t let him get a hit in, only allowing the knight time to defend and not attack. He waited for Gwaine to get tired and distracted, waited until he was moving automatically before presenting a tiny weakness that another knight might have missed. Gwaine fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Gwaine resists the urge to clap Merlin on the back, proud smile quickly dropping to a frown when he sees the still blank look on his face.

The Lord doesn’t even have to request another fight before Arthur nods at Percival.

Percival looks a little less reluctant, everyone now clearly knowing that Merlin could more than hold his own; if anything, he looks a little nervous for himself, despite being six inches taller and much heavier.

This fight is a lot more quick-paced. At Arthur’s gesture, they both immediately jump into it, fighting for dominance with speed and strength. Once again, Merlin’s opponent is much stronger than he is, and Merlin tires more this round.

Percival lands a heavy to kick to Merlin’s chest, and he goes sprawling backwards, but he keeps a hold of his sword and uses the momentum to gracefully roll back onto his feet.

Before Percival has time to raise his sword again, Merlin takes advantage of the new distance between them and sprints towards him. He drops quickly, sliding between Percival’s legs, sword held close to his body as he reaches an arm out, grabbing the giant’s ankle on the way through.

His sudden grip forces Percival to take a step forward to correct his balance, but before he can turn around, Merlin quickly stands and shoves his whole body weight against his back.

The force of the shove paired with the instinctual step forward tips Percival’s centre of gravity, and he topples to the floor, rolling over to see Merlin already stood above him, panting, his sword aimed at Percival’s throat.

The other knights gasp slightly as Merlin steps away at Percival’s raised hands. They had been certain that Percival, with his size, would be the one to beat Merlin.

Apparently not.

Lord Severin is once again laughing, and Arthur (and the others) are becoming more and more confused. Merlin had beaten four of Camelot’s best in a row in about ten minutes, and was only slightly out of breath.

This was not just a bit of combat training, this was... more. This was harsh, ingrained, years upon years of practice.

Arthur and Leon remember when Merlin first arrived in Camelot, only sixteen, and dread grows in their stomachs as they realise the implications.

They’re quickly broken out of their stupors as Percival walks slowly over, still catching his breath, and The Lord loudly bellows:

“Well, that’s four out of six. We might as well go for the whole collection, what do you think, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, he has to remember that there is politics involved here as well; he can hardly accuse the Lord of anything. But the arsehole was also clearly aware that this had been a power move on Arthur’s part, and it had completely backfired. Backing out now would... not look good.

The King gives another strained smile, gesturing Leon forward after glancing at a still blank Merlin. The manservant had already caught his breath. Damn.

Leon moves into the ring and settles into position in front of Merlin.

The dark haired servant furrows his brow, tilting his head the same way he had at Gwaine, as if he were assessing his opponent. After just a moment, he schools his face, and adjusts his feet slightly, his stance seeming a little stiffer than it had been previously.

If the others thought the last four fights were brutal... well... this was a whole new level. Camelot’s First Knight held nothing back, now confident in Merlin’s abilities (and his own, to stop at a moment’s notice if it looked like Merlin was about to get hurt), despite the fact that the man still wasn’t wearing any armour.

This match lasts a while, both of them swapping between defence and offence, the tide changing with almost every step. 

Both of them are tiring, Leon was still recovering from his spar with Arthur, and Merlin hadn’t exactly had much time to refresh between his other fights, even though he won them fairly easily.

But eventually, the match ended with a loud clang ringing out as Merlin’s sword flies from his grip.

At least... they thought it had ended, for about a split second, before they realise that Merlin looks completely unfazed.

Arthur glances to the Lord briefly, to see the man grinning with a mix of possessive pride and cruel hunger, before looking back at the ring, and widening his eyes in shock.

Merlin had quickly shaken out his hands, forming fists before darting in closer to Leon. The fact that Leon still has a strong grip on his sword doesn’t seem to bother Merlin at all, and he dodges the blade as he lands three quick hits to various weaknesses in the armour.

Leon takes a stumbled step back, surprised at the quick change in direction that the fight had gone, and that step is just enough to give Merlin space to swing a harsh elbow out to the side. The connection between his elbow, and Leon’s wrist, is sharp enough that the knight drops his sword automatically, and Merlin quickly turns his back on him, moving in close as he grabs his arm and throws him forward, over his shoulder.

Leon lands harshly on his back, winded slightly, and Merlin rolls to the side, coming up with the knight’s sword in his grip. He quickly spins around, and Leon finally catches a breath just to open his eyes and see Merlin stood above him, sword at his throat.

Leon stares up, completely shocked, hearing Gwaine mumble-

“Merlin just won a sword fight... without a fucking sword.”

-and Lancelot mutter:

“He beat Leon?”

The Lord is once again laughing, and the sound is beginning to grate on everyone’s sanity (everyone bar Merlin, who still looks blank and absent) as Merlin pulls Leon to his feet, wincing apologetically as the knight rubs his own back.

Leon puts on a strained, but fond smile, as Merlin hands him his sword, and mutters:

“Well done, Merlin, very impressive.”

Which had apparently been the wrong thing to say; Merlin flinches back, drops his expression once again into blankness, and steps away to pick up his own sword.

Leon frowns, walking towards the other knights and the Lord as Merlin deposits his sword back in the rack. His movements have lost the cat-like fluidity he had when fighting, and he’s back to being stiff and tense, eyes averted to the floor, jaw tightly clenched.

The knights look on in worry, still confused, but having mostly gotten over the novelty of Merlin being able to fight, and focussing more on how the hell he’d kept it a secret for so long. On top of trying to figure out how he’d learnt in the first place.

Lord Severin frowns sarcastically, tilting his head at Merlin as if he were a child, and saying:

“Aren’t you going to spar with your King, Merlin? I thought we were going for six out of six?”

Arthur frowns at him, looking between the Lord, who looks like a vicious beast hunting his prey, and Merlin, who’s looking a lot like that prey.

Merlin takes a deep, shaking breath at his questions, raising his head to meet the Lord’s gaze for the very first time. Arthur can see the fear in his eyes, and takes a subtle step towards him, to stand between Merlin and his hunter. Merlin glances at him quickly, almost fearfully, and gulps as he looks back at Severin, stuttering out:

“I... I won’t fight Arthur. Not for you, I... I don’t fight people for you anymore.”

The Lord tilts his head and smirks:

“My, how you’ve grown up. You never would have spoken to me like that as a child-”

Arthur can hear the other knights gasp, and is grateful when Leon holds Gwaine back as the man takes an aggressive step towards the Lord.

“-though I doubt King Arthur is as strict of a master as I was.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, but before he can say anything, Merlin snarls out:

“Arthur is nothing like you.”

His sudden change in demeanour takes Severin by surprise, but only for a second; his look of shock falling back into a condescending smirk once more:

“Hmm. Probably why you’ve gone so soft. Honestly Merlin, you were once the best, now you refuse to make your opponents bleed. Oh, how far you’ve fallen.”

Arthur has heard enough, and he steps in front of the Lord, between him and Merlin, and without breaking gazes with the vile man in front of him, loudly says:

“You’re dismissed for the afternoon, Merlin. Go grab some lunch, we’ll see you later.”

Arthur still doesn’t look back as he hears Merlin walk quickly towards the castle. The Lord gives Arthur an assessing gaze, smirk remaining on his face, before saying:

“It would seem that you’re quite... protective, of your staff, Your Majesty?”

Arthur gives him an incredibly strained smile, not even aware of how tightly he was gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip as he replies in a low voice:

“Hmm. Something like that. Well, we’ve solved our border issue, and you’ve seen my knights in action, so unless there’s anything else?”

Severin tilts his head, and raises an amused eyebrow, clearly understanding Arthur’s meaning:

“No, that’s all. Your city is wonderful, however I’ll be leaving very shortly I’m afraid, within the next few hours. I have men to reassure.”

With that, the Lord bows deeply, and stalks back towards the castle, thankfully taking a different route than Merlin. Normally Arthur would call him out on the rudeness and impropriety of turning one’s back on a King, and leaving without being dismissed, but at this point, Arthur just wants him gone.

The moment he disappears round a corner, the group lets out a collective sigh, all of them looking troubled. Elyan is the first to speak:

“I’ve travelled through Essetir, I’ve heard the rumours. Do you think that Merlin...?”

His question trails off, but it’s obvious what he was asking. Leon answers once he realises that Arthur isn’t going to say anything:

“He was sixteen when he came to Camelot. To have that sort of extensive, ingrained training... he would have to have been.”

All of them let out harsh breaths and Gwaine curses viciously under his breath, before grinding out:

“Permission to follow Severin back to Essetir and slaughter him somewhere in the woods, sire?”

All of them look expectantly at Arthur, but he still stares in the direction Merlin had walked as he sighs, and replies quietly:

“No. His men know he came here about some sort of issue. If he never makes it back, it doesn’t matter how well you set the scene, it’ll start a war-.”

Gwaine grumbles something about stupid rules under his breath, but relents. He definitely perks up slightly at Arthur’s next words:

“-However. If we ever come across him during any sort of conflict, feel free to use more force than technically necessary. For now... we need to find Merlin.-”

The others nod vigorously, and gather closer as Arthur continues, finally looking at them:

“-Leon, Elyan, go and find Gwen and Gaius, at this time they should be running medications around to the knights’ barracks, then meet back in the courtyard. We can’t split up to find Merlin, because we’d have no way to tell each other if someone found him, and I don’t want to risk leaving him alone because he might disappear again. We’ll have to search together, hopefully Gaius will have some sort of idea, because Gods know he won’t have gone to have lunch like I told him.”

Everyone murmurs their agreement, and without another word, they all head back up to the castle.

~

Leon and Elyan had found Gaius and Gwen exactly where Arthur said they would, and all eight of them are soon gathered in the courtyard.

The knights quickly explained what had happened. Gaius looked unsurprised, though increasingly worried with every word, and it was only the Physician’s genuine panic, and the dent in Lancelot’s armour that convinced Gwen this wasn’t some big prank.

Arthur looked at Gaius expectantly, and the older man thought for a moment. He sighed, before saying:

“When he first arrived in Camelot, Merlin had... a great many nightmares. The first time, I found him under his bed. The second and third times I found him curled up, hidden away in a cupboard that he had emptied out. After that, I reorganised so the cupboard was permanently empty. He hasn’t used it in years, but I never got round to refilling it. If... if I had to take a guess at where he is, I’d say there.”

Everyone nods and the group begins to make their way to the Physician’s chambers.

On the way, Gwaine expressed confusion at Merlin’s apparent love of tight spaces, but Leon quickly piped up:

“It’s a fairly common response to trauma, I’ve seen it in the occasional knight after particularly bloody battles. Some people become terrified of tight spaces-”

Gaius interrupted, informing the group that it was called “claustrophobia”.

“-but some people find it comforting. I guess Merlin likes feeling protected on all sides?”

The physician nodded grimly, and quietly informs the group that it might be best for only one or two people to approach Merlin, and for everyone else to stay back, so as to not overwhelm him. The knights reluctantly agreed, Percival announcing that Gaius and Lancelot were the obvious choices.

Lancelot protested:

“No, you should’ve seen his face when he saw the dent in my armour, it’ll just freak him out even more. Arthur should go, he’s the only one Merlin didn’t beat to a pulp.”

Gaius agreed, and Arthur nodded as well, though reluctantly.

They quickly found themselves outside the Physician’s chambers, the door left open slightly. With one last worried look to each other, Arthur pushes the door wider, and steps through, quietly calling Merlin’s name.

Gaius goes to point the cupboard out, but two quiet knocks from inside alert everyone to it first.

The knights and Gwen gather dutifully to one side of the room, still in sight of the cupboard should Merlin open the door, but far enough away so as to not crowd him.

Arthur sits himself down in front of the cupboard, and Gaius perches on a bench a few feet behind him.

The King whispers Merlin’s name again, and knocks gently on the wood. After a few seconds, the door opens, and Merlin slips out, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his knees just about brushing against Arthur’s.

He is once again blank-faced, and everyone’s eyes are drawn to his dagger being twirled and twisted skilfully between his fingers.

His eyes are focussed on the blade, and Arthur resists the urge to reach out and touch him, knowing that he was already on thin ice, being this close to him. He talks gently, his voice quiet, though still loud enough for the others to hear him:

“He’ll be gone by evening, and he won’t ever be coming back.”

Merlin nods, only slightly, but it’s enough to let Arthur know that he’s at least aware of his surroundings. The servant gulps before whispering:

“Don’t let him take me, please.”

Arthur bites his lip to stop himself from gasping, and slowly, ever so slowly, moves a hand to rest on Merlin’s knee. When Merlin doesn’t flinch away, Arthur squeezes his leg slightly before moving his hand away:

“Never. None of us would ever let him take you away, Merlin. You never have to see him again; you’re safe here, we’ll make sure of it.”

Merlin nods again, and Gaius hands him a goblet of water. He takes only a small sip before setting it aside, but it’s a good start; the Physician figured that Merlin almost certainly hadn’t eaten, slept, or drank enough in the last twenty-four hours.

After a minute or so of silence, Merlin replaces the dagger in its holster, and clasps his hands tightly in his lap, staring at his intertwined fingers.

He clears his throat slightly, and the gang wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or more worried, that he looked sad as opposed to blank, as he quietly speaks, still staring into his lap:

“Essetir has always been a fan of... of child soldiers. We thought we were safe in Ealdor because we were so far from the capital, but they came when I was seven. If I fought back or tried to escape, they threatened to burn the village down, so I just... did what I was told. The lessons were... we were trained against each other, except every match was to the death. Hundreds of children... killing other children, until only the best remained. Gods there was always so much blood.-”

Everyone bar Gaius had to make a concerted effort to hold in their tears and gasps of rage. Arthur took a deep breath and put his hand on the floor next to Merlin, not touching him, but an obvious offer of comfort if Merlin wanted to take it. Gwen grips her brother’s hand tightly, and Leon has to stop Gwaine from drawing blood from his palms with his own nails.

Merlin takes a deep, shaking breath, and puts his hand on the floor next to Arthur’s; not taking it, but just about brushing thumbs:

“-Children were... we were tactically useful. We were dressed in civilian clothing so we could slip in and out of places, killing people and stealing things and setting traps and fires, without being noticed. And if we were noticed, people would hesitate. They would hesitate just long enough for us to... to kill them.-”

Tears were falling freely from at least half the room’s occupants now, everyone else not far off.

Merlin moves his hand further towards Arthur’s, and he takes it without hesitation, running his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles softly.

The servant lifts his gaze falteringly, and Arthur gives him a weak smile, and nods as he prepares to continue:

“-I was good. I mean I was really good. I was given all the most difficult jobs; I had a higher body-count before I hit twelve summers than you do now. All the army generals, and the particularly rich Lords, and even... even Cenred when I got older, took an interest in me. They thought I was the best thing since the start of civilisation, because I was small and weak-looking, and I had a sad face and big blue eyes. My... targets, never wanted to defend themselves against me. They... they all died for their hesitation.-”

Tears overflow from Merlin and Arthur’s eyes at the same time, and The King can hear Gwen’s quiet crying behind him. He knew without a doubt that the knights would be crying too, he didn’t even need to look. All of them normally had such strong stomachs for violence but this... this was so much worse, and it was Merlin.

Merlin gulps, and his grip on Arthur’s hand tightens:

“-I escaped when I was fourteen. I don’t know why it took me that long, I guess I was just... lost. Lost in the orders and the missions and all the... all the death and blood. I was sent to burn a few buildings down and I just... set the flame and ran. There was nothing but ash left at the end and no one could find me so it was assumed I had gotten trapped inside and died. I wondered around in the wilderness for a while. I was pretty self sufficient by then but I didn’t want to go home, in case they went looking for me there. To be honest... I barely remembered where my home was,-”

His voice drops to almost a whisper, and the others have to strain to hear him:

“-I... I couldn’t even remember what my mum looked like.-”

His voice rose again as he glanced quickly at Gaius, and at the older man’s reassuring, though mournful, smile, he looked back at Arthur:

“-But I found my way home after about ten months. I figured out pretty quickly who my mum was, she barely let me go for weeks.-”

At this, Merlin thankfully lets out a weak chuckle, but the tears still fall, and he squeezes Arthur’s hand once more.

His faces falls back into despair as he continues, and everyone knows that there’s still bad to come:

“-It was... difficult. I didn’t trust anyone, I didn’t know how village life worked, how normal human interaction worked. I knew how to speak and read and write but... I had barely said a word in eight years so I stayed pretty much silent. It was... odd, to be allowed to speak freely, move freely. It was... terrifying. More so than what I had before, in some ways, because... I had nothing. There was nothing to me. Could you imagine how hard it was? To be fifteen and to have no personality? No likes or dislikes... no understanding of how the world outside of war works? Understanding nothing but how to be a good soldier?-”

Arthur shakes his head, lifting his other hand to rest gently on Merlin’s knee, and only dropping it there when the tearful man nodded slightly.

The crying from behind The King had slowed, but not stopped, and Merlin continued:

“-I suddenly had to find out who I was as a person, minus all the blood and death and missions. I had to figure out what was... socially acceptable. What to smile at and what to frown at. I was... a completely blank slate. I was barely even a person. Just killer’s hands with a body attached.-”

At that, Arthur gently took Merlin’s other hand as well, and made a point of stroking them softly.

“-Just after I turned sixteen, I was sent to Camelot. I’d just about figured out the basics of interacting with people, I could fake it pretty well at least, but being in Ealdor... I couldn’t relax. I just expected them to come for me again, that any day an Essetirian patrol would show up and drag me back and burn the village down. Officially, I was sent here to learn to be a Physician, to learn to heal instead of kill. Unofficially... no one said it, but everyone knew, I was sent away because I wasn’t coping. I needed a change of scenery, being in Ealdor was making things worse, and with Gaius here, I would at least have a little support.”

Arthur gives him a smile, but before he can say anything, Percival takes just a small step forward. He speaks in such a soft tone; strangers would think a man of his stature incapable of expressing:

“And now you have all of us, Merlin. No matter what.”

The others nod, and even Gwen wipes away her tears to give him the widest smile she’s currently capable of. Merlin looks at her and frowns slightly, tilting his head as if confused.

After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin gives her a weak smile in return. When he looks over to Gaius, the Physician nods approvingly, and his smile widens, just slightly.

With that, the whole group seems to come to the same conclusion, at the same time: that Merlin had essentially just asked if smiling was the right thing to do.

Gwen was crying, and clearly upset, and Merlin understood that. But then she smiled. He’s been away from his... military roots for long enough now that he knew the right response, genuinely felt the right response, but with everything being uprooted and old wounds being exposed, he needed the reassurance that his reaction had been socially correct.

Arthur clenches his jaw tightly, thinking back on the ten years worth of interactions he’d had with Merlin. How he’d always kept his cards close to his chest; was rarely outwardly angry, and got happy over the simplest things: flowers and books and fluffy animals. 

He thinks about how terrifying it must have been. To have to learn to be... well... human. To have to learn how to perfectly imitate human behaviour until he developed his behaviour.

Merlin takes another sip of his water before taking a deep breath. He looks to Gaius, determination in his face, and at the Physician’s hesitant smile, but firm nod, Merlin takes a deep breath and looks back to Arthur:

“There’s more.”

Arthur frowns, and tilts his head. What else could there possibly be? He hears one of the others take in a sharp breath, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Gaius look to the offending knight, and give another firm nod.

Arthur gulps, and nods at Merlin, encouraging the man to continue:

“I had to do all of that whilst... whilst hiding the magic I was born with,-”

A chorus of gasps go up around the room, and Arthur tenses slightly, sitting up straight, but not letting go of Merlin’s hand. The King sees the fear in Merlin’s eyes, and the way the goblet shakes in his hand, and gives him an uncertain smile. Arthur isn’t as surprised as he thinks he should be.

“-because if they found out, things would get worse. Cenred had enslaved sorcerers as well as children in his army. If he’d found out how... how powerful I was, even as a child, I never would’ve escaped.”

Arthur nods his head absent-mindedly, once again thinking on his ten years of friendship with Merlin. It... made sense. 

Gods how terrifying.... 

To have all of that happen as a child, to finally find your way home just to find that you aren’t safe there either. And THEN to be sent to Camelot of all places. How terrifying, to have the safest place for you to be, be the city where the violent persecution of your people originated.

Arthur clenched his jaw before looking back at Merlin. He still looks scared, and Arthur squeezes his hand, firmly saying:

“I swear to you Merlin, in the name of Camelot, that you will never have to be afraid again.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, and tears begin to fall again as he tilts his head. Arthur gives him a smile:

“Come on, Merls. How could I possibly believe magic to be evil when you were born with it? There’s not an evil bone in your body.”

Merlin’s face falls, and he looks as though he’s going to argue, but Arthur beats him to it, speaking before he can even open his mouth:

“And we all know it.”

Merlin looks up again, speechless and teary, as Leon steps forward:

“The laws will change, Merlin, and you’ll be safe and free. And if the council have a problem with that... well...-”

Leon looks back at the other knights, all looking as determined as he is. He grins, and wipes the remaining tears from his eyes as he looks back to the bewildered servant, grinning Physician, and fondly smiling King:

“-I’m sure we can persuade them.”

Merlin returns his grin, and Arthur is more than relieved to see that Merlin doesn’t have to double-check his reaction this time.

~

THE END!!

Wowie that was a ride. I honestly wasn’t even planning on writing a magic reveal in this but it just sorta... happened... oops

Same as always lads, you wanna write it all proper? Go for it, credit and tag me :)

#bbc merlin #merthur #merthur whump #merlin #bamf merlin #arthur #arthur pendragon #king arthur #gwen #guinevere #leon #sir leon #percival #sir percival #elyan #sir elyan #gwaine #sir gwaine #lancelot #sir lancelot #jealous arthur #traumatised merlin #hurt merlin #merthur hurt/comfort #gaius #tw abuse #abuse #ptsd #trauma #military trauma

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 53- Rescue

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Grian is at the mercy of Dolios and his dark magic, but are the hermits there to save him in time? Or has the end come for the healing mage?

[Note: Hey everyone, I’m sorry for the time that was between chapters. A lot of really emotional and personal things happened over the past few months, and it just really pushed me off balance. But I really cant thank Red enough for being at my side the whole time- he’s the real hero in all of this. 

Happy Season 8!]

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To be back in the dark, cold bowels of the dungeons, willingly returning to the chamber that Dolios forced them to play his game in, left every hermit with a strange mix of dread and remorse. Almost every hermit, except for the few that weren’t around during the championship, can remember waking up in cells, being dragged from the hard stone floor at knifepoint, and turned into pawns for Dolios to control. Promising he will kill every last one in his game, and making TFC play along. 

But they hardly linger in the very chamber where their guildmaster outwitted the Magistrate of Lairyon, rather continuing on their search for a passage to the subchamber. Scar can feel the cavity in the stone beneath their feet, but no staircase seems to lead them down. It wasn’t until Cleo summoned the ghosts of those who died here, their souls lingering, that they are pointed in the right direction. So many souls, having seen so much suffering, not just from Dolios within these walls, though many are from his doing. 

A ghost guides the hermits to a circular room, and though their voice has long faded with time, their misty hands point to the center of the room. Mumbo kneels down. “There’s machinery here. If I just…” He places his hands against the smooth stone, and without even having to think, his magic appears. Redstone seeping through the seams of the rock, reconfiguring the mechanics and forcing the spiral staircase to descend. 

Everyone, including Mumbo, is surprised by his power. He’s never had such control before in his life. But they don’t linger on this new development. Not when time is running shorter and shorter for Grian. They cause a jam in the thin staircase, twenty something hermits rushing to the subchamber. Unlike the rooms above them, the stone is rough cut, no bricks or stenciling. It looks more like a cave blown open than a carved dungeon. 

A heavy weight wraps in on the hermits. They know they’re close as the pressure increases on their bodies. They follow the struggle to breathe, the feeling of carrying stones on their back. They’ve come to know the signs of a dark crystal well- and it leads them right to not one, but three towers of corrupted gems. 

They’re massive, protruding from the ground at an angle, black spikes erupting from the earth. The air is heavy with mist, swirling in tendrils, like the very tentacles of Eurynomos, way back in the forest. The mist grasps the open air, siphoning the very life from the stone and oxygen and taking it for itself. Every so often, a pulse of darkness bursts from the corrupted crystals, with such force it causes the entire cavern to shudder, and blows back the hermits’ hair and clothes. They all duck with each explosion, but one person remains standing, reveling in the energy that's breaking free from the crystals. 

Dolios’s fingers toy with the mist, grasping the air and feeling the power. With each eruption, the black seal between him and the central crystal glows. For a second, the hermits swear they can see the mist at his back look almost...feather-like. 

“Oh my gods… Grian.” Stress’s voice is so small, so quiet, the other hermits almost don’t hear it. But their captured friend’s name on anyone’s lips is enough to catch their attention. 

He’s grey, so monochrome that it was almost impossible to pick him out among the black crystals, the grey mist, and the dark magic. Limp body and hands, eyes open but unseeing, Grian is chained to the central crystal. Once blond hair, now an ashen grey, curls and crests over Grian’s face, his chin dropped to his chest. The hermits don’t breathe until they see him do so, but it’s a horribly shallow breath. Another wave of energy rolls through the crystals, and Grian’s body loses more of its color. More of it’s life. At this point, he hardly even reacts to the tearing of his lifeforce, his magic, from his body. Fingers twitch, but even those are beginning to turn flaky, fading away into oblivion. The tips of his once blue cape become little more than mist. Even the energy, the powers of the very atoms are being torn apart. Grian was very near death- or a fate worse. 

All for Dolios, and his insatiable need for power. The low thunder of every wave is broken by Dolios’s voice. He flexes his hands, laughing to himself. “Of all the angels I’ve stolen magic from before, it has never been this strong. Even Celia had nothing against you. I feel like I could blow all of Milliara apart with a windstorm this instant! Don’t worry, little bird, your magic is in good hands.” 

Iskall and Mumbo both scuffle to their feet, surging forward. Mumbo faster than Iskall. Too fast for TFC to grab him before he’s over the boulder they hid behind. And too fast to stop even his own magic from summoning. But it wasn’t the out of control magic that the hermits have seen before. Like destroying the crystal shard on Eremita, or in the depths of the Hangman’s Playground. 

No, even though lightning filled Mumbo’s vision, and magic surged through his veins like energy through a redstone circuit, he had every wit and thought about him. For the first time, he had true, full control. Every iota of power was at his command, like a dragon spreading it’s wings for it’s first flight across the sky. 

With a flippant wave of his hand, the twin satellite crystals shatter, red bolts of lightning creasing through the darkness-bound lattice. The air is filled with glittering crystals, mist freed from the quartz and purging it of the darkness. Mumbo turns his power, his attention towards the crystal that Grian’s chained to, and presses his fingers together to destroy the last crystal. 

He’s blown off his feet, a burst of wind from nowhere sending him skidding across the floor. When Mumbo gathers his wits and looks up, finally seeing Dolios through his anger, the magistrates is wild with manic delight. “Oh, now that’s real magic. I think this little bird’s powers might become my new favorite.” The other hermits dare to step out, walking through the shattered, transparent remains of the crystals. Dolios is the only color before them, his plush robes and rich colors standing out against the swirling magic. “Ah, the whole parade is here. Come to watch your friend die? Or will you all be joining him as well?” 

Dolios turns, resting his gaze on Grian. The hermits watch in horror as their healer looks as if he’s about to blow away in the wind. Like dust in the shape of a human. His eyes are empty, no glimmer of life left. They realize they may be too late. 

But that doesn’t stop them from getting their revenge. Mumbo remains focused on the crystal his friend is trapped against, but a sharp shard of gemstone goes flying through the air, cracking Dolios upside the head. Blood pours from the wound, matting the curly brown hair that crowns Dolios. He turns, anger mixing with the mania into a dangerous concoction. But his fury doesn’t get to live long, not when Scar drives a wedge of rock into Dolios’s jaw. This time it’s the magistrate that goes skidding across the rough hewn floor. In his attempt to stand up, Dolios becomes ensnared in just about every medium of magic the hermits can offer. Vines tie him down, radioactive spikes pin his clothes and hair to the floor, a ring of hellfire erupting from the depths of the earth. 

Mumbo, however, remains focused on his best friend before him. Summoning all his magic, every ounce of effort he’s ever put forth, he sends a bolt of lightning directly to the core of the crystal that is draining Grian. The lightning strikes true, hardly even raising a hair on what remains of the sky angel, but obliterating the crystal he hangs from. From the inside out, the darkness is banished by red light, like the sun rising red on a bright, beautiful daybreak. Blinding everyone within the cave- except Mumbo. He’s not lost in the light, the power, the magic. He’s a part of it all. 

The crystal shatters, and Grian falls. Crumpled to the ground, he looks to be little more than a pile of ash and rags among the sparkling crystal shards. Like the moon adrift in the sea of stars. 

When the hermits blink away their momentary blindness, they find Mumbo is already at his friend’s side. With a few teary blinks, the last of the lightning fizzles away, and Mumbo’s voice cracks like the very gems he destroyed. “G-Grian? Grian, wake up.” 

But Grian doesn’t move. Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the angel and pulling him to the safety of the hermits. Holding him close as the others surround. Ren reaches out, placing a hand on Grian’s shoulder. He retreats immediately, when Grian’s shoulder seems to fade from existence, flaking to ash and falling apart under Ren’s pressure. “Is he….” 

No one dares speak the word. Joe scribbles down a healing poem, but the magic does nothing. Grian doesn’t breathe, his eyes don’t blink. They just stare, empty, at the cavern roof above. And he continues to fade, all color lost, becoming nothing more than dust. 

“No, nononononono.” Mumbo’s words stumble and jumble together, and he shakes and jolts Grian as if trying to rise him from a dream. “Grian, don’t leave us! We need you!” 

Still nothing. 

Mumbo’s shoulders slump. A weight heavier than any dark crystal hangs over the hermits as Grian’s limp form lays in Mumbo’s arms before them. Tears threaten to spill from Mumbo’s eyes. Grian was his first real friend, the one who saved him all those years ago. And he couldn’t return the favor now. It was Grian that offered him kindness, offered him friendship. Grian who gave Mumbo a true family, a real home, who trained with him even when all seemed hopeless, and drank with him when nights were bright. It was because of Grian that Mumbo has a father in TFC, friends all around him. And now? 

Now his best friend was dead in his arms. Fading from existence, his magic and life stolen by a monster in magistrate’s clothes. Mumbo tips his head, breath stuttering as tears fall freely. Like a stream after a storm, rivers of salt water across his cheeks, cresting his jaw and running across the valley of his throat. Some droplets are caught in his mustache, others stain the collar of his outfit. All the hermits openly cry, even Doc. Memories flood alongside the tears, bowed heads over their fallen comrade as Mumbo holds his fallen friend tight.

One tear falls straight down, landing with a wet plop on Grian’s eyelid. Water, the lifeblood of Lairyon, slowly drips into Grian’s own vacant eyes. And from the ashen grey, empty gaze, a single vein of blue appears within his iris. 

Like a river, the blue flows freely, spilling across Giran’s sky blue eyes. Filling the empty grey valley with fresh blue water. And from the blue, like the sun reflecting off the see, a glimmer appears. 

Iskall noticed the color returning first. The pink of Grian’s face, sunlight colored hair beginning to renourish with color. Bringing Grian slowly back from death’s doorstep. He slaps Mumbo on the shoulder, his own breath gasping. Words struggling to break free from the nuclear wizard’s mouth, rather just random noises escaping his lips. 

It’s enough to get Mumbo’s attention, as well as every other hermit. Through teary eyes, they see the color spread. The red of Grian’s robes, the blue of his cape. The translucent, flaking form becomes solid and tangible again. 

And then Grian breathes. So shallow and soft, it’s almost impossible to see. But to the hermits, it might as well be an earth breaking tremble. Eyes blink, and parted lips move. A whisper of a voice breaks free from death’s grip. “Mumbo? Iskall? Guys?”

Grian can’t sing, but the words from him might as well be a chorus of angels. He was alive. Whether it was pure luck, the gift of life that water carries, or simply the friendship the hermits hold, something brought Grian back from the brink. 

Only one thing can break the joy. And that one thing has to open his mouth. From across the room, Dolios writhes in his bonds, snering. “Oh that’s just touching, isn’t it? If I can’t have it all, then I might as well kill every last one of you.” 

Doc realizes what’s happening first, but Dolios is just out of reach. A bout of strength that can only be attributed to previously stolen magic, Dolios tears apart the vines and breaks apart the crossed spears of iskallium. He stands, brushing off leaves and radioactive dust from his robes and tugging on his ponytail. When he opens his eyes, a crooked, crazed grin creases the leader’s normally charismatic face. “Do you really think such weak power can hold me down?” 

Wels reacts just in time to shield the hermits from the arc of magic that aimed for the group. Dolios doesn’t let up on his barrage, and the magical barrier begins to crack and contort against the dark energy. No hermit can step out from behind the shield without risking certain death. 

A wild, cackling laughter echoes off the cavern. “What will you roaches do without your precious angel now? Who will save you now?”

Wels’s barrier breaks. And Dolios attacks.

#hermitcraft #mcyt #hermitcraft au #wizard hermits #wizard au #light of lairyon #lol #mcyt au #wizard grian #wizard mumbo #wizard iskall #wizard scar #wizard Doc #grian #grianmc #mumbo jumbo #iskall85 #gtwscar #docm77

[val-aquenta]

Here for the angstpril prompt: Nightmares

Here on ao3

The moment kept repeating, even bleeding into his everyday life. When he slept, he heard the soft snarls of the zabrak sith paired with the quiet huff of surprise from Qui-Gon. He saw the red saber go into and then through Qui-Gon, the tip poking out of his back. When he woke, he could swear that he saw the bright red flashing in the corner of his eyes. 

“Mr. Obi-Wan? Are you ok?” Anakin asked, startling Obi-Wan for a moment. He had sworn that… that… nevermind. 

“Sorry, sorry Anakin. My head is in the clouds today.” Anakin blinked, large eyes, oh they were rather adorable, looking at him questioningly. “My head’s not with me right now.”

“But… it’s on your shoulders?” Anakin asked, head tilting sideways. “Has it been cut off?!” Anakin sprung forwards, small hands reaching out to him. 

Obi-Wan chuckled, holding Anakin’s hands gently in his. They were rather small, he noted. “No, don’t worry. My head’s on my shoulders.” He wondered on the best way to try and explain to Anakin. “Just not thinking in the present.”

“Oh. Lost in thought?” He asked eagerly. He was always so eager and ready to ask for information, often firing off questions faster than Obi-Wan would answer. 

“Yes.”

Anakin hummed softly, hands squeezing at Obi-Wan’s fingers. “Well… what’re you thinking about?”

“Just… stuff.” He finished lamely, looking at Anakin to see the unimpressed stare. “Well, I guess I’m thinking of Master Qui-Gon.”

“Oh really? He was really wizard.” Anakin said, following as Anakin continued moving down the hallways to their quarters. “I liked him a lot.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes he was.” They trailed off into silence. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but it was nothing like the comfortable silences he and Qui-Gon had before Naboo and their disagreement. Qui-Gon was not a silent man, but he enjoyed simply sitting and experiencing life, often finding time in the morning for meditation before he watered his plants. Obi-Wan was quite quiet then, too in awe of his Master to do much outside of meditate with him or prepare breakfast and, by the time the awe had gone, Obi-Wan was not one to ask questions so often like Anakin. Melida/Daan and other debacles had also made him quiet around Qui-Gon, prefering to follow the man’s lead rather than proposing his own. 

They reached their quarters, entering and having dinner. Anakin ate an extra fruit, he seemed to enjoy them a lot, before he was off to bed. Obi-Wan always found himself quite surprised by the silence of the rooms after Anakin was asleep, his rather loud and bright presence filling up the empty places Obi-Wan did not really know how to fill. Obi-Wan sat down for a long night of studying. While secondary education was not strictly necessary for Jedi knights, nor was it necessary for civilians, Obi-Wan wanted to finish his course. He was on his final year before Qui-Gon had died and had to repeat due to him missing out on large chunks of the course. He was almost done, the final exams being the only thing left.

Time stretched on as he read on sources and took notes, standing every now and then to stretch and retrieve a cup of tea or go to the bathroom. It had been around two hours before the first flash made itself known in the corner of his eye. It was green and red meeting violently. He turned quickly and only saw the emptiness of their quarters. The speeders outside whooshed past. Obi-Wan blinked a few times before hesitantly turning back to his reading. That was when he fell asleep, curled up on the couch, a throw blanket warming his legs and a half-dull datapad strewn on his lap. 

The world was bathed in red. The small circular room seemed to pulse in red, almost like a heart pulsing as it pushed blood in and then out. He had been too slow. The shame burned low in his gut. He sniffed a bit and tried to get his breathing under control. The two opponents circled each other, exchanging brief clashes. Obi-Wan was past the point where he thought Qui-Gon invincible and he could see that the man was exhausted. His eyes followed them avidly. There was a moment of silence before another clash of blades. He counted, only a few more seconds before the barrier lifted. More silence and then another quick clash. Qui-Gon broke it off, stepping back. Five more seconds… They went for another clash. The zabrak pushed his double sided saber up, the hilt smashing against Qui-Gon’s face, dazing him. Obi-Wan watched, horrified, as the blade sunk into the man’s unprotected stomach. He could feel the pain pulsing against his own mind, felt it as though to some degree, someone had sunk something deep into his gut. 

He cried out. The zabrak turned to him, only it wasn’t truly the zabrak anymore. It was… him? “We did this.” He… it spoke? Obi-Wan stepped back, only to be reminded of the shield behind him stinging his back. “You were too slow. Unpracticed. Unskilled.” It rattled off, dispassionately, his tone indifferent. Obi-Wan shook his head. That was not true, he had done his best, had tried his hardest to reach Qui-Gon. “Did you, though? Or were you still angry that he had chosen a runt from Tatooine over you.” There was a sneer pulling it’s face into a horrid look, one he hoped never graced his own. “You… wanted this. Wanted to punish him.” Obi-Wan shook his head, saber lit in his hand. He… he loved Qui-Gon despite the man’s flaws. He had apologised to him. Qui-Gon loved him too. “No. He was my Master.” The other Obi-Wan laughed and midway through the laugh grew deeper, transformed into the rough baritone he knew. Their surroundings changed until they were in an empty Council chambers. 

“Was I? You were weak. Powerless compared to Ani.” Obi-Wan had never heard Qui-Gon’s voice this way. Even his calm and emotionless tone from when he was younger was not as bad as this anger at him, this hate towards him. “I gave you up, Padawan,” he spat the title out, “I didn’t want you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes welled up with tears. He’d… known that. Qui-Gon had seemed to be so ready to dispose of him, especially early on. To be reminded of it again was painful. “I died because of you.” Qui-Gon placed a hand on his shoulder. “Murderer. You should not even be a Jedi for what you’ve done. You should be expelled, put in prison, left to rot.” 

“Master… please. I couldn’t-” Obi-Wan tried to cut in, wriggling away from the hand on his shoulder.

“And now you think you can teach? What idiocy.” Qui-Gon looked away huffing incredulously. “We’ll be lucky if Anakin isn’t dead by the end.”

“You asked me to teach him.” Obi-Wan countered hotly. 

“My mistake.” Qui-Gon answered. “You know it’s your fault. You know it. Just admit it.” He growled out. Obi-Wan’s mouth opened to contradict him, but nothing came out. His arms wrapped around his shoulders. He shuddered. “I knew it. Weak. Pathetic. Waste of my time.” Obi-Wan’s head bowed down in acceptance, his heart burning as though Qui-Gon had reached into his chest and grabbed it. He blinked, moisture falling slowly down his cheek. “It should have been you.” That… that rung true in his own head. He wished occasionally that he had run forwards instead of Qui-Gon. That he had died and his Master survived. Qui-Gon stood, frozen it appeared in front of him, a silent statue of contempt and anger. He risked a glance up before darting his eyes back down, shame rising quickly. He did not deserve to.

Obi-Wan blinked awake, feeling moisture on his cheeks. He rubbed at his chest as though that might alleviate the terrible pain there. As he breathed in, he found himself shuddering, on the brink of dissolving into sobs. He didn’t want to wake Anakin though. He’d already ruined so much for the boy and for Qui-Gon and for the Jedi and the Republic and everyone. He sat there until morning came and Anakin’s waking presence could be felt. At least, he hoped he wouldn’t fuck up breakfast too.

#star wars fanfic #fanfic #duna writes #obi wan #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #qui gon jinn #post naboo #angstpril2021

[terrence-silver]

Thanks so much for your sweet tags on my story! I love all the content you provide us and I can't help myself but request more Terry from you. How about. . .Terry trying to seduce Reader, but Reader is oblivious and thinks they're just best friends.

@atmostories thank you so much, this one is for you 🖤

---

This never happened before.

And he’s had his conquests. Yes. He once spent several years after he returned from Vietnam and got his Business and Masters Degree just travelling Europe and fucking around. Quite literally speaking. He had the looks to pull it off. He had the charm. He had the means and the money. Also, it was the 70′s and he needed to blow some steam off and make up for all the years lost in the war and after his parents died. But, what he never had before is someone being daft enough not to realize that when a man arranges to see you in his own private steam room sauna (which you didn’t even realize he owned, naturally - hiding the truth in plain sight) with nothing but a towel on and a bottle of champagne and two glasses that it’s supposed to mean something. How does one not understand the implications? Were you playing hard to get? Did you enjoy people working a bit more then usual for you due to some sort of abandonment issues? Was he simply losing his touch? Was this some sort of mind game? Were you somehow manipulating him for covert reasons he couldn’t quite read yet? No. No, you weren’t. Terry Silver could spot a shady, two-faced individual when he saw one (he’d know, from personal experience) and you weren’t one.

You were just - you.

Happy and friendly and cheerful and just normal. He wouldn’t call you insecure. Wouldn’t call you terribly secure either. Were you one of those people who didn’t believe they were loveable to anyone? Did you just subconsciously reject all offered affection because you didn’t believe you were deserving of it? Were you afraid? Did you have a traumatic childhood? Were you abused by someone before and who’s neck did he have to snap? Was he psychoanalyzing you too much? Terry Silver was just horrendously annoyed with you for the longest time now. It’s like you were a shut book he couldn’t read. So open, yet so unavailable. And he’s tried practically everything under the sun. He’s called you beautiful. He complemented you. Occasionally brushed against you. Smiled at you. Acted beyond polite. Beyond sweet. Was always there for you, close by, for whatever and whenever. Once or twice went as far as attempting to invoke your lust first if he couldn’t your affection and just straight-up untying the upper part of his gi and pretending to stretch out after a long training session, hoping to impress you with his physique and the sweat lining his muscles. He worked hard to look like this.

You politely looked away and excused yourself out.

Giving him privacy.

Privacy!?

-”Be careful, don’t catch a cold like that. Could be dangerous.”-

You jovially mentioned with care on your way out of the dojo training hall leaving him to stand there with a naked torso, waving him an idle goodbye, not looking back as not to make him uncomfortable by peeking - no irony, no sarcasm, nothing suggestive, no meanspirited joking in your tone of voice - just genuinely good-natured concern for his health, well-being and the utmost respect for his bodily autonomy. Honestly - fuck you. First of all, you were in LA and it was the asphalt was searing mid-summer, how the heck is he gonna catch a cold? Second of all, not even John treated him with this much detached friendliness and that was actually his friend. Even John was more touchy-feely, close and warm with him just by nature of being. This was ridiculous. In fact, it was outrageous. What was he even supposed to do next? Show up in your bedroom, just lay down and wait for you to arrive? Knowing you, you’d no doubt be absolutely okay with him chastely sleeping over and you’d probably borrow him your pillow and tuck him in too and just go to rest in the other room with not a care in the world.

How could a person like that even exist?

Did you have eyes?

Maybe he just wasn’t your type. But then again, highly improbable, Terry Silver was nearly everyone’s type and if he wasn’t, he’d make himself be their type. He’d get under their skin and make them believe he was their type even if they didn’t believe themselves initially. Oh, the idea though - the idea of not being your type. Why did it fill him with so much - well - resentment? Anger, almost? Loathing? Why was there a pit deep in his belly swallowing all his pity, patience and understanding for you like an ever-expanding crater of darkness? Why did he want to take whatever kind of person you were into a just rip them to shreds until nothing worthy admiration and attraction remained? Just degrade them, hurt them and destroy them until there was nothing to love anymore? He’s been at this game for over a year now. Over a year. In his kind of life, a year was an eternity. Two was just flat-out embarrassing. Stock-markets crash, companies go bankrupt and he makes his next million. He never spent a year trying to get anyone to like him for amorous purposes. And this beating around the bush would end today.

After much self-reflection and pondering.

Consultations from everyone starting from Margaret.

Milos, Snake, Dennis and even Mike Barnes, horribly enough.

Terry decided to pull out the big L.

Because really, who could resist a confession of love, strictly strategically speaking? It was a move worthy of the Art of War. Even when not mutual (and he’d make sure it would be by any means necessary) if anything, the other person would be flattered. Put off guard. Confused. Amused at best. Literally anything but the putrid, disgusting, disturbing sense of flat-line familial kinship you’ve endued him with against his will. He wasn’t your dad. He wasn’t your brother. He wasn’t your cousin. He wasn’t your friend. Your acquittance. Don’t you realize what he wanted to do with you? He wanted to possess you whole and make you scream on every surface in every chamber of his 100 room house and keep repeating that forever and ever and ever until you live through nothing but him. How dare you? The thought of not winning. The thought of just being rejected by your obliviousness. It brought him so close to the edge of breaking out of the weak, saccharine, nonsensical, subdued character he constructed for himself. It brought him so painfully close. Just shedding his facade and taking what he wanted in the crudest, foulest way possible - it would be so easy. So easy. At this point he was insulted.

But he held back for your sake.

He didn’t even understand why he’d care to.

Why he’d care not to frighten, repulse or push you away.

Usually, that would be his most preferred part of the game.

Not now, though.

Why?

Why he’d even begin to care to read all the possible moods etched into your face, bother with the levels of your comfort and discomfort to make the setup perfect, natural, soft and intimate and just say the words as gently and with as emotion as humanly possible without trying to come off too strongly? Which is exactly what he did. Upon which your reaction was to merely smile blissfully (disappointing) just tap him on the shoulder (even more disappointing), give it a fond little squeeze like you would your favourite coworker during lunchbreak (unimaginably disappointing) and just respond with a casual and off-puttingly, wretchedly non-chalant;

-”Yeah, sure, I love you too.”-

Yeah, sure!?

Sure!?

You kept eating the ice cream he’s bought you.

Unphased, unbothered, unaware and dumb as a rock.

Terry Silver was just stunned for the rest of the evening.

In ways he doesn’t quite recall being in, well - ever.

Did you just confess to loving him as a friend?

To his face?

And he let you survive that?

Alright then. It was decided there and then. He wanted to strangle you. Yes. But he’d leave that for another time. For now, he’d say goodbye to you in good humor and cheer like he always did and leave this unfortunate, hideous fiasco of a night behind him even though you (of course) appeared to be legitimately enjoying yourself. The next time you meet him, he’ll be himself. His actual self. None of this sugary, flowery, tame tip-toeing around the substance of things. No more sparing you. No more patience. No more waiting. No more going soft on you. No more trying to tenderly, slowly ease you into things. No. If ordinary, commonplace, humble Terry was someone you considered a mere friend - a best friend, to make things doubly offensive - the actual, real Terry wasn’t going to accept that. The actual, real Terry took whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. The actual, real Terry wasn’t lenient, merciful or even remotely open to rejection. And this was all your fault. All of it. You could have had the nice, kind, darling, innocent, angelic Terry who takes you out on cute little walks, asks permission to hold your hand gingerly and buys you ice cream and smiles charmingly at you with the widest, fullest grin he could possibly manage. You wanted the other guy instead, didn’t you? You pushed his hand. Forced it even.

He went to his actual home that night despite the risk of it.

The hills overlooking the shimmering skyline of the city.

You knew this place, without realizing you knew it.

He burned all his pretend-clothes -

On the embers of a lit cigar.

And seething with cold rage -- 

He decided to re-introduce himself to you.

They say honesty was the best policy, after all.

#terry silver #karate kid 3 #cobra kai #yandere #request #writing an angry terry is the most amusing thing of all times #he just keeps getting progressively more and more pissed off

[scxrlettwxtches]

wounded hearts | bang chan

Genre: angst/fluff, royal au

Warnings: mentions of violence

Word Count: ~2.3k

Description: When Chan saw caught you sneaking back into battle after he had specifically told you not to, he was less than pleased. Why couldn’t you just understand that he wanted nothing more than for you to be safe? 

A/N: bcs im a sucker for prince/knight dynamics :) :) as always, my ask box and my messages are open to anyone who wants to talk!! i’m always here, even when i’m not updating. love y’all! <3

The door swung open with a furious bang, alerting the maids in the room of the man’s presence. 

“Your Highness!” They stammered hasty greetings and bows, overwhelmed by the prince who had just walked in, still clad in full armor. His dark curls were soaked in sweat, and the expression on his face was murderous. 

“Everyone, get out,” his voice was low, deep, borderline threatening. 

The healer shifted uncomfortably, “Sire, the lady isn't completely-”

“It's fine, Yeri,” a feminine, yet strong, voice sounded from the back of the room, causing the prince to look up quickly. You were sprawled on a long sofa, seemingly relaxed, but Chan could tell that you were as wired as you would’ve been in battle. Your chestplate and shirt were both removed, leaving you in nothing but a tightly wound bandage around your upper body and some loose trousers. 

“But-”

“It's fine,” you repeated firmly before looking up at the prince with a piercing gaze. It was quiet and controlled, but there was no doubt of your fury, “He has a lot of explaining to do.” The healer hesitated for a second more before bowing her head and ushering the rest of the servants out, leaving the two of you alone. 

The silence between the two felt louder than the screams of pain that could be heard in the fighting below. Chan’s gaze was hard and steely, but yours was just as cold. 

“What the hell, Chan.”

“Y/N, I know you’re upset--”

“Upset?” you hissed disbelievingly as your temper flared, “Upset can’t even begin to cover it. You locked me in my room,” 

“It’s only until you’re heal-” 

“I'm fine!” you snarled, but you didn’t fling herself at him like she normally did. You didn’t get up in his face, yelling at him and making your point crystal clear until he understood your perspective. You stayed on the couch, a defeat that showed just how much you wound was bothering you, especially so after you had snuck out and aggravated it even further. 

“I'm okay. I should be out there,” you spat bitterly, pointing towards the window, where a war between powers was raging outside, “I should be there with you, watching your back and supporting your claim like any vice commander should.”

Chan’s battle hardened stare wavered, his resolve weakening every moment he lay eyes on your broken state. And, since you know him better than he knows himself, your eyes narrowed as you picked up on his hesitation.  

“What's wrong?”

The prince sighed, “What if Jaebum’s right? What if this was a pointless battle?”

You gaped at him, and your blank stare hurt more than any of your heated words could. Chan knew you believed in him more than anyone else in the world. He knew you had followed him into war when he raised the banner of revolution not because you cared about his claim to the throne, but because you cared about him. 

“Why would you say that?” You asked, your voice even softer than a whisper. 

“I don't know, maybe I think I should've never started this war in the first place.” Chan didn’t--couldn’t--meet your gaze as he continue, “All it has done is set the kingdom into civil war, and people are suffering because of this.”

“You must be joking. You’ve never bat an eye when we’ve lost battles before. Why is this time any different?” 

Chan squeezed his eyes shut at his best friend's accusing tone, but the hesitation was growing, festering beneath his skin as his brain replied that particular moment over and over, “I’m serious.”

“Have you forgotten what we promised to each other? Why we started a war with your goddamn family?”

“But maybe he's right. Jaebum-hyung was always-”

“Jaebum changed!” You snarled in frustration, about to sit up in anger, but a look of pain flashed across your face as the wound on your abdomen pulsed. Chan instinctively reached towards you at the sign of your agonized expression, and not even your glare could stop him this time.

He placed a hand near your wound and the other on the back of your neck in order to gently lower you back into a comfortable position. It was so difficult to look you in the eye, especially since he knew exactly what sort of face you would be making.

“I can't believe after everything, you take his side.”

Chan grit his teeth, still looking at the bandages around your stomach, “This isn't about sides.”

“We're in a war, Chan! Everything is about sides!” You pushed yourself up again, this time successfully. Chan looked up in surprise, words of concern on the tip of his tongue as you spoke, “I can't believe you. You lock me in my room like a misbehaving child, then I find out that you're abandoning what we've been fighting for-”

“You could've died!” Chan shouted, his voice echoing in the chamber. Your eyes widened in shock as your best friend cupped your face in his hands, the scene replaying in his head as he looked into your eyes. Your cry of pain as a spear punctured your side, his brother’s emotionless expression as you fell to the ground.

He buried his head in your bare shoulder, “You could've died,” Chan repeated softly, his voice breaking, “I almost lost you. If you hadn't moved, Jaebum would've-he would’ve killed you.”

“But he didn’t,” you shifted your arms to put one hand on his arm and the other through his damp hair, “You think you could get rid of me that easily?”

Chan’s heart did a painful lurch as he gripped your shoulders, “Don’t make jokes like that, please. I-i would never want to get rid of you. I can’t do this--I can’t lose you.” he pleaded, looking into your eyes to convey the brunt of how much he desperately needed you to be safe. Needed you by his side. 

“Channie, you won’t lose me,” you spoke softly, patting his cheek lightly, but the prince wasn’t reassured.

“You can’t make promises like that and then sneak back into battle with a hole in your stomach,” Chan argued, still remembering the way his heart had dropped to the floor when he saw you cutting down soldiers as if you weren’t ordered to be out of commission for at least two weeks. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t do that again,” you appeased his concern gently, “I was just worried about you. You’re always my utmost priority.”

“And you are mine,” Chan replied immediately, “so please look after yourself, if not for you then for my sanity.”

You didn’t reply for a long moment, but you eventually averted your eyes and nodded. Chan was far from convinced, but he knew this was the most he’d get from you. As his hands continued to rub gentle circles on your bare shoulders, you let your head fall back into the couch pillows, exhaling with effort.

Chan felt the panic rising again, “Are you alright? Is anything hurting?” he asked urgently. 

“Well, of course everything hurts,” you chuckled, although the light sheen of sweat on your face did nothing to calm the prince down, “But it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

He gave you a quick look over, assessing the state of your wounds, “It can’t be comfortable on the couch.”

You did your best to shrug, “It’s not uncomfortable, but I prefer my bed.” 

Without another question, Chan slipped his hands around your waist and your legs, carrying you bridal style towards a luxurious bed on the other side of the room, ignoring the indignant sputters and death threats (“Put me down before-so help me God- I’ll shove my rapier up your ass!”). He placed you down with extreme gentleness, even going as far as to tuck you in, comfortably swathing you in thick blankets.

You sent him a suspicious look and puffed your cheeks out, “You’re being sort of weird.”

Chan froze at the side of his bed where he was in the process of pouring you some water, “What do you mean?”

“You‘re super nice today, even though I disobeyed your orders.”

“I just don’t feel like yelling at you today,” Chan replied tiredly, setting down the cup of water beside the bed, “I’ll take my leave and let you rest—”

“Ah, wait!” you scrambled clumsily, trapped by the covers, reaching out to grab his hand. Your fingers managed to snag his sleeve, but you had momentarily forgotten that you were supposed to exercise minimal movement, and a groan of pain left your lips.

Chan made a noise of annoyance, “Do you want to open your wounds again?” he snapped, immediately fussing around you to make sure you were comfortable. 

You raised both your arms towards him, “Stay with me, please?” you asked hopefully, looking up at him with eager eyes. Chan gulped. You were not playing fair. Puppy eyes were off limits. You’ve discussed this before. 

A short staring contest ensued before the prince gave a hopeless sigh, and walked away from the bed. You let out an offended noise of disbelief before realizing that he was unbuckling the straps of his armor. With a grunt, he pulled the heavy metal over his head and onto a nearby table, leaving him in a flowy, white shirt and black pants.

“What? I’m not lying down wearing that bulky crap,” Chan muttered grumpily, stomping back to the bedside with a slight blush across his face, and nudged you with a gentle force, “Scoot over a bit.” you smiled triumphantly, letting him maneuver you closer to the center of the bed.

Chan slipped under the covers beside you, pulling you towards him. You hummed contentedly as you lay your head on his shoulder, his arm snaking around you protectively. The two of you basked in the short peace you always found with each other, forgetting everything the screaming and the pain just for a little while.

“That night, I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you.”

Chan felt you tense immediately, “Channie...” you began hesitatingly, “you know we can’t.”

He recoiled slightly, the pain of your rejection like a dagger being slowly pushed into his heart, “Do you not feel the same?”

You bit your lip, eyes wavering, “You know it’s not that.”

“Then why?” he pressed, his hold on you tightening slightly, “What’s stopping us?”

“You’re a prince!” You exclaimed disbelievingly, “I’m your servant, Chan. I can be your confidante, your best friend, but never your lover.”

“We don’t have to live by the rules society has placed upon us,” Chan pleaded with you, but understanding your hesitation. You had served him ever since the two of you were mere children. It had been ingrained in your very being that you lived to serve him and only to serve him.

“I don’t care. I don’t care what people say. I don’t care what they think. To hell with all of it,” Chan whispered into your hair, “Nothing in the world can convince me that you’re not worthy of me, especially since I already know you’re more than anything I could ever ask for.” 

He gazed down at your smaller figure, brushing some stray hairs away from your face, “If we win—when we win—I want you to be there by my side. Not behind me as my servant, but beside me as my queen.” 

“Chan, you can’t be-”

“I am, Y/N,” he laughed, hand still gently caressing your cheek, “I am completely serious.”

You flushed in embarrassment, and swatted the prince’s chest, “You’re not!” you whined, “Stop laughing! This isn’t funny!” 

Chan chuckled at your despair, pinching your red cheeks before sobering, “Alright, alright. I am serious though,” he looked at you lovingly, the arm still around your shoulders pulling you closer, “When this is all over, marry me.”

You gaped at him in shock, “You’re just going to propose to me? Like this?”

“I’ve known you all my life, do you really need anything fancier?”

“Well—no, of course I don’t care about that stuff,” you agreed, and Chan couldn’t help but giggle. You had never caught on to the flamboyant proposals of the higher class, and he had been on the receiving end of your angry rants for years. By this point, he knew exactly what you liked, what you wanted from the person you loved.

You looked up at Chan, still struggling to comprehend what he had just said, “You mean this right?”

“I mean it now, and I’ll mean it for the rest of my life.”

“Can I at least have a ring?” you asked jokingly, but Chan was prepared.

He shifted in the bed to sit up, “It’s in my room,” he replied, hands ready to pull the covers away from him, “If you want it, I can grab it now. I’ve actually had the ring for years, but there was just never a right time and-“

“Oh, Channie,” you laughed, reaching up to pull him towards you, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips and sending Chan’s brain into overdrive. Your eyes sparkled as you gazed at him, “I was only kidding, I don’t need that to give you an answer.” 

“Sure,” Chan stared at her blankly, dazed from the unexpected kiss that lingered on his lips, causing you to grin. As you tugged as his shirt to pull him closer to you, Chan complied easily as your hands went to his face and his lips pressed against yours. Your fingers were calloused and bruised from endless fighting, but Chan never knew a more comforting feeling than when your fingers brushed his jawline delicately. 

He wrapped his arm around your waist, adjusting their position as to hold you as close as possible without aggravating your injuries. You ran your hands into his messy locks, smiling with a tenderness he’d rarely seen gracing your face as you said adoringly. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, Channie.” 

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids reactions #stray kids #bang chan imagines #my fics

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 30: Daddy Lessons

Necromancy

~

SAM YAO: Okay Five, you're outside Thurman's bunker. There's a... there's a lovely occult sigil of uh... a bleeding eye on the door. And we don't know what's inside, so warm up just in case. Stretch, jog on the spot, whatever you need. I want you ready for anything. [sighs] I wish I could say I'm not scared, but I know we're both scared. It doesn't feel like three days since you got out of the underground village, does it? It-it sort of like feels like-like a couple of hours and also about two years.

Okay, briefing Janine-style always seems to help me focus. I have carefully checked every single camera in Spectrum Mall, but there's been no sign of Thurman since he left you in the dumbwaiter. Zombies don't notice him, so maybe he went out into the horde? The point is this might be our only chance to find out more about him. Specifically, how he can be in two places at once. Oh, and oh yeah, the bunker's locked with a code. The tape you took from the longevity research lab says where it is. Give it another play.

DR. MCBRIDE: April 9th, 1991. Dr. McBride. I've heard keeping a diary can help one make sense of things, and I refuse to lose my mind. Seven months ago, Artemus Thurman fired me for excessive altruism. Weeks later, I watched on my sofa as he attempted the highest ski jump ever built. I was willing him to fail, but only so he'd embarrass himself. I still see his neck snap when I close my eyes. I saw his funeral on the BBC News. It felt like I’d killed him, somehow.

Except two weeks ago, Thurman turned up at my door in the middle of the night and forced me at gunpoint to come with him back to my old lab. It's deserted. He won't explain how he survived, only says, “Prepare the bunker for my son. He'll be here once the dust's cleared, and there are things inside that explain everything.” The gossip pages say his son hates him. He wasn't at the funeral. Maybe he knew it was fake, but I can't say that to Thurman. If I disagree with him on anything, it's like he doesn't even hear me. I'm too afraid to argue.

He's different now to how he was before, some sort of monomania, and he keeps talking about the occult, secret knowledge that will help the chosen to survive. He asked me more than once if I would participate in the ritual with him, and I'm too afraid to answer. There's something else I'm afraid of. Thurman left tins of food, but they're running low. If he doesn't bring some more soon, I'm opening the bunker myself. He told me often enough the code for the bunker is engraved on the frame of Brandon's portrait in the Thurmanville labs.

SAM YAO: Stop the tape, Five. It gets a bit grim once McBride realizes Thurman's locked her in the lab and all he's sending her is plastic fruit. Okay, I'm looking for a portrait. Mmm... Ah! Yeah, I can see it. Boy in a suit, but uh, the actual face has been cut out. That's creepy. Still, I've got the bunker code on cams. It's um, 1875. Oh, that didn't work. I'm missing something. Keep warming up, and I'll figure out how to get you in.

~

SAM YAO: Okay Five, I've worked it out. The bunker lock’s electronic and the power's down, but the door's hooked up to the generator, so you just need to crank it up with some bicep curls. So press your elbows into your sides, forearms down, palms facing forwards. Grab the bar with both hands. Now it looks heavy, about the weight of a couple of tin cans? Now bend your elbows to lift the crank to your shoulders, then lower it back down. Careful, don't hurt yourself. It should take a minute.

Janine's been looking into some occult stuff since McBride mentioned it. She says Thurman was probably using fear of the supernatural as a way to control and manipulate his employees. She also says 1875 is the year that occultist Aleister Crowley was born. The occult sigil on the door, I wonder if it was from one of Crowley's books. Apparently, Crowley wrote about being in two places at once via astral travel, but the occult isn't real. Janine says, "There will be a rational explanation, Mr. Yao," and she's right, obviously. But there's something seriously weird going on.

Okay, you've got the generator working, Five. Try the code again. 1875. Yes, the bunker's open, but you might want to crank the generator a little longer. Don't want the power going out while you're inside.

~

SAM YAO: All right, Five, time to enter Thurman's bunker.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Brandon! Here at last.

SAM YAO: That's a recording, Five. Brandon was Thurman's son. He obviously thought only Brandon would make it in here.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: I trust your journey to post-apocalyptic England wasn't too arduous. I'm serious. If it's still a nuclear wasteland, go to the decontamination suite for three weeks and reread my autobiography. You've got a lot to live up to. You can't just rely on your Thurman genes. They're diluted by your mother’s. Penelope raised you to be a sissy, mommy's boy.

You were almost six when I last saw you, and you didn't even know how to box. I hope that black eye taught you a lesson, and the wasteland has hardened you. Regardless, I've prepared tests so you can prove you're worthy of meeting me. If you fail, you'll die, and good riddance. I'd rather have a dead son than a weak one.

SAM YAO: Five, a dart just flew past your face! Another by your knees! Uh, quick, do some jumping jacks to avoid them. Uh, feet together, arms by your sides. Now jump, spreading your arms and legs in the air so you land in a star shape. That dart almost clipped your ear! Jump back to the starting position. Keep doing those and the darts will miss you.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Still alive, Brandon? These darts are tipped with poison, you know. Ever see The Running Man? Contestants fighting to the death on television, a marvelous idea! The weak are punished and their deaths set an example. Televised combat is just what this country needs. Gladiatorial battles for children, now that's an idea! Get rid of the weak early and stop them growing into giant wastes of resources.

SAM YAO: [sighs] It's over. What was wrong with Thurman? He's treating this like some kind of joke! I mean, it's one thing to prepare for the future, but this... ! [sighs] I hope wherever he is, Brandon never gives his dad a moment's thought. Head to the next chamber, Five. If any more darts fly at you, just keep jumping.

~

SAM YAO: There's an arcade cabinet in this chamber. Must be another test from Thurman for his son.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: With discipline, strength of mind, and secret knowledge, one can live forever. If you prove worthy, Brandon, I'll tell you about it.

SAM YAO: Oh, I hate to send you further into that... that bastard's lair, but we have to know what he knows, Five. He's too dangerous, and he's fixated on you. We've got to find out how to stop him.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ever heard of The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle, Crowley's lost manuscript? Explains how to harness occult forces to make reality bend to your will. I bought it for millions, memorized it, then burned it. Couldn't have anyone else reading it. Sharing is for commies. Besides, they say the book is cursed. Everyone who owned it before me died horribly. Starving, thirsty, trapped and alone. You know why? Because they were unworthy!

You must prove you have the right values. Approach the arcade cabinets. Behold, a computer rendering of Karl Marx. Before you are two buttons, Hero and Parasite. Press the one you think describes Marx. Get it wrong, and the room fills with poison gas.

SAM YAO: [laughs] I'm pretty sure Thurman thinks Marx is a parasite, Five, but the buttons have corroded. The levers on the floor are all that's left. You can't stop looking at the screen, I need your head cam, so um... Okay, yep. Lunge and hit the lever with your knee instead. Stand with your feet together. Now step forward with your right leg and lower your back knee so that it almost touches the ground. And raise back up.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: That's right, Marx was a parasite, and you've exterminated him! Here's Ayn Rand.

SAM YAO: Ugh! Um, yeah, I think Rand wrote a book called The Virtue of Selfishness. Hit the hero button. Lunge with your left foot this time.

ARTEMUS THURMAN Keep going, Brandon! Here's Robin Hood.

SAM YAO: Looks like Thurman's alternating heroes and parasites, so keep lunging with alternate feet. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Ah, Henry Ford. Tore down 5,000 square miles of rainforest to build a private rubber production colony. Excellent man. Yes, Brandon, exterminate those parasites! Halfway there. Oh, Dickens. Reagan. If you become half the man he is, you'll almost be worth the time I've spent on you. You've done it, Brandon! If you'd made a single mistake, I'd have gassed you like a rodent.

SAM YAO: A door just opened, Five! If anyone else pops up on that screen, keep lunging. Otherwise, press on.

~

SAM YAO: Oh, there's an altar in this chamber, Five. I wonder what that's for.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: The Grimoire of the Empyrean Oracle explains how to harness animal spirits through ritual sacrifice.

SAM YAO: Of course. Yeah.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Your mother disapproved, Brandon. Called it torture. Well, now's your chance to prove you don't hold with the stupid ideas about animal rights. Release the hounds!

SAM YAO: Oh, well surely there aren’t live dogs here. Oh crap, Five, robotic dog heading right for you, glowing red eyes and razor blade teeth! Quick, punch it! Stand with your feet shoulder width apart, left foot back, fists up. Now punch with your right fist. Nice shot, Five! Keep hitting it with your right fist.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: "Save the whales!" Penelope used to say. Hogwash. What have the whales ever done for us? Ever wondered what happened to your gerbil? Rat poison. Taught you a lesson about wasting resources on useless creatures.

SAM YAO: You've taken down that robo-dog, Five, but there's another one! Right, switch stance so your right leg is behind and punch with your left fist. Go!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Prove you have the stomach to continue Crowley's work. Show no mercy, Brandon!

SAM YAO: Five, I hope your knuckles are okay after that. Keep going, we've got to know what this grimoire actually did. And if you see any more robo-dogs, you know what to do.

~

SAM YAO: Right, I just searched for Brandon Thurman on ROFFLEnet, but nothing came up, not even gossip like McBride mentioned. It's like he never existed. Everything about this family is so... just twisted and wrong.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Getting my hands on that grimoire was no picnic, Brandon. Had to hold my nose and venture east of the Iron Curtain, spend a week in a basement in Bucharest getting a man who refused to eat or drink to tell me what he knew. There wasn't much I could threaten him with, but I found his weak spot in the end. [laughs] After he told me what he knew, I followed Crowley's trail to India. There are carvings under a temple in Hyderabad, tied all my research together.

Immortality is there for the taking, Brandon, you just have to work for it. You can exist in two places at once. Think about it, working twice as hard, making twice the money! I bulldozed the temple, of course. Full of stupid warnings. The grimoire states that to conquer death, you must overcome an attempt on your life, value strength over weakness, and sacrifice those less valuable than yourself. And at last, you have to be willing to kill.

You're nearly there, Brandon. I'm almost proud of you. I've been testing you all your life. Never sent your mother a penny. Wanted to see if you'd grow up self-reliant. And when I saw that article about you in the FT, “Teenager establishes paper route pyramid scheme,” I knew I'd been successful. There's only one thing left, Brandon.

The staircase ahead bears blood sigils. It is a shrine to the god Moloch. He demands the sacrifice of love, so as you ascend, you must renounce all that you love, as I have renounced you. Only then will you be granted power over death. Speak the words carved on the stairs as you ascend.

SAM YAO: “I vow to sacrifice to Moloch that which I love. To starve, kill and...” What the...? Don't say any of that stuff, Five. Don't even look at it. Just climb the stairs.

~

SAM YAO: Okay, you're outside the last chamber, Five. Almost there. And yeah, your way back is clear. You can get away if anything's... bad. There's a glass coffin inside.

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Well, Brandon, you've found me. I'll be taken here after my death. Of course, since I followed the grimoire's instructions, I won't really be dead, just sleeping.

SAM YAO: The coffin’s bristling with tubes leading to the machines beside it. Dr. McBride worked in longevity research. Maybe this equipment has been keeping Thurman alive all this time. Yeah, maybe he's um... uh, you know, zombie immune because he died, or-or something. Take a closer look.

There's a desiccated body in the coffin. It's uh... Yeah, I'm not imagining it, am I, Five? It's Thurman, but dead. Really, really dead. Oh Five, look at the machine. Every switch has been flipped to off. And is that a note? “See you in hell, dad. B.” Did Brandon come here to turn his dad off? Not that I... [sighs] not that I blame him, really, but... ugh. For his sake, I wish he hadn't cared this much.

Nothing makes sense, Five! If Thurman's really dead, then who's been chasing you? What was that noise? The whole bunker’s shaking!

ARTEMUS THURMAN: Oh Brandon, I've installed monitoring systems. If my state deteriorates too far for me to be revived, I have a contingency plan. See you soon, boy.

~

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 30 #daddy lessons #zr transcript

[harrylee94]

Log Entry XXXXXX - Chapter 1

Summary: A new space station, complete with the most high spec and up to date technology there is to offer, has been set up at the edge of the known universe, a new way point for explorers to keep in contact with the rest of the human race. It has been carefully designed by the best scientists and engineers Earth could offer, and now 7 brave souls are being sent out to ensure everything works perfectly.

However, when Logan wakes from cryosleep from the journey, he is informed that several things are now in need of repair, though everything had been in perfect working condition when the station had been reconstructed before he and his crew had arrived. They will have to solve the problems they've been left with before the station is up and running, and yet Logan can't help but feel he's done this before...

Relationships: Intrulogical (Remus/Logan)

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Parasites, Remus having an overactive imagination, It’s an Among Us crossover so there will be bad stuff afoot.

A/N: For those of you who don't know, this story is based off of a comic by @fangirltothefullest which I HIGHLY recommend you check them out on the link above! Their art is AMAZING.

Note to everyone before we begin; there will be graphic descriptions of gore, dismemberment, possibly torture, and any other awful things that come with the territory of writing a story in an Among Us universe.

To read it on AO3 please click here.

Chapter 1: Log Entry #1

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan blinked his eyes open as the dim light of the cryodeck slowly brightened, emulating the rising of the sun back on Earth and offering a gentle escape from his induced hibernation. He waited patiently as his body began to realise that it was awake again and started to carefully move each digit. The tingle of pins and needles washed over him like a wave, but he'd been expecting it; he had taken the chance to research the effects that cryosleep would leave on the body, and had found it quite a fascinating read. Apparently it was very similar to freezing meat the preserve it, but the science behind it meant that the human body would be kept alive throughout the process, just severely slowed down, so when the process was reversed the human body had to take some time to recover. Hence the pins and needles.

He was just starting to curl his hands into fists when he heard the thud and slap of a body hitting the floor nearby, shortly followed by a long, low groan.

"You're supposed to wait until your blood flow has returned to normal," Logan said, his voice cracking for disuse.

The groan sounded again, followed by the sound of whoever it was who had decided that getting out of the pod immediately was a good idea crawling closer before a blurred dark head of hair with a streak of white revealed itself over the edge. Logan frowned.

"I thought Virgil was supposed to be in the same chamber as me."

Remus pouted. "Aw, don't you love me anymore, Ana-Logie?"

Logan raised an eyebrow at him at the nickname. "We were given specific cryochambers in which we were to be stored during our journey here. I can recall quite clearly that you were supposed to be with Roman while Virgil had been positioned next to myself."

Remus blew a raspberry at him and folded his arms over the edge of Logan's resting place, setting his chin on them. "Since when do I do what I'm told?"

That was a good point. "Then where is Virgil?"

"We swapped," Remus replied, biting his lip as he looked Logan up and down. "I didn't want to end up burning in an oxygen fuelled explosion and disappearing into the empty void of space unless it was by your side."

Logan smiled softly up at him and pulled his still tingling arm up to cup his cheek, humming when Remus leaned into it. "It is highly unlikely that we would have died in our journey. Everything was monitored by several A.I. systems, all of which have been tested on hundreds of previous missions. The chances of failure were miniscule."

"But it was possible," Remus said, his grin stretching the way it always did when he was thinking of something disturbing. "The cryochambers could have malfunctioned, turning us into frozen chickens, and we would have shattered into a thousand pieces when the chambers tipped over, which would have melted and we would have been all these bloody bits of bone and flesh, all mixing all over the floor, like a swamp where all the fish have died and it's turned the water rancid, and then the maggot and flies would have feasted on--"

Logan pulled himself up and shut him up with a kiss, making Remus freeze for a second before relaxing into him. Fingers wove into his hair, and the scientist sighed into Remus's mouth before pulling away, eliciting a moan from the man. "We didn't. We're fine. We are both awake and alive, and it is time we change."

"But I like you in skin tight latex," Remus said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"It would be more accurate to call this a synthetic polymer," Logan told him, pushing himself into a seated position and reaching past Remus for the glasses that had been stored in the side of the cryochamber, slipping them onto his nose he gave Remus an expectant look. "You know the only reason we would have been awoken would be that our arrival to the Station was imminent. I would much prefer it if you were wearing the correct safety gear for when we arrive."

"But wouldn't it be interesting to see what it was like for a human body to be exposed to the vacuum of space?" Remus asked, only to cackle when Logan pushed his face away.

"Get changed, Remus."

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 7:04 AM

Logan shifted the weight of his helmet under his arm as he headed towards the depressurisation chamber, the ship itself having docked only a few minutes after he and presumably everyone else had been awoken. Remus had taken every chance he could get to distract him and slow him down, so his usual twenty minute change into his suit had been prolonged, and he hadn't noticed the message until he was almost out the door.

Each member of the team had a set of keys, a security card and a tablet. Normally Logan would have checked the tablet for any news as soon as he had awoken, but it was only now he was stepping through the last door that he was reading the most recent message.

"Wasn't it supposed to be brand, spanking new?" Remus asked from where he was reading over Logan's shoulder. "Just spanking new?"

"Yes, that was the case," Logan said with a sigh, putting the tablet away in its pouch as the door closed behind him.

They were the last to arrive, as he had expected, and he did not appreciate the smug look that Janus was sending their way from where he was lounging in one of the seats near to a crate of supplies. Virgil was currently being led by Patton through some breathing exercises on the other side of the room while Roman rubbed his back in comfort. Orange was, as always, minding his own business, scrolling through his own tablet in the corner, his helmet beside him and ready to go. Remus immediately took the opportunity to flop on his friend in the yellow suit, much to Janus's chagrin, and Logan sighed.

"I take it everyone is aware of the situation we currently find ourselves in," he said, looking at each of them to observe their reactions before continuing. "It seems that the Station has been damaged in transit, so it will be our main focus in the upcoming days to repair the systems. It shouldn't take more than a day I expect."

"But what... What if it was something else?" Virgil asked between breaths, his eyes deeply shadowed despite the long sleep. "What if it was sabotage?"

"Yeah," Remus agreed with his usual grin. "What if it was the engineers who built it; maybe they made it to malfunction and kill us all! Or it could be a new HAL 9000, ready to blast us off into space one by one. Or maybe aliens-!"

Janus shoved him off his lap, shutting him up before Roman, who had been turning an alarming shade that almost matched his suit, could step in, Virgil's breathing becoming more erratic with each suggestion.

"The likelihood of it being anything other than some damage caused by transit is slim to none," Logan told them, adjusting his glasses. "I assure you, there is no reason to be afraid."

"And I shall be there to protect you," Roman said, placing a hand on his chest and posing as much as he could without removing himself from Virgil's side. "As is my sworn duty. No harm shall come to you as long as I am by your side."

Virgil did not look entirely convinced, but he nodded all the same, smiling at the flamboyant display.

"Either way, as we are all now here and have presumably taken a sufficient and healthy breakfast, shall we proceed?" Logan suggested.

Patton raised a hand.

"You don't have to raise your hand to speak, Patton."

"Oh, well then," the man in the light blue suit said with a happy grin. "I was just wondering if chocolate chip pancakes were healthy."

Logan blinked at him. "How can you-?"

"Yes, Pat, they're perfectly healthy!" Roman exclaimed, pulling Virgil towards the door. "Now let's go!"

Orange huffed and rose to his feet as he donned his helmet. "We're all ready, Blue."

"Yes, well," Logan said, adjusting his glasses one last time before twisting his own helmet into place. "I suppose so. Helmets everyone."

"Do we have to?" Remus moaned from where he'd been rolling around on the floor. "Wouldn't it be more fun if we-?"

"Put on the damn helmet, you rat in human form," Janus almost hissed, kicking him in the side for good measure. Remus laughed but put his helmet on, being the very last to do so, and shot up to his feet where he bounced in place as he waited, like a child on a sugar high.

The doors hissed as they opened, sliding apart to reveal the Sanders Space Station, the hallways near spotless and the lights bright and clean. It was almost like stepping into an Ikea or a show room, even coming with the smell of disinfectant, but a lot more technical. Having memorised the map over breakfast, Logan led the way through the maze of corridors to the cafeteria, as good a place as any to be called a base of operations, and stood by the central table as he waited for the six others to gather around. From the looks of it the integrity of the walls seemed intact, and nothing serious was wrong, as they knew, but still, it was better to err on the side of caution while they had yet to determine the status of the air.

"I thought we already had breakfast" Orange said, looking around in confusion.

"I thought it would be a good idea to set up a-" Logan pulled out his tablet and looked through his notes, "-'home base'. There are many tasks for us to do and I believe it would be more efficient if we split up to achieve them as quickly as possible."

"Because there is no 'I' in 'team'!" Patton agreed with a bright smile.

"Correct, you do not spell 'team' with the letter 'I'," Logan agreed with a nod, ignoring how several of the others snickered. "Now, from the list that has been sent to each of our tablets I can see that the Reactor has yet to be started, so I would suggest that Orange, as the most qualified with such things, would be perfect for the task." Orange hummed. "The engine would be a good place for you to move once you have completed that. Patton, I would suggest you take charge everything in Navigation, and Janus can take charge of tasks in Communications."

"I take it I've got the Medbay?" Virgil asked, his arms wrapped around himself, something he tended to do when he couldn't put his hands into his pockets.

"I'll go with you, Charlie Frown," Roman said, nudging him with his elbow.

"Actually, Roman, I was hoping you could-" Logan began but Roman waved him off.

"I will continue to ensure the safety of this vessel at Virgil's side," he said. "There's no need to worry, Specs."

"... Indeed," Logan drawled, turning to Remus at his side. "In which case, you can be in charge of the Weapons section. You and Roman can decide who can tackle the other sections that involve the security of the station."

As expected, Remus pulled him in for a hug, their helmets banging together as he tried to squeeze him through the fabric. "You're the best, my bleeding, puss riddled heart."

"Is there anything else we will be needed for in the near future?" Janus asked as the others either made disgusted faces as Remus's nickname or snorted as Logan tried to extricate himself from his partner's grasp.

"Uh, I just want you all to know that, should you come across any problems you come across that you believe will need a group effort, just set off the beacon in our suits and we can all meet back here. Any other tasks -- Remus would you put me down -- any other tasks you can do would be helpful."

"Sounds good," Orange said and spun on the spot, heading towards the reactor with a lazy wave over his shoulder. Roman and Virgil followed him soon after, the Medbay between the cafeteria and the reactor, and Janus went on his own towards the Communications room.

"Isn't this exciting?" Patton asked with a bounce. "I'm over the moon about everything!"

Logan sighed. It was going to be a long day.

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 11:27 AM

Logan had spent the better part of four hours trying to ensure that the oxygen filter was in correct working condition, along with all the wiring and such, but at last he felt he could safely say that it was up and running. For the last half an hour he'd been checking the oxygen levels in the Station and was pleasantly surprised to find that they had always been capable of supporting human life, so he checked it off his list with a satisfied smile.

He had heard Patton working in Navigation nearby, and Remus's maniacal laughter as he blasted the various detritus that had been gathering around the Station through the gun systems had been an enjoyable accompaniment, if a bit annoying after a while, and highly unnecessary, but now, as he rose to his feet, he could appreciate a break. Heading out into the corridor he took a quick left turn and came up behind Remus, who was sat on the the seat in the centre of the control area, and watched as he blasted a few more things on the screens.

"Take that you dry buttholes!" the man in green yelled as something exploded into dust on the right screen.

"Having fun?"

Remus immediately spun the chair around and pulled Logan into his lap. "Nerdy Wolverine!" he said, making sure Logan was straddling his lap and wrapping his arms around his back. "Here to give me a saucy lap dance?"

"I've actually decided that it was about time I had a break," Logan informed him, keeping his distance by setting his hands against Remus's shoulders. "That and..." He pushed himself back enough to be able to sit up without falling into his partner's chest and removed his helmet. "The air is breathable."

Remus stared at him for a few seconds before scrambling to remove his own and dropping them both to the floor with hollow thuds as he puled Logan in to kiss him thoroughly and invasively. Logan was all too happy to respond, grasping at the metal ring of Remus's collar. They had been asleep for years, travelling light years away from home, away from everything they knew, and while it might have been only a single sleep for them, it still felt like forever.

And yet the moment was broken, the beacon in their suits blaring loudly at them, and Logan pushed himself away from Remus in surprise.

"I'm going to disembowel whoever did that," Remus grumbled, allowing Logan up.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't."

"Don't be alarmed!" Patton said as he came in behind them. "I'm sure it's-. Hey! Your helmets are off!"

"Yes, the air is safe to breathe," Logan said, pulling Remus up.

"Did you do this?" the moustached man demanded with a sharp finger.

"No," Patton said with a frown. "I was just making sure the steering was straight and true."

Remus continued to glare at him for a few seconds before turning away, following Logan into the cafeteria.

No one else had arrived yet, though the three of them had been the closest to the cafeteria, and so Logan sat himself down at the central table as Remus wandered around the room, taking out his tablet to check on the tasks that still needed doing in the ship. From the looks of things they seemed to be on schedule, so whatever this was would only be a small hiccup in the scheme of things. Roman and Virgil had entered the room as he'd been studying the list, but still there was no sign of Orange or Janus.

"So we can take our helmets off now?" Roman asked as he looked between the three of them, all of them now bare-headed. "Thank God." He removed it quickly and set it down on the table, Virgil following his example, though he kept hold of it as they sat.

"Where's Orange?" Patton asked, looking past them.

"Oh, he's probably just-"

"He's dead."

Everyone turned to the door opposite the windows that showed the great expanse of space beyond. Janus stood there, leaning against the frame. There was a thick, shiny red liquid on his glove and smeared over his thigh.

"... What?"

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 11:51 AM

Orange was lying face up in the storage area next to the fuel tank, a smear of blood on the floor beside him, undoubtedly where he'd been lying face down before Janus had found him, as the majority of the front of the suit had been stained with his blood, and there was an uneven tear, revealing a mess of flesh, internal organs and bodily fluids. Blank eyes stared up through a cracked helmet. The six of them were stood around it in shock.

"... Are we sure we're alone on this ship?" Virgil asked after what had felt like an eternity of silence.

"We... We should be," Logan said, uncertainty rocking his foundations. This was supposed to be a safe mission. They were supposed to man the station until the rest of the crew arrived. They were only supposed to make sure everything was in working order. They were supposed to be safe!

"Should be?" Janus repeated with a sneer. "Orange is dead!"

"Yes! I've noticed that!" Logan snapped back, rubbing at his mouth as he watched Remus examine the body. "This... This shouldn't have happened."

"Well it did, didn't it," Roman said.

"What.... What should we do?" Patton asked, looking between each of them.

"We should put Orange in his cryotube before his bowels empty themselves everywhere," Remus said, getting to his feet. "Though I doubt we'll make it in time."

"Yes but, after that."

"Staying in groups," Logan said with a decisive nod. "Two or three per group at least. The more of us there are the less likely we'll be..."

"I'm with Log-in," Remus said, looking around the room and picking up a crate lid to shift Orange's body onto. "Need a hand, Ro. And preferably the rest of the body as well."

"Can you not!" Roman said in disgust but helped him move Orange onto the make-shift stretcher. "Storm Cloud, you're with me."

"Yeah, I'm not complaining," Virgil said.

Patton turned to Janus with an uneasy smile. "Well, I guess that means it's you and me-"

"I'll tag along with you two," the man in yellow said, pointing between Roman and Virgil.

"-Logan and Remus!" Patton continued as though that had been what he'd intended to say all along.

"Alright," Logan said and moved ahead of the brothers to ensure the pathways was clear for them. "Let's... get this over with."

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 12:20 PM

Orange had been sealed into his cryochamber, a task that had taken more effort than any of them had wanted, and there were now a few empty stomachs after smelling the half digested remains of his breakfast. Knowing the workings of death was not the same as experiencing them and no one was ready, not even Remus who was looking paler than usual. They were back in the cafeteria, sitting at the table and keeping an eye on all the entrances both Roman and Remus now with patches of blood on their suits from having to physically having to move the body.

Normally at his time Logan would have suggested they east something, but he knew none of them would be able to keep it down.

"What should we do?" Virgil asked, helmet now firmly back in place. "We can't just... wait here to get murdered."

"Logan did say that the more of us there are in one group, the more likely we'll be able to defend ourselves," Patton said with a forced smile. "Why don't we just, you know, stick together?"

"But then the alien might be going around sabotaging the Station," Remus pointed out, eyes flickering to every shadow as he touched each finger to his thumbs over and over again. "I mean, did Orange finish working on the reactor? And the engines; what if we weren't where we needed to be when the rest of the team arrives? They'd have to search for us, and that could take weeks! And then there's the Oxygen-"

As though Remus's words had been a prophecy the Station's alarm sounded and a yellow light flashed.

"Next time, keep your mouth shut," Janus said, pushing himself up from the table.

"We have to get to two panels," Logan informed them, painfully aware of the countdown that the overhead had begun in a tinny voice. "There's one in Admin and another next to the oxygen filter."

"We'll take Admin," Roman said, nodding to Janus and leading both him and Virgil in the right direction.

Logan, meanwhile, headed back to the oxygen station, but before he could get too far Remus caught his shoulder.

"Remus-"

"I'll go first," he said, moving ahead as he sent a grin his way. "If anyone's going to get disembowelled by a murdering alien it's me."

Logan felt almost physically sick at the thought but gave him a nod and followed behind.

Though there were only a few corners to turn to reach their destination, each one held a horrible danger and a potentially deadly encounter, turning the once safe and comforting realm into a nightmare. They held their breath as they stepped into the oxygen lab and Remus stood guard at the door, letting Logan get on with repairing the error. Although Patton's fidgeting at the side was a little distracting, Logan did notice that the error was actually fairly easy to fix, and it seemed to have been created remotely. That was odd. Very odd indeed. The only way for that to happen would be-

The voice stopped its countdown and the lights went back to their sterile glare as he closed the casing, confirming that the others had fixed their end, and they all relaxed minutely.

"That was a close call," Patton said, undoubtedly trying to sound optimistic but the wobble in his voice broke the illusion.

Logan nodded. "Let's go back to the cafeteria."

The three of them moved carefully back towards their meeting place, constantly on guard and feeling incredibly vulnerable with every step. It was an oversight to not keep something on the Station with which to defend themselves, and it was something Logan would certainly be bringing up with their eventual co-workers, but for now all they had was their suits and their tablets.

The cafeteria was empty and quiet when they returned, the vast expanse of space looming dark and cold out the thick, reinforced windows. Against all logical reasoning it made Logan feel more alone than ever and he reached out for Remus's hand, which he took with a squeeze in silence. They wandered to the central table, clustering together as they watched the door to Admin, waiting. Seconds passed, and those seconds turned into minutes, until the tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

"They should be back by now," Logan said, pressing closer to Remus's side.

"May... Maybe they went to check on the engines," Patton suggested, having come to stand on Remus's other side.

Remus continued to watch the stretch of corridor for a few moments, his face more blank -- more serious -- than Logan could ever remember seeing it before. "We should check."

Patton swallowed. "D-do we have to?"

There was another long pause before Remus nodded and he looked between the two of them. "I don't think they've gone to the engines."

Logan swallowed but nodded, having come to a similar conclusion himself. They would have returned here as soon as the oxygen situation had been resolved. He released Remus's hand to give him greater movement and followed close behind him when they headed onwards.

Each step seemed to echo, their breaths loud in his ears and the air was almost too cold. He didn't know what to expect, so his mind created images for him; a craze worker left behind by the construction crew wielding a bloody screwdriver, an android system that had become corrupted and was disguising itself as the very walls around them, some alien creature from the movies he and Remus had watched late at night back on Earth, using the shadows, the ceiling, and whatever else it could to get to them without being seen. Whatever it was it was still out there.

It was still out there, and it had killed not only Orange, but Janus as well.

The once yellow suit was now almost entirely saturated with blood, the domed glass of the helmet shattered and Janus's face stuck in a look of shock. Logan didn't know where all the blood had come from exactly, but it had started to pool around the body, and he stepped closer, almost hypnotised by it. The human body held approximately 10 pints of blood. There were a myriad of veins in the body. Janus was dead. If a main artery was punctured, say in the leg, neck or arm, it would take 30 seconds before unconsciousness and 3 minutes until death. Janus was dead. Similarly it could take up to 5 minutes to die if the heart was--

"Logan!"

He blinked, surprised to find Remus was holding his face.

"Hey, Nerdy Wolverine. You back with me?"

Logan blinked again and nodded.

"Good," he said, planting a kiss on his brow. "Now, we still don't know where Roman and Virgil are. It might be that they were taken by whoever-"

Darkness. Complete and utter blackness fell over them, the lights clicking off. Patton squeaked in fright somewhere near the door. Logan clutched at Remus. Remus pulled Logan close.

"Electrical," Logan said. "We have to go to electrical to fix the lights."

"How can we fix it if we can't see?" Remus asked, his warm breath brushing against Logan's cheek.

"The panel should have some battery powered light in it," Logan said, cursing that he'd left his helmet in the weapons bay; though it wasn't much they had a small light in them, one which would have been incredibly useful now. "Patton, can you come closer so we can all stick together?"

Silence.

"... Patton?"

Still nothing.

"Logan," Remus said, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I think..."

Logan's grip on Remus tightened and he nodded, the cold seeping into him as they stepped forwards together, creeping through the blackness. Until their feet hit something soft and wet. Logan whimpered.

"We have to get to the shuttle," Remus said, starting to pull Logan down the hallway, leaving Patton's corpse behind them. "We can lock the doors behind us and-"

"What about Roman and Virgil?"

"They're probably dead," Remus said, choking on the word but pausing all the same. "They're probably in pieces. Roman... We can't think about them. We-" The words cut off, choked with a gasp, and Logan felt him stiffen.

"R-Remus?"

"Logan... I love you. I love... I love you so much." Remus said, his voice wet and broken. He could hear a smile in his voice, and then he felt him fall. "You're... the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I love you too," he replied, tears streaming down his cheeks as he collapsed down beside him, reaching for his face to hold him. "Remus. Remus I love you so much." He could feel a presence behind him, the certainty of death creeping over him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Remus had stopped moving had stopped breathing, and he sobbed in agony at the loss until he felt something sharp and serrated slice through the flesh of his throat.

It takes 30 seconds of blood loss from a main artery until unconsciousness...

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

Logan blinked his eyes open as the dim light of the cryodeck slowly brightened, emulating the rising of the sun back on Earth and offering a gentle escape from his induced hibernation. He waited patiently as his body began to realise that it was awake again and started to carefully move each digit. The tingle of pins and needles washed over him like a wave, but he'd been expecting it; he had taken the chance to research the effects that cryosleep would leave on the body, and had found it quite a fascinating read. Apparently it was very similar to freezing meat to preserve it, but the science behind it meant that the human body would be kept alive throughout the process, just severely slowed down, so when the process was reversed the human body had to take some time to recover. Hence the pins and needles.

He was just starting to curl his hands into fists when he heard the thud and slap of a body hitting the floor nearby, shortly followed by a long, low groan.

"You're supposed to wait until your blood flow has... returned to normal," Logan said, his voice cracking in a somehow familiar way.

The groan sounded again, followed by the sound of whoever it was who had decided that getting out of the pod immediately was a good idea crawling closer before a blurred dark head of hair with a streak of white revealed itself over the edge. Logan frowned.

"Have... Have we done this before?"

#writing #me #my stuff #fanfiction #sanders sides #among us #sanders side fic #sanders sides among us au #logan sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #orange sanders #tw blood #tw gore #tw character death #time loop

[whitecatindisguise]

Deceit

This is a short story which was inspired by @leania112‘s amazing Team Awesome comic.

Seriously, her art is amazing, so go check her out.

Oh, and big thank-you to @thecinnamonroll-varian for helping me with the title (again)! You really have the best ideas!

Now, off with the story, and be prepared for some angst.

(The story is also avaiable on AO3 and Fanfiction, same username)

------

Timezone: set between Flynnpostor and Once a Handmaiden…

The lab was a mess. It always was, but this time it was more than usual. Varian rolled up his sleeves and looked down at the raccoon standing by his leg.

“Time to finally clean this up, buddy.” He said and the animal chittered in response, mimicking his movement. The boy smiled and they set to work.

The Demanitus Chamber was enormous, so it came to no surprise that after two hours they only managed to barely take care of small part of it. Varian wiped sweat from his forehead and reached out for the bottle of water he brought with him. How come I didn’t do it earlier?, he thought as he scanned the room. 

Of course, it was a rhetorical question. After Rapunzel and the others saved him from Cassandra’s tower and escorted him back home, he was too tired to do anything other than sleeping. Then came the upgrading the hot-air balloon for Rapunzel and Eugene’s trip to the Spire and long-hours work on The Rooster. 

He’d been so busy lately, it took him almost two weeks to finally find some time and clean up his lab. Well, it wasn’t his lab, per se, but Rapunzel was clear he could use the chamber freely if he ever needed it. And it was way bigger than his lab back in Old Corona. Not mentioning more secluded, meaning less threatening to other people (not that he planned to experiment on something THAT dangerous, but still). 

He was just about to go back to cleaning, when he heard footsteps. He turned towards the exit, curious as to who decided to visit him. He didn’t even tell anyone he was planning to clean his lab today, so it made him even more puzzled about the visitor. 

His lips formed a smile when he noticed a man making his way down the stairs. 

“Hey, Eugene!” He called out, lifting his hand in a greeting. “Didn’t expect you to come here. Don’t you have Captain of the Guard duties or something?”

The boy was well aware that with the new position came more responsibilities. He was happy for his friend's promotion, but figured he won’t have as much time to meet with him and the others now. 

If the man heard the question, he didn’t show it, instead taking a look around.

“This place really took a beating, huh?” He said. 

Varian shrugged in response.

“That’s what happens when people think it’s a good idea to fight in a chamber filled with ancient technology.” He replied. “Figured I can clean this place up, since I have some time.”

Eugene hummed in response and stared back at the boy. The alchemist shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze from the man.

“Um… you need something?” He asked.

“Wasn’t easy to find you.” The man replied cryptically. 

“Y-yeah. I didn’t exactly tell anyone where I’m going today.” Varian scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Except for dad, of course.”

His eyes moved away, not being able to hold the man’s gaze. He noticed Ruddiger picking up some beakers and vials back on the table. The raccoon paused in his work and stared back at them. He sniffed the air for a moment before growling and running up to them, his paws clawing at Eugene. 

“Woah!” Varian scooped up the animal in his hands, puzzled by the reaction. “What’s got into you, buddy? It’s Eugene.”

Ruddiger didn’t seem to listen, as he tried to wriggle out of the boy’s hold, still hissing and growling at the man. 

“Oh, come on, Ruddiger!” The alchemist groaned. He grabbed the raccoon in both hands  and lifted him in front of his face. “Stop that! Better go pick up the rest of the glass. I’ll join you in a moment.”

He let down the animal and it made a few steps back to the table, looking back with ears down and hissing. Varian looked sternly at his friend and made a ‘shoo’ wave with his hand. Ruddiger growled one more time before finally going back to where he was picking up the fallen beakers and vials. 

“Heh, sorry about that. I don’t know what’s got into-” The alchemist turned around and immediately ducked to the left, barely avoiding the sword that came his way. 

He hissed in pain as the tip of the blade managed to scratch his cheek. He lifted his hand to the cut and almost doubled over, as he felt a warm liquid under his fingers. He looked at where Eugene was standing, his sword drawn and pointed in his direction. 

“E-Eugene? What are you-?” He asked but had to dodge again, as the sword swinged at him. He fell to the ground and scrambled away, his eyes wide in horror. 

Eugene clicked his tongue in annoyance as he stared at the boy.

“I missed.” He stated, taking a few steps in the direction of the alchemist. 

Suddenly, there was a growl and Ruddiger launched himself at the man. His claws attacked the man’s face but didn’t reach it. Eugene swiftly caught the raccoon by the scruff where it hang, hissing and clawing. 

“Annoying pest.” He said before throwing the animal into a opposite wall. 

Varian screamed, as Ruddiger hit the bricks and fell limply onto the ground. His vision blurred with tears and he moved towards him, only to be stopped by the blade to his throat. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Eugene asked, his lips turned up in a malicious smirk. It seemed unnatural and unfitting to see it on his face. 

 “Eugene, please…” He sobbed, stealing glances between the sword and Ruddiger’s unmoving body. “D-did I do something to upset y-you?” His voice stuttered as he tried hard to stop the tears from falling. He didn’t understand what was going on. Why was Eugene acting like that?

“Well yes, my dear boy…” the blade moved slightly up, pointing to his forehead now. Varian shivered uncontrollably as the metal got closer to his face. “You survived that spectacular fall from the Tower… Quite frustrating, don’t you think?”

The boy trembled and backed away, his back hitting the wall behind. The memory of the fall resurfaced almost instantly, bringing the feeling of wind in his ears and his body approaching the ground at a dangerous speed. If it wasn’t for Lance… Varian didn’t even dare to think what would happen, if the dark-skinned man didn’t catch him. 

Why was Eugene upset about that? He clearly remembered his protectiveness when Cassandra shoved them back inside the tower, how he held his hand reassuringly. Was that all just an act? Did he secretly loathed him, wishing he died back at that tower?

He was faintly aware of the man cackling as he stepped closer and put the tip of the sword back to the boy’s neck. 

“But worry not. I will fix that terrible mistake.” Eugene stated as the blade hovered dangerously close to the alchemist’s throat. 

Varian couldn’t think. Tears were falling from his eyes, while his gaze fixated on the blade. Maybe that was for the best, he thought, as he thought of the man’s words. I am nothing but a nuisance to everyone. It would be better if I was gone.

Eugene smirked evilly and the boy closed his eyes in defeat. Then, something hit him from the side and he felt himself falling to the ground, the wind pushed out of him and a splitting pain at the back of his head. And then, everything turned black.

-----

His ears rang and head hurt, as he finally came to. He must have hit something while falling. That would explain the throbbing he felt right now. He heard someone calling his name but it was all muffled. He shook his head a couple of times, trying to get rid of the ringing. 

“-rian! Hey, kid, are you alright?” The sound finally reached his ears and his head shot up at the familiarity of the voice. His eyes widened and he scrambled away, as he stared into the brown eyes. 

“N-no, get away!” He cried, his hands curling protectively over his head. 

“Hey, kid. I’m not going to hurt you.” Eugene tried to calm down the boy but it only resulted in him shuffling away and sobbing uncontrollably. 

The man cursed under his breath and opened his mouth to try again, but a hand on his shoulder made him stop. He sighed and took a few steps back. 

Varian heard someone make his way towards him and gentle hands touched his shoulders.

“Varian, it’s okay. We’re here.” Another familiar voice comforted him, this time female. He looked up and saw green eyes and blonde hair. 

“R-Rapunzel?” He questioned with teary eyes. She smiled slightly and nodded. “Rapunzel, Eugene was-!” He started to explain but she interrupted him instantly.

“It wasn’t Eugene.” She said with such certainty in her voice it surprised him.

“B-but I-” The alchemist was lost. It was surely Eugene. He saw him. He heard his voice. He couldn’t have been mistaken, could he?

“Varian” Rapunzel put both of her hands on his shoulders and stared right into his eyes. “It wasn’t Eugene.” She repeated, slowly stating each word. 

“Then who…?” Varian questioned, his mind spinning. He didn’t know if it was a result of the hit or what the blonde just said. 

“It was Zhan Tiri. Apparently, she can shape-shift. She was trying to trick you.” She patiently explained. 

“Zhan Tiri…?” The name rolled on his tongue as he stared puzzled at the woman. He looked over her shoulder and noticed Eugene standing a few feet away, his eyes turned to the side. The man noticed his gaze and looked back, painful expression on his face. 

“Yes.” Rapunzel confirmed and he moved his eyes to look back at her. “We actually wanted to take you out for a picnic with Lance, Kiera and Catalina. We came to your house, but your dad said you were here. We went in and saw you, back against the wall, sword to your throat... “ She quieted down, remembering the horror she felt at the scene. “It was Eugene who reacted first, jumping down the stairs and barreling into you at the last moment. You hit your head on the chair and passed out, while me and Eugene managed to drive her away.”

“Oh…” Was the only reaction Varian managed to make. He heard a chittering to his right and Ruddiger went up to him, limping slightly. He let out a small sigh of relief, seeing his friend alive, although slightly hurt. He let the raccoon climb up his shoulders and patted him absentmindedly. 

What Rapunzel said… This was a lot to take in. He looked back at Eugene and moved his gaze down, the moment their eyes met. He heard the man shuffle uncomfortably, before taking a few steps and crouching in front of him. 

“Hey, Varian.” He said, his hand reaching for the boy’s shoulder. 

The alchemist shivered uncontrollably and went still, the moment he noticed what he was doing. From the corner of his eye he noticed the man frown sadly and let his hand drop down. 

“Sorry…” He muttered, bringing his knees to his chest. He was so confused. Ruddiger touched his cheek with his paw reassuringly.

“Kid, do you really believe I would try to kill you?” He heard Eugene ask, sadness in his voice. Was he upset with him? That he let Zhan Tiri trick him? 

“It all seemed so real…” He whispered, hiding his head in his arms. “She… she looked like you… sounded like you… moved like you…”

“Varian-” Rapunzel started but Eugene raised his hand to stop her.

“Blondie, I’ve got this.” He reassured. She looked at the curled boy for a moment, before nodding and stepping away. The man sighed and tried again. “Varian, what do you know of me?”

“What?” The boy’s head moved up, puzzled eyes staring at him. 

“We’ve known each other for quite some time.” Eugene explained, sitting down in front of the alchemist. “Since the first time we met, what did you learn about me?”

“Um… that you’re impulsive…?” Varian tried and the man squinted at the comment, Rapunzel snorting from where she stood. “Not that much as Cassandra, but…”

“O...kay? I’m going to take it as a complement.” The man ran a hand through his hair. “What else?”

“Erm… you love Rapunzel… and apparently are good with kids?” The boy continued and heard the woman chuckle at Eugene’s exasperated ‘apparently?!’. “You’re friends with Lance and you both decided to let go of your thieving past to help with the castle guard. You make bad jokes but everyone pretends they’re funny so you won’t get upset.”

“Wha-? Bad jokes?” Eugene made a surprised sound before turning to his girlfriend, his gaze desperate. “Blondie, please tell me he’s just making fun of me.”

“Sorry…” Rapunzel tugged her hair in shame and he made an offended sound. 

“You also care about your looks and can be extremely arrogant. But you’re also extremely loyal and protective.” Varian continued, his voice a little bit louder now. “Oh, and you are the prince from the Dark Kingdom, your real name is Horace and you’re one year older than you originally believed.”

“You just had to point these last two out, did you?” Eugene raised an eyebrow and the boy shrugged his shoulders. The man could also swear he saw a playful smirk on the alchemist’s lips. “So, we can say you know me quite well, right?”

“I… I guess? Not as much as everyone else but…” Varian agreed, still not seeing the point in the whole conversation. 

“Oh, please. I can count on one hand people who know me better than you do.” The man countered. Then, he took a deep breath and looked at the boy with all the seriousness he could muster. “And how does this description fit into the Eugene who threatened you with a sword?”

Varian stared wide-eyed at the man, the question sounding in his mind. Ruddiger chittered to his ear, as if trying to give him the answer. Oh… so that’s what it was all about. 

“Not… not at all.” He finally said, eyes downcast. 

“And what does that mean?” Eugene pushed and Varian knew what he was getting at. 

“That it wasn’t you…” He whispered. He could almost see the man smile in response, nodding his head in approval. “Sorry…” He said again.

“Don’t be. You were scared and confused.” Eugene shook his head at the statement. “Heck, I wouldn’t think clearly when at the bladepoint from the person I trusted. I would even believe Blondie hated me.”

Varian snorted at that and Eugene smiled. 

“So… we’re good now?” The man asked. Varian looked at him for a second before smiling and nodding. “Great, then let’s get this cheek of yours cleaned up.” He stood up and reached his hand to help the boy stand up. 

The alchemist took it and let the man help him up. His vision swinged and he almost toppled over, if it wasn’t for Eugene catching him. Ruddiger clawed at his shoulders, trying to not fall off with a sudden change of balance.

“Woah, easy there. You hit your head pretty bad with that fall.” Eugene commented as he held onto the boy. “Hope you’re not going to get dumber.”

“Oh, shut up.” Varian pushed away from the man with the smirk. “I’d still be ten times smarter than you.”

“Can’t argue with that, kid.” Eugene laughed and led him towards the stairs. Together they left the chamber, exchanging jokes and harmless insults, Rapunzel trailing behind with a smile on her face.

----

So that’s it. I got inspired and I don’t regret anything!

#tts #varian #eugene #zhan tiri #angst #leania112 #her art is amazing! #fanfiction

[whumpitywhumpwhump]

Hey y’all! I’m doing @amonthofwhump‘s Mafia Week list of prompts, so here’s day 1, Russain roulette.

“What do I keep you around for, Beck?”

“To deliver messages and packages inside the Town Hall.” Beck swallowed nervously. Getting called in to speak with Pat in the back of the deli was never a good sign—they called him Pat the Butcher for a reason, after all.

“These messages, are they secret?”

“They are.”

Pat was a heavyset older man, thick black mustache bristling over thicker lips. His face boasted more hair than his head, which he had taken to shaving completely once it had gone from slightly balding to patchy at best. He nodded, and Beck could see the glint behind his dark and wily gaze. He was toying with a revolver as he talked, polishing it with a handkerchief.

“So you’re a secret messenger.”

Beck nodded.

“Tell me, Beck, what’s the point of a secret messenger who can’t keep a secret?”

The temperature in the room must have plummeted, as a shiver ran down Beck’s spine.

“Tony, James, all of you come in.”

A crowd of large men, each one taller and thicker than the previous, filed into the back of the store. Beck spotted Simon among them—his wiry frame and wavy black hair draped around his face set him apart from the crowd. He looked like he’d be right at home with a group of hippies out west, not in the middle of a crowd of the city’s most dangerous mobsters. And yet, this was almost more Simon’s world than Beck’s.

They avoided each other’s gazes.

“Well, Beck? Why keep you if you can’t keep secrets? That short angry lady who works for the DA, Clarisse, she knew some things she shouldn’t about Mad Dog.” The very same Mad Dog, otherwise known as State Representative Stewart Atlas, crossed his muscled arms in the throng.

“Boss, you know I’d never spill to Clarisse, or anyone. I’m as loyal to you as anyone, you know that.” Beck tried to keep his voice even—he ignored the sweat beading at the edge of his hairline.

“I want to think so, son, but Mad Dog coulda been in hot water because a secret I entrusted to you got out. I can’t ignore that.”

He hung his head, unable to meet the boss’s heavy stare.

“I’ll make it as fair as I can, since you’ve been so loyal before.”

Pat lifted the revolver he’d been holding. He opened it, showing the bullet settled in the chamber—only one. Slamming it shut, he spun, dizzyingly fast. Beck had no chance of knowing which chamber it was in, none at all. The older man held it, grip out, towards him. As Beck took it, Pat turned to address the other men.

“Young Beck here has always done good work for us, but a leak happened, and it can only be traced to him. To prove his loyalty, he’s going to do a task for me right now,” he announced. Turning back to Beck, he continued, “Son, you know the rules for Russian Roulette. One bullet, six chambers, gun to the temple. You squeeze five times, and if you live through all five, consider your record clean. If not, well, you know what that means.”

Over Pat’s shoulder, he could see Simon’s eyes flashing with anger. The tiniest shake of the head was all the rebuke he could give, all he could do to keep Simon quiet. Then he locked eyes with his boss, raised then gun to his temple, nodded once, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Beck flinched involuntarily. Despite the casual way he started, his heart thudded a little too heavily in his chest. That bead of sweat slid slowly down past his eyebrow, and a new one gathered in its place.

He closed his eyes for this one, sucked in a breath, and squeezed again.

Click.

Two down, he counted to himself. He was still alive, still feeling his legs start to go cold as the panic well and truly set in. Lying, espionage, sneaking around, that he could do. That he was good at. Gun to the head with confidence? That was more for the people watching him, people who did the dirty work for Pat.

His boss raised a brow—he needed to get on with it. Beck raised the weapon to his temple once again, resting the cold metal against his head. A lump gathered in his throat, and he pulled.

Click.

He sighed, silently, when he heard the sound. He took a second to steady himself—his knees were locked, whole body tense. Halfway, he was halfway through. Only two more chambers. He could make it.

His fingers were shaking as he lifted the gun to his head again. He screwed his eyes shut, stiffened his hand as much as possible, and squeezed.

Click.

His shoulders sagged. Breath coming in short gasps, sweat making slithering trails down the slopes of his face, it was obvious that Beck was scared.

He gulped, searching for the courage to lift the gun one more time. Instead, he met Simon’s sharp and worried eyes, trained on him, tracing him up and down. The black-haired man set his jaw, muscle jumping, and Beck frowned. Simon wanted to intercede—Beck needed him to hold back.

He raised the gun, fast, but not faster than Simon.

“Stop.”

Beck’s knees almost gave out in relief, but his furrowed brows never betrayed that secret.

Pat turned, eyes rolling beneath his fleshy lids, and faced his nephew.

“Simon, we’re in the middle of something.”

“Uncle, he’s already pulled four times, and you know he’s the most loyal messenger you’ve got. Just be done with it.” Simon’s voice was confident and smooth, the words of a man who grew up with this, who could talk his way out of a paper bag without touching the sides. Bending men like his uncle to his will was his specialty, and he was laying it on pretty thick. “Come on, how are you gonna get another in at the Mayor’s office? We were lucky Beck was so willing to sign on. Like that Bertinessi gig? That would’ve gone to hell if he hadn’t been involved. Or the Walker sting? If you kill him, it’s your loss. Think about the big picture.”

Unless you knew Simon really well (which Beck did), you’d never know he was nervous. Ending too many sentences as questions, that little flick of the chin he made at the end—he was just as scared, even if the gun wasn’t chilly in his palm or hard against his skull.

“You think I should just end it.”

“Yeah, if you care about the future of our business, you should.” No one else could talk to Pat like that, but coming from Simon, it was just within the limits of allowance.

“Fine.” He swung back around to Beck, frowning. “You’d better not let anything else slip or it’ll be six full chambers, son. Gimme the gun.”

Pat held out a meaty fist, and Beck deposited it carefully. He also nodded, calmly, with lots of eye contact, going the extra mile to show how grateful he was, how much he appreciated having his life spared.

He stepped back and watched Pat stand. The large man turned and left the room, the crowd parting for him like some criminal Moses’ Red Sea. The assembled men filed out, one after another, and one of them clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder, guiding him out.

Beck turned instead to the back door, preferring to have a moment alone over a walk down the block with the guys. The hinges screeched as he forced them open, and again as they swung closed, but he still heard the snick of the door locking automatically behind him.

He leaned against the brick wall of the alley and sighed, tipping his head back. His breath billowed up in the crisply cool air and the sweat that had slithered across his body chilled on his skin. His cheeks, by contrast, felt feverish, blood rushing up to his face.

He almost died tonight.

He could have died right there.

And he didn’t.

Had the bullet been in chamber five or chamber six? Would Pat regret it all if he had died? Did the stunt Simon pulled put him in bad graces that would get him killed later?

Beck ran a hand through his limp curls, then grabbed one blonde lock at the back of his head. He tugged on it, hard enough to sting, then relaxed, then tugged. The rhythmic pulling was a tempo to breathe to, to think to, and after a minute, his hand slid away and he wasn’t shaking quite as hard and he could take hold of a thought in his brain to properly consider it.

Simon should have kept his mouth shut, because now Pat would have a close eye on them both. He put both of them in more danger.

The saying goes that if you speak of the devil, he appears. The same is often said of Simon Alexander. As soon as he crossed Beck’s mind, he turned the corner into the alley.

“Beck. Thought you’d be here.”

Simon’s voice came out as casual as always, and he walked with easy confidence, but his eyes gave him away. He looked Beck up and down, scanning, trying to read him—was Beck alright, or did Simon need to do something more?

Beck worked his tongue between his teeth, avoiding Simon gaze and question. His face was once more getting hot, though not with fear this time.

“Beck?”

“That was stupid.”

“Beck, that’s not fair. You could have—”

“The spilled secret was on me. Someone leaked it after I passed it along, that’s on me, and I needed to take the punishment due me. You interrupted, and now everyone will lose respect for me, and Pat will be keeping a much closer eye on us, so that means we’re totally fucked.”

“You could have died, Beck. Did you think I’d just stand and watch?”

“I had hoped you’d respect my wishes.”

“How was I supposed to know what—”

“You knew exactly what I wanted. Don’t play dumb, Simon, it really doesn’t suit you.”

Beck was facing Simon now, arms crossed over his chest, brows drawn together. The black-haired man was glaring right back, indignant, arms swung wide—Simon always talked with his hands when he got upset.

“I’m not apologizing for saving your life, Beck.”

“You don’t even know you did. What if it the bullet was in—”

“It was in the fifth. There’s a scratch on Uncle Pat’s revolver on the side of one of the chambers, which is the one he slotted the bullet into. After he spun it, the scratched chamber was number five.” Simon paused, letting the words hang between them. “If you had pulled the trigger again, you’d be dead.”

Beck felt the tips of his ears get hot, and tears prick against his eyelashes. He blinked them back and instead regarded Simon. Was he telling the truth or just covering his tracks?

The slight frown, head tilt, finger playing with a heavy gold ring on his finger—Simon’s body betrayed the honesty you could never quite trust his mouth for. That fifth chamber really held the end of Beck’s life, and Simon saved him.

Simon weighed the consequences, chose careful words, put himself right in the path of his uncle’s frustration, and that was the only reason Beck still had brains inside his skull and air in his lungs.

He couldn’t blink away the tears anymore.

They slid, one and another, down the curve of his cheek, as he chewed his lip and looked anywhere but at Simon. He wouldn’t let himself make sounds—the crying was bad enough, no need to escalate it any further than that.

He didn’t need to, as it turns out, because a warm hand settled on his shoulder, and he melted into the touch. Simon’s arms slid around him, pulling him close against a cologne-scented chest. Fingers rubbed up and down on his back, grounding him, holding him together. Beck was so grateful for the opportunity to cry over Simon’s shoulder, unseen, that he made no comment about how hard Simon was trembling.

“I wouldn’t let him kill you, Beck. I wouldn’t let him hurt you, not now and not ever. You’re mine, and you’re safe with me.”

“I know, babe.”

Beck pulled back, looked up at Simon’s somber face, and kissed him. Their bodies were tense, alert. If anyone saw them kissing—

But no one saw them. Not tonight.

#mafiaweek2020 #mw-no.1 #russian roulette #whump #my OCs #these are some new boys I have made specifically for this week #and it's pride month #so obv they're gay #listen mafia boyfriends is the romance plots everyone is too afraid to give you #but pls enjoy

[haifengg]

The Dutch Room - Chapter 3

Find all Chapters here!

“So this is where you keep them.” Johnny said and made Haechan jump as he reached for the cupboard in the far back of the small room.

“Sweet Jesus, Johnny! Why?” The younger employee turned around just now noticing his coworker who sat in the corner, sleeves rolled up and legs crossed. He smiled.

“Since I heard from Doyoung how no-one uses the mugs I supplied the office so generously with I had to find out where all of you keep the personalmugs.” He painted the last adjective with as much disgust as possible.

Haechan, who managed to survive the small heart attack Johny had given him, grinned. “It’s just that this isn’t where we store the cups. It’s where we store the tea. Which you would know, if you wouldn’t only live off coffee.”

Johnny grunted. “Alright then just tell me where the hell you keep them, I really need to know! I’m trying to find out for almost two weeks now.”

The secretary shrugged. “We keep them at our desks. June stores hers somewhere in her office and I’m not sure if Jaehyun even drinks tea or coffee but I bet he has his in his office as well.”

Johnny deflated. “I really hate it here.”

“You sure do.” Haechan mocked his overly dramatic behavior and decided to go with it. “This a whole new level of office betrayal towards you.”

“Speaking of which,” Still remaining seated Johnny scanned Haechan from head to toe with searching eyes. “why do you look so neglected?”

“Neglected?” He stopped making tea just to look at Johnny with his brow frowned. “What about me looks neglected??”

“Your clothes! I’m not giving you free fashion advice for you to sleep on it. Where is the tiepin?” Haechan responded brusquely: “I don’t own one.” And Johnny let out a small unbelieving laughter.

“Who are you? The secretary?”

The sassy comeback Haechan was thinking of just this second, died on the tip of his tongue as June entered the kitchen and answered Johnny’s question for him.

“He is my secretary. At least he is if his job description did not change in the last 10 minutes he wasn’t at his desk. And are you really expecting him to wear a tie pin when he doesn’t even wear a tie 4 out of 7 days a week?”

“Maybe that’s why he’s only a secretary. And by the way why am I not getting an assistant?” Johnny complained more to himself than anyone in particular.

“You don’t even have enough work to keep yourself busy. Speaking of which, why are you still here? It’s not as if your workload requires you to work overtime. It’s the middle of the night you could be home sleeping.”

He smiled widely. “To keep y’all company.”

June placed her cup in the sink and turned around. As always by this time of the night she had her sleeves rolled up and the filigrane golden watch dangling from her wrist. She had tied her hair back in a low ponytail and tucked behind the ears.

“Yeah sure, because we’re always so thrilled to see you.”

“Is Doyoung still here as well or is it just us?” Haechan chimed in. He took the seat on the opposite side of the small table where Johnny was sitting.

Overall it was really interesting to observe how everyone’s sense of fashion declined as the light of day faded.

Johnny who, with a few exceptions, always wore a suit at the office had tossed the jacket aside hours ago and rocked his usual loose tie pencil behind the ear thing. He as well had the sleeves rolled up, tucked messily under the black sleeve holders.

As for Haechan everyone was weirdly happy he was dressed appropriately. Even if not very fashionable. For a fact Johnny was actually giving him honest fashion advice for quite some time now but it took a lot of work and convincing before Haechan would follow any of those.

Johnny stretched and yawned. “I think he’s at Taeil’s. I saw him leaving earlier.”

“Is the new one still here? What was her name again …”

Haechan’s superiors answered with one voice: “Song.” And then looked at each other. The secretary noticed none of which.

“Where does she work? Now that I think of it I don’t even know. There aren’t any empty offices left on this floor and as far as I understand we’re still not using the third floor.”

“I think it’s the old storage room beneath the roof. The one we kept the files before Jaehyun made us go through them and transfer them.”

“Did one of you guys even see her since she started here?”

June and Haechan looked at Johnny, thinking about his question and then all reached the silent agreement that in fact they didn’t.

***

The three of them stood in front of the dusty old door which blocked the path to the storage room. Except it wasn’t as dusty as it used to be and light spread from behind the door onto the floor beneath their feet.

“So … are we just going in?” Johnny asked, moving up and down on his toes, eyeing June. Something about her presence always made him refer to her as the person in charge. Or at least assume she was the one with a plan. Maybe it’s because she not just looked great in YSL but looked more like owning the entire brand.

“Of course.” She said and knocked on the door three times and before the men at her side could respond with anything, the door opened and Song showed up in front of them.

“Yes? Oh, it’s you. Whoever you are.” The woman behind the door was shorter than June, matching the Height of Johnny’s chin so that she had to look up to ⅔ of the group. The fact that Haechan was the shortest member of the party did not seem to bother her at all.

She had her hair tugged back the same way June wore hers and the messy bangs fell into her face randomly. The white oversized dress shirt she was wearing didn’t have a single spot of color on it, just like the straight leg jeans. As she looked from one face to the next Johnny noticed small and subtle earrings dangling and peeking through the dark straight hair.

June gave the young woman one of her rare smiles. The ones even Haechan barely got to see and Johnny had never encountered before.

“We are your coworkers. I’m sorry for barging in on you like this at this hour but since Jaehyun didn’t bother to introduce you to us we thought we should come by and say hi. May we come in?”

Song opened the door wide enough for the three people to enter the room and closed it behind them.

Johnny looked around as soon as he stepped in, wondering if the room had always been this big. Then he remembered how one couldn’t see the other side of it at the time it was still the storage for years of paperwork and shrugged. He also remembered how much he hated coming to this former very dusty place.

Instead of being filled with files, shelves and boxes the chamber now resembled an apartment. A rather shitty one but it still had everything one needed to get by. Even windows. Though he couldn’t remember having seen them before.

This place having been turned into a studio/apartment solved the mystery about why they didn’t see her down in the office. Haechan asked himself if she was even leaving work to go home or if she just crashed in here.

Song walked up to the kitchen which was situated right next to the door and turned around facing them while leaning against the counter. “Can I get you anything?”

“Actually-” Haechan began but June broke him off mid-sentence.

“We just had coffee so we’re good thank you.”

They all looked at each other. Song eyed the intruders carefully, facing three strangers in her atelier.

June was watching her interestedly, searching for every single little detail that would give her a bit more information about her. Anything that wasn’t written in the staff file was important and couldn’t be missed.

Johnny on the other hand wasn’t scanning her as carefully as June but he now fully understood what Doyoung meant when he told him last week about how Song was different to June. This woman seemed so … harmless. Sitting in her studio painting all day long. Somehow managing to stay clean … they both were very similar but then again so different.

Meanwhile Song, June and Johnny stared at each other, Haechan was the only one not taking part in his apparent group activity and scanned the room for a toilet. He really shouldn’t have had that tea earlier.

“So… who are you?” Song asked, not moving an inch from her position.

“I’m June.” She said, deciding to briefly introduce them before one of her male teammates could rush into hastily giving out sensitive information. Yes, they all were meant to be a team and work together as a whole but whether they would do or not was still up to them. Trusting each other was something Jaehyun couldn’t decide for them.

“I do most of the paperwork in this company and pretty much everything runs through my hands at some point. That’s Haechan, he’s my assistant/secretary and the dense looking himbo here is Johnny.”

With those words she put a hand on his shoulder and made him snap out of stare at Song who seemingly did not notice he was.

“To be honest I don’t even know what’s his task at hand. I feel like no-one does.”

Johnny turned his head towards June. “I can’t believe how bad you’re making me look, why do you always do that?”

June smiled at him which sent a cold shiver down his spine. “Because it’s easy.”

“And because you deserve it.” Haechan chimed in and continued this time turning to Song: “I’m really sorry but where is the restroom?”

Both June and Johnny looked at Haechan with the most confused faces about that last remark but Song just pointed to the back of the studio where Haechan ran off to quickly.

“This is so weird”, Johnny stated and laughed a bit embarrassed. “We just came to get to know you a bit since we’re …” He ran out of words and looked at June for help.

“... are a bunch of notorious criminals about to steal, forge and replace art worth a few millions of dollars?”

“I was going to say ‘coworkers’ but yeah that too.”

Song chuckled. “No no, it’s alright I get it.” She sighed. “We have to get to know each other. Relying on other people is a big part of the job and it’s necessary to pull the whole thing off successfully. I just didn’t make it downstairs yet because I have to finish another piece for my last client before I can start working on the new commissions.”

She pointed at the easel near the window. And the two people followed her gesture.

“May I?” June asked and approached it with her heels clicking on the floor with every step, as Song nodded.

She looked at the painting for a minute in silence before she said: “Now this is delicate. I can see why you chose her.”

Johnny looked up to find Song looking at him and June still examining the work.

“’Chose me’? What exactly does that mean?” A pinch of suspicion mixed into her tone, as Song rose an eyebrow.

June chuckled. “One of the according to him ‘many things’ he does is recruitment. Though it’s the only thing I saw him doing in a while.”

Johnny looked from Song, who was staring at him, to June, who was still paying full attention to the painting, and cursed his coworker once more this evening wondering why the hell he made her look so bad. She truly was mean.

Song pushed away from the counter and crossed the room between her and Johnny with a few big steps, just to stop right in front of him. “Were you the one breaking into my apartment?” She asked, suddenly shooting daggers from her eyes that had Johnny raise both his hands in surprise.

“No! I did not. Well, I was asked to do it but I was busy that day, so Doyoung did it.”

As quickly as her temper flared up, it cooled down again and she took a step back from Johnny, returning to a conventional and appropriate distance.

“The one with the tea?”

“Jaehyun made Doyoung offer you tea?” June asked, done silently marveling at Song’s work.

“He did.” Haechan piped up, finally returning from his restroom journey. “He even used her own cup.” He looked at Johnny as he added: “The one he made Doyoung steal from her apartment.”

“He did what?” Johnny exclaimed, fully forgetting where he was and why they came there now solemnly thinking about how he would confront Jaehyun about this.

June straightened her back and linked arms with both of the men. “That’s our cue. Again, I’m sorry we barged in on you like this.”

She walked towards the door, dragging the guys with her. “You should come down from time to time and visit us.”

Song followed this weird group with her eyes, unsure if she should laugh about this or just wonder about those strange people.

“Same goes for you. My door is more or less always open.”

Haechan chimed a quick ‘see ya!’ over his shoulder before June could kick the door shut with her heel a

nd shove them into the elevator.

The doors closed behind them.

“What the hell was that??” Johnny exclaimed, as the small car started moving.

Haechan laughed. “Did you really want to scare her with your weird obsession about this company and everyone’s personal mugs? I for my part think it was a good call. A little bit rushed but a good call.”

The car went down and as they passed floor after floor the boys went on bickering about this and that. About how Haechan has no taste in fashion and how Johnny should mind his own business and should go see a therapist about his fetish for crockery.

June stood between them, decided to have her own thoughts on the matter. Yeah sure, his cutlery obsession is one reason. Though there is also the way he couldn’t stop staring at her and how she didn’t notice it. But I’m not going to tell either one of you until you notice it yourself.

Navigation

#nct127 #nct127 scenario #nct127 scenarios #nct127 imagines

[dragon8641]

The Soldier and The Empress 5

The Golden Runaway

"Izanagi? Like, the Creator God Izanagi?"

"Exactly"

"Well that doesn't sound pretentious in the slightest" Nonon was playful, but instead she used sarcasm, she was more serious than before.

"Is he strong?" Sanageyama asked.

"If he's around the two-star district and we were notified of him, he should" Gamagoori answered Sanageyama.

"Haven't seen him in a long while, tell Lady Satsuki i'll might do some noise soon..."

"I'll get him first if you slack off Kai!" Sanageyama declared.

"Stay out of this Sanageyama, this one is mine" With a glare, Sanageyama's face twisted as he had seen a monster, Nonon hid behind her hat and Inumuta was typing looking too closely at the screen.

"I'm gonna assume you know he let himself get the picture taken in order to lure you out" Inumuta told me, he was right of course.

"That's why i'm going to fight him at Honnouji, with you all here if, and only if, it becomes a pain, i'm sure i'll have your back up."

"It's Only Natural!" Gamagoori said without stuttering.

"If i get a go at this asshole, then sure man!"

"I don't really feel like it, but then again, i can use this to let some steam out..."

"Be sure to get me some mean data if you will Tadasuki"

"Don't get your hopes up, i plan to end this quickly."

The sound of doors being swung open struck the room

A *Click* and a blazing light came from the back of the room.

"Isn't this quite the opportunity? Tadasuki"

"Lady Satsuki" The elite four said as they bowed deeply, I only bowed slightly.

"It is as you say Lady Satsuki, I wish to see to this matter myself, with your permission of course"

"You don't need it for this enemy, do as you please, just don't lose!"- She slammed Bakuzan in the ground -"Listen up Elite four! You will aid Tadasuki on this mission as he sees fit!"

"Of Course Lady Satsuki!" Four voices were heard in unison.

"You have my undying gratitude Lady Satsuki" Now I bowed deeply.

"Start whenever you want, Tadasuki"

Thankfully it was the end of the day, I excused myself and left to my own chambers in the Honnouji tower. I wanted to meditate a bit before facing Izanagi again, after all, I was damn sure I killed him last time I saw him.

/

Tadasuki left the room the room, saying he was gonna get some rest.

"(Like c'mon! you can't just get everyone all worked up and leave like that!)" Jakuzure pouted as she flopped in the couch. "Lady Satsuki… is there some other reason Kai wants to fight this guy so badly? i get that they were brothers and his family was kinda... not good, but is far too unusual to see him this angry..."

"It's quite the long story Nonon, though i feel like you may want listen to it anyway" Satsuki smiled both on the inside and outside.

"Yay! we get to know more bout' Mr. Lizard!" Nonon sat facing Satsuki.

"I'm also interested in hearing that!" Sanageyama got excited.

"Please do not miss any details Lady Satsuki" Inumuta bowed on his seat while a blank document was on the screen of his laptop.

"He avoids most of the questions about his past… i'm curious as well Lady Satsuki" Everyone, even Gamagoori, got comfortable for Satsuki to start telling them about Kai Tadasuki's past, from the time he was Daisuke Kogane.

"The Kogane Family were a 'company' that were onto many shady business, Eventually they were all exposed by REVOCS and annihilated" After taking a sip of her tea, Satsuki started the history.

"Interesting..." Inumuta said under his breath as to not interrupt Satsuki.

"The head of the Kogane household was an awful man, his name doesn't matter now, what matters is that he had one legitimate son, Izanagi. As well as many other illegitimate ones"

"That's where Kai goes in... ah! my apologies Lady Satsuki..." Sanageyama realized he was being rude.

Satsuki ignored him and continued

"One day a woman, probably a sex worker, joined the Kogane Household by declaring that a nameless kid was also the head's son, that kid had about five years and still didn't had a name, worthless pigs, all of them..."- She sounded really angry, yet with a sip of tea she calmed down and continued calmy once again. -"That kid, became Daisuke Kogane."

Everyone was speechless, but Satsuki did not stopped there.

"When that happened the Kogane were still in their prime, yet Daisuke was treated like a slave, even if he had their family name, he was still not recognized as one of them, that is how he became to hate people when we first found him, remember?"

"True, his background was a little cloudy but by what we had it was clear that he loathed the students at his high school and people in general..."

"Indeed, but that is still a couple of years after he became Kai Tadasuki… Daisuke Kogane received a minimal amount of education compared to Izanagi and was raised by the gold digger who brought him into that mess"

"What horrible people" Nonon was really invested into the story.

"Until one day, a bit after the start of middle school… he was sent in as a pit fighter against other kids in an illegal underground arena" She stopped the story to get another cup of tea.

"!" Inumuta stopped typing, Gamagoori had a surprised face on him, Jakuzure almost choked on the sweets she was eating and Sanageyama was deadly serious and silent.

"Wait, that's just awful!"

"Indeed it is Jakuzure, now..." Satsuki took another sip of the now full cup "He wasn't supposed to be the one to fight, it was Izanagi. The mother of Daisuke was the one who send him in so she could win a bet."

"What a bitch!"

"Truly a bunch of pigs, also… the battles were to the death..."

Everyone stayed silent out of shock.

"The kids wore mask that showed whose house they belonged to, so his father could not tell it wasn't Izanagi. Then the bell ringed."

/

A sand pit, a blade stuck at the very center. Two masked kids: one red, one blue neitherolder than 12 were facing at each other.

*ding ding*

The Red masked one starts running at the blade and gets a jump start.

The Blue mask starts running a bit later after realizing there is no more weapons on the arena.

The blinding lights made it impossible to see any of the sick people who watched this as entertainment.

The Red mask got first to the blade, but it was buried too deep, so the blue mask catched up landing a sucker punch on the red mask and sending him away from the blade.

The blade loosened up a little from their struggle, they both had one hand on the blade and the other punching away at their enemy.

Finally the blade came out of the ground, in Red's hands, Blue was unable to get away in time, and received a very shallow cut through his chest from side to side. Little blood spurt out as the crowd cheered.

Blue grasped the wound, while it wasn't deep it did hurt really bad.

"(Sand... Overhead Swing… Blood)"

Now about eight feet apart, Red points the sword at Blue, as if he was declaring victory.

Blue does a "come on" sign at Red.

Red charges at Blue with the sword really overhead.

Blue gets his guard low, so he is not seen grabbing sand from the ground.

Six feet away.

Four. Blue throws the sand at Red's face, Red's grip on the sword visible falters and Blue quickly follows up with a punch in the very center of the face. Red contorts from the hit, his body moving forward while his head goes backwards.

Red falls in the ground, the sword follows, falling really close to him, he is no longer moving.

*Ding ding*

The match is over.

"And the Winner is BLUE from Kogane House! Make sure to watch out when redeeming your bets!" they announced it like this, since it was usually just a representative of their house, not someone directly tied to them.

/

"Huh? weren't the battles to the death?" Jakuzure interrupted Satsuki, everyone else had this face of 'Yeah!' on them, as they agreed with Nonon.

"They were rigged of course, if it was Daisuke the one who fell that day he would have, undoubtedly, died."

"...I see..." The look on Nonon's face became really gloomy as she just accepted that fact.

Satsuki took yet another sip of tea "Fights like this keep coming, since Daisuke's mom was furious and made him fight to gain the money back… and he did, he had nowhere else to go after all..."

/

The familiar sight of the yellow sand, the blade stuck on the ground, the lights shining like the sun. Blue mask had now a ten win streak and the eleventh was just archived. Sadly, he had gotten used to this.

This fight in particular almost took the mask off Red, the blade struck the mask but stopped a bit after reaching the skin of Red's cheek. Blue took the sword away, it had blood on its tip, Red was still breathing, he was not dead. that was the last match of the day.

Daisuke the Blue mask now returned to his school, were he spent his time alone, since his last name haunted the other students.

Then there's this one guy, he was not too scared of Daisuke for unknown reasons, but every now and then tried to talk to Daisuke, failing every time since Daisuke hated people.

This one guy, came to school with a gauze on his left cheek, covering stitches.

That's when it hit Daisuke the hardest, he was not just in any normal school, it was a chicken pen. He had at some point fight some of the people in this very classroom at that arena, and those disappearances… could only mean one thing. Sure he hated people, but they all were in a similar spot as him.

/

"That's horrible!" Gamagoori could not help but interrupt Satsuki to express his feelings.

Satsuki took a last sip of her cup, handed it to Soroi and resumed her story without wait.

"By the time Daisuke realized he had to leave, he was at his last year in middle school. It was on his 30th victory that he put his plan into motion"

Once she received another cup of tea from Soroi, Satsuki explained Daisuke's plan to escape.

"He needed: Money, an Escape Route and a Weapon. He got the money by betting on himself when he fought, the Escape route was relatively easy, he just had to pretend take a shortcut when going to school and disappear, then he got the weapon..."

"The knife in his room..." Sanageyama jumped in.

"Indeed… The plan started and everything went well, too well..."

/

Walking through the back alleys, Daisuke alone walked like he usually does. He could not help anyone else at his school, he did not believed in heroes.

The skies darkened and the wind blows strong.

Daisuke is just a couple of turns away from freedom. Just one more turn left and he'll be gone for good.

Izanagi Kogane, there he was, with a smug look on his face, playing with some baseball, waiting for Daisuke.

"(Jacket… Thunder… Knife...)"

"Hey! little brother!"

"Izanagi… what do you want?"

"Me? nothing, but what do YOU want? that's the real question."

"Like you care"

"Indeed, but this time i do actually, i've been having the time of my life, since father thinks is myself the one that made all that money from him"

"He what?!"

"Oh, you didn't knew? you momma was sending you instead of me to that arena, i watched safely from the vip area."

"You bunch of assholes" Daisuke was furious at Izanagi but he did not raised his voice.

"Don't you worry, they won't miss you" He stepped out of the way and eventually walked past Daisuke.

Daisuke just stood there, boiling from anger. The dark clouds were on top of them, a Thunder and rain started to fall on both of them. Izanagi was still not too far away.

Soaked and at the sound of another thunder, Daisuke took off his jacket from school and threw it at Izanagi while shouting his name.

"Izanagi!"

The jacket hit him right in the face, it being a heavier from the water, Izanagi stumbled a little, then he felt something cold, far too cold from for it to be the rain.

Steel, in his throat.

Daisuke took the knife out of Izanagi, fold it back after cleaning it a little with the Rain and made a run for it, leaving his jacked behind.

/

"The rest we already know… he changed his name, entered high school and became the Kai Tadasuki we knew back then..." *click* sounded the empty cup being placed on the little plate.

"Oh wow!" Sanageyama was the most impressed.

"Now you all know who he was long before we found him. Do not get confused, Daisuke Kogane no longer exists inside our friend and ally Kai Tadasuki!"

"I never thought Mr. Lizard had killed someone… wait a minute! If this asshole Izanagi is dead, then how come he's messing shit up at the districts?!"

"That's exactly why he was so serious about it..."

"A Phantom of the past… it's almost... poetic" Sanageyama added.

"Didn't take you for the romantic type, Baka Saru!" (Stupid Monkey)

"Now I get why he got all serious… man, he's scary when he gets like that..." Sanageyama spoke his mind.

"I have to concur, he's far more fun to hang out with when he's not so serious and stuff" Nonon also poke her mind, this time though, Satsuki seemed a bit amused at her words.

"So it's not fun to spend time with me, is that what you are saying, Jakuzure?" She was joking, but the way she said it made it sound like a threat.

"N-not at all Lady Satsuki..." Nonon was scared. Satsuki laughed gracefully at her reaction. Then Satsuki got up from her seat.

"That is all for now, you all are dismissed for today." The sun had already settled, so she send her Elites away.

"Thank you Lady Satsuki!" They all bowed and left a after a bit. Ending the day.

#kill la kill #satsuki kiryuin #kiryuin satsuki #klk #xreader #fanfic #Soldier and Empress #oc

[beyond-the-mirror]

Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Well this chapter took longer than expected! But it’s finally done and I hope it’s up to your expectations.

Tagging @thedyingmoon​ and @minteyeddemon​ since they were very interested in the concept of this fic. Please enjoy!

Warning: Child abuse, please read with caution. If this theme makes you uncomfortable you can skip the first part in italics.

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

Chapter 3: Songs of Innocence and Experience

“Gather round everyone! Come to our Freak Show and see! Bear witness to the most shocking collection of human abominations on earth!”

A rather tall man shouted at the top of his lungs, inviting the crowd into a rather dull tent situated behind him.

Fortuna’s local carnival was definitely not the most impressive touristic attraction the city had to offer, located in a barren terrain at the outskirts of it. The rides barely received any maintenance, small piles of garbage accumulated in some corners, and the stench excrement coming from the pet zoo impregnated the air. As unappealing as the entire carnival looked, it still offered the commoners a chance at having fun for a very few coins.

The announcer, known by the many staff members as Mr. Buoncuore, kept beckoning at the passersby, some of them feeling curious about what lurked inside the mysterious tent that housed the Freak Show, and paying him for an entry ticket. After enough people had gathered around to form a small group, the man flashed his rotten teeth. 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves to witness our fascinating collection of nature’s most bizarre wonders. Please come in, let our tour begin.”

The inside of the tent was poorly lit, only a few lights worked and they hardly illuminated anything. Mounted walls divided the ample room into narrow cubicles where the “freaks” were showcased, at least the stage lights in each cubicle did function properly.

Unlike the jovial environment outside, the interior of the installation was rather gloomy and almost depressive. As the group was guided through the pavilion, they were introduced to the freaks displayed, which included a bearded lady, a pair of conjoined twins, a man covered head to toe in dark thick hair, and many more. Some performed small circus acts to entertain the spectators, others simply sat in sorrowful silence as they were being watched. Poor unfortunate men and women whose only sin was being born with a malformation, condemning them to be mere exhibitions to the morbidly curious side of mankind.

At the farthest end of the pavilion, a single cubicle mounted over a short stage platform and hidden behind a red velvet curtain stood out from the rest. Many believed this one to be the final and most important specimen in the freak show, and couldn’t wait to find out just what was hidden behind the fancy curtain.

Finally reaching the end of the tour, Mr. Buoncuore gathered everyone at the front of the small stage. Many whispered voices expressed their intrigue at the mystery behind the curtain. And soon enough, Buoncuore made an announcement.

“And now, we shall reveal to to you our final and finest specimen of our valuable collection. Prepare yourselves to be amazed, for this is no ordinary freak after all, one so outrageous that mere words can’t describe its cursed existence.”

The crowd stared in complete suspense at the cubicle. After a brief pause, Buoncuore continued with his speech. “I present to you, an unfortunate soul forsaken by God, a soul marked by demons themselves since the day they were brought to this mortal world. I present to you… Il Figlio del Diavolo! The Devil’s Child!”

Immediately the curtain was pulled up, revealing its interior. The crowd gasped at the sight.

A little boy, only five years old, was chained to the floor at the center of the cubicle behind a set of bars. He seemed malnourished, his skin a sickly pale color, and his long black curls were dull and unkempt. The infant wasn’t wearing a shirt nor shoes, only an old, torn pair of pants that reached bellow his knees. Several bruises and cuts covered his fragile body, some were already healed, others were still fresh.

However, what caught everyone’s attention were the deep dark markings that covered the child’s entire torso and arms. Swirls of black ink coursed through the boy’s skin, reaching up to his neck and the tips of his fingers in intricate and surreal paths and patterns. The ink had such a saturated color, an unnatural aura in them, it was obvious they were no regular tattoos; in fact, many swore they could see the ink actually moving on its own.

The sight was so surreal, so unbelievable…

“I-I-It’s a demon! A demon!” One of the spectators yelled at the sight before him. Other voices soon accompanied the first comment. “A demon has claimed this boy!” “That child is not human!”

Uncertainty and confusion took over the small crowd at the sight before them. They pointed at the boy, looked at him in utter disgust, mocked him, whispered profanities and insults at his tiny figure.

And yet the child simply laid still where he was chained with a vacant stare, the spark in his green eyes long lost.

Empty eyes, devoid of any hope.

“Take this you monster!” a teen member of the group picked up a pebble from the dirty ground and threw it at the imprisoned child, hitting him on his head and making him flinch. And soon enough, the rest joined the teen, throwing pebbles at the poor creature, who simply retreated back as far as his shackles permitted and curled up on the ground. Although most of the pebbles couldn’t reach him thanks to both the distance he kept and the bars blocking him, a few still managed to hit their target, leaving another set of cuts and small wounds on his already scarred skin.

The crowd continued their assault relentlessly while Buoncuore simply observed the scene in amusement, his fingers tapping at the handle of the silver cane he always carried pridefully with him.

Tears started to run down the child’s soft face, whimpers shaking his minute body.

“I-I’m not… I-I-I’m not a monster… P-Please stop… I b-beg you…”

He prayed for salvation, for mercy. Every single day, he prayed and prayed…

… But nobody came to save him.

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

His eyes shot open, heavy pants leaving his lungs in a desperate attempt to recover oxygen, a thin layer of sweat covered his face and body making his skin glisten in the dim light of his chamber.

The man sat up on the mattress to try and compose himself, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He ran a hand through his ebony locks, a habit he regularly did when feeling anxious in general.

It was merely a nightmare. One he wished he could forget, but kept coming back to haunt no matter how much he tried.

After a few minutes passed and his body finally relaxed, giving him the chance to stand up from his bed and lightly stumble towards the bathroom. Finding purchase in the old porcelain sink, he opened the tap, letting out a sigh of relief when a stream of clean fresh water managed to come out of it. At least the well that provided for the house hasn’t dried up yet to his fortune.

The man proceeded to wash his face and hair, hoping that the cold water could give him at least a sense of tranquility from the turmoil his unsavory dream caused in him.

Closing the tap, the man looked up and stared at his own reflection in the mirror in front of him. The ethereal markings on his partially nude body greatly contrasted with the almost sickly pale skin, looking almost alive as if the were made of slithering wisps of smoke and ashes. Rising a hand towards his face, he once again slicked his hair back, examining the now uncovered part of his visage. New lines had begun to appear, where they would stop at his neck now they started to crawl up his jawline, through his cheekbones and up into his hairline. Some stopped right below his left eye, others seemed to have redirected towards the bridge of his nose.

This new changes were not unusual though. It had been a long time since the lines had last developed after all.

What would happen if they managed to cover his entire face? He didn’t know. All he knew was that the markings will not stop growing. All he knew was that, although he was indeed intrigued by this phenomenon,

a voice deep inside his head assured him… he would not like the answer at all.

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

“We are starting with ‘Lo vidi e ’l primo palpito’. On your positions now!”

Tech rehearsals had begun for ‘Luisa Miller’, the next play to be performed at the Opera. As the current choreographer and dance captain, Trish strived to make rehearsals flow as smoothly as possible. Major setbacks were inconceivable for her, and with a personality as fierce as a lightning bolt, no one dared to challenge her authority nor her decisions.

All the backup dancers and extras took their respective places, their blocking already approved and stablished with no further changes. Meanwhile, Madame Carlotta beckoned her assistants to fetch her prop bouquet and apply some throat spray to her before starting a few vocal warm-ups. After readying herself, she signaled for the maestro to start the aria.

“Non temer: più nobil spirto, alma più calda di virtù non mai vestì spoglia mortal. M'amò! l'amai!”

As Carlotta paced around the stage, the backup dancers began their routine. You twirled around gracefully, perfectly following the path you were instructed to as the scene required. This was Luisa Miller’s, the main character, first aria. A serenade was brought to Luisa in celebration of her birthday, the townspeople gathering and dancing joyfully around her before settling down and letting her continue her song.

“Lo vidi, e 'l primo palpito il cor sentì d'amore; mi vide appena, e il core balzò del mio fedel.”

Once again, the dancers began moving, this time in line to present Luisa their gifts. Carlotta moved between the townspeople, bowing at each one and receiving her gifts. However, you noticed that her steps were longer than necessary, making her invade the blocked paths of some of the dancers. One misstep from her and she was suddenly right in front of you, completely oblivious to her current position. You tried to step out of her way but-

“Quaggiù si riconobbero nostr'alme in rincontrarsi formate per amarsi Iddio le avea in- AHHH!”

You moved a bit too late. Next thing you knew she had collided against you, which caused her to trip and fall backwards.

“Cut the music!” at Trish’s orders, the conductor and the orchestra immediately stopped. The actors and dancers looked distraught at what just happened, worry visible on their faces.

“I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” You immediately reached out and offered a hand to Carlotta to help her get up, but a quick slap against your palm was the only answer you received.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Don’t you know how to move across a stage you amateur?” Carlotta screeched angrily at you while her assistants rushed to her side to help her stand on her feet. Some of the actors as well as Nico ran to your side as soon as they noticed how hostile she was acting towards you.

“But I was just following the blocking! I swear I didn’t mean to-“ You tried your best to defend yourself, you were completely sure you had been in your assigned space and you had even noticed how some of your fellow dancers had trouble maneuvering around Carlotta.

“Oh shut up you-“

“Enough!” Trish interrupted Carlotta’s rant, the entire theatre going dead silent at the powerful tone of her voice. She calmly strode towards you both, a composed but stern look in her eyes. “What exactly happened?”

The moment you opened your mouth to explain, Carlotta interjected furiously. “This girl did this on purpose! She stepped out of her place and because of her mistake I tripped. It’s obvious she hasn’t learned the choreography properly, you must place her at the back of the stage right now!”

Before she could continue further with her rant, Trish silently raised her palm ordering her to keep quiet, then turned to you. “(Y/N)?”

Taking a deep breath, you calmly offered your side of the story “… I’m sorry Madame Trish, but I’m pretty sure I was following the steps correctly. I did my best to avoid running into Carlotta but I couldn’t do it on time.”

Trish acknowledged your words before stating. “It seems this was merely an accident and gladly nobody got hurt. Carlotta, please remember that your blocking hasn’t been stablished as of yet and that we could always modify it to grant you more movement and better avoid this kind of incidents. Alright everyone, on your positions once again!”

With a loud clap from Trish, everyone hurried to their respective places. However, before she could leave the stage, she faced Carlotta once more “As for your request, I’m afraid we can’t grant it. Not only is the blocking already approved, but these last seasons (Y/N) has proved to be an excellent dancer and actress, surpassing by far all our expectations. Now please return to your position.”

Carlotta was fuming, her poor assistants trying their best to calm her down.

At that moment, you began to fear that working with her wasn’t going to be easy at all.

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

Unbeknownst to everyone, the Phantom stood hidden at his usual spot in box number 4, his deep eyes watching over the rehearsals taking place at the stage bellow him. As the backup dancers started their routine however, his gaze was fixated on you right away. He observed carefully your graceful moves, your perfectly calculated steps around the stage.

You looked ethereal, beautiful, marvelous…

“AHHH!”

His eyes widened at the incident that just happened before him. The newest soprano had collided against you, her prancing around the stage careless and imprudent. You offered the woman a hand, only for her to swat it away rudely.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Don’t you know how to move across a stage you amateur?”

Taken aback by the rather explosive words, he was suddenly filled with rage and anger. And the more he watched the scene bellow unravel, the more furious he would become.

He witnessed you trying to help her, trying to defend yourself from her cruel and harsh words. How dare this woman do this to you? You who were a marvelous dancer, you who worked hard to get to where you were now. Hellfire couldn’t compare to the wrath that was coursing through his veins.

“Enough!” The choreographer, Madame Trish as he recalled, stepped on stage. She calmly listened to you both, and rightfully acknowledged that what happened was only an accident and that it definitely wasn’t your fault.

Carlotta was left fuming, even though she requested for you to be moved to the back of the stage, she was denied much to his amusement. He lamented that such an awful woman had to be hired as the lead singer, especially since the former one was wonderfully skilled and kindhearted.

Letting out a sigh, the Phantom continued supervising the rehearsal in secret, wondering if this Carlotta woman would pose a threat to the success of the opera house due to her harsh personality.

One thing was certain though. If she dared to hurt you in any way, he would have to teach her a lesson.

This opera house was his sanctuary, you were his angel of music. And let God and Lord Sparda know, he was willing to defend both from any harm at all cost.

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

“I… I wish to show you something (Y/N)…”

“Huh? What do you want to show me V?”

The boy retreated back briefly through the trapdoor next to him before reappearing with a few objects in his arms. One was a leather-bound book and the other was a long silver cane.

He stood before you awkwardly for a moment, a blush adorning his soft cheeks, before sitting on a wooden crate nearby and patting the spot next to him, silently inviting to take a seat.

Once you settled by his side, he handed you his book. “It’s a book of poetry, an anthology of William Blake’s works. My… my mother gifted it to me. She used it to teach me how to read.”

Your tiny fingers gently traced the details on the cover. Golden lines and ornaments decorated the leather in gorgeous patterns, forming a “V” at its center. Opening it, pages covered in exquisitely handwritten letters and breathtaking illustrations were revealed to your eyes. You could see why V loved this book so much, both the poems and the drawings were absolutely delightful, not to mention that you now understood why V would talk in such a polite and proper way.

“V… this is so beautiful!” you smiled at him and he returned the gesture with a timid one too. Carefully placing the book next to you, you turned to eye the cane still in V’s arms. “May I see that one too?”

The smile vanished from his face. He hesitated a bit, but eventually handed it to you. It was splendidly crafted, its form elegant and the handle had many pretty and mesmerizing details. However, unlike the time he lended you his beloved book, he remained silent.

“Would you tell me more about this cane?” V’s eyes widened, his adorable smile long gone now and his eyes now expressing worry. “I… I don’t know why I have it…” he quietly replied. “The only thing I know is that it’s important for me… but I’m not sure why…”

He looked away from you, and for a moment you thought you saw a small tear forming at the corner of his eye. Quickly placing the cane on the box, you pulled V into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry V… I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry for making you feel sad.”

At first he tensed when he felt your arms wrap around his form, but soon melted into your warm embrace and returned the hug. When you finally pulled away, you returned him his book. “Let’s change the subject. How about you read to me?”

Taking the book, his eyes immediately lit up. “Um… I still have some trouble pronouncing certain words, will it be a problem?”

“Not at all! And don’t worry, if you have trouble with a word I can help with it if you like.”

Once again, his lovely blush decorated his cheekbones. You read together, taking turns with each poem. When you both reached one titled ‘The Divine Image’, V asked you for a little help since it contained two words that still gave him a little trouble.

You patiently recited the poem first and then let him repeat it again until he could get it right.

“And all must love the human form, In h-het… heathen, Turk, or Jew…”

Although he was very eloquent when speaking, V still struggled on how to correctly pronounce a couple written words. Still you would always encourage him to keep trying, that one day, he will have no problem reading at all.

“You’re doing great V. Almost there, you can do it.”

“Where Mercy, Love, & Pity d-d-dwell, There God is d-dwelling too.” He gave one last sigh after finishing the poem.

“See? I knew you could do it!”

And for the first time since you met him, V let himself laugh. It was such a lovely and heartwarming sound, one full of joy and innocence that you could never get tired of hearing.

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

In a dark, candlelit room, the Phantom sat in front of his desk. He was working on a particular opera of his own creation, a project he started many years ago and yet it seemed to be nowhere near completion.  Along the years the Phantom wrote many musical pieces, songs and poems, but this particular one was the most important of them all.

This one opera would be his Magnum Opus, his greatest masterpiece.

And once he finished it, he would finally consider his life accomplished and let the darkness take him away.

As his eyes skimmed through the page, he suddenly paused. His gaze turned to a leather-bound book on the desk next to his many drafts and notes. Picking up the book, he let himself rest for a while, opening it and reading its contents once again. The poetry and the illustrations in the book brought some memories back, ones he will always treasure with great joy and nostalgia.

His thoughts wandered back to you, his angel of music. “My angel… La mia angela… I promise to hold you and protect you always…

Just like you held me and protected me many years ago…”

#devil may cry #phantom of the opera au #dmc v #v x reader #v x you #self-insert #fanfiction #fanfic #warning: sensitive content

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: Egg-scape Artist (baon)

Summary: When Edge decided to get Stretch chickens as pets, this was not a problem he expected

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic, Fluff, Chickens!!

Notes: Whenever I am off-kilter or down, I love to write chicken adventures with the boys. Hope this drabble helps some of you have sweet dreams! ^_~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

His alarm hadn’t gone off yet, but Edge was already mostly awake, hanging in that gray space of waiting. Not that he wasn’t willing to get up, but the bed was warm and Stretch was snuggled up against him, clinging like a lovable burr and more on top of him than not.

It was worth waking a little early to get an extra moment to hold him.

Hardly a minute passed when he heard a strange sound, perhaps the very one that woke him. Peculiar and unknown through the white noise of the fan. Edge called up his magic, but kept a tight hold on it, wary of any possibility. But what he saw when he opened his sockets defied all logic.

Settled at the foot of their bed, her black feathers almost hidden in the dark room, was Nugget. Her low clucking, the sound he’d heard, was steadily growing in volume.

Edge stared for a long moment, disbelief warring with what his eye lights were telling him. This required secondary confirmation and he gave Stretch a firm nudge. “Rus.”

The grumbling sound Stretch made almost, but not quite, overshadowed Nugget’s chirring. He leaned up on an elbow that dug painfully into Edge’s rib cage and mumbled, “hummazat?”

“Rus, look down.”

From the way Stretch blinked owlishly, his eye lights wide and diffused, it was taking a bit for the words to filter through. Eventually they clicked and as he tipped his head downward, Nugget let out a loud cackle. She stood, revealing a small, perfect egg, ghostly pale in the dark of the room.

Stretch slowly sat up, the blanket sagging and his hands flopping down between his spread legs. He blinked slowly, watching as Nugget proudly cackled her success to them. “huh. this is a new dream. this is way better than the one where i’m standing around in a shower curtain and everyone starts throwing olives at me.”

“Not a dream,” Edge told him, dryly. He leaned down enough to pick up the egg. It was still warm.

“this is absolutely a dream,” Stretch insisted. He pointed an accusing finger at Nugget, who only settled happily back onto the comforter. “if i roll over right now and pull the blanket over my head, in the morning this will all be gone. poof!”

“The only way that is going to be true is if you get up and take your troublemaker back to the coop while I figure out how she got in here. Otherwise, you might be finding out what kind of bed companion she is when I go to work.”

Stretch groaned. “fine, fine.” He slid out of the bed, joints popping as he arched his back before stumbling over to his bathrobe. “how does she keep getting out? and how did she get in? where did you get these birds, harry potter’s chamber of poultry?”

“No, it was from Harry Houdini and his bag of chicks,” Edge told him as he changed out of his pajamas.

“good one.” The snicker he got was still sleepy but appreciative. The clucking that came afterward was less so and Stretch still didn’t seem quite steady on his feet as he wobbled out, unhappy chicken in hand.

Edge was downstairs inspecting the house when he shortcutted back in, yawning out, “anything?”

“Not a thing.” It was unnerving, especially if you took away the fact that he wasn’t keen on his bed being used as a secondary nest, even if he did appreciate the eggs.

“face it, you found the chicken equivalent of a wizard. maybe a witch?” Stretch grinned. “she does seem to find you be-witching.”

Edge made a rude sound. “Be that as it may, I think we need to dis-spell that notion. She needs to stop wand-dering off.”

Not his best effort, but it was worth it to see the comical dismay on Stretch’s face, his smile dropping so quickly Edge could nearly hear the crash. “you brat. always when i don’t have my phone!”

Stretch sulkily accepted a commiserating kiss before flopping down on the sofa. He limply flapped a dismissive hand at Edge. “go to work, i’ll look around more later. we’ll figure it out.”

“You do have more experience than me getting into places you shouldn’t be.” Edge pulled the blanket off the sofa back and tucked it around Stretch, pressing a light kiss to the top of his skull and murmured, “Get some more sleep, love.”

But he looked out the back door at the coop before he left, eye lights narrowed. Nugget was pecking around peacefully, for all the world a simple chicken and not a pugnacious poultry escapist.

They would figure it out. Until then, they would need to keep a close eye on their little trickster so she would remain properly penned despite her knack for escape, for several reasons.

For one, if he let a chicken outmatch him in a battle of wits, his brother would never let him forget it.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[join-the-joywrite]

Time After Time -- 3

a boy a girl a time turner

when a time turner is shattered in a small fight, it’s up to the unlikely pair to figure out how to survive until the end of the war. it’s their only shot at breaking the loop.

masterpost prev || next

Chapter 3 - When Draco blurted the truth 

Hermione sat up with a gasp. "It's not a dream!"

"Pardon?" Draco said, walking to the couch with a glass of water. "Here, drink this."

Hermione took the glass as she swung her legs down. "I wasn't dreaming."

"About what?" Draco asked, reaching forward and tipping the glass so that Hermione was actually drinking the water.

"Dying."

"You're clearly alive, Granger."

"No, you don't understand, Malfoy. I died. Three times already now. Twice you died first, trying to save me. Why? Why would you do that? Why did you even come back in the first place? Why -- why do you have my. . ."

Draco waited.

"I die, don't I? In the end. That's what I saw before I passed out. There's going to be a battle and I'm going to die."

"We don't know that," Draco said quickly, sitting next to Hermione. "We -- I meddled with time."

"And bad things befall those who meddle with time, Malfoy. Have you any idea what you've caused?"

"I don't like owing people."

Hermione frowned for just a second. "I save your life at some point. That's why you've been trying to save me. Am I wrong?"

Draco didn't answer.

"I've had to watch you get impaled, Malfoy. Twice."

"I'm sorry--"

"How could you be? You don't remember it. I'm the one stuck in this loop."

Draco's lip twitched slightly, but he said nothing. Hermione sighed and stood up. She fetched her jacket before pausing in from of Draco on her way out. "Look, later, Parkinson is going to try to kill you. Please stay vigilant."

Draco nodded. When she turned to leave, he wrapped his hand around her wrist. "Hermione."

"I can't. I can't promise you I'm going to stay safe. I hate owing people too."

"Could you at least try?"

Hermione hesitated before nodding. She paused in the doorway, glancing back to see Draco with his head in her hands.

///////////////

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Sectumsepra!"

Despite the effort, Pansy's curse still struck Hermione. Draco couldn't care less about Pansy and the screams that surrounded her as he cradled Hermione's body. "Stop it. You're supposed to have more time than this."

///////////////

Hermione sat up with a gasp. "Malfoy."

"I'm here."

Hermione sighed and dropped her head into her hands as she pulled her knees up.

"Granger."

"I keep dying," she murmured, her voice muffled, "and nothing I do changes it. Every time. We don't get past. I'm stuck in a loop where I can't even save someone else without dying myself."

"Then stop trying to save me," Draco said, sounding as if he were pleading with her.

"What? And let you die? I couldn't live with that guilt."

Draco sat down in front of her and gently forced her head up. "Tell you what, Granger, this time, you let me defend myself. Tell me what happens."

Hermione couldn't get the words out at first, but she eventually told Draco what would happen, down to the last second.

"Granger, from what you've said, your death resets the loop, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"So if I fail, just reset the loop."

"Are you seriously telling me to kill myself?"

"Well, I mean, you said you couldn't live with the g--"

"This is a serious thing, Malfoy!" Hermione cried, snatching a cushion and beating Draco with it. After a moment of letting Hermione beat him up, he grabbed both her wrists.

"How many times?" he asked when she calmed down.

"What?"

"How many times has this happened?"

Hermione hesitated. "Forty-eight."

"I -- I didn't expect you to keep count."

"It's all that's keeping me sane at this point. I'll let you defend yourself. Just please, please, turn around in time."

Draco nodded firmly. "Promise me you'll stay away."

Hermione hesitated again. "Not an option. I have to go. They'll be looking for me. Be careful, Draco."

Hermione remembered her jacket after she'd crossed the threshold, but when she turned back, she found Draco holding tightly to it.

She left the cottage.

///////////////

Pansy turned back.

"Malfoy!"

"Ava--"

"Stupefy! Expelliarmus!"

Hermione pushed through the students as Filch grabbed Pansy's wand and pushed her out of the hall. "You didn't try to kill her?"

Draco shrugged as he pocketed his wand. "I saw no need. Excuse me."

Hermione watched in stunned surprise as Draco rushed to defend the younger Slytherins from the other students. Every other time, Hermione remembered hearing a violent curse from Draco's lips, his wand aimed at Pansy. Now, when Draco was defending himself, he merely stunned and disarmed her. Hermione frowned, confused.

///////////////

"Harry," Ron said, causing Harry to stop sprinting and turn back to him and Hermione. "We've been thinking, it doesn't really matter if we find the Horcrux."

"Wh--"

"Wait," Hermione said softly.

"It doesn't matter unless we can destroy it."

"Ron's had a brilliant idea," Hermione told Harry.

"You destroyed Tom Riddle's diary with a Basilisk fang, right? Well, we know where to find those, don't we?"

Harry's mouth fell open. "That is a brilliant idea, Ron. Here, take this." Harry held out the Marauder's Map. "You'll be able to use it to find me."

"Where are you going?"

"Ravenclaw tower. Gotta start somewhere."

The diadem, Hermione remembered. It had been so long since she'd heard Luna mention it to Harry. Nodding, she motioned for Ron to follow her.

"Good luck," the three told each other simultaneously.

On their way to Myrtle's bathroom, Hermione ran into Draco -- literally.

"Granger!" Draco said, grabbing her elbows to stop them both from falling to the ground. "Where are you going?"

"Horcrux," Hermione said as she pulled away and continued on, half-jogging.

"Use a--"

"Basilisk fang, yes, we know! Ron figured it out!"

Surprising Ron, Draco offered him a smile and a thumbs up. "Be careful!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. She tapped Ron's arm before turning to continue to the bathroom. "Come on."

///////////////

Ron held out the fang to Hermione. "You do it."

"No, I--"

"Yes, you can."

Sighing, Hermione took the fang and raised it high above her head. She brought it down heavily. Distracted by the dark smoke rising, Hermione failed to notice the wave of water growing.

"Ron. . ." she said slowly, tapping his arm repeatedly, "RUN!"

///////////////

Hermione woke up gasping for air. "DAMNIT!"

Draco paused with a glance of water in his hand. "What happened?"

"I drowned! Again! For the dozenth time!"

"You . . . drowned?" Draco offered Hermione the glass as he sat down beside her. She pushed it away.

"I can't look at water right now, Malfoy. I'm sorry. It's a long story."

"I'm all ears if you want to talk."

And so she did. Hermione told Draco about falling to their death and about being impaled by a sword. She told him how she died forty-eight times trying to stop pull him out of Pansy's line of fire. She told him how she'd drowned trying to outrun the wave twelve times now.

"Granger, seeing as you're bound to get to that point again, why don't you get back out, destroy the Horcrux, then drop it back in, then flee the whole bathroom?"

Hermione stared at Draco. "Why couldn't you say that the first time I told you the story?"

///////////////

Ron held the Basilisk fang out to Hermione. "You do it."

"No, I--"

"Yes, you can."

Hermione sighed. "All right. But let's do it up outside."

"Why?"

"Let's just say I've been here before. Many times."

Ron trusted Hermione, so he followed her out.

"Don't seal the chamber yet."

Raising her arm high, Hermione brought the fang down on the cup hard. She kicked it down the chute quickly, watching as black smoke rose up.

"We should run."

"Why?"

"Flood."

"You could've led with that!" Ron yelled, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her along.

They were halfway down the corridor when water spilled through the bathroom, just barely coating the floor.

"Yes!" Hermione cheered, thrilled that she had survived the flood. "Where's Harry now?"

Ron checked the map. "Room of Requirement."

"How do you know?"

"He was on the map and now he's not. The Room doesn't show up on the map."

Hermione closed her surprised mouth and nodded. "Right. Lead the way, Ron."

On the way there, they dodged spells and Death Eaters from every direction.

"Hermione!"

Hermione stopped short, just in time to avoid having her head blown off or something by a spell. Draco caught up to her and Ron.

"You made it out. Why are you holding a tooth?"

"Basilisk fang."

"Ah."

"Ron's idea."

Draco nodded, giving Ron an impressed look. "Where to?"

"Aren't you busy down here?"

Draco looked around. "It's war. Everyone's busy everywhere. If Potter has a clean shot at ending this, then I'm going wherever he is."

Hermione glanced at Ron, almost to apologise, knowing she couldn't possibly explain to him why she trusted Draco.

"Room of Requirement," Ron said.

Draco nodded. "Lead the way, then."

Harry was quite stunned to see Draco Malfoy following his two best friends, but he didn't stop to question it.

"Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. Either of you history nerds know what it looks like?"

"Silver," Draco replied before Hermione could tell Harry she didn't know, "sapphire gemstone in the centre. Not much else to the diadem aside from the silver wings on either side of the stone."

Harry nodded slowly. "Right."

Quite suddenly, Draco jabbed his wand in Harry's direction. Hermione opened her mouth to start yelling vulgar curses at him when she noticed the blue light stream past Harry and send Gregory Goyle flying through the corridor.

"Find that diadem," Draco told the trio, "I'll deal with him." His gaze lingered on Hermione for a moment before he headed towards Goyle.

"Malfoy," Harry said, grabbing Draco's arm as he passed. He held out a familiar ebony wand that he'd taken from Draco during their skirmish at Malfoy Manor. "Think this belongs to you, mate."

Draco offered Harry a smile. "Thanks." He pointed the wand at Hermione. "Be careful."

Hermione smiled. "I will."

With some difficulty, they managed to find the diadem. Each time they tried to reach it, something caused an avalanche of miscellaneous items and they slipped down the pile. The summoning charm wouldn't even work for them.

"Okay, let me try it alone," Hermione said, "I'm smaller than you both. Maybe I'll be able to get high enough to drop it down."

Harry and Ron shared a glance before giving Hermione a nod. She glanced up at the diadem before carefully beginning her climb. She was almost there when Draco returned, skidding right into the pile. Both Hermione and the diadem came tumbling down. Draco managed to catch both, Hermione with his arms and the diadem with his head.

"Uh, Goyle set Fiendfyre on the loose."

"Shit!" Hermione cried, snatching the diadem and falling out of Draco's arms. "Brooms!"

Handing one each to the boys, Hermione mounted the fourth. "Ready?"

"I didn't know you could fly."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I can't believe that is the one thing you three agree on."

They flew off, heading for the large doors. The Fiendfyre began to shoot fireballs at them. Hermione screamed when Draco slipped from his broom. Both Ron and Harry called her name as she tilted the broom into a dive.

///////////////

Hermione jolted awake, but she didn't sit up. Five times now, she'd lost Draco to the Fiendfyre. She wasn't sure she could do it again. She was exhausted. She wanted to just give up. But giving up meant she would die.

And dying meant everything would reset.

"Granger?"

Hermione rolled over, turning her face into the back of the couch.

"Granger, what happened?"

"I can't do it," she mumbled. "I can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm cursed to live the same day over and over again. I just . . . I just can't save you. Every time I fix one problem, another one pops up. I'm tired and drained. I can't keep watching you die time and time again. I can't--"

"You think I don't know what that's like?!"

Hermione jumped at the sound of shattering glass. She sat upright in the corner, watching Draco with wide eyes.

"Shit," Draco murmured, pulling out his wand to repair the glass and clean up the spilt water.

"What do you mean?" Hermione whispered.

"What?"

"Answer me."

Draco remained silent.

"Answer me, goddamnit!"

Draco sighed and pulled out the chair at the table. He sat down heavily. "Tomorrow at 5:45, you die. No resets, no loops. You die and that's it."

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#time after time #dramione #harry potter #second wizarding war #time loops #kenny-writes