#SUFFER. NOW. *aggressively shakes them back and forth* | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitsandbobsofwriting · 4 years ago

Text

Arthur throws a tantrum that has severe consequences;

Merlin suffers, and Gwaine just about manages to stop himself from killing The King.

TW: Extreme body horror and blood and grossness.

They're in a cave.

It's dark, and damp, and far too quiet, so despite the fact that their quest was successful, The King, his manservant, and Camelot's six best knights are still slightly on edge.

The traps had been circumvented, the artefact had been collected, the curse had been broken, and they were on their way home, but the buzz of dark magic hums through Merlin and Sir Mordred’s skulls, and the uneasy looks they keep sending each other worry Sir Lancelot and Sir Gwaine, which in turn worries everyone else.

Gwaine doesn’t know about Merlin’s magic, though he does know that the younger man has a lot more to do with Camelot’s (and Arthur’s) continued survival than he lets on. He won’t push, he won’t ask, but he’s an observant man who places all of his faith in Merlin, so if covering for him whenever Arthur casually asks if he saw the servant at the tavern, or supporting Lancelot whenever he makes a loud comment based on Merlin’s subtle whispered suggestion, is all he can do? Fine. He’ll do it.

Merlin’s face when he does so is always a little bit heartbreaking. He’s clearly grateful, for the trust, for the back up, for the belief, but Gwaine can see the desperation in his expression. Guilt and fear and apprehension all rolled into one, covered with a weak smile and a cheeky wink. Gwaine always pretends not to notice, and he can tell that sometimes Merlin is more grateful for that than he is for the original help.

Merlin’s stiffening back and faltered step finally persuades Gwaine that it’s time to step in again, but before he can loudly ask the group if anything feels off, a deep rumble echoes from below their feet.

It’s quiet to start with and the whole group freezes, gazes shifting sharply back in the direction they had come from; it’s only when the rumble suddenly morphs into a loud series of crashes and dust begins falling from the ceiling in aggressive swirls that Mordred yells:

“Cave-in!! We need to go!”

They all begin sprinting down the corridor, desperately hoping that their memory was serving them well; if they were right, if they hadn’t made any wrong turns or miscalculated the distance, the cave exit should be just around the corner. The rumbling only grows louder as they run, and within seconds, pebbles, and soon larger rocks and boulders, are falling from the ceiling.

It’s only Merlin, pushing himself faster so he can catch up to Leon, grabbing his cloak and pulling him to a halt, that stops the older knight from being crushed by falling debris. The curly haired knight widens his eyes for a fraction of a second before taking Merlin’s hand in his own and pulling him to catch up with the others, resigning himself to thanking the servant profusely when they were no longer running for their lives.

Everyone coughs the dirt from their lungs and rubs it from their eyes, hands out in front of them to stop them from running face first into a wall; Arthur’s victorious yell when they turn a sharp corner to see bright sunshine spilling into the tunnel about fifty feet ahead of them spurs the group even faster.

The ground somehow begins to shake even more viciously, and Elyan trips. He trips, and suddenly finds himself lifted in the air, only for a second, before he lands solidly on his two feet again. The knight knows magic when he feels it, and the others know it when they see it, so when the shaking stops all of a sudden, the dust frozen in the air and boulders shaking above their heads, they halt in their tracks.

Merlin, at the back of the group, lets out a pained groan, and all of their heads whip around, every single one of them panicking at the thought that their friend had been crushed or captured by some evil sorcerer. Their view of him is quickly blocked by Lancelot, though they can all see the servant’s shaking arms above his head, palms facing the no-longer-crumbling ceiling.

Gwaine is the first to step forward, cautious but quick, and he takes in a gasp at Merlin’s golden eyes. Lancelot doesn’t even spare him a glance, hands on Merlin’s shoulders as he lets out panicked whispers:

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Merlin, come on, you can’t hold this.”

Merlin just groans again, the sweat gathering on his brow as he grinds his teeth together, barely even paying attention to Lancelot, and paying even less attention when Arthur finally steps sideways, sharply inhaling at the obvious display of sorcery. Everyone seems to have gathered what’s going on now, and their gazes are ripped from the struggling servant when Arthur clenches his fists and harshly sneers:

“You’re a sorcerer! How long? How long have you been betraying me?!”

When the King takes a threatening step towards him, Gwaine moves to be in his way, landing a strong hand on his shoulder and responding with equal anger:

“He’s not betraying you, you arsehole, he just saved all of our lives.”

Arthur throws his hand off violently and it’s only Leon’s quick reaction that stops him from punching the knight, though Gwaine looks as if he’d rather enjoy the fight. Lancelot turns his head quickly, scowling at both of them but not releasing his hold on Merlin as he rushes out:

“We don’t have time for this, we need to figure out how to get out.”

The King doesn’t seem to take in his words, just stares at him with disgust as he notices the way he’s practically holding Merlin up:

“And you knew? You’re a traitor too then?”

The ground shakes, only briefly, but it’s enough to remind everyone of the situation at hand, and Percival jumps in, ignoring Arthur’s anger and Gwaine’s mistrust as he puts a supporting hand on Merlin’s ribs:

“Can you move whilst holding it up? We’re about thirty feet from the exit.”

Merlin just shakes his head, eyes clenched tightly shut and jaw so tense that Lance worries about the state of his teeth. He takes in a ragged breath, sounding as if he has gravel in his lungs, as he stutters out:

“Can’t... you leave.... run.”

Arthur lets out a loud growl, and Gwaine turns to him in anger, but before he can throw an insult (or a punch) the ground shakes again; Mordred only just manages to grab Percival’s hand and sharply pull him down before his skull is caved in by the ceiling falling half a metre.

Merlin lets out another loud whine, and Lancelot releases a sharp breath at the trickle of blood coming from his nose. The knight’s voice is desperate as he speaks:

“Come on, Merlin, use that big brain of yours, how do we get out? You’ve dealt with worse.”

Merlin can only shake his head again, and a crack echoes down the corridor as he screams. One of his arms falls limply to his side and the knights notice with growing horror the odd angle of his collar bone and the lumps of bone under his skin. Tears leak from his eyes as he groans and his breath deepens, only managing to yell one word in his agony:

“RUN!”

The shout jolts the knights out of their terror, but Arthur seems to ignore him again:

“You’re a fucking trai-”

Gwaine does manage to throw a punch this time, but Leon pulls Arthur back before he can retaliate, dragging him back a few steps. Mordred grabs Lancelot’s arm, muttering so only the knight can hear:

“He’ll be fine, remember? We will not, we need to go.”

Lancelot gives Merlin a tender kiss on the forehead, muttering whispered desperate apologies to his best friend before turning and shooing Percival back down the corridor:

“Go, go! We need to go, he can’t hold it much longer!”

Arthur is suddenly reminded of the collapsing cave around him, anger at Merlin morphing into anger at the universe for both making his manservant a traitor, and making him find out in the middle of a life-threatening emergency. He stumbles towards the exit, hand covering his mouth against the dust and pebbles that are falling through the air once more.

Percival and Elyan follow reluctantly, looking back at their tortured friend with tears in their eyes, but move towards the sunlight regardless. Gwaine moves in the opposite direction, planting his feet in front of Merlin and cupping his jaw softly with both hands, resting their foreheads together. He ignores Merlin’s whispered “Go...” and digs his feet in when Leon and Lancelot attempt to pull him away.

It’s Leon that yells:

“Gwaine, come on, there’s nothing you can do!” as the two of them finally manage to force him back, but he thrashes in their hold, screams echoing down the cavern:

“NO! I’M NOT LEAVING HIM!! LET ME FUCKING GO!!”

They only manage to drag him back a few feet before he breaks free, sprinting back towards Merlin. The servant opens his bloody eyes, glancing over Gwaine’s shoulder to see Mordred, Elyan, Percival, and Arthur falling out into the sun. He looks back to Gwaine when he feels his warm, calloused hands on his cheeks again, letting out a pained sob before grinding out a cracking:

“I’m... I’m sorry.”

He lifts his broken arm with a loud yelp, placing his violently shaking hand against Gwaine’s chest and pushing. His eyes flash brighter for a second, his scream guttural and horrifying, but all Gwaine can focus on is the way his body flies through the air with a force he’d never known; within seconds, he, Lancelot, and Leon are having their falls broken by sunlight and soft grass.

He whips his head up, wiping the hair from his eyes with a hand shaking from adrenaline. He can still see Merlin, now on his knees with agony scrawled across his face and blood pouring from his mouth; Gwaine’s brain supplies the explanation that the servant had probably bitten his tongue clean off, with the way his jaw was clenched so harshly. He stumbles to his feet, an outraged shriek bursting forth when Leon and Lancelot rush to grab him once again, stopping him from running back into the collapsing cave. He pulls against them, but it’s no use, and the last thing he sees before the dust blinds him is Merlin’s tired, bloody smile of relief at seeing him safe.

The impact of the mountain falling, even only a few feet, was felt across the entire Kingdom. The sudden earthquake threw all of the knights to the floor and it was only when the shaking stopped that they could finally stand again. It took a few more moments for the dust to settle enough that they could clearly see, but Gwaine’s breath is snatched from him when he looks to the cave entrance to see nothing but rubble.

He immediately rushes towards the cliff face, managing to evade Leon and Lancelot’s grabbing hands and uncaring of the danger of unstable debris. He hands land roughly on the stone, digging the fingers of one hand into cracks, and thumping his other hand, curled into a fist, against the rocks repeatedly:

“MERLIN!!”

His voice almost cracks, but he doesn’t care, continuing his desperate attempt to dislodge the boulders despite the others’ shouted warnings. Percival manages to grip his shoulder tight enough that Gwaine can’t slip free, and yanks him away from the caved-in entrance, but the shorter knight just whirls around in anger:

“What are you doing? He might still be alive in there!”

Percival shakes his head, tears in his eyes, but before he can respond Arthur pushes him out of the way and lands a hard punch to Gwaine’s cheek. The knight’s head rocks to the side, but he’s whirling back again within moments, being held back just in time by Percival before he can retaliate:

“You fucking knew, didn’t you?! You knew he was a traitor!”

Mordred clenches his hands and jaw in anger, but manages to keep any attacks in, verbal or otherwise. Leon and Elyan seem to be ignoring the fight entirely; the past few minutes had seemed to catch up with them as they stare despondently at the fallen debris. Lancelot stands back, looking an odd mix between heartbroken and frustrated, eyes darting around the clearing as if he were waiting for something.

Gwaine squares his shoulders, shrugging Percival off and taking a threatening step towards the fuming King, fists tightly clenched and eyes blazing:

“No. I didn’t know. But he just saved all of our lives, and I bet not for the first time.”

Arthur throws up his hands and turns in a short, angry circle before facing Gwaine again, his voice rising with every word:

“With fucking sorcery!!”

Gwaine takes another step forward, stopped only by Percival’s soft hand on his shoulder as he responds in equal anger:

“Who gives a fuck? Gods, Arthur, get your head out of your arse, he’s been by your side for ten years, sacrificed more than we will ever know for you, and you turn on him in a second when he saves your life!-”

He takes another step towards The King, desperately trying to ignore the tears that suddenly slip down his cheeks, leaving tracks in the dust, as he gestures roughly at the mountain behind him and jabs Arthur in the chest:

“-He’s dead, Merlin is dead, because of you! No wonder he didn’t fucking trust you, look what you did!”

Arthur recoils at that, anger melting from his face in a split-second as his wide eyes move from Gwaine’s face to over his shoulder. His shoulders sag and his eyes finally, finally fill with tears as his gaze darts from one boulder to the next. He gulps, slowly stepping around the grieving knight as his hands begin to shake; Leon finally breaks out of his stupor, stepping towards Arthur and putting his own shaking hand on his shoulder:

“There’s nothing you- we could’ve done.”

Arthur shrugs the hand off, moving closer to the debris as his breathing grows deep and he mutters to himself:

“He... can’t be. No, he’s... he might be alive in there, we... I-”

Mordred, his anger finally boiling over, steps in front of Arthur. The King looks down to his youngest knight and takes a stumbled step back at the snarl on his face and the gold in his eyes:

“My Lord has suffered, once more, at your hands. Part of me wonders if Morgause is right, perhaps there’s no hope left for you.-”

He takes a deep breath and steps slightly away from Arthur again, schooling his face into neutrality as he speaks on a monotone voice:

“-Help is on the way, do us all a favour and keep your sword to yourself when they arrive.”

Arthur is frozen in his shock, as are Leon, Elyan, and Percival, but Lancelot just looks mildly disapproving and Gwaine is too busy unclasping his cloak and unbuckling his belt to notice. Arthur turns around again at the clanging sound, only to see Gwaine dropping his cloak and sword at his feet:

“I quit. I thought you were the exception to my belief that all nobles are corrupt, hypocritical, tyrants... I guess I was wrong.-”

With that, he pushes past the distraught, frozen King, to stand in front of Mordred:

“-What do you mean, help is coming?”

Mordred raises an eyebrow but doesn’t answer, instead nodding over Gwaine’s shoulder pointedly. Everyone turns around, only to take in surprised breath at the group of fifty or so golden-eyed Druids making their way through the trees towards them. Mordred and Lancelot push through the others and jog over to meet them, bowing briefly in greeting and ducking their heads to have a whispered conversation. Arthur is still staring at the cave-in blankly, but Leon stops the others from joining them with a firm wave of his hand. The rest of knights were clearly not in the know, and they definitely weren’t in charge; best leave this to the people who actually knew what was going on.

Lancelot nods to the mountain and Mordred gestures to his own collarbone, a look of confusion on his face. A few of the Druids gasp quietly, staring at the mountain in grief, but their leader, a man that Leon recognises as Iseldir, sighs and nods, looking as though he was giving a short explanation before patting Mordred on the shoulder and finally beginning to make his way to the other knights.

Leon walks up to greet him, and Iseldir smiles and clasps his forearm as if they knew each other far better than they did:

“Good to see you again, Sir Leon, though I regret the circumstances.”

Leon sniffles slightly and nods, trying desperately to keep his professional façade up by ignoring his red-rimmed eyes:

“Indeed. Mordred said you were... here to help?”

Iseldir nods and moves towards the cave-in, sending a short glance to the still frozen King, his expression an odd mix of awed and patient an contemptuous, before gesturing the other Druids forward.

They all raise their hands towards the rubble, eyes golden as they chant lowly. The mountain begins to shake again, though it’s clearly a lot more controlled, and the knights can’t feel it even from only a few metres away; nevertheless, Percival and Lancelot still have to grab Gwaine to stop him from pouncing at them in his confused grief.

The knights all hold their breath, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival in confusion, and Mordred and Lancelot in apprehension at what they would see. They know of Merlin’s... abilities. But this... a small part of them prayed that he had died, or that he was at least unconscious. A mountain as a blanket can’t be...comfortable.

After a few more moments the shaking becomes uniform, and boulders slowly begin to extract themselves from the cave entrance, floating through the air serenely and piling up a few metres to the side. The knights all hold their breath as the Druids strain, and Lancelot walks towards the cave with caution. His steps are slow and his hands are held out in front of him, ready to bolt at a moments notice, but he gets to the cliffside just as a narrow walkway through the middle of all the rubble opens up.

He looks back, waiting for Iseldir’s nod of approval before making his way into the darkness. None of the knights follow, despite their desperation to do so, knowing somehow that it wasn’t their place to rescue Merlin. Not this time.

Lancelot is gone for maybe twenty seconds before the others hear his wretched yelp, and it’s barely a few seconds later that he stumbles out of the cave again, pale as a sheet with sweat gathering on his forehead. He quickly staggers to the side, one hand using the wall to hold his weight up and the other resting on his bent knee as he leans over to vomit in the bushes. The knights are frozen in their shock, but tears gather in their eyes once more when Lancelot quickly turns to face Iseldir, wiping a hand sleeve across his mouth haphazardly, ignoring the tear tracks on his cheeks as he speaks desperately, his eyes manic:

“Please, please tell me he died. He... he can’t have lived through... lived through that.”

Iseldir gives him a mournful smile, but before he can say anything, Gwaine makes a dart to the entrance cave. Lancelot quickly steps in his way, digging his heels in and using all his strength to hold the bulkier man back:

“NO! Gwaine, you don’t want to see in there, ok? I swear to you, you will regret it for the rest of your life if you go in there.”

Gwaine pushes against him one last time, but quickly gives up, stumbling back and dropping to his knees with his face in his hands, muffling his cries. Lance’s distraught gaze finds Iseldir again, and the Druid nods:

“His body dies like any other, though we can only pray that it was quick. His resurrection will be incredibly... agonising however; I can appreciate the difficulty in what I’m asking, but might I request you stay at his side as he wakes? Myself and my group have strength in numbers and can hold the passage open for hours if needed, but I imagine he will begin to wake soon.”

Lance nods and moves towards the entrance again. No one mentions his uneasy steps or the way his hands shake. He pauses and looks back briefly at Arthur’s croaking question, but just gives a pointed look to an equally pale Mordred before continuing his journey:

“He’s... he’s still alive?”

Mordred steps in front of The King again, unwilling to let him run anywhere like Gwaine had tried, but it’s Iseldir that cryptically answers:

“No. But he will be.”

The Druid turns back to the cave without another word, re-focusing his magic onto the task at hand.

An odd silence deafens the knights, but if they listen hard enough, they find they can almost hear Lancelot’s gasping deep breaths as he once again lays eyes on... what’s left. Time seems to drag on, the silence getting heavier and heavier, though a long, low groan cracks through the atmosphere like a knife.

Percival lays a comforting but strong hand on Gwaine’s shoulder as everyone tenses, but no one manages to hold in their tears when the low groan gets louder and louder, rising in pitch until it’s an agonized screech.

Leon looks to Iseldir in horror, his eyes wide and his mouth open as he stutters over words he can’t force himself to say; Iseldir looks back at him, and the First Knight sees tears shining in his eyes at his Lord’s pain:

“The vital parts of his body, the skull and brain, the heart, the lungs, the spine, will have repaired themselves first, then he woke up. He will remain conscious whilst the rest of his body stitches itself back together; it is agony like no other.”

The screech halts all of a sudden with a sickening gurgle, the sound distinctly reminding the knights of someone choking on bone and blood.

Lancelot’s shaking voice echoes down the stone corridor:

“You... you can do this, Merlin. It’s ok, I’m not leaving you. Everything’s.. everything’s going to be ok, you can do this.”

At the horror and grief in his tone, Elyan stumbles forward to kneel behind Gwaine, covering his friend’s ears with his hands and pressing his forehead to the crown of his shaking head. Percival also sits with them, closing his eyes against the tears and attempting to breath slowly. Mordred stands still, but his hands and jaw are clenched tightly as he stares blankly at the grass at his feet, flinching ever so slightly at every groan and scream and cry that emerges from the darkness. Leon takes Arthur’s hand, and though The King doesn’t look at him, the tight way he squeezes his fingers is all the acknowledgement that he was still somewhat present that Leon needed.

The sound of Lancelot hiccupping through his sobs can be heard, but that’s quickly drowned out by sickening cracking sounds and more screaming.

Time seems both to drag and to fly by; anywhere from ten seconds to ten hours could’ve passed by the time Merlin stops screaming for good. The knights can’t help but feel selfish for how grateful they are that they didn’t have to watch it; listening to it was enough to give then nightmares for a long long time.

They finally hear a scuffling sound from within the cave and everyone’s eyes comes back into focus as they look up, not bothering to clear their faces of tears as they see Lancelot struggle to walk through the debris, Merlin hanging from his side with his arm over the knight’s shoulder.

Leon is the first to react, darting forward to help the exhausted, blood-soaked knight take Merlin’s weight. Everyone is frozen in horror at way Merlin’s tattered clothes hang off of him, absolutely drenched in blood; not even an inch of fabric has escaped being stained. Leon and Lancelot lay the groaning servant down in the soft grass as the Druids begin filling the tunnel with debris and rubble, wanting to make the structure as stable as possible before they stop holding the mountain up.

The golden-eyed sorcerers step back slowly, untensing when the mountain settles straight away; there must’ve been some sort of old magical trap in the stone, it would be best not to disturb it again if they could help it.

The knights gather around Merlin’s red form, noticing absent-mindedly that it was almost dark, so they must’ve been here for three hours at least. Mordred pushes to the front, his skin pale but his expression blank as he takes a clean rag and some water from his pack (the horses had been left at the entrance to the cave, so they thankfully hadn’t lost any supplies in the disaster). He made quick, but gentle work of cleaning Merlin as best he could, getting the blood off his face and hands and out of his hair. Lancelot pats him on the shoulder with a shaking hand before standing again and stumbling towards Iseldir; the knights barely pay him any attention as he walks off, focused entirely on Merlin’s limp body. No one attempts to touch him, not with the possessive glares Mordred is sending to anyone who gets too close.

The Druid cups Lance’s elbow, his grip surprisingly strong and supportive as Lancelot tries to gather his thoughts and force some sort of sentence out of his mouth. After a few moments, the quiet question eventually comes:

“What now?”

Iseldir smiles at him mournfully, glancing over his shoulder at the gathering of knights before looking back to Lance:

“That is up to The Once and Future King, I suppose. Emrys is exhausted, now that the pain has passed I imagine he’ll be asleep for several days. Look after him until he wakes, won’t you? I have faith that everything will work out in the end, but remember, Emrys, Sir Mordred, Lady Morgana, and yourself always have a place among us, should you want it.”

Lancelot gives him a small smile and steps back, nodding his gratitude at the other Druids before turning around and going back to Merlin, not looking back as they make their way from the clearing and back into the forest. He comes to stand behind Mordred, putting a hand on his shoulder and waiting until the younger man looks up at him before saying:

“It’s almost dark, we need to set up camp. He should have a spare set of clothes in his pack so you and I can take him to the river to wash and change him whilst the others get set up.”

Mordred takes a while to reply, but finally nods. He goes to pick Merlin up, but Gwaine beats him to it, gathering his unconscious form in his arms with more care than the knights have ever seen him exhibit before; Mordred freezes for a second, about to pounce on Gwaine for daring to touch him, but quickly relaxes as he remembers Gwaine’s reaction to... well... everything.

It doesn’t take them long to find a camping spot, Mordred and Lancelot leading the way back into the forest towards the river with Arthur bringing up the rear. Out of tactical necessity or guilt, no one knows, but no one bothers to ask.

Soon enough a fire is roaring and Mordred, Lancelot, and Gwaine have disappeared into the trees with Merlin. Elyan, Percival, and Leon share the occasional worried glance, both at the events of the day and Arthur’s disturbing stillness. It was maybe half a candle-mark after the others went to the river that Arthur cleared his throat and spoke, his voice croaky from tears and disuse:

“How... how long, do you think? How long as he been a sorcerer?”

His gaze stays firmly on the fire, even as the others bristle in slight anger, mistaking his questions for continued animosity. Leon is the first to answer, his tone slow and measured:

“To be that powerful, and to have Druids at his beck and call... a while, I imagine. Sire.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, and it’s Elyan that speaks next, his eyes narrowed and his tone far less regulated that Leon’s:

“Still plan on punishing him then? Trying to figure out how you should execute the man who just went through hours of endless agony to save your life?”

Leon looks to him sharply but doesn’t say anything, surprised by the normally-gentle Percival’s nod of agreement. Arthur looks up quickly as well, though his expression is one of shock and pain:

“What?! No! I wouldn’t.. I don’t... I just meant, how long has he had to hide? You... Gwaine, he was right. He’s probably saved our lives, my life, a dozen times pulling stupid stunts like that,-”

Arthur’s cut off by the others walking back into camp, Mordred giving him a blank stare as he says in a monotone voice:

“More than a dozen, Sire. Many more. He’s saved your life directly and indirectly hundreds of times. And never has he sought any credit. The two of you together are meant to be the saviours of this world, or so the prophecies say.-”

They all stare at him blankly as he sits down by the fire, Lancelot settling Merlin in Gwaine’s lap before covering them both with thick blankets and settling next to them:

“-Though I find myself running low on faith in you, My Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but stays silent, turning back to the fire again as the other knights stare at Mordred in confusion. He just huffs and rolls his eyes when he notices their questioning expressions, looking to Lancelot and frowning when the knight just nods at him knowingly. He sighs again, glancing to Merlin, still protectively wrapped up in blankets and Gwaine, before looking to The King and beginning to explain in a tired voice:

“Druid seers have been having visions of The once and Future King, that’s you,-”

Mordred points at Arthur, waiting for the blonde to look up and acknowledge the conversation before dropping his hand and continuing:

“-and Lord Emrys, that’s Merlin, uniting all of Albion under your shared rule, ushering in a Golden Age where the magic and the non-magic are once again in balance. Merlin was made aware of his role in these... fates, when he first arrived in Camelot. I also have a role, as do a few others, though no one else is aware of the... specifics.”

Arthur nods slowly, glancing worriedly to Merlin and Gwaine (who is paying absolutely no attention to the conversation, focused only on stroking Merlin’s hair and periodically checking his pulse) before looking into the fire again:

“The magic and non-magic in... balance?”

Mordred nods, the crease between his eyebrows growing slightly deeper as he slowly responds:

“Hmm. Magic is natural and necessary for the universe to function. You though the Gods wouldn’t intervene when your father started culling it?-”

Arthur blinked and sat up straight in his shock, but otherwise didn’t kick off, which Mordred was taking as a good sign, and continued:

“Magic is not evil, nor is it good. It just... is. Merlin is immortal, some say blessed, I say cursed, to be stuck on this earth, forever alone, until balance is achieved. How long, Arthur, are you willing to force him to wait?”

The knights all hold their breath in suspense, staring at Arthur who in turn is back to staring at Merlin. He gulps, blinks a few times, and shakes his head, before looking to Leon:

“How quickly can we make it back to Camelot?”

Elyan scoffs and Percival frowns, looking to the floor, the two of them obviously thinking that Arthur was dealing with this the same way he deals with his emotions: by ignoring it entirely until it became someone else’s problem (usually Merlin’s). Lancelot and Mordred just stare at him blankly, and Leon tilts his head in question before answering:

“About... five days? If we ride fast and don’t detour to the village like we said we would.”

Arthur nods, takin a deep breath as he stares into the fire again:

“Five days, I’ll make him wait five days. We can send a patrol back to the village when we get home, we’ll be too busy planning a... Golden Age, apparently.”

Elyan and Percival look up in wonder, Lancelot and Leon smile proudly, Mordred nods and grins, and Gwaine... well... Gwaine snores.

Merlin shuffles in his sleep, his look of pain morphing to a gentle smile as he curls into his knight’s chest, his soul, for the first time in a long time, finding peace.

THE END!!!

I think the ending might’ve been a little anti-climactic, but I’ve written so many magic reveals and “magic isn’t evil it just is” speeches that... I didn’t really know how to make it interesting or different😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it!! It took me way longer than I’d hoped to get it finished because I’ve been so busy with work, but I’m relieved I finally got it done :D

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peaks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

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yanderes-galore · 4 years ago

Text

Xenophobic Chapter 5: Traitor's Testing

Possible Trigger Warnings: Human testing, Implied death and Manipulation.

"What the hell, you must be malfunctioning!" Carl screams at Liam, said android standing by the lab entrance. "You plan on creating more Xenomorphs to make them 'bond' with humans? Isn't the one we got you enough!?"

"Private Carl, that is none of your business. My research is important for the future, you must understand that." Liam says coldly as Carl shakes his head.

"You're planning on dragging (Y/N) into this, aren't you?" Carl argues again as Liam sighs. "I should've known you were nothing but trouble. She would never go near one of those monsters. She was so shaken up and tired when she came up to me after you bred the first one!"

"You are a loud one, aren't you? Perhaps you would like to help me in my research?" Liam hums as Carl backs off.

"The hell do you mean-"

"Isn't it obvious...?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Liam was certainly rough when it came to testing. One thing that wasn't to his liking and he would scrap the attempt and gas you again. The strong smelling gas weighed heavily in your lungs and even you could tell 526 was getting annoyed.

How long had it been? Days? Liam refused to tell you anything. You wondered why no one was coming to check up on you. Did Liam tell them something?

That thought plagued your mind constantly. Did anyone know that Liam was doing this to you? Did Carl know? Maybe they didn't and that's why no one came.

Someone had to know you're missing, right? Maybe you haven't been gone days. Was it only a few hours?

526 only ever got more irritable. Testing his knowledge was getting more difficult. Liam was getting irritated at 526 and you, too

"Could you at least tell me if anyone knows where I am?" You find yourself mumbling, eyes drifting fearfully towards 526 pacing back and forth in his cell. At least Liam separated them now.

"That's not important to my research."

"It's important to me! Wouldn't it be better to keep my morale up to get better results?" You try to bargain, Liam staring at you. He sighs and gives in.

"Yes, they do."

"Are they coming!?" You breathe, standing up and pressing against the glass. The sensors and gadgets Liam put on you to monitor your well being were heavy and you were tired from not getting decent oxygen. Standing quickly became a struggle.

"No, they aren't." Liam's voice is robotic, cold. Your heart clenches at his words. It was a stupid question but you had to at least ask.

"They...what?" You can't believe it. Was he lying to you? You already knew trusting him got you into this mess.

"They know better than to interfere with my testing. Marines are always busy, scientists want results, why do they need to stop me?" Liam's smile is malicious towards you.

Oddly you hear no hissing from 526, who usually acts up at Liam. You turn to see 526 silent in his containment cell. Observing.

He swivels his head around his cell and then locks onto you and Liam again. It's unnerving to you. You didn't notice until Liam pointed it out but your eyes were welling up with tears. Your situation was getting to you.

"I can understand learning that everyone you care about, including your dear Carl, betrayed you is devastating to the human mind. I'll give you some time to recover before we continue." Liam offers before sitting nearby. Androids were always so cold.

The thought of Carl and the others betraying you made your heart ache. You really had no one left, huh?

From one tragedy to another, you were forced to play along.

---------

For now you did what Liam said. Maybe when testing concluded you could finally be free and see if Liam was telling the truth.

Most of the tests included Intelligence testing for 526. You still had to cooperate in them because you were 526's supposed 'attachment'. Meant to be some sort of companion with the Alien.

Intelligence tests started simple to match 526's curiosity and child like intellect. Block puzzles, basic switches and levers, attempted communication between Xenomorph and Human.

Other tests included agility and compatibility tests. You would be given light weight armor and put in a course with 526. While you were happy that 526 would not be aggressive towards you, you felt something could go wrong.

526 also had a type of armor mostly to match with you as the companion. It was more like a training vest on him. Of course, in these tests weapons were prohibited. An attempt to escape and violence against Liam or each other would set off the ankle bracelet to gas you, also.

You theorized what Liam's goal was. Create a weapon using pairs of Xenomorphs and Humans. You and 526 happened to be prototypes.

Through testing you noticed how fast 526 could learn. Intelligence tests became faster, agility courses would be passed with flying colors.

Liam was more fascinated with 526's reaction with you, however. It was always just vacant staring at you through his cell or testing. It was clear throughout these tests 526 was curious of you.

The reason was yet to be found, however.

526 tended to space out a lot, too.

You wondered what was going on within his head, not like you'd ever understand.

No matter how much Liam forced you to, you could never understand a Xenomorph.

--------

When the lights were eventually shut off, it was quiet. The alien wasn't tired as he had no need to sleep. His gaze turns to the human girl.

The human that he was forced to suffer with. He felt indifferent to the human at first, yet through the testing he and the human were supposed to endure, he cared a little more.

She hated the metallic creature just as much as him, so they have something in common. Carefully, 526 looked around the lab one more time.

The speaker like device on the ceiling was silent. The vents that gas would flow in by were dangerous to traverse through. Carefully, 526 then observed the ankle bracelet and the glass. A clawed hand touches the cool surface softly in what seemed to be thought.

526 was tried of playing dumb for the metallic creature's amusement. It was the time he'd been waiting for.

#yandere x reader #xenomorph #yandere xenomorph #horror #female reader #yandere alien #xenomorph x reader

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hwascripts · 4 years ago

Text

Masterlist

WC: Unknown

TW: Swearing, mentions of murder, a bit of angst, I think that’s it!

This is heavily unedited because it’s my Levi simp hours and I need Dad!Levi headcanons. Also your kid and Eren’s kid are gender neutral

Levi as a father

-I honestly don’t picture Levi as someone who planned on having kids but rather someone who ends up having kids by complete accident. Living in the walls during a war is absolute hell and he doesn’t want his kids to suffer the same way he did growing up.

-Whether or not the kid is adopted or his biological kid- it doesn’t matter to him, he couldn’t give less of a shit about the parentage of his kid...if he raises the kid then you better believe it’s his kid.

If your kid is adopted then here’s how I picture you guys becoming their parents

- During one of your expeditions beyond the walls you find (what you think is) an abandoned cabin in the woods. When you point it out Levi just tells you to ignore it and focus on the task Erwin gave you, but you have this weird gut feeling that someone is in there. While Levi is distracted you go off to the cabin and peek inside and to your horror- there is a small child, no older than a few months crying in it’s deceased mothers arms. You run over and pry the crying baby from the mother’s hands and immediately start trying to hush it’s cries

-Levi notices the fact that you’ve left his side after a few minutes of silence and he pinches his nose in frustration- of course you went to check out the cabin he told you to ignore. He flies away from the tree he was perched on and makes his way to the cabin to look for you- upon reaching the cabin his eyes widen from pure shock. Where the hell did you get a crying baby from? he can’t help but be filled with sorrow when he notice’s the child’s dead parents on the ground behind you- bandits had probably murdered them.

-The two of you have a huge argument about what you should do with the orphan child and this results in the two of you not speaking for over a week. But as the week goes on, he realizes that him and that baby are more similar than he thinks. Levi never had a father- the closest father figure in his life being Kenny who abandoned him at a young age, and his dear mother Kuchel who died of sickness when he was just a boy. Both Levi and the child didn’t have parents in their lives, fate cruelly ripping that away from them. He see’s himself in that baby.

-After a week of silence Levi storms into your office only to catch you asleep with the baby on your chest, his heart softens just the slightest bit at the image. He sits next to you and gently shakes you awake- careful to not wake the sleeping baby. Before you can even say anything he quietly states:

-”we’re not abandoning the baby, we can raise them together”

-All the worry and stress you carried melted away after hearing his words.

If your kid was biologically his, this is how I picture it turning out:

-The day Hanji informed you that you were pregnant was quite possibly one of the worst days of your life (sorry to be angsty) how the hell could you have gotten pregnant? the amount of stress, physical strain on your body and sleepless nights is not ideal for fertility- so how the hell did this happen?

-How the hell would you even tell Levi? The topic of children has never once come up and you’re sure he would never want to raise a child in the walls while titans destroy and kill everyone in sight. Besides- the two of you already have enough on your plates as it is.

- You’d tell him straight out that you were pregnant during your nightly tea time before bed, just straight up dropping the news on him. It takes a few seconds for him to fully register what you just told him but once he finally understands he drops his teacup, the boiling hot tea staining his jacket. All he can do is sputter like a fish out of water and aggressively try to clean the stain.

- I’m going to be realistic here- the last thing he would do is jump for joy and kiss you. I hate to be angsty again but realistically he’d probably storm off and go for a walk around the town while he tries to take in the news. I see him unintentionally ignoring you for a few days while he tries to accept the fact that the two of you are bringing a child into this world.

-After about a week he’s finally calmed himself enough to talk to you about the situation and what the best thing for the two of you is. Again, he isn’t happy that you guys are bringing a kid into this- but who the hell would be? but he sure as hell won’t take that out on the kid, he thinks that’s the most pathetic thing you can do as a parent.

-”look, our situation is shitty but I’m not leaving you to raise the brat on your own”

How he is as a father

- I’m not going to lie to you, he is not the type to coddle his kid or show them a lot of affection. To be honest he doesn’t know a single thing about parenting, the only “parent” he had taught him violence and then left Levi to fend for himself- but he does know that most children don’t grow up around violence so he refuses to be even the slightest bit like his uncle Kenny.

- 100% calls his kid brat, ankle-biter, kid...you name it- but he doesn’t mean it in a derogatory way because deep down inside he still has a soft spot for the kid.

-He rarely ever shows physical affection to the kid because he just doesn’t know how, he never knew the affectionate touch of another human until you came along. That’s not to say that he doesn’t love his kid- he would sacrifice his life without second thought to protect them.

-He doesn’t realize how distant and cold he can be to his kid until he overhears them crying to you about how “daddy doesn’t love me” and his heart just shatters into a million pieces because he DOES love them but for the life of him he just can’t find a way to show it.

-Levi ends up sitting down with the kid and having a conversation that was long overdue (for reference the kid is now 7 years old) and he admits that he loves them more than anything for the first time.

-Your kid just stares at him for a second and blinks because this is the VERY FIRST TIME they’re hearing their dad say I love you- Levi nearly has a heart attack when the kid launches themselves into his chest and starts sobbing.

-For the very first time in 7 years this kid is finally experiencing the love from their father (besides awkward headpats) and the feeling is just so foreign to both of them that even Levi sniffles a little bit

-Levi silently rocks them back and forth while he rubs their back, the child’s sobs turning into soft sniffles. But what Levi says next shocks all three of you.

“I’m sorry for being a terrible father. forgive me little one?”

-You don’t know what shocks you more- the fact he apologized or that he called your child “little one” instead of the usual “brat”. The kid looks at him while wiping their tears away.

“you’re not a bad daddy. I love you papa”

-To this day Levi swears he just had watery eyes because of the dust but you know damn well they were fat tears rolling down his face

-After this incident Levi swears to himself that he’ll be a more affectionate father, a father who tells his kid that he’s proud of them, a father who their kid can rely on.

-He’s tough on his kid and never lets them slack off, he scolds them whenever they make bad choices and sometimes your kid says he’s got a stick up his ass (you lightly scold them but the two of you always end up laughing because it’s true) but your husband deeply cares for your child and does it so they can grow into the best version of themselves.

-Did I mention that he absolutely flips the fuck out when your kid brings home Eren’s kid to introduce you to them? You have to sit on him to make sure that he doesn’t strangle the poor bastard.

“If that son of a bitch is anything like his father then they’re going home in a bodybag!” “Levi you can’t threaten them just because they’re Eren’s kid!” “Like hell I can’t! nobody is good enough for our child”

-Your kid quickly learns that they can’t bring their significant other home while Levi is there- unless they have a death wish. The two of you team up to keep Levi distracted for a few hours while the couple chills in your living room

-Your kid swears like a sailor (just like their dad) and Levi swears on his life that he’s not the one that taught them that.

“What the hell do you mean? I didn’t do shit! I don’t fucking know where they picked that up from!” *cue you looking into the camera*

-He’s so damn proud when he see’s his kid graduate at the top of their class. He doesn’t scream at the top of his lungs when your kid walks across the stage but he pulls them to the side after and congratulates them with a small smile on his face

“Good job. I’m proud of you, damn brat”

-Gives them one of his rare Levi hugs and the kid nearly drops the diploma in shock because “wtf dad never hugs me”

-You have to pinch his side multiple times during your kid and Eren’s kids wedding because he won’t shut the hell up with snarky remarks

“Say no goddamnit!” *you pinch him*

“Ow son of a bitch! what the fuck Y/n?”

“Would you shut the hell up and be happy for our child on their wedding day?!”

“I would if our child had taste and picked someone el- OW FUCK!”

“Shut the fuck up already and behave, Levi!”

-He grumbles while the rest of the former cadets and captains laugh at his sour look

Silly headcanons

-God could you imagine Levi and your kid sitting at the dinner table, it’s almost midnight and they’re arguing over a homework question neither of them understand. This is the night both of you hear your kid swear

“What the hell is this shit? Improper fractions are made-up bullshit”

“If you don’t know then how the fuck am I suppose to know?”

-It’s so silent you can hear a pin drop

“Levi come here for a second”

“Shit...finish this while I’m gone, brat”

-Your kid laughs their ass off while you pull Levi’s ear and drag him to your shared room

‘Yeah keep fucking laughing at your dad, brat!”

“LEVI!”

-An absolute nightmare when it comes to cleaning oh my god both you and your kid wanna kill him sometimes

“This shit isn’t clean, you wipe it down six times and then place it at an angle”

“Levi it’s a fucking T.V. Remote”

-The war ended years ago now and he tells your kid about all the titans he killed and the ass he kicked

“And then I sliced that ugly bastard titan’s head clean off!”

“Levi for someone who’s a clean freak your stories sure are gross”

-The noise the toaster makes when it’s done scares the shit out of him. He’ll be in the middle of scolding your kid and then he jumps because the toaster is done and your kid just thinks it’s comedic gold

“I fucking told you not to do that shit but you went and did it anyways, do you know how irresponsi-FUCK! damn toaster- Hey stop laughing brat I’m not done yet!”

That’s all I’ve got for now- stay tuned

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crispy-bonnie · 2 years ago

Text

Wrong from Right - HOXBON / SETHWOLF

@thelocalbozo suffer

"This is James Hoxworth. If you're asking about my residence, no you can't have it you twat. If you're calling for something else, then I'm busy. Leave a message and I might get back to you."

"Hey Hoxton," A sigh escaped Bon's lips as they held their phone up to their ear, making sure that their concern was evident in their tone as they paced back and forth within Jacket's quarters, Seth sitting on top of the suffering form of Matt Roscoe upon the couch. "I haven't heard from you in a while and I'm starting to get worried. Could you get back to me at some point? Love you."

"I take it that he didn't pick up?" Seth hummed, his gaze unmoving from his phone as Bon ended the call. Bon gave him a small shake of the head, leaning against the concrete wall as they did their best to wait as patiently as possible for at least a text from Hoxton telling them that he was alright. Seth only responded with a small shrug, rather careless regarding the Brit's whereabouts. "Isn't he on a heist with Wolf though? I saw 'em getting into the van with a bunch of equipment or something."

"Yeah," Bon nodded, their mind focused on only their thoughts and not anything around them. Not even the muffled screams and cries of Matt had crossed their mind, in which the sounds had been starting to get on their nerves a little while ago. That annoyance had faded, now replaced with thoughts of worry. "It's just that... it's been a while since they came back. They don't usually take this long..."

Seth finally glanced up from his phone, moving it out from his face as he pondered to himself. Once an idea clicked, resulting his tail to unintentionally whack Matt in the face, he brought his phone back to his face as he spoke again: "I'll call up Wolf and see what happens."

Bon gave him a quick nod, now observing as Seth tapped away at his phone. The sounds of his claws clacking against the phone screen brought Bon a small sense of ease, having liked the clicking noise. Seth brought the phone up to his pointed ear, waiting patiently for an answer.

Two rings, yet no answer. Seth let out a small huff as he raised a brow in confusion, bringing the unanswered call to an end and tossing the phone onto Matt's face, eliciting a groan from the poor backstabber. He didn't spare the man a word, pondering on why neither Hoxton and Wolf hadn't been picking up their calls. Seth opened his mouth to speak, but a yelp of surprise escaped his lips rather than the words he wanted to say as a sudden shock ran from his lower regions up to the rest of his body.

The sound elicited from him caused Bon to express concern, pulled out of their thoughts as they witnessed Seth's behavior change from calm to... desperate? His face was flushed red, legs clamped together, eyes wide and his tail was wagging rather aggressively.

"Are you okay?" Asked Bon, no longer leaning against the wall as they tried to discern why Seth was acting like this. They were well aware that he was an incubus, but they had never seen him switch to such a state in a speed that was faster than a Cloaker's kick. Their question didn't seem to process in his mind, him still in a state of shock from the sudden change. “C’mon Seth, talk to me!”

It was only after a few seconds when Seth's demeanor once more changed, his expression softening and his eyebrows furrowing as he lowered his head. Bon took a few more steps forward, shooting a glare as Matt tried to complain once more.

“They’re horrible…” Seth hissed through gritted teeth, venom dripping from his tone like molasses as his claws dug into his knees. Bon could see the rage burning in his crimson eyes, a rage that caused Bon to cower in their shoes. Bon was going to ask for clarification, but Seth started to speak once more through the sobs that threatened to dislodge from his throat. “They don’t love us.”

“E-Excuse me…?” Bon stuttered out, soon starting to back up to where they had initially been standing, watching as tears spilled from the demon’s eyes like a water fountain. They tried to understand what he meant, but none of it made sense to them. What the hell was he going on about. “What do you mean…?”

“They’re cheating on us, Bon,” Seth growled, now getting up from his seat as a wave of both sadness and fury seemed to overthrow the feelings of lust that weren’t even his. “How could he…?”

“What are you-” Bon once more wanted to ask for elaboration, but their mouth was zipped shit as the incubus shot his fist through the wall, the force so harsh that it nearly shook the entire foundation of the safe house.

“HOW DARE HE!?” Seth screeched, pulling his now bleeding fist away from the wall as he continued to try and choke back sobs. All attempts seemed to fail, his knees giving out on him and causing him to collapse to the tiled floor. “Why…? WHY!?”

Bon wanted to comfort Seth, but they were terrified of provoking him in some way, so instead they scooted their way out of the room in hopes that he wouldn’t harm them with his own emotions. Luckily, Matt got to serve as his punching bag as Bon retreated from the basement. They struggled to understand the accusation; was he actually talking about Hoxton and Wolf? Why would they do that? How does Seth even know? These questioned raced through their mind as they climbed up the stairs to the commons room. They weren’t sure of Seth’s capabilities as an incubus, but considering their lack of such abilities, there was definitely a chance that Seth was telling the truth. They would just need to interrogate Hoxton once he came back.

——

A sigh of relief fell from Hoxton’s lips as he swung the door open to Bon’s apartment, his hair and his suit in a disheveled mess from what the heisters would assume was a stressful heist. However, Bon saw through it; they saw through all of it. With the explanation given to them by Seth, everything had started to click. They should’ve seen it coming from a mile away, yet they didn’t. Such a fool they were.

Hoxton’s eyes drifted over to Bon, who was still in their heister outfit as they sat on the couch. Their posture struck him with confusion though, seeing as they were sitting there as if they were waiting for him to walk through that door. Their frame was tense, their eyes glazed over as they stared at the powered-off TV screen.

“Hey Bonnie-pie.” Chuckled Hoxton lightheartedly, kicking the door closed as he walked in. However, he was only met with a sharp glare from his partner and venomous words, “Don’t call me that, James.”

He took a small step back at the sudden use of his real name, a sense of panic starting to fill him as he tried to figure out why Bon was behaving like this. “Woah woah, calm down… what’s up with the bad mood?”

“You know ‘what’s up’, James,” Bon turned so that their body was now facing him, their small frame striking an unfamiliar fear into Hoxton. What the hell were they talking about? “Maybe if you took into account that Seth knows exactly what Wolf feels at any given moment, then just maybe you’d reconsider your options. Soul linkage can really go a long way.”

His expression dropped, already feeling a sense of guilt creeping up his back as he suddenly realized his horrid mistake. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out, especially since he was the culprit. Hoxton’s voice quivered, unsure of what Bon might just do next. “L-Listen… I can explain-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Bon suddenly rose from their seat, their stare firm as their hands balled into fists. Their anger was clear in their now teary eyes, their body starting to tremble as they continued to contain their emotions. “There’s no explanation that will validate your actions, James. If you’re so keen on being up Wolf’s ass, then you can take your belongings and shove it up there as well. All of your stuff is in a box in my room. Take a good look at it, because it’s the last time you’ll see it. Not that you cared anyway. You seem to like being in Wolf’s bed rather than mine.”

Hoxton wanted to plead against their accusations, but they were right. As much as Hoxton wanted to argue, he couldn’t lie his way through this. He had been dissatisfied with their relationship, but he didn’t want to hurt Bon by letting them down like that. After all, the two had been together for almost a year.

“You have five minutes to get your stuff and leave. If you spend a second longer, I will kill you.”

“But-”

“Get. Out.”

#payday 2 #payday #fanfiction #fanfic #oc x canon #oc x cc #self insert #self ship #tw cheating #no this isn't canon to the ships #though ...#it would be so awesome #it would be so cool #iT WOULD BE THE MOST INCREDIBLE SUPERHERO MOVIE THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN-

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thepartyresponsible · 5 years ago

Text

this fill is for @jhscdood, @windcalling, and the anon who asked for jason todd and clint barton to #69 on my wrapped 2020 spotify playlist, which is “the rush” by jj wilde.

so here’s a fic about clint barton, shield agent, accidentally hooking up with red hood the night before the big shield & bats meeting in gotham.

---

Clint’s right in the middle of advanced negotiations with his hookup’s coffeemaker when a very aggressive Mr. Universe contestant crashes through the door, smashing it to kindling with one improbably muscled shoulder.

“Aw, shit,” Clint says, and throws the coffeepot.

It shatters apart against the man’s mask, and the man swivels slowly to stare at Clint.

He’s huge, and he’s angry, and he looks like he’s here to settle business.

“Oh, c’mon,” Clint says, half-begging, half-protesting. “I don’t even have pants on. It’s six in the morning. Raincheck this, for the love of God.”

The man straightens to his full height, and Clint sighs. He’s a menace, is what he is. Some actual, no-shit, Gotham-level nonsense. He’s a monster. 6’8” at least. He probably has a minimum of a hundred pounds on Clint.

He’s fully dressed.

It’s six in the morning.

“Ugh, fine,” Clint says. “Just be quiet about it, okay? He’s still asleep.”

Still asleep, still unbelievably good looking. Clint had been hoping for another round before he left to meet up with Coulson and Nat for their meeting with the various Bats, and now he’s going to ruin the poor bastard’s whole apartment, instead.

“I am not,” the belligerent bodybuilder says, “here for you.”

Clint blinks. “You—what?”

“You owe me for that door,” Jason says. He’s standing in his bedroom doorway, with a SIG in either hand and a very aggrieved slant to his eyebrows. “And for fucking up my morning.”

The human wall of muscle shifts to face Jason, leaving him open, but Clint is honestly too flabbergasted by this turn of events to take advantage of that. “Talia is looking for you,” the man says. “She wants you to come back.”

“And who can blame her?” Clint asks.

“That’s sweet,” Jason says. He grins at Clint, a flash of white teeth that reminds Clint of the line of bruises he can still feel along his collarbone. “You always this sweet in the morning?”

“Oh, feel free to find out,” Clint says.

“I’m here to return you to her,” the man announces. He’s beginning to sound genuinely irritated by all the interruptions. Clint can empathize.

Jason sighs. “You ever get tired of being her errand boy?”

“No,” the man says. “I consider it an honor.”

“I am just, wow.” Clint shakes his head, looks back and forth between them. “Really confused by the dynamics of this situation.”

“Welcome to Gotham,” Jason says.

“You said that last night,” Clint reminds him. “You said you were the welcome party.”

“Yeah,” Jason says and then he points one of those SIGs right at the breaking and entering suspect, “and he’s the welcome hangover.”

“I like you better,” Clint says.

Jason smirks over at him. “Well, I earned it.”

“Sure as hell did,” Clint says.

The massive menace takes this as his opportunity to charge Jason. Clint grabs the skillet off the stovetop and hurls it, sending it whirling end-over-end and slamming directly into the back of the man’s head. There’s a sick, meaty thunk and then a roar, and Clint loses sight of Jason and the behemoth as they go crashing back into Jason’s bedroom.

Clint grabs a couple of knives from the block and goes after them.

Hell, he doesn’t have to meet up with Coulson and Nat for another two hours. How else is he going to fill his morning?

---

They wreck Jason’s entire apartment, the fire escape, a Wells Fargo, and two bodegas, and they steal an ice cream truck, but they make it back to Clint’s hotel room in time to fool around a bit in the still-made bed and then shower together after.

“I’ve gotta,” Clint says, gesturing over his shoulder. He is clean and dressed and running impossibly, hilariously late.

“Oh, me too,” Jason says. He has stubble burn on his chin and throat. Clint never did find the time to shave. Whatever. It pairs nicely with the hickey Clint left on the side of his neck.

Usually, he tries to be polite about leaving marks on hookups, but the noises Jason made set Clint’s good intentions on fire and threw the ashes out the window.

Clint hesitates, his hand on the door. When he looks back, Jason’s hovering close to the window, catching a quick glance down toward the street. “Not that I want—look, this has the best morning after of my life.”

Jason’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “I bet you say that to all the guys who drag you into a street brawl with Bane.”

Clint’s mouth falls open. “That was Bane?”

“Who the hell did you think it was?” Jason shakes his head, looks mystified and a little charmed.

“I dunno, just.” Clint waves his hands. “Your ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend, maybe? Who had a weird thing for-- look, I never got any coffee.”

Jason grins, still shaking his head, and crosses the hotel room to grab Clint’s shirt one-handed, dead over his heart. “Next time you’re in town,” he says, “I’ll make you coffee.”

Clint thinks about coffee and looks at Jason’s mouth, and he groans, a little helpless, downright disoriented trying to decide which he wants more right now. “Jesus,” he says. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” he says. And then he tugs Clint in, kisses him quick and intent and showy, like he thinks he still needs to work to be memorable. “Call me,” he says, and he disappears out the door before Clint’s caught his breath.

Clint sprints out the rooftop access door and skids to a stop beside Nat exactly thirty seconds before the designated meeting time. The look Phil Coulson sends his way is long-suffering and remarkably unsurprised.

“Barton,” he says. “Next time we come to Gotham, I’m going to handcuff you to me for safekeeping.”

“That’s, uh.” Clint clears his throat, blushes an incendiary shade of red. “That’s gonna get real awkward for you, sir.”

Coulson stares at him for one heavy, terrible moment and then he sighs with worn-in exasperation and directs his eyes skyward.

“Wow, Clint,” Nat says, squinting at him. “What happened to your neck?”

“No, shut up,” Clint says. “Shush. I was in Madrid, remember? I’m not taking any shit from you about this. You showed up in lingerie. Lingerie that wasn’t even yours.”

“Well, it’s mine now,” Natasha says, looking far too smug to be even a touch repentant. “Did you have a good time?”

“Jesus, did I ever,” Clint says, with maybe a bit too much honest appreciation in his voice.

“Could we,” Coulson says, “please just attempt a modicum of professionalism?”

“Sure,” Clint says. “Yeah. Super professional, Coulson. As soon as they get here, I promise.”

“We’re here,” Batman announces, manifesting out of the shadows, taking about five years off Clint’s life.

“Fuck’s sake,” Clint says.

“Very professional,” Red Hood says. He moves up next to Batman, and he looks steady, broad-shouldered. Serious. But there’s something weird about his tone. Something amused, a little strangled.

Clint stares at him.

“We appreciate this meeting,” Coulson says, voice level and controlled.

“You said SHIELD had business in Gotham,” Batman says. Beside him, Red Robin is silent and focused. Red Hood crosses his arms over his chest, seems almost bored. “We need to set the parameters of that business.”

Red Hood, Clint notices, has two SIGs in holsters at his sides.

“Of course,” Coulson says. “There’s no reason for us to have any problems.”

“It’s Gotham,” Red Hood says. “There are always problems.”

There’s a hickey, Clint notices. A bruise, maybe. There’s something on Red Hood’s neck, barely visible in the gap between the collar of his jacket and the metal of his helmet.

“Are you the Gotham welcoming party?” Clint asks. He hears it come out of his own mouth, and he has nobody to blame other than himself and his critical caffeine deficiency.

Red Hood turns to stare at him. They all turn to stare at him, but Red Hood’s the only one he’s looking at.

He didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t come to Gotham the night before a meeting with the Bats and pick up Red Hood in a dive bar.

He didn’t spend the morning after fighting Bane with Red Hood and then sneaking him into his SHIELD-approved hotel room. He did not.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Red Hood says, head tipped. “I’ve been told I’m more of Gotham’s hangover.”

Clint nods slowly.

He has no idea – no idea – how the hell he’s going to make any of this seem reasonable in the post-mission report. He has no idea how much of this will even make it in the report.

But he has Red Hood’s phone number scrawled on a bar napkin in his pocket, and he knows, whatever else happens in this ludicrous, lunatic town, he’s sure as hell not losing that.

#writing #soundtrack fills

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junicai · 4 years ago

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Learn the Alphabet with Aria + Friends ;

273,175 views • 15 Mar 2021 • uploaded by [haechanieski]

A is for: “Adios”

Filming a JCC episode was always something Aria looked forward to - either because she got to watch it later and laugh, or she was a guest star herself. Johnny had taken it upon himself to uphold the communication part of his series name, and asked Aria to teach Czennie some Irish while she was around.

“And how do you say goodbye?”

“Adios!” Aria spoke with full confidence, a beaming smile directed to the camera.

Johnny behind her snorted. “Adios?”

Aria blinked, before spluttering. “Oh no not adios that’s the wrong - that’s not Irish.”

“Isn’t that Spanish?”

“...yeah.”

B is for: “Baby~”

Aria was leant forward her knees, eyes fixated on the laptop in front of her that was playing the 90s Love music video. It was the first time she had seen it edited and polished, and she was anxiously anticipating her own scenes.

An Aria appeared on the screen, running her tongue over her top teeth before scrunching her nose and giving the camera a wink. She spun on her heel, tossing a jacket over her shoulder and tilted her head so her sultry smirk was visible to the camera.

The boys around her clamored loudly, and Aria cringed away from the video - right into Ten’s awaiting embrace who clasped her head in his grip and stopped her from turning her head away from the laptop.

“Baby~” Ten sang, curling his arms around Aria. “My baby is all grown up~”

Aria whined, thrashing weakly in Ten’s grip in an attempt to shake the boy off. “Nooo.”

“My baby~”

C is for: “Chewing Gum”

“Yes! It’s been a long time since we performed our debut song.” Aria took over from Chenle who had been speaking into the phone cradled in his hands. The voice-only vlive had been unplanned, and neither idol had been willing to put their messy bedheads on video for their fans to immortalize on twitter.

Chenle snickered. “Noona is just thankful that she gets to wear things other than pajamas on stage now,” He teased, jostling the phone as he leant over to poke her.

“That’s not true! Bubblegum will always have a special place in my heart.” Aria defended herself, crossing her arms in front of her stomach to protect it.

Chenle retracted his hand to stare up at Aria with a disbelieving face. She looked back at him, as the boy burst into laughter.

“Bubblegum?”

“Chewing gum! I said chewing gum. You misheard me.”

“Bubblegum-” Chenle was wheezing, hand gripping Aria’s arm tightly.

“I’m a foreigner! I have an accent!”

“Noona, that’s in English?!”

D is for: “Deicide”

“Jaemin! Leave me alon- ow.” Aria’s attempts to fight off a cuddly boy proved ineffective, the boy in question succeeding in drawing the squirming girl onto his lap and securing her in position with his arms around her waist.

Aria let out a long-suffering sigh, closing her eyes in resignation.

“Okay, yes, okay. Fine. I’m done you win.”

Jaemin smiled, satisfied, and tucked his head into the crook of Aria’s neck, humming to himself. His content mood was quickly yanked away from him however, as Aria leant down to whisper in his ear.

“Jaeminne. If you don’t let me go to finish doing my hair, I’m going to remind you of the fact that I have zero qualms with deicide, and you have yet to reach god-like standards.”

Paling slightly, he retracted his hands and Aria pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping off his thigh.

E is for: “Eomma”

Aria squealed as she was tackled down, hitting the ground with a thunk as Jaehyun leapt for her from across the room. “No no no I’m sorry I take it back I take it back-”

Jaehyun was grinning down at her as he slid his hands up her sides and began to tickle her, pinning down her flailing arms as she tried to hit him. “Oh yeah? You’re sorry now?”

“Yes! Yes I’m sorry I promise - you’re not - I didn’t mean it -” Aria struggled to get the words out, unable to catch her breath.

“Eomma!” She cried out, face red and hurting with how much she was laughing. “Help mee~”

F is for: “Fudge”

Stumbling around the dorm in the dark was never a good idea, but it was late and the other members besides herself and Donghyuck were already asleep. Aria hadn’t wanted to disturb them, so the only lighting the pair had was the fading light from their phone flashlights.

“I can’t see it, but I know I put it down here somewhere? Do you think it’s behind the tab- FU-dge. I like fudge, do you like fudge?” Aria leant over the table to rest her arm on Donghyuck’s shoulder, peering at him curiously.

Her eyes were pinched with pain, and she was hopping slightly.

“Did you stub your toe on the table?”

“Psh, no! This is a serious question Hyuck. Fudge preferences are serious business.”

G is for: “Gorgeous”

“Oh! Gorgeous dahling. Positively stunning.” Aria spoke in a pompous voice, face pulled down with pinched lips and squinted eyes and obnoxiously raised eyebrows. She fluttered her hand around in an aggressively dramatic hand gesture, before spinning on her heel to flounce out of the room.

Mark and Taeyong exchanged a wide eyed glance. Clearly the ‘Greek God’ inspired video had gone more to her head than they had previously anticipated.

H is for: *intense heavy breathing*

Jungwoo took one look at Aria lying on the practice room floor, and immediately proceeded to flop down - belly first - onto the unsuspecting girl. Aria let out an oof, choking slightly at the sudden weight on her chest.

“Jung-w-oo,” She coughed out, slapping weakly at the weight of the older boy.

He only hummed in response, not moving from his position, despite the fact that Aria’s zip on her hoodie was digging into his cheek. He swung his arms up to cover her shoulders, and soon he was lying completely on top of her, obscuring the smaller girl from view.

All was quiet for a moment, before Aria broke the silence with exaggerated, heavy breathing, panting for air. Her eyes widened comically, and she was smiling despite the fact that Jungwoo was actually crushing her lungs slightly.

Still, no attempt was made to get off her, and she slowly resigned herself to her fate.

I is for: “I surrender”

The camera was set up a safe distance away, so that when the bag of flour fell to the ground and poofed up in the inevitable cloud of white dust - the piece of equipment was unharmed. Because of this, it was given a perfect view of the sequence of events that immediately followed:

Aria, grip-less in her socked feet stepped backwards out of the flour coating the floor, misjudged the circumference of the circular cloud that had by then settled, and promptly slipped over, clattering to the ground with a thud and disappearing behind the counter with a half-formed yelp.

The screen was empty for a moment, still, before a hand shot up from behind the counter, coated in the white flour.

“I surrender,” Aria waved her hand back and forth like a flag, commiserating with the now ruined flour lining the tiled floor.

J is for: “Jesus Christ”

The walls were lined with fake and real cobwebs alike, barely visible in the complete lack of light offered from the red blinking lights of the cameras that recorded each NCT 127 member as they crawled their way tentatively through the haunted house’s hallways.

Aria shuffled past old beams that looked far too close to collapse for comfort, sneezing after her nose was ticked by a hanging vine that she hadn’t seen before it was already brushing her nose as she scooted past.

The hallways were quiet, only the sound of her own breathing audible to her heightened senses. That was, until a hand shot out from behind a load-bearing beam, gnarled nails reaching to grab at her skin.

She jumped back, letting out a vocal-chord ripping shriek. “Jesus Christ!”

K is for: *Kiss*

“So, Aria is not a lover of skinship?” The question was posed to Taeyong, the leader having been given the choice to choose his member’s punishment after losing the game they had been playing.

Taeyong let out a short chuckle, seeing where the interviewer was going with their question. “No, no she’s not. Only if we initiate it - and she’ll normally kick us off pretty quickly.”

Aria was shaking her head, making slicing motions in front of her neck to signal Taeyong to stop, no, please anything but that, stop it-

Taeyong paid no mind to her, and soon Aria was settled on a stool in the centre of the studio floor, knees tucked into her chest as Jaemin, Ten, Doyoung and Taeil - the members of her losing team - all gathered around her in a circle.

One by one, they all pressed a single kiss to her cheek, Aria cringing away from Ten’s hold when he went to press another peck to her forehead, and Doyoung coming behind her to hold her still.

When the four boys retreated, Aria was red in the face, the blush adorning her cheeks visible despite the foundation.

L is for: “You don’t love me”

“Hyuck, I have to go.”

“Noooo.” The boy whined from his position sprawled over the mattress, legs spread and hands clutching onto Aria’s wrist to prevent her from leaving. “Stay. M’comfy.”

Aria sighed, tugging at her wrist futilely. “Hyuck, I’m literally going to the bathroom. I’ll be five minutes - less if you let me go now.”

Donghyuck only whined louder, tightening his grip. “No!”

Tossing her head back to the ceiling, Aria yanked her hand out of his grip, plugging her ears against the screech of protest that left Donghyuck’s mouth.

“NO! Come back!”

When Aria made no motion to return, having exited through the doorway hastily, he threw himself back onto the bed. “You don’t love me anymore!”

Her response echoed down the hallway, punctuated by the slamming of the bathroom door. “I do! You’re just a big baby and I needed to go!”

M is for: *Mine*

Aria slid beneath the reaching arm of their maknae, patting him on the side to make him edge a little to the left as she too reached for one of the cookies that were set up on the small snack table.

The white chocolate chips were tempting her, and after staring at the still-full plate for twenty minutes, there was only so much she could do in terms of self restraint.

Scurrying back to her original seat, she settled back in comfortably, bringing the cookie up to her mouth and nibbling at the crunchy edge of the treat.

N is for: “Neo”

“Nono?” Aria bent her neck down to peer at the boy who had entered through the door, dropped his bag, slid off his shoes and then promptly snuggled himself into Aria’s side without so much as a hello.

Jeno nodded in acknowledgement, but made no attempt to explain his curious behaviour.

“Dude,” Aria sighed, hand already moving to run through his hair despite her long-suffering eyeroll, “You’re not being very neo right now.”

O is for: “Ow”

Sitting beside Mark in any context was never a good idea when one wasn’t wearing sleeves or long trousers. He was a very, volatile, laugher, and once he got going it was impossible to stop.

Unfortunately for Aria, her short dress afforded her neither of the aforementioned luxuries, and so she was sure that by the end of the day she was going to be covered in black and purpling bruises from Mark’s non-malicious attacks.

The movie on the screen flickered to a new scene, one that sent Mark into another burst of raucous laughter. His hand raised, and clapped down on Aria’s arm, again, and again, and again.

“Ow, ow, ow ow ow ow, Mark!”

P is for: “Potato juice”

Lucas held up his glass to the camera, grinning as he said, “Apple juice!”

Taeyong bit back a smile as Jungwoo fit himself into the frame, holding his own glass and affirming Lucas’ statement. “Apple juice!”

The camera was spun around, focusing briefly on the apostles of darkness who held up their own glasses of apple juice, before it panned down the row to where Aria was sitting, cradling a glass of clear liquid in her hands that she was taking small sips from.

Taking notice of the camera focusing on her, she took another sip of her glass before holding it up in a cheers. “Potato juice!” She cheered, bringing it back to her lips and paying no mind to the startled cough Doyoung let out, choking on his own apple juice.

Doyoung spun to the camera, gently pulling the glass from Aria’s grasp. “Water. It’s water.” His tone dropped a few decibels, “Did Jaehyun give you this? I’ll kill him.”

Q is for: “Quickly”

“Quickly! Hurry up!” Renjun yelled, rushing over to help Aria into the inflatable costume to begin her run.

“Yah, Renjun! I’m not on your team stop yelling at me!” Aria retorted, pushing his fumbling hands away and pulling up the straps onto her shoulders.

R is for: “Ruff”

The door swung open with a quiet creak, Donghyuck only hearing it when the handle made contact with the wall behind it. He spun around in his chair, eyebrow lifting at the sight of Aria partially in through the doorway. “Hey?”

“Ruff.” Aria blinked at him, unmoving.

“Uh, ruff?” Donghyuck responded in kind, his eyebrows now knitting together in confusion.

Nodding satisfactorily, Aria exited the room with a wave. “Mark! I told you I could get him to bark on live.”

S is for: “Saranghae”

It was a group-wide agreement that in 127, the title for cutest either went to one of the maknaes, or their oldest hyung. Apparently that agreement also spread over stan-twitter, because suddenly Taeil and Aria were being pitted against each other in an aeygo-off. Fan edits and polls were made, and TaeilvsAria was trending on Twitter for nearly a week.

Eager to encourage the trend, it was all too easy for the staff to set the pair up in front of a camera and press record.

Two minutes in, and neither member had broken, both maintaining their stoic faces - although Aria’s lip was slightly red from being bitten, having resorted to pinching the skin between her lips to prevent a smile from breaking out on her face when Taeil had tucked his hands underneath his chin and pouted.

She inhaled, thinking hard on how to end the competition swiftly, exhaling with a small smile as she settled on her next plan of attack.

Spinning around, Aria set her gaze on Taeil, letting her eyes widen and her lips fall into a natural pout.

“Oppa~” She wheedled, moving to clasp his hand in hers. “Saranghae~”

Taeil’s face crumpled, and he closed his eyes in defeat as he dragged Aria into his embrace. “Cheater.”

T is for: “Tough biscuits”

“But what if I don’t want to?” Yangyang argued, pointing at Aria.

“Then, tough biscuits.” Aria stuck out her tongue in retaliation, stealing the game controller from his hands and flicking the game to Minecraft. “I suck at those shooty-games, let me have this.”

U is for: “Unnie”

With her mask pulled up over her nose and lips, Aria was pretty confident that she wasn’t going to be recognized by a member of the public as she strolled down the street towards the coffee shop that had recently opened its doors a few streets over.

She was humming happily, but jolted as she felt an arm snake itself around her waist. Immediately on high-alert, she went to push the unknown person away, before catching a glimpse of their face.

“Unnie!” Aria’s entire demeanor changed, face breaking out into a bright smile beneath the black facemask.

Irene smiled back at her, squeezing her waist lightly. “Hey, angel! How’re you?”

V is for: “Very untrue”

“And Aria normally naps during this time anyway, so we should be happy she’s awake for this.” Jaemin informed the few thousand czennie watching the vlive, phone tucked in between two chairs in the greenroom.

Aria’s mouth dropped open at the obvious betrayal. “Hey! Very untrue! False information! You liar, I do not.”

Jaemin snickered, leaning into the phone. “You can see the marks on her cheek from the arm of the chair too, right czennie?”

The dancer leant over and thumped him on the back of his head for that.

W is for: “Wait wait wait-”

Aria was sprinting down the hallway, phone clutched to her chest and panting. Yuta followed in quick pursuit, rapidly gaining thanks to longer legs and shoes that offered more grip than the tenuous grip offered by Aria’s slippers.

“Wait wait wait, Yuta, no I don’t want to die!” She breathed, pumping her legs faster in an attempt to flee from almost certain death. Perhaps, taking candid photos of the man while he was unconsciously snuggled up to Mark’s side as he slept was, in hindsight, not the best idea.

Yuta was rapidly gaining on her, despite her best efforts.

“Please don’t kill me!”

X is for: “Xièxiè”

Accepting the glass from Kun’s hand, Aria smiled up at the man. “Xièxiè.”

Kun, who was already moving away and back into the kitchen responded in kind, before flinging himself into another bout of conversation; but this time, with a language switch.

Being so used to the constant flip-flopping between languages in the WAYV dorms, he thought nothing of it, but after asking a question and receiving no response, he peered back into the main living area to see Aria sitting there with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Uh, Xièxiè?”

Y is for: “Yessir”

Taeyong explained what it is Aria had to complete for her mission, handing her a small slip of paper that she was to hide from the other team before they came into the makeshift base that had been constructed a few minutes prior.

Aria nodded, completely serious. “Yes sir.”

He waved her away, happy that she understood the level of importance that he had just entrusted her with, and Aria happily departed from the conversation -

By the means of vaulting a table and scrambling over a chair before exiting the door.

Taeyong blinked. And then shrugged, turning his attention elsewhere.

Z is for: *Zzzz*

Snuggled up beneath a blanket is exactly where Aria wanted to be at that very moment - not sitting in the back of a van, squished between Johnny and Yuta. The two men were broad-shoulders, and that left Aria to be batted between the two like a ping-pong ball.

Despite the abrasions to her temple however, Aria found herself slowly drifting off - the lengthy schedules and lack of sleep finally catching up on her.

Her head dropped to the side, first falling forward before it was gently maneuvered onto Yuta’s shoulder, where he tucked her closer and into his side.

Letting out a pleased hum, Aria snuggled closer into his warm coat, sighing softly as she drifted to sleep.

thank you for watching ! - haechanieski

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coffeebeannate · 5 years ago

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I Think The Van Speech is Seen A Bit Differently By Queer Audiences (Explanation)

(Or at least, possibly more layered)

Hi it’s Nate! Man who has too many feels about a two hour movie again, having yet more feels!

In some back and forth discussion with @bi-leigh-bi and @viridianpanther about the van speech and NIcky’s very much “oh fuck, homophobes” sigh, I am having some more EXPANSIVE thoughts. Also tagging @ink-phoenix

First I recommend demand reading Leigh’s Original Excellent Post, as it’s a complete precursor and the ground work for this.

I know we talk about the van speech over and over again, and yes, I’m about to do it, yet again. Because there really is just something so goddamned monumental about it. But I think, more importantly, it’s a close-to-home direct call back to something that queer people can, sadly, relate to.

The reason that the Van Speech gets the traction that it does is not only for Joe’s incredible eye-watering declaration, nor for how it spins the common toxic masculinity machismo narrative in action movies on it’s head, but also because how for the subject matter it doesn’t feel out of place.

I’d like to expand more one day on how in The Old Guard, the villains have been considered ‘boring’ in reviews. But I’d like to argue that it’s that said ‘boring’ that MAKES them so frightening. They’re the same every day nasty people we all know and live with. Which is infinitely more terrifying than something fantastical, if you ask me.

Keeping that in mind, considering that the movie takes place I think in 2019, and the characters in question are ‘standard humans vs men in the 950′s’ there’s a terrifying real world humanness to the guard.

Nicky wakes up to very quiet chaos. He wakes up to Joe pleading quietly at him for him to do that (wake up), and arguing with the Guard’s who keep trying to silence him. (Ain’t that a metaphor). Nicky fully comes to consciousness to:

“What is he, your boyfriend?”

And promptly reacts with the long-suffering dreaded sigh of a very old gay man who knows exactly what is to come. And he’s waking up at the disadvantage in that scenario too. He’s struggling to shake the knock-out gas out of his system, bound hand and foot and barely has his eyes open, and that’s the first non-Joe thing he really registers.

And for queer people, it’s not just the words. It’s the fact that, historically and even today, we can NEVER be sure what is going to follow those words.

For queer people, hearing that biting, mocking tone is a sign of a few things, some being (but not limited to)

1. Further aggression. (Violence? Is it violence this time?)

2. Nothing. (We tend to hope for nothing, but are not always so lucky)

3. We don’t know. (Is he going to gang up with his buddies now? Is this a situation that’s about to go from ‘mildly irritating’ to ‘really deadly’?)

For queer people, the sigh is the dread of mental preparation, even if nothing IS going to escalate we don’t know that. Even if it it just ends with scoffing and mocking, we never know when it’s about to get worse.

The sigh can be everything from exhausted annoyance, to quick-thinking mental preparation that puts your entire body on high-alert. Ready to fight whatever is about to come.

And here’s the other, very important element of that. A gay, interracial and interfaith couple of the last 920 year is more than aware of that. This is honestly one tick on the “Been Aggressed for Centuries’ bingo card they’re both familiar with. And Joe knows that as well as Nicky.

They are both quickly thinking the same thing here. They know they’re in danger (whether it’s minimal or possible) and being lead to the even more uncertain fate in Merrick’s lab. (Leigh’s original post, again excellent, explains why the van speech is for Nicky and not the guards, so I won’t go to deep into here). And Joe knows that Nicky is scared (Joe’s just as scared, but Joe’s got the benefit of full-consciousness here) and the added benefit of ‘protecting Nicky is second nature’.

With such fear and uncertainty at play, Joe IMMEDIATELY takes control of the situation.

“You’re a child.”

And that gets the guard’s attention (and interestingly, draws their attention away from Nicky for a moment) which Joe cues off on, and immediately has his eyes back on Nicky. Because now, with the instant threat away from Nicky, Joe can focus on him more clearly.

The entire rest of the speech is for him. For both of them. Joe is saying, in his speech, (without actually saying it), “I got you. We’ve done this before, we’ll do it again. You’re safe-I’m safe, these people are a blip on the radar, right babe? No matter what, we’ve faced worse people than them. We can do this, we’re used to this shit.”

Doesn’t make it EASIER mind, but it’s a good reminder. We are still in control. We will fight back. They are not separating us. Goons will not take you from me, okay?

And I like to think that by reassuring Nicky, that by watching Nicky’s face, by seeing him react, and absorbing him, Joe reassures himself too. Interestingly! I think Nicky nicely returns that reassurance. He has one line, but it’s more than enough.

“You incurable romantic”

You got me. I got you. I’m with you. We’re on the same page, we always have been, always were.

The kiss is also for them and them alone. Because if they never see each other again, if they never have the ability to be together again, then at least there’s one last time.

There’s the element of hope there too-and yeah, they do kill the guards and all, but that doesn’t really put the ball in their court. They still don’t know what’s coming after.

History is messy. History is up and down. There will have been periods of time in said history where Joe and Nicky had an easier time of things. More acceptable, more open-and periods of time where things were really fucking bad for them. And they can never really know which period or scenario that’s going to be. They’re always going to have one small element of ‘alertness’ in the back of their heads about it. Because they have to. As a couple they have so many elements of ‘this is what society hates’ working against them.

And in other movies, that might be the ‘this is where we make it very sad and angst-ridden’ but in The Old Guard, they survive. Every time.

And man if that doesn’t feel so good to see.

To some, the van scene might seem fantastical and out of place. Like Joe just suddenly has some big romantic declaration out of nowhere. But for queer audiences, for any audience that is used to living an existence where this is a regular scenario (homophobia, not being kidnapped) it’s very non-fantastical and very much not out of place.

Because it’s a reality we know in some way.

It’s brilliant. It’s intense, it’s raw. It’s one of the scenes I still can’t watch without a little bit of crying, and there’s SO much to a scene that lasts 1 minute and 24 seconds and it’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen in a film.

It’s written incredibly. It’s acted phenomenology and directed so well. And make no mistake, to queers, it reads with more layers than one might even see on a first viewing.

#the old guard #kaysanova #the old guard meta #meta #my thoughts #old guard meta #yes another van scene meta post #bi-leigh-bi #viridianpanther #ink-phoenix #the van speech

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glattandblade · 4 years ago

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We’ll Meet Again (c!Dream x Reader)

By Author Blade <3

Summary: You finally get to visit Dream in prison, but not with a few obstacles first. (Gender Neutral Reader)

Warnings: Spoilers (a death is mentioned)

Word Count: 1971

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You threw your hands up dramatically, turning away from the podium and starting to pace around the room. Your boots clicked against the dark stone as you moved about frantically, starting to get really fed up.

“You’ve said that three times already, Sam.”

“Yeah! Because it’s a terrible idea!”

You squeezed your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms uncomfortably. You had summoned Sam to the prison, hoping that he would do his damn job and let you in to visit Dream. For the past 10 minutes you’ve been going back and forth with him, trying to convince him to let you in even for a few minutes, but he seemed hellbent on keeping you away, which was starting to piss you off.

“Why is it so bad for me to want to visit him?!” You raised your voice, your anger starting to get the better of you. Sam put a steady hand on his sword, ready to pull it out if you decide to get more aggressive.

“Because! You two were very close and now he's a prisoner. What if you try to pull something and break him out?”

“I’m not an idiot, Sam!”

He rolled his eyes, “I didn’t say that. You’re not getting it.”

You cross your arms, inviting him to explain.

“You’re emotional right now. And stressed. As the warden, I don’t think it’s safe for either of you to see each other. And quite frankly, Dream doesn’t deserve anything that will give him a smidge of hope. Especially after everything he’s done.”

You felt tears starting to prick at your eyes. You understood his job as the warden, but was he really going to be this petty?

Before you could will yourself to stop, you started to cry. You hung your head, breaking eye contact with Sam.

“I miss him. I really do.” Your words were just whispers, but Sam heard them in the silence of the prison. You wrapped your arms around yourself in hopes to find some comfort. Feelings of anger, loneliness, and embarrassment started to overtake you. Your knees felt weak and for a second you thought you might just collapse onto the floor and cry.

There was a moment of silence that felt way too long before Sam finally spoke,

“Fine.”

You looked back up at him, slightly shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah. But you do understand that if you try to pull anything, or even appear slightly suspicious, that I will have to kill you? And that you will be gone for good?”

You began to wipe your eyes, nodding. “I do. I understand.” To be reminded that you were on your last life… honestly, it kind of scared you. But you had to push that fear down. For Dream.

“And you understand that if Dream decides to kill you for any reason, he can, right?”

Your eyes widened, but you nod slowly. You were told about what happened with Tommy, so it wasn’t impossible. The idea of him doing that to you though… You can’t imagine it. You downright refuse to think about it.

“While you’re in the prison, whatever I say, goes. It’s my word above all. Before anything else, though, I’m going to need you to read this book out loud to me and sign it when you’re done…..”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After God knows how long, you finally made it to the last room. The walk was trepid and harsh, you felt sore, tired, and weak. The potions you drank wore off and, being the only thing you’ve consumed in almost two days, sat heavy in your stomach. The dark atmosphere of the prison didn’t help your mood, either. Every room was covered in obsidian or black stone. You felt completely secluded and alone, and you weren’t even the one locked up.

You would have loved to chew Sam out for how bullshit it was that he had to weaken you, but currently you weren’t in a position to do so. So you silently sat, brooding, staring at the bubbling lava that was still falling. The heat made your whole body uncomfortably sweaty and the occasional pop of the lava that splashed on you left blisters, but you powered through the pain. Soon you’d be on the other side and it would all be worth it…

You flinched and groaned as another splash of lava hit your arm.

“How much longer is this going to take?"

“Lava flows very slowly. Just keep facing forward and be patient.”

You grumbled and turned back to the wall of liquid death, resting your arms and head on your knees.

When the lava finally started to dissipate, you stood up and looked out into the room it revealed. A giant, obsidian room with a smaller cell in the middle… and in that cell, was Dream. He was sitting, his back against the empty wall.

You almost cried when you saw him. When Sam started to speak again, you were barely listening, just staring out past the lava ocean at Dream. He wasn’t facing you, instead staring at something on the other wall.

“You’re going to have to stand on the bridge and move with it. Once you reach the other side, I’m going to pull it back so you won’t be able to return. Do you understand?”

You turned around to him, “I understand.” And then he flicked a lever.

The floor beneath you started to jerk forward and you stumbled a little, your heart dropping as you noticed just how much lava once covered the room. This place is absolutely terrifying. You gulp as you try to keep a steady pace with the moving platform, your heart starting to race as you got closer.

You stepped into the smaller room, running up to the row of netherite blocks and leaning onto them.

Sam’s voice echoed from the other side, “I’m going to drop the lava back down. That will open once the lava stops flowing.”

“Dream!”

You could feel the heat return as the lava began flowing again, which caused the netherite blocks to drop. You fell forward into the room and made your way to where he sat, kneeling in front of him.

He looked you over once and blinked a few times, as if he couldn’t believe it was you.

“(Y/N)?” You nodded, tears escaping your eyes. You reached up and gently removed his cracked mask, setting it aside. His face was littered in scars, old and new, and his hair was long and unkept. Parts of his arms were wrapped in old, dirty bandages. The idea that Sam probably caused those injuries made your blood boil, but you forced that anger down for now. He looked pretty worse for wear, and it made you worry above all else.

You leaned forward, pulling him into a hug. It was sort of awkward considering his wrists and ankles were chained pretty close together, but you managed. His hands rested on your hips and he laid his head down on your shoulder.

“I’ve missed you so much.”

His breathing was shaky against your skin, “I’ve missed you, too. I didn’t think you’d visit.”

You held onto him tighter, “Don’t be an idiot.”

It was silent for the moment after that as you both revelled in each other’s touch. For that time, everything felt normal. But if you opened your eyes, you’d realize where you were and that safe feeling would be torn away from you.

Dream spoke again before that had to happen, but his words brought very little easement.

“You should go, (Y/N). It’s dangerous. I… I’m dangerous. You know what happened to Tommy.”

Hearing that shit from Sam was one thing, but from Dream himself? It made your heart sink and your head hurt.

You shook your head, moving so you could look him in the eyes. “I’m not going to leave you again.” Your fingers reached up and gingerly began to trace the scars on his face, and almost reluctantly, he leaned into your touch. “I already did that once and look at what happened to you…”

Dream moved his hands from your waist to hold your hand against his cheek. You still rubbed your thumb against it, hoping that he found comfort in the feeling the same way you do. “You can’t fix me, (Y/N).” His voice went quiet, almost as if he was just accepting this himself.

You paused. Honestly, you knew you couldn’t. There was nothing you could do at this point to help him. But you felt like you had to, need to. You already let him down so many times before- and now he was here. Suffering, Hurting, and still causing pain. Because you couldn’t stop him. Because of you failed to-

You hadn’t realized it, but you started shaking, your breathing uneven. Your racing thoughts stopped when you felt Dream place his hands on the sides of your face, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

“Breathe, (Y/N). It’s okay.” You listened, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. Once your breathing returned to a semi normal state, Dream continued, “I’ll be fine, alright? Eventually, I’ll get out of here. But in the meantime, you have to stay safe. It’s probably for the best if you stay away from the prison.”

“I can’t do that.” You wanted your words to sound sharp, no room for argument, but your voice was still a little shaky and the tears that returned didn’t help.

“You have to. You could get hurt. You’re on your last life, too.” Being reminded of that for the second time made you anxious again, but you kept taking deep breaths, processing what Dream was saying.

He’s right. He can handle himself. And you need to stay out of harm's way. It would be better with whatever he was planning if he didn’t have to plan for your safety, too.

You took his wrists and gently moved his hands down to his lap. You took a breath, preparing yourself for your next string of words.

“I love you. And I’m going to make sure everything works out, for the both of us. I’ll listen, I’ll stay out of the way. I won’t visit again. But you have to promise me that you’ll only do what’s necessary, and not hurt anyone else.” You were holding onto the hope that you could help, because hope is all you had at this point.

To his core, Dream is a liar and a manipulator. He hated lying to you, though. But he would do whatever it took if it ensured your safety.

“I promise, (Y/N).” He leaned in, leaving a quick kiss on your lips. “I love you, too.” You felt tears start to well up in your eyes again as you grabbed onto him for a final hug.

“You have to promise me you’ll be safe, too. I’m not the only one hanging on by a thread.”

He nodded, placing his hands back on your hips. “Of course, I’ve got it all prepared.” You leaned back to give him another kiss, trying your best to cement the feeling of his lips on yours.

Then, you heard Sam’s voice over the speaker, “Okay, okay. You two have had enough time. Go stand in front of the lava, (Y/N).” You audibly sighed, moving to stand up with Dream. He held onto your hand for a second longer, giving it a squeeze that made your heart hurt.

“We’ll see each other again.” He whispered to you, “Just be patient.”

You nod, giving him a final goodbye kiss until who even knows how long.

The walk back was thankfully quiet, Sam giving you space to calm yourself as you walked the gauntlet and left the prison.

Masterlist

#dsmp #dsmp x reader #dream x reader #dream smp #dsmp fanfic #awesamdude #my brain was put on overdrive trying to write this #🎸#authorblade #mcyt x reader #dream mcyt #c!dream x reader #c!dream x y/n #c!dream x you

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writingsfromhome · 5 years ago

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Winner’s Choice

A/N: I only have series-type ideas in mind, so I’m trying to write out short one-shot type fics instead just to pump the breaks a little. Any ideas are welcome but here’s my go at this: you lost a drinking contest to Harry and winner decides a tattoo for the loser...

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

"3...2...1...GO!"

I lift the mug to my face and down the beer, ignoring how it splashes over the new top I had worn today. I should've know going out with Harry & Co meant I was getting messy.

Just a second apart, I slam my mug down.

"That was Harry!" The crowd shouts. "Harry's won!"

"It was tied!" I try to shout, ignoring Harry's smug face as his ego rises with the crowd's voice.

"I say rematch!" I shout.

"Don't be a sore loser, love!" Harry shouts at me. I stick my tongue out and hold my empty mug up, declaring louder I wanted a rematch. My swimming head tries to reason with me that it may not be a good idea but I needed to redeem myself.

Harry and I were good friends, I worked as an actor in the industry he dabbled in. And when he laughed at a stupid joke I made one day a few years ago, I'd latched onto him and we'd just become part of each other's lives since.

I moved across the pond from my childhood town in Maine when I turned 21 for an acting job, and have stayed since flitting from role to role. I missed my family and friends but moving here was also the best thing I did for myself. It did get lonely...which was why meeting Harry was also one of the best things to happen to me. Over the first year of knowing him, his friends became my friends and vice versa. I called them all Harry& Co. especially when I was drunk, all their faces blurred into each other and there were too many of them. Except for Harry. His face always stood out from a crowd. Being around him usually cured the ache I had for home.

"If I go again, you've got to put something on the table." Harry finally agrees. The crowd shouts out inappropriate things I could put down and I flip them off. I catch my friend's eye and she gives me a cautious look but I shake my head. I was having fun tonight.

"Loser gets a tattoo of the winner's choice. Tonight." Harry announces and the group goes crazier. My own mouth drops. I had to win this, knowing Harry he would do something ridiculous like his face on my ass. And this was the first time I lost to Harry, I could do this.

"Deal," I shake on it.

"Wait!" My friend tries to reason with us but we pull our mugs supplied by the crowd, closer to us.

"3...2...1...Go!"

I black out downing it but somehow, Harry's mug clashes down millisecond before mine does. A silence descends the room before Harry laughs. And suddenly everyone is shouting, cheering, throwing out tattoo ideas, and one voice is just shouting long live Harry over and over.

"I...." my mouth doesn't close on it's own, I lost. I rarely lost a drinking contest. But...Harry had me beat.

"Fair and square," Harry maneuvers around the table to sit beside me.

"I lost." I say, dumbstruck.

"It happens to the best of us, eventually." Harry kisses my cheek before jumping up and taking my hand. "Celebration dance."

I let him drag me to the dancefloor, trying to bring my mind back to reality. I was going to get a tattoo. My first. "Harry-Harry!" I try to get his attention. "Nothing ridiculous?"

"No promises," he winks. The alcohol sloshes in my brain as he pulls me into him and moves from side to side.

"Harry!" I shout out.

"You'll see," he grins, enjoying my torture way too much. "Just dance now."

His voice in my ear tickles, and I feel fluttery, far away. Some part of me knows that sober me was going to be pissed at drunk me.

I dance with Harry, following his lead, eventually drifting off to my friends, some strangers, and back to him.

"Should we get that tattoo now?" Harry says in my ear then.

"Maybe..." I try to put on my best convincing voice on. "We should wait for tomorrow."

"Nope!" Harry shouts gleefully. "Let's go now!"

"Nothing's open!" I shout but I was lying and he doesn't believe me for a second. I sigh, and find my friends to say goodbye. They try to tell me I didn't have to follow through but I know Harry would get this done one way or another. I may as well get it done while I was drunk and blame it on that.

The cold outside reminds me I left my coat inside, and when I come back out Harry's jumping up and down to keep warm. It makes me laugh but he quickly tugs on my arm. We run to stay warm towards wherever he decided this was going to happen.

It's a few blocks away, a sterile looking place with crazy colours on the walls that I realise are tattoo designs. The warmth inside the studio makes me shiver and Harry wraps his arm around me as we walk through.

"Harry nothing unprofessional please? I don't want to get fired from a job I don't even have." The cold air had sobered me up a bit and I was starting to regret this even more.

"Don't you trust me?" He asks with a glint to his eye that I didn't trust. "Wait here."

I sit down while he goes to talk to the artist, showing her his phone, pointing to various parts of his body.

"Y/N! Come on!"

I drag my feet over and glare at him as I settle in.

"You'll have to take your shirt off," Harry lets me know.

"You're picking where I get it too?" I ask.

"That's part of the deal!"

"I should've read the fine print," I grumble. Harry shows the artist the side of my rib cage-my shirt was still on but his finger traces a small curve up and down where he wants to place it. It sends butterflies to my stomach.

"Okay," I grab his hand so he could stop doing that. It wasn't helping my nerves. "Let's get this over with. But you can't stay."

"Yes I can," Harry insists. "I make up the rules."

"If I have to take my shirt off, he goes." I look at the girl giving me my tattoo and she shrugs, looking over at Harry. He sighs but agrees.

I take my shirt off and have to hike my bra strap higher, ready to settle into the torture.

"Please tell me it's nothing crude? His face included? Or a stupid message like Y/N hearts Harry?"

The artist laughs, "I'm not allowed to tell you anything apparently but from one girlfriend with a crazy boyfriend to another. It's not. Don't worry, just relax."

I try to tell her Harry wasn't my boyfriend but she turns away and I decide it wasn't worth it. I'd explained that a million times to my own mom who always asked if we'd gotten together yet. It was embarassing, my family back home was convinced we were having a secret affair. I stopped wasting my breath nowadays.

"So, do you get this kind of request often?" I try to make small talk.

"More than you think," the cold of whatever she spreads on my skin makes me shiver. I sort of wish Harry was here, to keep me distracted. I pull my phone out and text him.

"I'm back," his head pops in a few minutes later. The tattoo artist looks to me to make sure I was okay.

"Just talk your usual shit so I don't have to think about what I agreed to," I call out. He sits beside me but he falls silent. When I lift my head to look at him, he's staring at me. "Hey!"

"Sorry, I was thinking about the other tattoos I'm going to beat you into getting."

I roll my eyes, but my skin warms under his gaze. "I'm never agreeing to something like this ever again. You got me while I was weak."

"I'll convince you to get another tattoo again," Harry rolls closer to me. He rests his arms on my leg and leans his head on it.

"My leg's going to fall asleep," I warn him.

"Then we'll put another tattoo there," he smiles.

And back and forth we go, he keeps me distracted, and for the most part, the tattoo process is okay. I'm barely listening as she begins to tell me about its aftercare, she'd already said she would give me a pamphlet and Harry had plenty experience, I could ask him.

"Do you want to see it before I wrap it up?" She asks me. From what I felt, it was at least a few inches long and a bigger tattoo was too scary for me to think about.

"I need something to drink before I look at it," I say. "But I know if I don't like it it's his fault not yours."

"You'll love it," Harry pulls me to him and presses a wet kiss to my cheek. I push him away aggressively and agree to be bandaged. I tell Harry he owed me a few beers before I looked at it and he agrees. He purchases some on our way back to my place along with some food. The train ride home is mostly filled with him gloating but I suffer through it, imaging the worst case scenarios.

Back at my place, I stand in front of the full length mirror in my room, deathly afraid. I had waited nervously, threw back a couple of beers and shoved excessive pizza in my mouth. Harry seems more excited than me for the reveal and finally he joins me upstairs.

"So?" He asks, eyes on me in the mirror.

"Fine." I decide. I peel my shirt off slowly and Harry helps, I try to ignore the way my knees turn into jello at the sight of him doing that. "Fine."

My bra is crooked and I act as casual as possible that Harry is still standing behind me. I slowly peel the bandaging off, Harry comes around to help. I close my eyes as he finishes and count to three in my head. When I see it, my heart stops.

"Do you like it?" Harry asks like a kid on Christmas morning. He's buzzing with nervous excitement but all I can do is stare at the simple tattoo as my heart swells.

A few inches big, covering the side of my ribcage, is a twig of wild blueberries: a symbol of home.

"How did you..." I'm at a loss for words. My first tattoo. I just got my first tattoo, and it was...perfect.

"Well, you're always taking about how you miss home. And you rarely get to go back because of your schedule. And I looked up the official things for Maine, didn't think you wanted a moose so I-"

I shut him up by kissing him; that was the only possible response to this. He'd tricked me into getting the most perfect tattoo and if I was ever unsure before I was sure now that I loved Harry Styles. He knew me. His choice of tattoo made that clear. And I loved him.

"Woah," Harry steadies my shoulders when we part.

"It's perfect," I say, feeling tears well up in my eyes. "I don't know what else to say."

"I should've got you a tattoo a long time ago," he says before kissing me again. I could do this forever, I think, as I bury my hands in his hair.

His hand brushes the open tattoo and I flinch. It didn't hurt, but it was slightly sore.

"Sorry," he apologises against my lips. "We should probably take care of that."

"Ugh, wait." I kiss him one last time. "Where's that info sheet-"

"It's okay, c'mon." He leads me into the bathroom and sits me down on the countertop. I watch as he carefully washes his hands and washes the area. He knows where everything is. His face is scrunched in concetration as he washes and dries it. I marvel at how the evening started with his chaotic public personality to this gentle version here.

"This is gonna be cold," he warns before applying jelly over the whole thing. "Don't sleep on this side."

"I won't. I don't really plan on sleeping at all," I grab his shirt and pull him back up to me. I feel him smile as I kiss him, and he pushes me as far back as I can go before I hit the mirror behind me. I can tell he wanted this as bad as I did, and if it weren't for the tattoo we would be a roughened jumble on my bed right now.

"Bad night for a tattoo," he rests his forehead on mine.

"A tattoo can't stop me," I say. "Let's go." I lead him back to my bed and unclasp my bra. "I probably shouldn't be wearing this anyway."

"Fuck," Harry's mouth hangs open but before I can grow self conscious, he strides over and crashes into me. He doesn't bother with holding back, although he avoids my right side. But it doesn't even matter as I simultaneously forget every sense I have and feel every single nerve in my body at the same time as he takes me to bed.

After, when we lay facing each other on the bed, Harry uses his finger to trace my face. When he reaches my mouth, I kiss his finger. "Thanks. Tonight was...great."

"If you think tonight was great, wait until your tattoo heals." He swipes down my nose.

"I was only talking about the tattoo," I tease. "The rest of the night was...okay."

"Okay?" He immediately perches up.

"Yeah. Like...a 6 out of 10?"

He turns on his back and laughs, "You're in so much trouble. You better watch what you say next!"

"I'm not afraid of you--you had your chance with the tattoo and you chose something lovely."

He turns back to me, pressing a kiss to my lips. "You have to trust me."

"I do...usually." I smile. Harry rests his hand on my hip and zones out, his mind elsewhere. The silence stretched out and I can't help but ask.

"So...tonight isn't like, a one time thing right?" I was going to wait to ask but my nerves needed to be soothed. I also didn't want things between Harry and I to be in a gray area. He meant too much to me.

"No, unless...you want it to be?"

"No!" I nearly shout. "Only the tattoo part. Everything else, I'd like again."

"Okay, good." He slides closer to me under the duvet. "Because I wouldn't mind putting a label on this and-"

"Done." I say, not caring how eager I sounded because the grin that splits his face shows the same eagerness.

I mentally apologise to all the people I scolded who asked when Harry and I would get together. As I nuzzle my head into his chest, and he drapes his arm around me, I just think about how right it feels and why I didn't do it sooner. Tonight was a crazy night of bad decisions but every single outcome was perfect.

"I love you Y/N," Harry says after a while, I thought he'd already fallen asleep. I peek out from my position and his eyes are closed. I wait a moment but they remain closed.

I snuggle back in and suppress the urge to squeal. This night felt too good to be real, like I would wake up tomorrow morning and realise it was all a drunk-hallucination. And on the off chance that might be true, I wrap myself tighter against him and whisper the words back, hoping that he was awake enough to hear them.

When his arms tighten around me, I fall asleep happy, knowing he knows too. Maybe tomorrow morning, I would say it again.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #writingsfromhome #fic #one shot #idk

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on-maars · 4 years ago

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Find My Way Home (Back To You)

Alright I wrote a post Eddie Begins episode fic and I really hope you’ll like it :)

Read it on AO3

Eddie sighs and turns around for what might be the tenth time in the past two hours.

He can’t sleep. He can’t sleep without being back there again. He can’t sleep without stopping the nightmares. Not about the war. He’s had his fair share of night terrors about the war, but lately the nightmares have taken another direction. He doesn’t dream of being the target of a thousand snipers anymore. He dreams of that moment. He dreams of being back there again, buried in the ground, thirty feet of wet earth above him, trapped, without any way of getting back to his son, without any way of getting back to his family. It’s suffocating, and Eddie often wakes up soaking wet, his hair sticking to his forehead, his sheet drenched in sweat. Drenched in sweat, and tears. His tears.

He can’t sleep and he tried everything. Every method he can think of. Every method his mother used to teach him when he was scared and alone at night, suffering from insomnia. He tried some breathing exercises his therapist showed him the week before, tried taking a walk around the neighborhood to clear his head and take his mind off things, he tried reading a book and even went through some meditations videos on YouTube that Buck recommended to him a while back. But nothing is working. His mind keeps sending him back to that place. To the well.

Eddie turns around again and lets his eyes fall on his alarm clock as it reads 2:49am. Eddie sighs and presses his hands to his face, apprehending the 24 hours shift waiting for him in the early hours of the morning. Not necessarily because of the fatigue. After all it wouldn’t be the first time Eddie gets through an awfully long shift with the 118 with only a few hours of sleep in his system.

No, he’s only apprehending it because he knows, deep down, that he’s so far from being in the right state of mind to face the difficulties of his job. He feels more restless, more fidgety, less focused than usual. And if there is no doubt in Eddie’s mind that the 118 is going to notice his mood swings. And if they notice, then he’s going to need to explain. Explain the extent of how messed-up he is in the head. Explain how the war still terrorized him sometimes at night. Explain how tight his throat is ever since he’s made it out of that well. And that’s a conversation he’s not ready to face.

Eddie looks up at the ceiling and gropes around in the dark until his right hand finds his phone. He knows scrolling mindlessly the news is only going to keep his brain more awake but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He unlocks his phone and frowns when he notices an unseen message from his sister in his inbox. The message is short, but it catches Eddie’s attention.

“Isn’t he your friend Buck?!”

There is a link just underneath it and when Eddie clicks on it, his breath catches in his throat and his heart starts pounding hard against his chest. It’s a video. A video of that day. A video of the rig, collapsing, and burying him under thirty feet of earth in the process. Only the video doesn’t show only that. It also shows his coworkers’ reaction. It also shows Buck.

Buck

Buck, who collapses on the ground and completely falls to pieces. Buck, who screams his name and starts digging the earth with his bare hands. Buck, who bursts into tears and whose face is contorted with fear, rage and pain. Eddie watches him as he continues calling out his name in agony, he watches him as Bobby needs to physically restrain him to stop him from digging, and Eddie swears he can feel his heart cracked open at the sight.

The scene is devastating, heartbreaking, and the last seconds of the video only shows Buck, sitting on the ground, his head down, tears rolling down his face, as the rain continues pouring down on him.

By the time Eddie finishes watching the video, his hands are shaking and the room is spinning. His whole body is tense, buzzing with a nervous energy and Eddie closes his eyes fiercely but he can’t get the images out of his head. How can he? How can he when he had to sit through and watch his best-friend having a complete breakdown in a video with more than a million views? How can he when until then, he was so far up his own ass not to notice that Buck was hurting too? Not to notice that he wasn't the only one who ended up traumatized by this day?

He sits back straight on his bed, and leans his back against the headboard, running both of his hands through his hair a few times, ignoring how his heart pulses in his head, making it hurt.

He takes his phone in his hand and gets up, stepping out of his room and going down the stairs until he reaches the living-room. Here, he lets himself fall on the couch, rubbing his temples with his fingers, his eyes closed. In vain. It’s no use. It’s no use trying to get his breathing back to normal while the only thing he really wants is to see his best-friend with his own two eyes and make sure he’s okay.

“Can you come over?” He sends. It’s short and vague, but Eddie knows Buck keeps his phone in sound mode at all times just in case this kind of emergencies come up.

But is it an emergency? Eddie asks himself as he brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. It’s not. Not really. But Buck’s answer still comes after just a few seconds.

“Be there in 15. You okay? Christopher?”

“We’re okay. Just need to see you.”

Eddie jumps out of the couch and starts pacing back and forth in the living-room, not knowing what to do with himself. He squats down and starts picking up every Lego bricks lying around on the carpet, on the coffee table under the sofa. Christopher was in the middle of building a (more than unstable) house before heading to bed and he seemed so tired from his school day Eddie didn’t have the heart to ask him to tidy. He’s in the middle of retrieving a brick which ended up under the carpet when he hears the distinct sound of someone opening the front door.

He whirls his head around and finds himself face to face with Buck who looks around the living-room in alarm, his eyes wide. His hair is disheveled and his shoes are mismatched and Eddie almost feels bad for waking him up in the middle of the night while they both have a 24 hours shift waiting for them in a few hours. His best-friend’s face softens when his eyes fall on him, and Eddie doesn’t waste any time to close the gap separating them and wrapping his arms around his neck to hold him close.

“Evan Buckley I swear to god you’re going to be the death of me.” He says, not thinking twice before burying his face in the crook of his best-friend’s neck. Buck seems taken aback for a few seconds, but he doesn’t question it and reciprocate the embrace with just as much vigor. “I’m sorry.” Eddie eventually says, grabbing his tee-shirt with his right hand.

“You’re sorry?” Buck repeats, his voiced filled with confusion. “About what?” He adds.

“God I’ve been so far up my own ass these past few days, haven’t I?” Eddie asks, taking a step back and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, following his gaze until he’s sure Buck looks at him in the eye. His best-friend seems reluctant at first, almost as if he already knows where the conversation is going, but then he finally meets his gaze and Eddie’s look is so intense and he’s watching him with so much attention something in his face just breaks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what, Eds?” Buck asks, but from the way his voice breaks, Eddie knows it’s just a way for him to try and take the conversation elsewhere.

“Buck.” Eddie says, and it’s a warning. We’re having that conversation whether you like it or not.

“Eddie, just- Don’t, alright?” Buck starts. “It’s okay. You’re okay. It’s all that matters.”

“I saw the video.” Eddie says, taking another step backwards until he sits on a kitchen chair, running his right hand through his hair.

“What video?” Buck says, his voice small, but sighs and looks down when Eddie maintains eye-contact. “Took you long enough.” He only adds, leaning against the fridge. “It was literally everywhere on the news. Big headlines too.” He says, letting out a humorless laugh.

“Buck-”

“But again, I’spose it’s fun to see a firefighter completely losing it after his best-friend has been buried thirty feet underground.” Buck cuts in, his voice hollow. “I guess it ‘entertains’ people just fine”

“Buck-” Eddie starts, but his friend is faster.

“As if I want to relive that moment, you know?” Buck goes on and his voice is louder now, more aggressive. “As if one time wasn’t enough.”

“Buck, I-”

“Eddie, you cut the damn line!” He exclaims and Eddie jumps with surprise at how raw and demanding his tone is. “You cut the damn line!” He repeats and a tear rolls down his left cheek. “And you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I can’t even blame you for it! You wanted to save that kid… I mean, how can I blame you for wanting to save that kid, Eddie? I can’t. I would be a fucking hypocrite if I did, man. Cause I would have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t be mad.” Eddie says, keeping his eyes down, incapable of meeting his best-friend’s gaze. “It doesn’t mean you can’t be angry.” He adds. “Hell, I know I would be.”

“I just- Eddie, did you ever stop for a second to imagine what it was like for me? I was pulling you out Eds. I was pulling you out and then the weight was just- the weight was just gone. You were gone.” He says through gritted teeth and Eddie darts his eyes towards him for just a second, but that’s still enough time for him to see the expression of complete agony and pure heartbreak on his best-friend’s face. Eddie looks away just as fast and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“But that’s not even the worst part, oh no.” Buck goes on and Eddie knows this one is on a roll. He’s determined and he won’t stop until he got everything off his chest. “ Because then this damn rig just collapsed and I- I couldn’t get you out, I- You were… You were buried, Eds. You were buried and I swear to god I would have dug the whole thing with my bare hands if I had to.”

“I know you would’ve.” Eddie only says, staring at Buck, his eyes filled with the tears he’s been trying to hold back for the past fifteen minutes. “I know you would’ve.”

“I didn’t give up on you.” Buck answers, as if he’s trying to justify his actions in a courtroom. “You’ve got to know that, alright?” He repeats. “I didn’t give up on you. Even when people were trying to convince me that there was no way you would have survived that, I didn’t- I didn’t give up on you.”

“Hey, hey, I know.” Eddie instantly reassures him, getting up and closing the gap between them. “I know.” He repeats, cupping Buck’s cheeks with his hands. “You didn’t give up.”

“I didn’t give up.” Buck nods, his lips quivering.

“Buck, do you think- do you think I’m mad at you because you didn’t try hard enough?” Eddie manages to articulate, his fingers playing with the roots of Buck’s hair. “How could you have tried any harder?” Eddie adds, letting out a nervous laugh. “For Christ’s sake Evan, you told me yourself you were ready to dig the whole thing by hands. There’s nothing you could have done. You hear me?”

Buck frantically nods and Eddie sighs, wrapping his right arm around his neck to pull him forward. Buck’s whole body tenses and it’s only when his shoulders start shaking that Eddie realizes his best-friend is full-on sobbing against him, his tears wetting his white tee-shirt. Buck rests his forehead on his shoulder and Eddie simply runs his left hand through his hair while the other traces small patterns on his back, holding him tight. He presses his lips on his hair, closing his eyes fiercely for a few seconds while throwing his head backwards, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.” Buck says against him. “Here I am again, making the whole thing about me while you’re the one who’ve been buried underground.”

“Don’t be stupid Buck, I’m the one who should apologize here. I was so focused on my pain and the nightmares that I-”

“Nightmares?” Buck whirls his head up to meet his eyes. “You have nightmares about the well?” He asks, his eyes full of concern, and Eddie lets out an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah but that’s not the point, Buck.” He says, dismissing his concern with a hand’s gesture. “I should have seen you were hurting. I’m sorry.” He adds. “And yes I have nightmares but Buck you need to know you’re the only reason I got out. You and Christopher? I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Wouldn’t have done it. But I promised myself I’ll always find my way back home. So I did.”

Eddie cradles his chin with his left hand, forcing him to look up.

“That… That was sappy as hell, man.” Buck tries and Eddie snorts, placing his hand on his cheek to make him look away.

“Says the one who was ready to dig thirty feet of wet earth with his bare hands.” He says playfully and then Buck does this thing again where he looks down with a shy smile and Eddie’s heart just melts at the sight.

When Buck lifts his gaze again, their lips are only separated by a few inches of space and Eddie’s head is spinning. He stays there, motionless, not knowing whether he should finally gives in to years of pining and unresolved tension. But then, Buck’s eyes dart towards his lips and all his good sense goes up in smoke. Eddie looks at him for permission and when Buck nods, he places his hand on the back of his neck and presses their lips together. It doesn’t last long. It’s brief, and when Eddie takes a step back, Buck’s lips chase his own a second time and he only smiles and complies happily.

This time, the kiss is more heated and Buck’s hands find their way on the back of Eddie’s neck, biting his lower lip to demand access to his mouth. Eddie smiles against his mouth and runs both of his hands through his hair, bringing him closer. This earns him a small whimper from Buck and Eddie only kisses him harder, pressing his best-friend’s body against the fridge and sliding his hand underneath his tee-shirt.

“God I can’t believe we waited three years to do that.” Buck says Eddie huffs out a laugh against his lips.

“Well I mean you were a bit slow on the uptake.” Eddie teases him.

“Oh fuck off.” Buck taps him on the head playfully. “You know I couldn’t just- I had to be sure.”

“I know.” Eddie says, his voice soft.

“I couldn’t do the first move. I had to wait for… I had to wait for you to do it. Even if I knew that you- because I knew. Of course I knew. But-”

“Hey.” Eddie cuts him off by cupping his cheeks with his hands. “I know.” He repeats. “Alright then Evan. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Lead the way, Edmundo.”

“Not my name.” Eddie says with a smile, taking his hand in his to guide him towards the bedroom.

“Sorry. Eduardo.”

“Still not my name, man."

"Diaz?"

"That's it, you’re sleeping on the damn couch, Buckley.” Eddie warns but the smile on his face betrays him.

“Really? You would make me sleep on the couch? The guy who was ready to dig 30 feet of wet earth with his bare han-”

“Oh my god will you shut up?” Eddie whispers loudly, being careful not to wake up Christopher fast asleep in the adjoining room.

“Make me.” Buck says, a hint of amusement in his voice and Eddie?

Well Eddie wastes no time to crash their lips together another time.

#buddie #buddie fic #9-1-1 #Eddie Begins #Evan Buckley #Eddie diaz #911 #buck x eddie

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thatonesadending · 4 years ago

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After being set adrift as a sheep in the astral sea, and making it into this strange city that they had followed Lucien into, Caleb is left alone with his thoughts and suspicions on what's really going on in Lucien's head. Can he bring all of his friends safely home while not being able to use the magic that Lucien can so easily dispel.

Or in other words. How Caleb defeats Lucien with a kiss, and ends up with two magical purple men by his side. Oh and it was really Sprinkles that saved the day!

He liked being a sheep. It was almost peaceful, floating in the astral sea without a thought in his fuzzy head. The tumbling only made him a little dizzy, but other than the occasional shout of his companions, his mind was quiet. He would like it to stay that way, maybe.

But of course, that was not in his cards. Beau had grabbed him by the wool shortly after she had come through the gate, keeping him from straying too far. He didn't mind the rough yank from her, or even mini Veth clinging to him as they sailed towards the city. But Jester's aggressive petting once they reached their destination was a little much. He very much didn't like when she put Sprinkle/Artigone on his back and declared them "best furry friends", and the damn fey weasel began tunneling through his wool coat trying to tickle him. Essek had wordlessly picked up the small fey and handed it back to Jester, while stroking Caleb's woolen head, and apparently ignoring the others as they bickered about a plan.

Sheep are not very smart, so it took Caleb a very long time to realize Essek was petting him. And even longer to realize he was bleeding fairly heavily. Suddenly, whatever wild magic had changed his form evaporated and Caleb was himself again, on his hands and knees in this mysterious magical city, and Essek's hand midway through carding his hair.

"Oh, apologies." Essek snatched his hand back before Caleb could even process their positions. The movement had obviously hurt whatever injury the Dow was suffering through, but before he could comment on it, Jester was calling out to him.

"Oh good, you are back! You were really really cute as a sheep Caleb, but you couldn't cast the tower. Can you do that, and we can do the hero's feast, and rest, and -" Fjord cut her off.

"Jes, we might need to figure out where Lucien and Cree went first before we are safe taking a long rest."

Right. Lucien.

The whole reason that being a sheep had been initially a very nice experience. He could stop thinking about Lucien. And, well, what wasn't Lucien.

"You good?" Beau was in his head, and he turned his head to look for her and realize he was still on his hands and knees next to Essek. As the embarrassment crawled up his neck, and thump his ass to the ground and took a moment before responding.

"Is good even an option at the moment?"

"Fair. But like, right now, you are in check? That was pretty reckless teleporting like that."

Caleb found her standing 10 feet away, shifting uncomfortably and staring at him. Instead of answering he just nodded his head, he wasn't sure if it was a lie or not but Beau took it.

They had decided that the tower wouldn't be a good idea until they knew they were safe, and the dome and a short rest would have to do for now. They had set up their quick camp in between two of the unfamiliar buildings, thinking that to be safer than out in the open. The alley was only 15 feet wide, but opened out to two large streets that hopeful they could get away quickly if need be. Caleb was not really paying attention though, all of his swirling thoughts and overthinking came back. What they were facing was …. daunting. There were too many unknowns, questions, and possibilities to think through and make a plan. Lucien has proven to be incredibly powerful, but also impossibly confusing. None of them really knew what he wanted, or why he wanted them to be there to watch. Whatever it was, it could not be good.

Lucien said he wanted to make dreams come true through his reign, it was vague and threatening enough to send a chill through Caleb’s spiking hope. Caleb had only one dream at that moment, and that was that all of his friends made it safely home from Aeor alive. All of them. It was an impossible dream, especially since he wasn't sure how many friends he had here in this strange city.

A purple hand was resting on his knee as he sat in the dome, eating and tuning out the Mighty Nein’s arguing. Caducess had healed Essek as much as he was able, but the other wizard was still clearly very tired and out of his element. It was the second time that day Essek had reached out to Caleb, well if you could count petting him through his shock of the battle, while Caleb was numbly enjoying being a mindless sheep. Normally this would have caused a little rumble of warmth and pleasure in Caleb’s chest. They had been through so much as of late, and despite it all, Caleb would be lying if he said he wasn't beginning to feel more than just friendship for the other man. However, right now, the sight of those purple fingers touching him was causing his vision to become watery, and his chest tighten with anxiety.

They were reminding him of the one thought he didn't want to dwell on, the dangerous suspicion he had not said out loud yet to anyone. They reminded him of a very different friendship that, while short, had influenced almost every choice he had made in the last year or so. Had encouraged him to see himself as more than just the worthless scars of his past, worthy of love and caring from his friends, and to leave things better than when he found them. These dark purple hands brought back memories of lavender ones that were quick to help him up when he had fallen, slap him when he was lost, and to embrace him when he was lonely. A lavender that now was being worn by a man that did not deserve them, or the memories attached to them that he claimed not to have, but still seemed to affect him.

Caleb said nothing, not just for fear of how the others would react, but how it might be their undoing. He had tested this theory a few times now, with different degrees of success. The other’s had too, but he wasn't sure they had known what they could be doing at the time. Beau couldn't help annoying Lucien, it was just in her nature. And Jester, how for all the God’s she had pulled those cards was beyond him, but it had clearly had an effect. And now, despite having multiple opportunities, Lucien had not killed them, but rather invited them to the show. But what if ….

No, he couldn't think about that, he had to push it aside. If him and his found family were going to make it through this alive, he could not continue to entertain this dangerous thought. They - he - had to focus on the problem at hand, and that was what they were going to do next time -

“So you have paid for your ticket I see. Why don't you come see the preview of my show?”

You would have thought a spell had been cast to turn Caleb and Beau into stone, for how suddenly ridged they had gotten. It was too soon. They hadn't had any time to rest, plan, they could not survive another brutal confrontation. Essek’s hand tightened on Caleb’s knee, a silent quention, one that he didn't have an answer for. He slowly met Beau’s eyes from across the dome where she sat next to a very nervous Yasha.

“I promise, you all will make it to the main event, as long as you come and be a friend.”

“Beau, is it him? Is it - is it Lucien?” Yasha was strong, but her normally quiet voice that was now shaking was giving away how distressed she was. Caleb knew this had been all very hard for her, watching Lucian reak havoc on them while wearing the face of her oldest friend. It was part of why Beau, wanting so badly to comfort her new girlfriend, had been extremely cautious as of late, trying to minimize the damage when possible. However, she was clearly losing her cool at the moment. Beau was firmly holding on to Caleb’s attention as the now visible anger was tensing all of her muscles, causing her words to be more spat than spoken.

“The dick couldn’t even let us eat in piece before fucking around with us again.”

The dome was very quiet, as they all were incredibly aware how vulnerable they were, and how they couldnt even tuck tail and run if they wanted. They were not just tired, but not nearly healed enough, and so emotionally worn out from the excitement of the day that none of them were capable of a wise thought. Maybe that's why he did it.

Caleb dispelled the dome and stood. It's not like the dome provided safety to them from Lucien if he wanted their attention, he would just dispel the magic. Besides, he couldn't leave it in place and do what he was about to.

“I will go speak with him. You all can stay here, it would be safer.” He said. Beau had already led the way once today, and she was clearly too wrung out to be asked to do that again. Lucien had not said all of them needed to go, and for whatever his promise was worth, he claimed not to want to hurt him yet.

“Like hell you will.” Veth had since returned to her normal size, but her shrill voice cut through all of the tenuous silence of the others, unleashing a new wave of arguing. Caleb was tired of the back and forth, the fear, the unknown. He just wanted to get this over with, and if the Gods had any mercy left, would get Lucien to leave them alone long enough to get a bit of sleep. Hell, if he had to welcome Lucien back in his tower so that he could get some rest so that he could think through whatever upcoming plans Lucien had, he was just about ready to do that.

The only one who caught him walking about from the group in the dark was Essek, the others too busy rehashing old plans they already knew weren't going to work. “Where do you think you are going?” He hissed in the dark as Caleb followed Lucien’s mental pull.

“I am going to get some answers. Please go back with the others, you will be safer.”

“Do not pretend to care for my safety when you are carelessly abandoning yours.” Essek could have just replied with a thought, but he did not, choosing to let his commanding voice echo in the dark, bouncing off the alley walls, destroying any chance Caleb had to slip away from the others.

Veth and Jester were already on their way to drag him back when they all saw the familiar pair of red glowing eyes heading towards them in the direction Caleb had been heading.

“I thought I would continue to be a gracious host and meet you halfway.” Lucien said aloud, his gaze trained on Caleb.

“How thoughtful.” Caleb didn't even try to contain his sarcastic weariness. “Where is Cree?” He had just needed a couple more hours of not thinking about this man, what the future held, and the danger they were all in. Just a couple of hours and then maybe Caleb could have thought of a plan for survival. As it was, Lucien was making large confidant strides towards him, and Caleb felt himself stumbling back to the others.

“She is waiting for me, getting the show prepared.” He offered, as though it was the only natural answer.

“What the fuck do you want Lucien? We followed you through, we haven't tried to attack you, should that earn a fucking moment for ourselves before you drag through whatever stupid shit you have planned?” Caleb had been right, Beau was not in the right frame of mind to be talking to Lucien right now. Maybe that was what he wanted though, his usual annoyance at her was missing, and he was grinning a fang laced snarl at her.

“Now, I promise you I have no ‘stupid shit’ planned.” He said, with an amused condescension that Caleb was sure irritated Beau as much as it did him.

“Are you patronizing me, Lucien? That’s two promises you have made in the last five minutes that I doubt you plan on fucking keeping.” She snapped back. The tieflings smile disappeared, replaced with confusion. Genuine shock at something Beau had said, his guard only dropped for a moment, and Caleb could swear those red pupiless eyes flickered for a moment. He had twitched again, but it faded, and with it lost any good humor he had.

“No, was hoping that you’re going to patronize me. Would rather me reward your group's bravery in joining me here to witness the greatness magic you’ll ever experience, with simply killing you before you get the chance? It would not change any of my plans.” His words came as a growl, a threat. That voice had once been on their side, threatening violence to those that aimed to hurt the Mighty Nien, not directed at them.

“No,” Caleb sighed, trying to gain back a bit of control. “We have come as requested as friends, not foe, for the time being.” The silence was heavy for a moment, the tension thick as none of the Nien knew how to proceed. Jester eventually spoke up.

“So, are you gonna like … tell us what’s going on or like whatever. Because if not, we would really like to finish eating.” Jester was trying to sound cheery, motivating Lucien with her effortless charm to give him more information. However, Caleb’s mind was still lingering on that twitch he had seen, just a moment ago. His suspicion was full force now in the front of his mind, he couldn't shake it, no matter how foolish or unlikely. Maybe his exhaustion was making him soft, it was definitely clouding his judgement, but a plan was starting to form in his head. A foolish plan. More of an experiment, but if was all he had without magic. Caleb was suddenly grateful for his perfect memory, the one that allowed him to remember every word those purple lips had ever spoken to him or around him. All of seemingly wise words and quickly spun bullshit.

“Now Jester, you know his mother always told him to never give away a story for free.” Caleb interjected before Lucien could respond. His red eyes snapped to him, but almost as soon as they did they unfocused. They were surely going to argue with him, ask him why he was appearing to take Lucien’s side, so he quickly pressed on. “So friend,” he directed at the tiefling in front of him, unable to conceal more sarcasm in calling him friend, “ you clearly wanted us here for a reason. You wanted us to come make ourselves useful. Tell me, how can we be the chaos you want to see in the world.”

You would have thought Caleb had struck the blood hunter, his whole lavender form constricting for a moment. Tearror, fear, uncertainty, all flitting across his face before settling on anger. It didn't take Lucien more than two steps to reach Caleb, roughly pushing him back into the alley wall.

“Get the fuck out of my head Widogast.”

Caleb was paralyzed with fear, his half formed plan had had an effect, but now what. He couldn't raise his eyes to meet Lucien’s, knowing they were clear again, and staring him down with venom.

“I was not in your head. Whatever is there, whomever is there, is not of my own doing. I know you do not want to remember anything, do not want anybody else’s baggage in your head, their problems, thoughts, ideas.” Caleb was taking a gamble speaking to Lucien telapaically, but he wanted to make his appeal as deep as possible, take any ounce of luck he might have. Lucien froze again, his eyes impossibly wide with fear. He was too close to Caleb for him to get away, his grip strong on the shoulder that he shoved back against the wall, and pain was ripping through Caleb’s fear. Fire began to curl around his finger tip automatically, just in case this foolish plan went south. Before Caleb could continue though, he caught out of the corner of his eye, Essek preparing a spell, no doubt in effort to save Caleb. But Lucien simply removed his claws from Caleb’s shoulder for a moment, waving angrily to dispel any and all magic around him sending Essek flying backwards in force, and replaced his hand now around Caleb’s throat.

“If any of you so much as think a thought of magic, I will wring his throat until he is dead.” Lucien spat, but his eye still seemed to have lost their sheen, not that the others could see it. Caleb knew he had to act quickly, before Lucien fully came out of his daze that his words had left him in.

“Don't worry, the only thing magical here is you my friend.” Despite the pressure on his neck, and the searing pain in his shoulder, Caleb reached a hand up between them and pressed it lightly to Lucien’s lavender cheek. He stroked it ever so softly. The grip lightened, and the tiefling looked as though the ground had been pulled from under him. The rest of the Mighty Nien must have noticed the change, because they all went still and were watching the odd exchange, none of them knowing what Caleb was saying. The red eyes that had been nearly boiling with rage moment ago, almost looked like a dull pale ruddy marbles, not focused on anything but whatever was going on inside. Purple limbs were trembling around him, not backing away from Caleb, but unable to move other than to shake.

Caleb threw up a silent prayer to the Moonweaver. Hells, to the Wildmother, to the Luxon, to the Traveler. He was going to need any ounce of favor he could garner for what he was going to do next. Keeping his hand on Lucien’s cheek, he used his other hand to guide the now limp and trembling fingers away from his throat, and interlocked them with his. It had been so long since he had gotten to hold these hands, he had to force himself not to look down at them and try and take them all in. Instead, Caleb pushed himself away from the alley wall, closer to the dazed and confused blood hunter, and placed his lips to the man’s forehead.

He was just as warm as Caleb remembered. A curl falling in front of his face as he leaned in to Caleb’s kiss.

“Caleb!” The surprised voice rang through his head like a beautiful chime announcing the morning was here. There was no anger, no hint of condensation, just surprise and … joy. Caleb was failing in his attempt not to hope, his kiss lingered longer than it should, not wanting to face whatever ugly expression could be back on that handsome face. But when he pulled away, he got a smile. His knees nearly gave out in relief, but the free lavender hand was wrapping around him, keeping him upright and from pulling away farther.

“Caleb!” He was now speaking to him outloud, saying his name light a gasp. The smile dancing on his lips was light, it was sweetly mischievous, and not a lick of malice. Then in his head, “Caleb, darling, would you be so kind as to help me get this fucker out of my body.” It wasnt a demand, but a plea to a friend. Caleb felt an almost immediate draining of any will power that was keeping him from hoping, freeing his inhibition. He had no idea how to get Lucien out of this body, but he knew how to draw this voice closer. Closer to him, hopeful never to go again.

The hand that had been resting on a lavender cheek, now threaded through deep purple curls, pulling the tiefling as close as Caleb could get him, lips fitting together perfectly, if a bit desperately. He could hear Jester’s attempt to stifle a gasp, Beau non-attemp to yell “What the fuck!”, Fjord’s chuckle and then loud whisper at Veth to “Just hold on, give’em a minute”. But Caleb didn't care, not sure if he ever would. This kiss was bright, gentle, and held all these unexplored feelings he hadn't wanted to explore on his own. The ones he had just started to open up when death seemed to come and stop him, the ones of accepting love and forgetting guilt. And then there were ones he continued to explore on his own and with his friends, trying to make this world a better place.

Caleb let himself feel the joy in this moment, choosing not to care for now if it would last. The kiss was long, embarrassingly so, arms were still wrapped around him with no indication of release, so he just leaned into it. He didn't know how to banish Lucien, but he felt himself reach out in his mind, and gather up everything that wasnt that evil soul and pull it close. Every good memory, every hopeful moment, every bit of light he could find, he gathered together. Eventually he felt the tiefling chuckle against his lips. The laughter sent such a brilliant sensation of hope, Caleb had to pull away so he could see the face in front of him.

“Mr.Mollymauk Tealeaf?” He inquired, surprised at the hesitation the sent thought had.

“Ja, ja. The one and only Mr.Caleb.” It was no less cute the second time he heard Molly playfully mock his accent with his own barely there one. There was a long moment where the two simply rested their foreheads together, coming down from the incredibly high emotions from the last few minutes. Eventually it was Molly’s turn to pull away and look over Caleb.

“I mean I knew you could clean up pretty, but bless the Moonweaver, how the fuck did you get this handsome?” The easy flirting tone, the one Caleb hadn’t quite gotten used to until it was gone, filled him with more joy then he could possibly hold.

“And you my friend could use a bath and a change into old clothes.” Caleb spoke with a lightness he didn't know he was capable of, laughter lifting up every work. Molly looked down at himself, still water logged from Aeor and missing all of his color.

“You know, I think you are right. Gods this coat should be a sin, a capital offense.” There was no offense in his tone, just mirth. Caleb wanted to reach out and kiss him again, except suddenly Molly was holding him at arms length and looked worried.

“You know he is still in there right? Just … deeper? Like I was.” and the out loud, as though it was an afterthought “He is fighting for center stage. Like fuck I will give it to him with out a proper showdown though.” Even though his words were quite serious, Molly seemed not to let the situation take hold of him, optimism still shining through. Still smiling.

“Gods you two are making quite a show of this, and I really do hate the theater.” An exasperated voice cut through the shocked silence that had taken over the Mighty Nien, and a small wessel wormed its way off of Jester’s shoulder and over to Molly. Before he could say anything, the little quasi-deity of trickery and joy, jumped up to catch him by the wrist and bit down hard. Molly was jumping up and down rather undignified, swatting unsuccessfully at the fey creature but yelling quite a few obscenities. Yasha was the first to break from the Nien, striding over and removing the Traveler from Molly’s wrist without a word.

“What the fuck. Why did a talking rat just bite me Yash?!” Molly was holding his bleeding wrist, looking up at the familiar barbarian like he had never left.

“Excuse me, I would have you know that I am currently a wessel.” The traveler rebuked in what was probably more admonishment then he actually felt.

“Ok, well, whatever the fuck you currently are, why the fuck did you bite me?” But before an answer could be made, Molly was turning to the still stock still group of friends that were currently making no movements to understand all of the events that just happened. “Jester, love, you think you could heal this up? I would hate to make a mess of this lovely drab coat.”

Jester didn't move however, her mouth opened and gaping. Caduceus however was looking between Caleb and Mollymauk, and seemed to be the first to accept what was happening and walked over to Molly. Clasping both his hands the tieflings wrists, he said a prayer of healing without a word.

“Um, thanks. I don't think I have met you before. My name is Mollymauk, but my friends call me Molly.”

Caduceus, is regular form, laughed easily at the introduction. “I am Caduceus, and our friends - well, they call me lots of different names.” Their smiles were easy, that of a fast friendship.

“And the rat-wessel thing that bit me? Does it have a name?” Molly asked.

“Oh, um, that’s the Traveler. At least I think.” Cad spoke as though he was just giving the time of day.

“God’s, and I thought I was good at conning people. Jessie, you really got - oof” Jester slammed her full body weight into Molly, and impossibly, picked up the taller tiefling at the same time.

“If this is a trick, I will never forgive you, I don't care if you are dead Molly, I will really haunt you if you are pranking me!” Jester sounded on the edge of tears.

“Love, how would you haunt me if I was the one that was dead and you weren't?” Molly lovingly replied while stroking Jester's hair while she clung to him.

“Don't underestimate us, we would find a way!” Veth chimed in adding her arms to the hug, despite all she could reach was his thigh.

“Um, I feel like I should know you, but I am not really one to deny a hug.” Molly laughed through obvious confusion at the halfling clinging to his leg.

“It’s Nott you asshole.” she said, never letting go.

“Oh, ok. That makes perfect sense.”

They eventually let go for the others to see, leaving Fjord shaking his head in disbelief, Beau obviously wrestling with either punching or hugging the man, Essek standing back in confusion, and Yasha … arms crossed and distrusting.

“Prove it. Tell me something only he and I would know.” Molly looked a little hurt, but then a wide grin took over his face. The kind he had saved when he had a really great story to tell.

“Well, Yash, there was that time a couple weeks after you brought me to the circus, and I was really trying hard to save up the coin for my first tattoo. And well, I volunteered myself for that ‘after hours’ performance. You being the lovely dear that you are, volunteered with me thinking you would be gentler than the rest, and what was a little rubber and oil between friends. Only, you got me to use a safeword for the firs-” He was tackled for the second time that night, the rest of that story snuffed out by Yasha’s arms.

“I thought we agreed never to bring that up again?!” But she obviously wasnt mad.

Fjord and Beau both broke at the same time, gathering up Molly into a shared embrace. Of course, Beau had to end it with punching him in the shoulder and muttering “asshole” under her breath. Essek was still clinging to the shadows, obviously not wanting to be part of this reunion. Caleb didn’t know how to introduce the two just yet, so instead he clung to the familiar.

“Mollymauk, it seems like we might have a lot to talk about, -”

“Like how you two were KISSING!?” Jester interrupted excitedly.

“Um, well, ah - I meant more of where we are and what to do about Lucien.” Caleb replied.

“You don't have to worry about him anymore.” Sprinkles was once again on Jester’s shoulder, speaking much louder than a wessel should. “I have removed his soul and sent it to the Moonweaver to deal with it. She is a lot better with that kind of thing.”

“Um thanks?” Molly said, clearly still thrown off by the talking fey wessel.

“Not a problem. Besides, I am the only one around here who gets to strangle people until death.” That should have been a horrifying sentence, but Jester was just giggling along with it.

“Ok, before we talk about anything else, you lot wouldn't happen to have my coat? And a place to sleep, I feel like I haven't slept in a year!” Molly playfully whined. He did however look fairly tired. They could get the rest of their questions answered later, all that matter was right now. And right now, they had Molly back with them. Caleb had Molly back.

He couldn't help but shoot the tiefling silly grins as he summoned the tower, looking forward to every next moment Caleb could spend with Mollymauk Tealeaf. Even as he pushed back the guilt of still having Essek by his side.

#critical role #caleb widogast #caleb saves the world #mollymauk is fine #mollymauk tealeaf #i love molly #lucien is an asshole #shadowgast #its still totally a thing and eating caleb alive #mollymauk #i am hopelessly in love with mollymauk and caleb #circus man #its complicated #cr2e136 #cr fanfic #cr fandom

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