#Long narrow maps are the worst for this sort of thing

[thingsmysplattershotjrtoldme]

Squid bagging in the lobby seems to guarantee a reasonably tough battle with people not taking turf war too seriously.

If they don't, 87% of the time they'll just keep you in spawn and shark until you walk by trying to get to mid

[chiffon-and-spice]

Whatever You Say, Merc (Carlos Oliveira x Reader) 18+

(I restarted my account, because I didn't realize I was on my secondary when I posted pffft) 

My A03 Account

Concept: Reader is a member of S.T.A.R.S. and, unlike Jill, is skeptical of Carlos. The whole night she's made her feelings known, and Carlos is starting to get a little fed up...

Raccoon City was a crumbling wasteland at this point. Every hour that ticked by, made the idea of surviving the place seem more hopeless. Every body you stumbled past, increased the tension in your shoulders. Every one of those... things that leapt through a window wound you up like a toy. You had stepped over so much rubble and glass at this point, you could feel tiny pebbles in your shoes. 

Currently, you were shadowing Jill, ready and alert in case Nemesis decided to make any surprise visits. That man... Carlos... was close to Jill, and you never took your eyes off of him. You hoped the man could feel your penetrating gaze burning into his back. 

You studied the Umbrella patch on his shoulder, a feeling of disgust building up inside your stomach. Umbrella. You couldn't believe how effortlessly the man had convinced your partner to trust him. You two would be lucky, if the night didn't end with a bullet in your back. Though perhaps you could shoot the bastard, just before you bled out. At least take him with you. 

However, the more steps you took, the more you questioned the man's intentions. It was just you and Jill... alone out here. Did he not trust his abilities enough to be able to take out both of you? Pathetic. 

As you mumbled the word, your eyes locked with the man, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. Your hand instinctively went to your gun, as you narrowed your eyes at him. You couldn't quite read the expression on his face. Had he known you were talking about him? You held his gaze determined not to falter. 

You were unsure if Jill could notice you two staring each other down, but it didn't matter. You were silently letting the man know if it came down to it, you'd shoot him without any hesitation. That Jill's trust in him didn't at all extend to you.

His expression was somewhat unreadable, and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear his eyes lingered in certain areas of your body, studying it like a painting. The expression he wore was unreadable however, and as quickly as you thought about it, his roaming seemed to stop. Almost like it had never occurred to begin with. 

You relaxed, after he rolled his eyes, his attention going back to Jill. You were pleased to know he looked away first. It instilled a sort of confidence in you. 

As you walked through the wreckage of the area, it slowly started to waver. Part of you felt as if someone... something was watching your little group from afar. Eyes peering out of the darkness, creatures shifting in the shadows waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Though you supposed after walking through the city for so long, that was a normal feeling. You hadn't been alone at all that night. Not really. Those... things... were everywhere. 

You exhaled slowly, shaking the feeling away.

Despite being in the subway tunnels, secluded, it didn't make you feel any safer. In fact, you felt more confined... more trapped, between the narrow walls. Without a map, you didn’t know the area fairly well, nor did you know which tunnels would lead deeper or out.

You were thankful… at least in that aspect to have the man act as some sort of guide. Despite this feeling, you knew better than to relax. Him knowing the tunnels, didn’t mean he was taking you to safety. He could be leading the pair right into a trap. 

You took note of anything that stood out, in each hallway you passed. A slanted sign here, an overturned bench there, and a long crack along the concrete there. You counted your steps, silently keeping track of just how many it was since entering the area. How many you’d have to take if the worst came to happen and you and Jill had to turn back. 

Jill is the first to speak... killing the silence.

"You're really not going to say anything at all?"

She didn't have to address you, you knew the statement was directed at you.

"Don't have much else to say, other than what's already been stated. So for the sake of everyone, I'll restrain myself." 

"Yes, because you've been so charitable tonight," the man replied. 

Jill exhaled loudly, shaking her head. Probably because she was already fed up with the clear issues that remained between the two of you. Undoubtedly she was regretting trying to get you and him to talk. 

"You're still alive aren't you?" you snapped back. 

"Oh how generous. I could say the same thing about you, princess."

"That's because you know Jill would put a bullet in your skull. You'd be stupid to attack one of us. Not when we’re both on high alert."

"If I didn’t know better, I'd take that as a compliment." 

Jill groaned, shooting the both of you a glare, before shaking her head. 

"Could the two of you please... just try not to tear into each other. There's enough of that happening already. At least, not until we get out of the city. Then you two can blow holes into each other all you want." 

You said nothing, but pushed past the man, content to be back in silence. The idea of putting a few bullet holes in him gave you enough motivation to not even care that he had gotten the last word in. You felt the muscles in your back tense up a bit, the offer not necessarily relieving of the tension.

You were gripping your gun so tightly, your knuckles were growing pale, as you pressed forward. Jill and the Umbrella merc were filling the silence in their own way, speaking quietly to each other. Knowing Jill, you knew it wasn’t the childish gossip sometimes shared around the Police Department. You still strained your ears regardless, curious about what the two of them could even be talking about. 

As you listened, your gaze once again raked over the man, almost subconsciously. You couldn’t help but take small notes. The way his black shirt clung tightly to his biceps, his green vest hugging against his back, the curve of his spine. How his pants seemed to somewhat hang off of him yet also cling- 

You shook your head rolling your eyes at yourself. You didn’t care how good looking this man was, it changed nothing. The better looking something was usually alluded to just how dangerous they really were. 

Unlike before, you hoped the man hadn’t noticed your gaze. You felt your cheeks flush, as embarrassment crept along your neck. You gulped quietly to yourself, darting your gaze anywhere but at the man. Reminding yourself of who he worked for. What people like him were capable of. 

You focused once again, keeping your eyes from looking anywhere but at the man. You had gotten so distracted now, you’d lost count of your numbers. This of course, only made you more annoyed with the man that accompanied you. It was his fault. You turned to glare at him once more, but were shocked to find the man’s brown eyes already staring at you. Jill was still talking, not noticing that his attention was elsewhere.

His face held a smug look on it, and it was almost like the atmosphere changed. Your breath hitched in your throat, however, you didn’t dare look away. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of making you back down.

You simply returned his gaze with a special look of your own. Your shoulders tensed as your teeth ground together, your knuckles starting to hurt from the tightness of your fingers around the gun. What really got under your skin, was the smirk that graced his lips, after seeing your face. 

How he turned his head away, even seemed like a slap to the face. Despite not being the one to back down, you still felt as if you had lost. You were thankful for the moment to be forgotten, as the tunnel erupted with a low growl. 

You quickly turned, raising your gun. In a matter of seconds, the sound was met with the all too familiar looming face of the tyrant. He was slowly making his way down the hall, easily spotting the three of you making your way around. He was unlike any other virus victim you’d ever seen before. 

“Go! Go! Now!” Jill shouted, ushering you forward. The three of you began racing down the tunnel, not entirely sure where to go from here. The man took the lead, seeming certain of where to go. 

Jill turned once or twice, to shoot the tyrant, which worked about as well as using your hands to chop down a tree. The thing pressed forward quicker, opening its mouth, as it let out an annoyed scream. 

“STARS!”

The only thing it ever said. The creature’s voice was rough and gravely, making your insides squirm. If you guys didn’t come up with a plan soon, you’d be dead. 

Before you could think more, the man is reaching a gate to your right. He presses a button, as it loudly shakes to life, lifting up. You press through, knowing that the gate wasn’t going to contain the Tyrant. Jill seemed well aware of this fact too, glancing around before making a split second decision.

“You guys move ahead, I’ll distract it and meet up with you on the train,” she explained, quickly rolling under the gate as it came to a close. The button on the other side. 

“Jill, are you crazy!” you screamed in protest. 

“Get back here!” the man shouted back. 

You rolled your eyes, watching as Jill called out to the tyrant. Your attempts at getting the girl to come back were futile, and as the Nemesis approached, the man started pulling you back. 

“We have to go.”

You glared at him, but didn’t argue, rushing in the opposite direction that Jill had gone. You knew Jill was a strong member, but even she had her limits. If anything happened to her, you were definitely going to kill the man beside you. 

After what felt like forever, you and the man finally reached a spot that brought you relief. The train. It would only be a matter of time until Jill was reunited with you. That feeling was quickly shattered, once you were reminded of the merc she had left you with. You didn’t dare glance in his direction, making your way on the train.

You froze, after discovering it was empty, half expecting to feel a gun press into the back of your head. He planned this, he had to have. He wanted to separate you and Jill. You weren’t going to back down without a fight.

“You just let her go off like that, this is what you wanted the whole time wasn’t it? I bet you lured us down here, knowing no one was going to be here. You knew you wouldn’t be able to bring us both down on your own.”

The man scrunched his nose up in response, closing the train door. You could see his shoulders tighten, confusion clouding his eyes. 

“Oh jesus… you’re still on about that. Look, whatever personal qualm you have with Umbrella has got nothing to do with me okay? I don’t know what you think you know about-”

You cut him off before he could finish, scoffing, as you shook your head. This man was unbelievable right now. Either he thought he could manipulate you, the way Umbrella loved to do with the general public, or he truly had no clue who he was working for. Both answers made your insides shake.

“What I think I know? How much do you actually know about your company? Do you even know what Umbrella does?” 

“Do you?” he challenged. 

You let out a sarcastic laugh, gesturing to the city. 

“This! This is what Umbrella does, they create chaos and use idiots like you to clean up their mess.”

“Umbrella is trying to do good work, our special forces haven’t done any different than what you STARS have been doing.” 

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. 

“Don’t ever compare me to you. You’re just like that thing out there. I bet there’s a number of STARS member’s blood on your hands. Unlike you I have honor and I know what I’m fighting for.”

You weren’t sure what part of what you’d said set him off. Perhaps it was putting yourself on a pedestal. Perhaps it was blaming him for the death of others. Or even questioning his honor. It could be that after hearing so many of your snarky remarks and threats, he was finally sick of it. Whatever the reason, he was now by you in a matter of seconds, pinning you between himself and the train. 

A dark look crossed his eyes, but you didn’t dare back down, holding that same glare. 

“I have tried so hard with you… But you’re really getting on my last nerves,” he growled. 

“Right back at you merc.” you quipped back. 

“That’s not even what we are, I have a name you know.” 

“I’m just calling you how Umbrella sees you. Someone they pay to clean up their messes, an unnamed nobody. An expendable hired gun. A Merc.”

You were unsure why, but the nickname seemed to really get under his skin. His hands pressed tighter against the train, blocking you in, and his lips were pulled into a straight line, teeth gritting into each other.

“Quite it,” he demanded. His eyes unveiled so much  more than the two words, almost threateningly.

“Make me.”

You were startled at how those words seemed to affect him. The air in the room suddenly felt unbearably hot, and you felt small and weak under his gaze. You were startled, when you felt his knee press up between your thighs. 

Suddenly the coolness from the train against your clothed back, felt too cool. His body is so close to yours it sets off a fire inside of you. Your feet, which had been so firmly planted before, were starting to slip, your knees wobbling. It was very clear the energy in the small contained area had shifted. 

After not seeing you resist or pull away he continued, his left hand moving from the train to your shoulder, gently brushing to your back. 

“I knew I wasn’t losing my mind back there,” he whispered, wearing a devious grin. 

Slowly his hand continued, moving down. The only thing keeping it away from your skin was the jacket you wore. The tips of his fingers brushing along your spine sent chills throughout your body. You were thankful for the man’s knee, certain without it and the help of the train you’d have fallen over from his touch. 

“You were checking me out. Is that what this is really about? You can’t stand the fact that you’ve got the hots for someone like me.”

As he spoke, his face came closer to yours, his lips just ghosting above your neck. You closed your eyes in anticipation, your heart racing. You chewed your bottom lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction. It didn’t matter though. You didn’t have to reply for him to get his answer. He already knew. 

You were instantly filled with disappointment, after no longer feeling his breath on your neck. When you opened your eyes, his hand had stopped on the small of your back, and his face was now far away from your neck. 

The merc stared at you smugly, carefully moving to your ear, his voice a low whisper. 

“I have a name…” 

“Merc,” you spat back defiantly. 

You felt the pressure between your thighs slowly slip away, his hand returning to the train. It took everything in you not to let out a noise of protest, your knees shaking. 

“Not the answer I was looking for,” he continued, his mouth so close to your ear you could feel his hot breath. 

You glared back, certain he wanted this just as badly as you did. You held your ground, not wanting to give this man the satisfaction. Not willing to risk your already bruised pride, just from being turned on by this man. 

His arms slowly dropped, as he started to back away, making your heart rate quicken. Such simple movements, made your thighs shake, a desperate voice screaming inside your head. Your skin was on fire, as he turned around. The opportunity was slipping away as quickly as it came. 

“Carlos…” you whispered, not daring to meet his eye. Annoyed more than anything that he had won this little game. 

He seemed to perk up, hearing his name, as he turned back towards you. The man’s hand didn’t return to your back, but he was back to trapping you between himself and the train. You only grew more annoyed with the smug look he wore on his face, as he slowly raised his leg once more. His knee didn’t quite brush along you, but it was close enough you were already starting to ache for him. 

“You say something estrella? I don’t think I quite heard you,” he teased, his mouth returned to your neck. His lips didn’t touch the skin, but you could feel his breath once more, and you hated how desperate you were for it. 

“Oh screw y- Oooh, ah,” you started, but let out a moan, as his knee brushed a little bit into you. Despite wearing pants, they did little to block the sensation. As quickly as the pressure was there, it was released. 

“Carlos… Carlos…” you pleaded softly, stunned by your own reaction. This man had you in a chokehold, and it made your stomach churn. You couldn’t tell if you were angry with him or yourself, but you were feeling too good right now to even care. With everything he was doing, you were starting to question why you had hated the man to begin with. 

“Oh? So now you know my name,” he teased, gently kissing along your neck. You threw your head back in response, letting out your own little noise. In a matter of seconds, he already had you so worked up. 

“Fuck you,” you replied, though the aggression in your voice seemed to fade with each syllable, as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot on your skin. 

“Mmm…” was all you could manage, surrendering completely to the man’s touch. Your hands carefully snaked around his neck, as he grabbed your thighs, pulling you up. You wrapped your legs around the man’s waist, startled when you felt something through his pants. It wasn’t its presence that made you gasp, more so its size. 

“Working on it,” he replied in a cocky tone, as his hands made their way slowly up your back, reaching underneath your jacket and shirt. 

His fingertips were hot against your cool skin, sending a flurry of emotions through your body. The smell of sweat and blood filled your nostrils, as his hair brushed along your nose. It was the perfect little mess, as your fingers moved up to pull through it. 

He let out a little laugh against your skin, making a pleasurable noise of his own. You couldn’t help but feel satisfied, doing so again. This must be why he kept it so untamed. 

You frowned, feeling the uncomfortable vest pressing against your chest. Carlos was already moving to another part of your neck, the place he had been kissing before starting to blossom a soft red.

As he slowly put you back down, pulling away, he made quick work to peel off your jacket, eyeing the tight fitting shirt underneath. Despite still being mostly clothed, it wasn’t hard to make out the curves of your body. Just studying your form seemed to drive the man mad.

You made quick work, fiddling with the straps on his vest, when he grabbed your hand gently, giving you a challenging look. There was a playful glint in his eye. 

“Eager to see what’s underneath?” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes at the man, dropping your hands to your side. 

“If you’re not going to let me-”

You were cut off, as his hands grabbed your waist, once again pulling you close. 

“You’re not in control here,” Carlos breathed against your neck. 

Before you could protest, you felt his hand slip down the front of your pants, causing you to let out a little gasp. His kisses grew more aggressive, biting your skin a little, as he began trailing up to your jaw. With his free hand, he grabbed your jaw, making you look at him. His aggression made your whole body shake, as you stared at him. Your heart was racing, and you were completely at this man’s mercy. 

“Understand?” he asked, his lips slowly pulling away from your jaw so he could stare at you. 

You nodded, unsure how to get the words out. Before you could, you felt his fingers gently pull your pants down, causing your legs to almost cave. He smiled at the sight, as he roughly pulled your pants off, pushing you against the train once again. 

“Good girl…” he whispered, pressing himself between your thighs. Carefully he grabbed your hands, moving them to his vest. You two made quick work of the item, discarding it like your own garments. 

With the vest gone, you studied the man’s torso. His shirt was so tight, you were certain it would resist being pulled off, but you removed it with ease. Once his shirt was gone, he attacked you again, with a bit more ferality, biting your shoulder. 

As you let out a moan, he used the opportunity to move to your lips, pressing his tongue inside your mouth. Your stomach exploded from the movements, as the noise echoed in his mouth. You could feel his smirk against your lips, pressing against you roughly. You let out a slight groan of disappointment as he pulled away, his hands under your shirt.

At the noise he stopped, towering over you. You felt small compared to him, eyes scanning his face. Despite the fact that he didn’t wear any particular expression, you could see the hunger in his eyes. 

He quickly pulled your shirt over your head, kissing along the top of your breasts. He let out an annoyed grunt, pulling your bra strap down your shoulder. You were surprised at the sound of a pop, as the strap snapped from his aggressive pulling. Either he was really strong or that was cheaply made. 

Either way, the two of you didn’t linger on it, as he made quick work of the other one, throwing the garment beside him. 

Once there was nothing blocking him from his prize, he attacked again, running his tongue along the sensitive parts. You moaned, your body taking the shape of his hands, as your hips bucked in response. Feeling his hot breath against your now exposed skin, made your whole body quiver. You could feel his smug smile against your skin, which made you pull his hair a little aggressively in response. 

It was now his turn to let out a little noise, as he stopped what he was doing. Carlos let out a dark chuckle, his hands slowly slipping down to your hips.

“Oh you’re in for it…” he growled, quickly flipping your body so you were now staring at the train.

Before you could say anything, you felt his hand instantly slip back into your underwear. His fingertips gently brushed against you, touching just enough to garner the response he wanted. Your hips bucked into his hand, as you threw your head back into his bare chest. 

He was pressing careful kisses and bites along your shoulder. His fingers are just barely entering you, moving in slow and broken movements. It left a desire burning, unfulfilled. 

“Carlos…” you groaned in annoyance. The teasing was really starting to get old. “Either fuck me or move so I can-”

You weren’t even sure what you were going to say, as you felt two fingers ram inside of you, in fast curling motions. It makes your legs buckle, your hips shifting into his hand, trying to match his movements. As quickly as he’s picked up the speed, he stopped, his free hand roughly massaging your boob.

“What did I say?” he asks, biting down a little harder on your nipple.

You let out a slight whimper, mixed with a moan, as you feel his fingers moving once again. Despite the man having pretty large hands, they left something to be desired. The pressure of his body against your back was enough to make up for something lacking. 

You hated how easily he managed to control you with just a few touches. 

“Do your job then,” you snarled back in response. 

Carlos quickly pulled his hand out of you, tearing your underwear off in a quick motion. He had pulled at the fabric with such ferocity, there was now a little hole in the side. You gasped, as he turned you around once again, not giving you much time to adjust.

Carlos’s body crashed into yours, as he covered your torso in rough kisses and bitemarks. He was taking his sweet time with you, trailing his tongue along certain parts of your skin. Sucking on just the right parts to give a groan here and a twitch there. When he pulled back, he gazed at your naked body for a moment, that same dark hunger from before lingering in his eyes. 

“I’ve been wanting to see you like this all night,” he purred, hovering over you. 

You rolled your eyes, grabbing his pants by the belt loop, and pulling his waist closer to you. With his shirt off, your eyes raked his body. It was covered in a few bruises, probably from the events of all night. His chest was about as hairy as you’d expected, however as your gaze moved down it thinned out to a happy trail, hiding away in his pants.

“I’ve been wanting to shoot you all night, so I don’t think we had quite the same fantasies,” you remarked back. 

Carlos quickly grabbed your hand, eyeing you. At first, you’re worried the comment upset him, however it only seemed to turn him on more. He held you in his gaze, pinning your arms above your head, as your back connected with the train once again. 

“You sure about that… I think we have been, yours were just a little more aggressive than mine,” he breathed. 

You scoffed, but did little, as he rendered you completely defenseless. You hated the smug look on his face, knowing you enjoyed every second of it. Knowing that you were going mad with the desire at the idea of being his little plaything. He was completely in control, and he knew it. 

Carefully, he let go of your hands, slipping off his own belt and pants. He was moving at a painfully slow rate, causing you to tackle him and land on the seats on the other side. 

Carlos was startled by your movements, letting out a little gasp, before replacing it with a quiet chuckle. You made quick work with his pants, while he laid under you, a curious look in his gaze. 

“It’s about time you took the hint. I’d been waiting for you to pounce on me, since I noticed your lingering eyes back there in the tunnels.”

You rolled your eyes, not even giving him time to sit up, as you slid his boxers off too.

“I’m waiting for you to hurry up-”

You let out a startled gasp, as Carlos’s hands grabbed your ass, turning himself on top of you. Based on the glint in his eyes, he liked making you think you had a little bit of power, only to take it away as soon as you got comfortable. 

Staring up at him in the dim light of the train, made your heart race. Despite being unable to make out every detail on his face, you could still see how he stared at you, ready to claim you as his own. His hands ran along your body, as he trailed kisses down your stomach. You wrapped your legs around his waist, never wanting him to leave. 

The way your bodies responded to each other, sent a jolt through your veins. Your hands, tangling more into that mess of hair. His body was warm against your own, his movements feral. 

Carlos slowly made his way back up, positioning himself just above you. 

“When you’re not staring at me like you want me to die, you’re actually… beautiful.”

“Aww, and when I look at you as nothing but a warm body, you become a lot more bearable.”

You half expected him to say some smart ass comment, but instead your hips jerked a bit, as you felt him slowly start to ease into you. You let out a slight moan, wrapping your hands around his neck. 

“I don’t think I’ve been rough enough with you, if you think you can talk to me like that.” he grumbled, his mouth once again finding itself by your ear, his breath gently grazing it. 

Carlos gently rocked his hips into you, not quite going all the way in just yet. Looking at him, you couldn’t help but blush. While this absolutely wasn’t your first dalliance, this man was definitely the biggest you ever had. 

His hand made its way to your thigh, lifting it to allow himself a better hold. You were growing impatient, aching for his touch. For him to completely wreck your insides. You ran your hands down his chest, staring up at him.

“What, what do you want?” he whispered seductively, no longer even moving in you. The look in his eyes told you he knew exactly what you wanted. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. You smirked, an idea forming in your head. If he was going to get you all hot and bothered you were going to do the same.

Your fingers slowly curled into his hair, as you gave it a gentle tug, leaning forward. You kissed softly along his neck, a smirk forming on your lips.

“Don’t make me beg, merc.”

At the word, Carlos instantly grabbed your hands, pinning you down on the train seat. One hand held your arms above your head, as the other one snaked to your jaw, gripping it.

“You trying to piss me off?” he growled. 

The tone made your temperature increase, as well as that pulsing between your thighs. This man was unlocking parts of you that you didn’t even know existed. Hell, just knowing that you two weren’t perfectly safe drove that desire further. Added to the pleasure of the experience. 

“Depends what happens if you’re pissed-”

You were cut off, startled at how quickly he slammed into you, no longer gently easing in. It made your thighs clench around him, making your whole body squirm against him. The pain was fading, as you started to adjust to his size. 

“You want to test my patience?” Carlos snarled, biting rather harshly on your neck. You were certain it’d leave a bruise. 

“Me-”

You couldn’t even get the word out, as Carlos quickly pulled back, railing into you once again. Your hands tightened around his hair, as you let out another noise of discomfort, biting your lip.

“I’m going to fuck that word out of you

“I’m waiting,” you replied, startled when he stopped once again.

He was completely towering over you, his dark eyes narrowed. You knew exactly what he wanted. What he was thinking about. He said little else, instead pressing his lips rather aggressively against your own. Carlos’s tongue ran along your lips, forcing its way forward. You let out a slight gasp, as he bit down on your bottom lip, allowing him entrance. 

Caught off guard by the kiss, he increased the speed in his thrusts, hitting you in all the right places. The sounds coming from your mouth seemed to echo in the train, as you raked your nails down his back.

The movement seemed to only act as a compliment to Carlos’s work, as he worked his way around inside you. With every hit, you had the breath knocked out of you, a sweaty whimpering mess underneath his large tan body. 

He slowly pulled back from the kiss, his eyes penetrating your skin. It sent such a rush through you, almost as if you were being fucked twice. You loved how he grabbed your jaw, forcing your face to stare back at him. He was smirking once again, as he let out a dark chuckle that made you tingle all over. Carlos’s lips slowly made their way back down your neck, kissing across your chest. 

“You might still call me merc, but I fucked that angry look off your face. After tonight, you won’t be able to look at me any other way, than how you’re looking now. Pleading, as your little body bounces beneath me. I wonder what else I can make you do for me…”

With each little bite, his lips caressing and moving to different sections of your skin, you grew cold and hot all over. His hips were becoming more eager, moving so fast, you were starting to see stars. Mixed with the pleasure of his lips all over his body, you could feel yourself starting to lose yourself. 

As you threw your head bad, reaching just the right moment.

“Ahhh…,” you started moaning, moving your hips along with his rhythm. Desperate to feel his full length against you. “I’m… so…”

“Just scream my name. That one simple thing, and I’ll give you what you want.” 

Simple thing. He knew what he was asking for. What it would mean to you. You had already moaned his name in pleasure once. He wanted you to submit to him completely. To show that you’d listen to his every command. 

“Dick,” you muttered, unable to hold your glare, as your expression quickly twisted with pleasure. 

The moment didn’t last long, his movements growing slow and sloppy. 

“Come on, I know how desperately you want to. You’ve already marked me. Tell me, what I wanna hear,” Carlos replied in a playful tone, referring to the nail marks that ran down his back and the few bite marks along his body. 

“Fuck…” you breathed, aggressively rubbing your hips into him. 

He bucked against you gently, that same smug look on his face. 

“Give me a reason to scream.”

Carlos seemed to perk up at the challenge, startling you. You had thought you’d experienced everything he had to offer, but the way his hips rolled against you made you let out a light moan in surprise. Your hands found their familiar spot along his back, as you scratched at him once again.

“Carlos! Mmm… please I… Fuck I need you.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, continuing to kiss all over your body. “How much?”

You pressed your now hot body against him, loving the feeling of his hands gripped firmly against your hips. 

“Carlos I-”

You were cut off, as he picked up the pace once again, making everything tighten around him. You felt like you were being sent into overdrive, as your hips did a series of spasms in response, overcome with pure pleasure.

“Carlos!” you moaned out again, trailing your sleepy eyes to meet his. His head was also thrown back, as he let out his own series of pleasured noises, his eyes closed. You could feel him twitch inside of you. 

You both were a panting mess, as he stopped moving, his body still completely pressed against you. Slowly, he pulled out, collapsing.

While laying on you, Carlos rested his chin on your abdomen, looking up at you. You were almost taken aback by the softness in his gaze. It was entirely different from the looks he had been giving you moments ago. 

“What?” you finally asked, after sitting in silence. 

He shook his head softly, pressing a soft kiss above your belly button. 

“When we get out of here, we should get dinner,” 

You let out a little laugh, kinda giving him a little yeah sure look, until you saw he wasn’t laughing. 

“Oh my god, you’re serious.” 

Carlos didn’t seem offended, only smiling in response. You liked how his eyes crinkled when he smiled. How his little nose twitched a little. 

“We clearly work very well together.”

“You still work for Umbrella,” you scoffed. 

“So?”

“So… it’s just a matter of time until we’re put on a mission where we’ll have to go against each other.”

Carlos was gently caressing your thigh, a devious smirk on his face.

“I like when we go against each other.” 

“Caros, I’m serious.” 

“I am to,” he protested, doing a horrible job at maintaining a straight face. 

“Carlos!”

“See, you’re actually using my name now. That’s gotta mean something. Why shouldn’t we?”

“Our jobs!” you answered. 

“We’ve already fucked, I’d say that more than already complicates the situation.”

“I’m not going to throw my life away for some casual affair. Don’t you have women from all over the country lining up for you?”

“None are near as fun as you,” he teased. “And a casual affair? You’re no longer calling me merc, which means you no longer see me as disposable.I don’t think that exactly counts as casual.” 

“God, if I had known you’d be this needy, I wouldn’t have fucked you,” you groaned.

“Yeah you would’ve.”

You couldn’t help but laugh slightly, shaking your head. 

“I’ll tell you what, Merc. We make it out of this city alive, and you happen to be in my area, you can buy me a coffee.” 

You were surprised at the little smile that had slipped on his lips, tilting your head. 

“That doesn’t mean anything else will come out of this.”

“Whatever you say princess,” he teased back.

You two were startled however, when you heard the train doors opening. Instantly you sat up embarrassed, trying to recall where the pieces of your clothing were. They had been carelessly scattered all around the train. 

Carlos didn’t seem as urgent, only pouting, as you got off of you. 

Of course, with your limited time, you were unable to get your clothes back on, as Jill popped her head in. Her eyes widened as she quickly looked away, seeing you two. 

“Jesus, really you two? You couldn’t have waited until after we were safe out of the city. God, how could you be so reckless?” 

You felt your cheeks flush at the lecture, however it was short lived, as Carlos gave your ass a soft pinch. You let out a quiet yelp, trying not to alert Jill, before turning to glare at him. He only smirked, handing you back the bra he had broken. 

“I’ll buy you another one,” he purred against your ear, before slipping by and gathering his own clothes. Your heart raced, as you clutched the clothing, quickly redressing yourself. You were not going to hear the end of it from Jill. 

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Sequestration.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Robotic Bodyguard!OC x Reader.

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Heavy Themes of Isolation/Reliance, Needles, Intimidation, Manipulation Through Health, Reader Wears A Dress And Is Called Princess But Like In A Non-Binary Way, and Codependence.

On your best days, you could remind yourself that life outside the castle probably wouldn’t be any more interesting than life inside of it.

How could it be? You’d never actually been outside, sure, but you’d spent hours staring out of your dust-covered windows, sorting through your mother’s research, walking across the scarred landscape in your holographic enrichment chamber until you came to the end of what the simulation was able to generate or Prince decided that you’d spent enough time thinking about things you shouldn’t, that day. You’d talked to other survivors (real survivors, you mean – you still don’t know if you could really call the way you live ‘surviving’) on your mother’s communication devices and the more primitive radio transceivers you put together yourself, and you knew that it was more routine than anything, that scavenging for food and gathering clean water and praying that, by some miracle, you’d stumble onto one of the few remaining pockets of civilization before that pocket devolves into in-fighting and anarchy was about as much fun as sitting inside and daydreaming about doing the same. You knew how to keep yourself busy; the castle was endless, its rooms countless and the labyrinth of tunnels that ran underneath it endless, and even if you did spend the rest of your life mapping out its every twist and bend, it would’ve taken another to finish the restoration work your mother started. You had enough dried and canned food to last you the next century, and you always kept the indoor garden going strong. You had hobbies, and routines, and when you were absolutely desperate for company, you had Prince. That, you guessed, would never change. No matter what you did, he would be there to guide you through it. No matter where you when, you’d always have Prince on your heels.

On your best days, you could tell yourself that life outside of the castle would be as boring as life inside of it.

On your worst, it was impossible to make yourself believe that anything could be as boring as the life you were living now.

It was a quiet, knotted despair – the kind that lent itself to long days spent consumed by low-burning anxiety and dampened terror and everything else that comes along with knowing you’d likely never take so much as a step outside of the building you’d been born in. You tried to keep it hidden the best you could, to avoid Prince and, by association, one of his well-intended but less than helpful ‘check-ups’, but the inevitable could only be delayed for so long. He found you in one of the castle’s tallest spires, sitting in a bay window spilling over with patterned quilts and velvet-lined pillows. He was already scowling when he appeared by your side, his lips quirked downward and his gaze ever so slightly narrowed. You’d expected as much. He’d always said the spire's damp air would worsen your condition, but according to Prince, nearly everything would worsen your condition. If he had his way, you’d be locked in your library all day and your bedroom all night, and he’d always know exactly where to find you.

He was wearing his holographic form, as he always was – his pink hair pulled back into a perfect low ponytail, his features softened yet well-defined, every part of him manicured and refined in the way a creature who’d been quite literally designed for companionship could be. You’d only seen his true form, his physical form, once; that shambling mess of gears and iron banding, but you could still remember the way it creaked as it moved towards you, the strange dissonance of hearing Prince’s voice and seeing that malformed, mechanical nightmare. You couldn’t be scared of him, not really, not when you knew it was still Prince underneath all that metal and all those jagged edges, but you listened when he warned you away from certain parts of the castle, now.

You didn’t turn to face him immediately, keeping your eyes on the distant landscape until he cleared his throat and took a step toward you. You watched, out of the corner of your eye, as Prince reached out, moving to touch your shoulder before pulling back and letting his hand fall to his side. He couldn’t touch you, not in this form, but he’d try, occasionally. It was an expression of the more human side of his programming, the half that was made to keep you happy, not just safe. You could only imagine what string of numbers could make a being so rational carry so much sentimentality. “I believe it’s past time for your treatment, Your Highness.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, burying your face in the thick fabric of your skirts. “Again? Didn’t I just take my medicine yesterday?”

“Yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. It’s a daily essential. You’d know that if you ever bothered to listen to me.” His frown was gone in a moment, replaced with a small smile and a pleased look in his eyes. “Do you need me to escort you to the clinic?”

“I think I can find it on my own.” You waited for a long beat. When Prince failed to move, failed to respond, you added, “But, if you want to accompany me…”

“It’d be my honor, Highness.”

He waited patiently as you slowly removed yourself from the windowsill, sparing one last look towards the lifeless horizon as you smoothed over your skirts and placed yourself at his side. You couldn’t take his arm, but you didn’t need to. He knew how to keep pace with you, by now, matching your stride as you quietly navigated through the castle’s tangle of empty hallways and overly cluttered rooms. Everything, from the ancient furniture to the box-like sensors posted in the corner of every room to your own sparse decorative touches, was coated in a layer of dust you’d never been able to stave-off. You tried to clean whenever you could, and Prince did his part, but there was just too much to take care of. Your world was, simultaneously, impossibly small and incomprehensibly large, and it was similarly difficult to imagine that you’d ever be able to fill the space or shake off that ever-growing sense of claustrophobia.

Eventually, you came to a pair of towering glass doors – the entryway to the otherwise unused sunroom that you’d taken to using as a makeshift clinic. You looked to your side, nodding to Prince, and in an instant, he’d dissolved into thin air. You counted out a minute and, more importantly, waited to hear the sound of metal scraping against tile - the sound of Prince’s footsteps - before slipping inside. As always, the clinic greeted you with shining marble walls and a glittering glass cieling, but only dread accompanied the lovely sight. Your treatment, for as much as it delighted Prince, wasn’t something you could bring yourself to look forward to.

Prince was already waiting for you, a familiar wooden case in-hand, looking just a little more vivid than he had a second before. You knew why – that his holographic body was now anchored to his physical form, that he had to wear a skin you wouldn’t be able to see through – but you still made an effort not to look at him. It was too realistic, too uncanny. You didn’t know what you’d do if you ever met another living person. If Prince was too much for you, you couldn’t imagine how you’d react to someone who was made up of more than projected light.

You took your place on the cot in the center of the room, folding your legs underneath you and cringing at the way the stiff sheets crinkled. In a moment, Prince was at your side, already sanitizing the needle of a long, bronze syringe. You just held out your arm, pointedly glaring in the opposite direction, and Prince acknowledged your discontent with a low hum, a slight pinch, a sudden numbness slowly ebbing from the crook of your arm. You closed your eyes, but that only gave you less to distract yourself with, only left you more focused on the discomfort lodged just underneath your skin, the stark chill quickly seeping away what little warmth you had. Still, you kept your eyes shut as he worked, determined to at least pretend that it helped. “Prince.”

It was a reflex, by now – just another routine. Shut your eyes, and when that didn’t work, call out for Prince. He was as used to it as you were. “Yes, Highness?”

The pain was minimal, but you winced as he drew the needle back. “Do you think we could go for a walk tomorrow?”

“You go for a walk every day.” The bandages were next – white, plush, and virtually useless. You’d take them off in less than an hour, but Prince enjoyed the ritual of it, and it wasn’t as if you didn’t have time to spare. “As far as I was aware, you don’t have any other way to get around.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You threw him a hollow glare. “A walk outside. Just around the courtyard.”

“Why would you want to go out there?” You didn’t have to see him to know he was grimacing. You could hear the disgust in his tone, picture his automatic revulsion. “It’s filthy, and dangerous. The dust would shred your lungs.”

“I’d wear protective gear. We have ventilators, and I could make a—”

“The strain alone could break you. That’s not to mention the heatstroke, or the bugs. You wouldn’t last a second.” There was a soft laugh, a swatch of cotton against your skin. His fingertips brushed against your skin, as cold as ice and as lifeless as metal. “Don’t make me watch you suffer like that, princess. You know I like taking care of you, but that’d just be torture.”

You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “There are people who’ve been out there for as long as I’ve been alive. I think I could survive a day.”

It wasn’t a chuckle, this time, but a laugh – whole-hearted and chirping. Perfectly engineered to be as mirthful and as patronizing as possible. “You can’t be serious. An hour, I could start to understand, but a day?” He shook his head, a stray length of pink hair falling over one of his eyes. “Please, don’t put my poor heart through that.”

“You don’t have a heart.”

“I have enough of one to know that this isn’t a good idea.” He smiled, and when you didn’t return the gesture, he sighed, lowering himself to one knee. The bandage was secured, and before you could pull away, he took your hand in his. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was secure, remorseless and iron-clad. He must not have realized how confining it felt. Otherwise, you knew he never would’ve held you that way. “I know it sounds harmless now,” he started, in that faux-sympathetic tone. The same one he’d used when you scraped a knee, or came crying to him about another malfunction in one of your half-baked inventions. “But you have to trust me. You’re safe here, with me. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to help you out there.”

You felt something acidic rise into the back of your throat. “Prince,” you said, again, if only to buy time to brace yourself. “I want to go outside.”

It was quick, but you saw it. A flicker to his holographic form, a nearly imperceptible lilac aura suddenly tinted a harsh red. You caught a glimpse of spiked shoulders, of a steel grate obscuring a nonexistent face, and then, Prince was back – still smiling, still staring up at you. It might’ve felt more genuine if you hadn’t known what was lurking behind his eyes.

“Do you know,” He spoke slowly, carefully, no part of his expression ever-changing, “what would happen if you missed one of your treatments?”

You shook your head. It wasn’t like either Prince or your mother had ever gone out of their way to explain why you were sick, lest the stress of it all take a toll on your oh-so-fragile helath. “I... I might get sick? It can’t be worse than spending the rest of my life doing this.”

He chuckled, bowing his head, his lips coming to rest a hair’s width above the back of your hand. “You’ll die. You’ll wither and fade away, just like the world outside of this castle did. Just ike your mother.” This time, when his grip tightened around your hand, you couldn’t tell yourself it wasn’t deliberate. You couldn’t tell yourself that he didn’t see how quickly your shoulders stiffened, that he didn’t notice you try and fail to pull yourself out of his hold. “Do you understand?”

“Prince, I don’t want to—”

His thumb dug into the bone of your wrist, metallic fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh. You winced, and Prince’s grin widened. “Do you understand, princess?”

“Yes, I do, I— Please, let me go.” You were gasping, tears forming in the corners of your eyes as you fought to urge to pry yourself away from him. “I’m sorry, I understand – I’ll never ask again.”

He spared one more playful, bone-crushing squeeze before releasing you, letting you draw your hand back into your chest. He stood, taking up the syringe and its case before retreating back towards the clinic’s cabinets. You didn’t dare to move until he’d returned to your side, until you felt his hand on your shoulder. “I knew you wouldn’t be so cruel to me.” The words were muttered, barely audible. If there’d been anything else to hear, anything else in this castle save for you and Prince, you might’ve missed it. You wish you could’ve missed it. “Will you be tending to your garden this afternoon?”

You nodded, as if in a trance. Prince hummed in approval. “Would you care for an escort?”

“I…” You crossed your arms over your chest. Your wrist throbbed, but you didn’t know what to do about it. You weren’t used to this type of pain. “I think I’ll manage on my own.”

You cast your gaze downward, to the cot’s over-starched sheets. You waited until those dull, thudding footsteps were too distant to hear, until you could bring yourself to sigh, to shrink, to glance toward the reddened bruises forming along your wrist. You might’ve done more, if you’d known what to do. You might’ve cried if you hadn’t still been able to feel Prince’s eyes on you, unblinking and ever-present.

So, instead, you picked yourself up, let your hands fall to your sides, and – like you would tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that – started towards your garden.

[asimplearchivist]

𝓐 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓕𝓾𝓵𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓭

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ meeting a mythical isn't as novel as it used to be, but it still has its benefits. pairing(s) ✨ [tba] word count ✨ 3.3k a/n ✨ [header credit] | [divider credit] ⤏ this took way too long to finish, but the great thing is that I have to write one more chapter before I can post a couple that are already prewritten. maybe I can stay ahead after that point. :) I promise we'll get into the meat of this soon, and I hope y'all enjoy! ✨ MASTERPOST ✨ ✨ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ✨ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ✨

“This is it?”

Lu lowered the Wonder Map so Eliana could squint at it. “…Yes. It matches the description that Bidoof gave us. I double-checked the old tomes in the Guild this morning while you ran our errands to make sure I had the right location. This is it.”

“No wonder so few have stumbled upon it,” Lu murmured, gazing into the narrow cave entrance with no small amount of trepidation as he rolled the map back up and stored it securely within their prepacked Treasure Bag. “With all the foliage growing around it, we almost walked right past it.”

“It’s not the worst place we’ve had to explore, though,” Eliana pointed out. “And if Bidoof was able to traverse it with relative ease way back then, it shouldn’t be too difficult of a challenge for us now.”

“Not accounting for Jirachi’s temper,” Lu responded quietly.

Eliana glanced up at him, frowning. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“What? No1” he said, ears perking forward. “Just—I worry that he might be less inclined to answer our wishes if we’re waking him back up from his nap just a couple of years after Bidoof did.”

“It just means that he won’t be in as deep of a sleep this time,” Eliana replied wryly, curling her tail around his waist in an easier approximation of a hug that she could manage while standing on all fours. “If he doesn’t want to grant us anything, that’s fine. It’s just for the sake of exploration, right? Finding out for sure? It’s not like we have anything really vital riding on this.”

“…Right,” Lu admitted, but the apprehension in his eyes matched his flat, noncommital tone. “Nothing vital.”

Eliana elected not to comment on it. He’d still refused to reveal his wish during the last week they’d spent wrapping up the most pressing of their job list and preparing for the veritable repeat expedition into the Grass Continent’s unforgiving southeastern mountain range, despite her gentle, if curious, teasing. Star Cave was closer to Treasure Town than Mount Horn was, but the journey was not an easy one nevertheless. Their limbs were already achy and sore as they both had grown unaccustomed to traveling such far distances of late, since it had been almost a full year after they’d completed their own personal challenge of exploring the farthest reaches of the map in search of hidden treasure and undiscovered history following their shared, simultaneous evolutions (which Eliana had considered a sort of ritualistic shedding of their old forms and thus the hardships they’d faced before that moment). She figured that they ought to alleviate that—take some time to venture out again before the summer was over, maybe towards the northeast where the weather was cooler. She missed camping, honestly, the peace and quite of the wilderness.

They entered the dungeon with equal parts caution and inquisitiveness. Eliana’s suspicions were correct that the feral Pokémon contained within were manageable between hers and Lu’s advanced skill sets and experience. They faced no issues picking their way down the winding, crystal-illuminated corridors to the pit of the cave, where a large clearing nearly distracted them from the gaping, crumbling hole in the far rocky wall.

“Well,” Eliana remarked, “I suppose that answers the question of whether the deepest recesses are still accessible.”

“I still wonder what Guildmaster Wigglytuff’s parents fed him as a child,” Lu murmured somewhere between awe and intimidation. “It is honestly a miracle we were able to pass the graduation exam.”

“It helps that he was holding back,” she reminded him. “He doesn’t have the heart to hurt anyone he considers a friend.”

They made their way through the lower portion of the dungeon far more carefully, not knowing what to expect around every corner. It grew darker and darker, and their eyes struggled to adjust to discern the shadows from their lurking foes.

The pit of the cave was illuminated around the rim with glowing blue crystals that glittered like starlight, casting an ephemeral hue across the smooth stone floor. Eliana tensed when she spotted a Pokémon hovering in the center over a slightly raised platform shaped like a star. Pale yellow and ivory, with billowing tails and dangling tags…and noticeably awake. Lu stopped at her side, warily watching who could only have been the Pokémon they sought.

“Heyyy!” the stranger chirped, his face crinkling with delight. “I wasn’t expecting visitors! Who are you?”

Eliana and Lu exchanged a glance. They expected outright aggression upon treading into the Myth’s territory, like Bidoof had described. Not…excitement?

“I’m Lucario,” said her partner hesitantly, then gestured to her. “And this is Eliana.”

Jirachi’s eyes lit up. “Ohhh! You’re the pair that restored temporal tower!”

Eliana blinked. “How…how do you know that?”

“Ohhh, there isn’t a Legend in the whole wide world that doesn’t know about you two!” Jirachi crooned, floating over and circling their heads to get a good look at them. “We communicate via telepathy, you know. Uxie, Mesprit, and Azelf told everyone how you stopped time from freezing and knocked Dialga back to his sentences! Not to mention taking that nasty piece of work Darkrai down a peg or two!”

“That’s right. I almost forgot that the Lake Guardians had telepathy,” Lu realized, nodding. “But I didn’t realize that all of the Legends had it.”

“Yyyep! How else do you think we work together to keep the world at peace?” Jirachi giggled, covering his mouth with both hands as he twirled to a stop in front of them. “Buuut I digress! I take it that you came here to have your wishes granted?”

Lu blinked rapidly, peering down at Eliana in shock. “I—yes, you’re correct to say we came here to see you, but…”

Jirach tilted his head. “What’s wrong? Do you not have any?”

“It’s not that,” Eliana said with reticence. “We were just expecting…I don’t know, more of a challenge? We were told that it isn’t easy to have you grant wishes.”

“Thaaat’s correct!” the wish-maker said brightly. “Normally visitors have to rouse me from my naps in order for me to do anything, buuut I was already awake because one of my fellow Legends was communicating with me earlier. They’re loud enough that it woke me right up!” He giggled again, then spread his arms out wide. “Aaand I’ve been told that you two have been through quite a lot, what with saving the world and all—not once, but twice! I think that warrants a couple of freebies in my book! I think that it’s the least I can do as a reward for all your hard work!”

“Oh,” Lu said, relaxing slightly and letting out a breath. “I see. Thank you, Jirachi.”

“I should be thanking you! Now, tell me your wishes! Or would you like some suggestions? Some Pokémon like to have money, or power, or new friends, or—”

“No, nothing like that,” Lu interrupted him hastily. “I, um…how much do you know about us?”

Jirachi considered them carefully. “Weeell, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you,” he looked at Eliana, “are actually a human! Is that true? I couldn’t hardly believe it when I was told that!”

“I was a human, yes,” Eliana confirmed. “I…was attacked at one point, and it transformed me into a Pokémon.”

“Oooh, I see!” Jirachi nodded. “I have to admit, there is something different that I sense in you.”

“It also caused her to lose all of her memories,” Lu informed the Myth. “She was traveling from the future through the Passage of Time on her original mission to save the planet. She doesn’t truly originate in the present, but she’s been trapped here because of the distortion of reality’s fabric around her since she’s traveled through time. She’s unable to return home to the other Pokémon she cares about. That’s…the background for my wish.”

Jirachi perked up. Eliana stared at Lu. He didn’t meet her gaze.

“What is your wish, then?” the Myth asked.

“I wish…” Lu swallowed, then finally looked down at Eliana with tears brimming in his eyes. “…I wish that Eliana would be able to go back to the future, if she wants.”

“Lu,” Eliana murmured, her heart twisting. “I had no idea…”

“I know you have complicated feelings about all of it, understandably so,” he said quickly, interrupting her because of his fraught nerves, “I know that you haven’t really talked about the idea of trying to travel back, but…I also know that you miss them terribly and that you don’t like to discuss it because you’re afraid it will hurt my feelings or make me feel like you care about me less than the others. But it doesn’t make me feel that way, Eliana. I…you seemed so happy, having reconnected with the Pokémon from your past, and when you lost them…I’ve worried about you. You’ve seemed so sad and I don’t know how to fix it and—”

“Lu,” Eliana interrupted him gently, leaning back into her haunches to touch a paw to his. “It’s all right. I understand. Thank you for thinking about me.” She frowned. “I don’t know that it will be possible for me to return to the future. What Palkia said…”

“Yes, but we’ve been able to evolve since we stopped Darkrai!” Lu reminded her, eyes sparkling with passion. “There is a chance!”

“Possibly,” she admitted, “but…are you certain that you want to waste your wish on me? On something that might never come to fruition? There are so many other things that you’ve said you’d wanted so badly in the past.”

“Time and space are realms I rarely have influence over,” Jirachi added thoughtfully, watching the pair of them with interest. “It is likely that I will be unable to manipulate anything like that…but, if that is your wish, I will grant it to the best of my ability, as part of my promise to repay you however I can.”

“I’m sure.” Lu clasped a paw over his chest, expression determined. “Above all else, for everything that you’ve done for me, Eliana, I would do anything to see you happy.”

Eliana swallowed thickly, a knot coiling at the base of her throat. She nodded slightly. “Alright. Thank you, Lu. From the bottom of my heart.”

He kneeled to squeeze her into a brief, tight hug, then straightened and turned to Jirachi. “That’s my wish,” he confirmed. “For Eliana to be able to return to the future.”

“Aaalright!” Jirachi beamed. “I’ll do my best to make it come true!” He focused on Eliana next, expectant. “And you? Do you have a wish, too, Eliana?”

“I…” She dropped her chin into the draped material of her Virid Collar, her skin prickling with heat beneath her fur. “…I feel almost ashamed with mine, after Lu requested something so selfless.”

“I think I can guess,” Jirachi surmised. “Do you wish to have your memories restored?”

Eliana’s head snapped up to stare at him, startled. “I—how did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Jirachi giggled, waving his hands. “But with how close you seem to have been with those Pokémon Lu was talking about…it doesn’t surprise me one bit that you’d like to have your amnesia restored. I would feel the same way! I couldn’t imagine forgetting everything and everyone I ever knew.”

“So…you don’t think that’s selfish of me?” Eliana ventured, uncertain.

Jirachi’s expression shiftted into something like recognition. Then he smiled. “I don’t think that at all. You sound just like someone I met once before.” He giggled again and shook his head, gazing knowingly at the both of them in a new light. “I think it’s the exact opposite, actually. That you would want to carry on the memory of those closest to you, even if I am unable to return you to the future, is a sincere one. I can tell that you care deeply, Eliana, for everyone you know. I think I quite like you for that.”

She blinked, then returned his smile. “I…thank you. Really. That’s a great comfort to hear.”

“Of course!” Jirachi closed his eyes, pressed his hands together, and Eliana and Lu watched his tags glow for a moment before he returned to normal and stretched with a gaping yawn. “Aaah, it’s been a while since I’ve answered anything quite like that! It’s maaaking me feel kind of sleeepy…”

“Thank you for hearing us out, Jirachi,” Lu said warmly. “We appreciate you trying.”

“Ooof cooourse,” the Myth mumbled. His tails curled around himself and his floating grew more listless as his eyes began to drift shut. “Juuust don’t be disappointed if nothing haaappens…”

“We won’t.” Eliana brushed against Lu’s flank, her tail curling around his. “Sweet dreams, Jirachi.”

“Goodnight, Eliana. Goodnight, Lu.” With one last yawn, Jirachi curled up into a tiny ball and disappeared in a shower of sparkles that dazzled their eyes.

The sudden silence in the cavern was deafening. Eliana swallowed and turned. “Let’s go home.”

“Yeah,” Lu agreed softly. “I’m tired.”

The cave had quietened, thankfully, and gave them no trouble upon their exit. The sun was only just starting to set when they emerged from the tunnel, squinting against its harsh light until they acclimated. They decided to head back to Treasure Town rather than camp for the night, longing for the comfort of their beds and the rhythmic slosh of waves against the bluff that always lulled them to sleep. Even though there had been very little fanfare, and they hadn’t perceived any of Jirachi’s direct influence, they still felt exhausted.

It was approaching midnight by the time they turned to Treasure Town. All the shopkeepers and residents had retreated into their homes, leaving the square empty and peaceful. Shuffling down into their home with the cool, salty wind ruffling their fur was a palpable relief.

“Here, let me put all that away.” Eliana took the Treasure Bag from Lu’s paw with her tail. “Can you start the fire?”

“Of course.” Lu moved over and squatted by the pit they’d dug to house their open hearth, picking up the flint and steel to start scraping sparks onto the kindling he’d placed in the ashes that morning out of habit. “Say…do you really think that Jirachi meant what he said?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” She pushed open the chest they used for their rotating adventure inventory to start putting away the extra things they’d found in the mystery dungeon for sorting and trading the following day. “He seemed earnest.”

“Yeah. I’m glad we didn’t have to fight him. I feel like, one of these days, we’re going to run into someone who won’t appreciate that,” Lu chuckled. The crackle and hiss of a new flame preluded a flicker of warm orange light that flared across the floor. “There.” He stood with a groan and a sigh, moving over to the corner of the room. “Say, I think that chest is almost full. You might have to use this other crate for now.”

“You’re right.” Eliana dragged the bag over to the open box and peeked inside as Lu shuffled things around. It was a bit dusty, as they hadn’t used it in while. Him removing a few valuables stirred it all up and made her sneeze. He laughed quietly under his breath, and she heard the crinkling crumple of an errant sheet of paper.

She froze, heart stuttering against her ribs as she realized what the old relic he’d inadvertently rediscovered was.

Lu drew it up out of the crate into the burgeoning firelight, expression softening as he read the letter’s words silently. He set it to the side carefully, with respect, and Eliana drew in a deep breath as her eyes lighted upon the blocky footprint runes inscribed in ink long dried.

The first week or so after Eliana had returned from her untimely disappearance she had clung to that letter like a lifeline, tracing the strokes with her paws as though to imprint the weight of them into her memory. She had been relieved to be reunited with Lu, that went without question, as he had been her anchor for months throughout all the confusion that she had felt—but she had felt Grovyle’s absence acutely, someone with whom she had shortly (re)built an unshakeable bond and relied upon to guide her through the chaos they had single-handedly stood against. She had missed him terribly. She still did, and she couldn’t even explain the breadth of that feeling with words—her gut had never been wrong before, and she had trusted him wholeheartedly. It never truly went away, an acute and gaping wound she couldn’t seem to close with any distractions she’d tried. Her original partner, lost for a second time.

“You know…” Lu started, “…if you do go back to the future, I won’t be upset, right?”

Eliana regarded him without a word, gauging his pensive expression.

He continued unbidden. “I’ll miss you. And I’ll hope beyond hope that we’ll meet again. But…as long as you were safe and happy…I’d support your decision no matter what, Eliana. I don’t know what it’s like to be separated so starkly from yourself, I can’t even fathom how it feels…and I hope that you don’t think I’m trying to get rid of you. I just feel that I’ve had you for longer than I should have been granted.”

“You didn’t steal me from Grovyle, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Eliana told him firmly, drawing his attention. “I hate that we were separated, and I regret that he had to endure what he did all by himself for so long, but…I feel like we were meant to meet. You saved me, Lu. I owe you my life.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his muzzle crinkling at the corners as he fought an embarrassed smile. Always so humble, her partner. “Okay. As long as you know that I care about you.”

“I do. And I care about you, too.” She picked up a gold scarf and dropped it into the crate. “Maybe we should go to the Keckleon’s shop tomorrow and—”

She stepped on the letter. Vertigo crashed over her like the waves that had once threatened to drag her under the icy, crushing depths of the sea so many moons ago, biting into the wound in her transformed shape. The storm had dragged her to shore, a blessing and a curse at once—the current had dashed her head against a stone, wounding her further and robbing her of her identity. Her first impression after that had been Lu’s frantic spew of words at seeing all the blood welling from behind her ear and soaking into the sand beneath her weak, limp body. All she’d remembered were her name, the fact that she was supposed to be human, and not, in fact, a Pokémon, and a vague sense of loss that had never resolved until she’d encountered her original partner face-to-face in the Underground Lake.

Her partner, whom she had rescued and nurtured and protected with her life. Her partner, who had devoted himself to fixing his world at the cost of his own life for the sake of those that would come to be. Her partner, who had refused to grieve her before he’d ever accepted that he could have lost her forever before their time, but had lost her anyway because she hadn’t recognized anything about him except a faint sense of familiarity and trustworthiness.

The memories flooded like the tide, overwhelming and sharp like the pelting of frigid rain against bare skin, and when she came up out of it Lu was already holding her steady, repeating her name urgently with concern in his eyes.

Eliana reached out to him as best as she was able, clung to him tightly, and wept harsher than she ever had before.

[dawn-of-worlds]

The World Below

The labyrinthine Depths are disorienting, bizarre, and ever-reaching. It is home to both the hardiest of creatures and, of course, those creatures for whom home is nowhere else. At its best, it is a surreal landscape of alien plant life, mysterious creatures, and treasures both material and immaterial; at its worst, it is a vast tomb to which all worldly things will be lost. In truth, it is both these things, and more.

The Upper Depths are a sprawling network of caverns and tunnels that (will soon) connect to the surface, and where most foolhardy explorers will either find their glory or find their doom. At the moment, they spread out from the Isle of Velarië and touch the shores of Baled, Incarien, and Erland's Islands. The map above details only the largest passages: those that widen to the width of broad rivers or yawn into venerable island-sized caverns. Invisible are the countless narrower passages, like those that three men abreast could walk, to those through which one would struggle to squeeze, and smaller still.

The Depths' passages were not made with men in mind, and host many sheer vertical drops, terrain of stone so sharp they can draw blood, and tangled teeth of stalagmites and stalagtites that would stop a would-be delver in their tracks. And, of course, beneath the Upper Depths lie the Lower Depths, whose vaults are more rightfully Naakrsh's dominion than any other's.

From clouds of sleep-inducing vapour, to the somnovores that follow them, and to the colonies of spiders that write omens in silk, the Depths are a peculiar place to say the least. Catalogued below are a selection of flora and fauna native to the Upper Depths. It is possible that they may be found in the Lower Depths as well, but far stranger things are gestating within that forsaken place.

Bulbgrass (sometimes called "popgrass" after the delightful popping sound made when a spore-filled pod is stepped on) is the primary flora of the Depths. The lithophagic bulbgrass is not actually a type of grass at all, and is more closely related to lichens and fungi. Stone surfaces that bulbgrass grow on have a tendency to become quite soft and springy, resulting in uncomfortably flesh-like terrain.

Ciliated wallsnatchers are sessile predator that mimics bulbgrass to trap prey. They are a sort of polyp that burrow into a stone surface and then spread out a membrane covered in large (and extremely sticky) cilia that look very similar to mature, oh-so-delicious bulbgrass. Once an unfortunate organism steps on one, the cilia snare it and deliver it to the waiting maw of the wallsnatcher. Wallsnatchers can grow quite large, sometimes up to a meter in diameter.

Straddling the line between animal and plant, lantern trees are one of the brightest sources of light in the Depths. Lantern trees perpetually sway their long, feather-like appendages back and forth in hopes of attaching their tiny bur-seeds to any witless creatures nearby.

Young lantern trees have lanternfruit that glow a bright yellow, but dim over time until they become a deep amber; rarely, a lantern tree lives long enough to have red lanternfruit. The light of a lantern tree will reveal shadowlings, so prey will hide under their branches for protection.

Headlight deer are the plentiful and skittish grazers of the Depths, and the unfortunate prey of elder shadowlings. While their large eyes may seem quite silly, it's thanks to their size that they can navigate the near-lightless passages of the Depths.

The headlight deer's eponymous headlight is a specialized light-emitting organ on their forehead, ringed with protective, semi-reflective ridging to both direct the light forward and protect their sensitive eyes. When threatened, a headlight deer will try to blind its attacker before running away. The strange tendrils ringing its mouth are actually an endosymbiotic polyp colony that helps it find the most nutrient-rich bulbgrass, which extends all the way to their brain and stomach.

Silent and seldom seen, the elder shadowling is the far more dangerous cousin of the lesser shadowling, and the undisputed apex predator of the Upper Depths. Its semi-insubstantial form is made of a smoke-like substance that, it has been said, has a wet, almost ink-like texture. Besides its ever-shifting form, its most notable feature are its bright green eyes, though some would point to its disturbingly human-like hands. Thankfully for its prey (that is: everyone), elder shadowlings spend much of their time hibernating in the deepest recesses they can find, emerging to hunt only when their hunger grows too great to ignore.

[esamastation]

Roy doesn't know exactly when the new alchemist joins them on the field.

It's a bad time - they're establishing a new camp in the town and the area is under constant assault, it seems. Small strikes on all sides, seemingly from nowhere, taking out a man there, another there, crippling a truck, taking out a road… The Ishvalans are using some sort of network of tunnels, the brass thinks, and it's Roy's job to smoke them out. So that's what he's been doing, seemingly all week… smoking out the supposed tunnels.

There are no tunnels, though. The Ishvalans are just getting desperate and in their desperation they're figuring out new methods. They have home field advantage and new tricks of camouflaging themselves in the rubble that used to be their home. Ruins of a people, blending in the ruins the Amestrians had made of their houses. They're learning to live with it, to work with it, because it's all they have - and they're getting good because they have little choice in the matter.

No one is listening to Roy when he points it out, though. There's a dismissiveness to the higher ups, when it comes to the evolution of Ishvalan tactics. "What are they doing now, praying for better guns?" As though this war, hasn't already gone on three times as long as originally projected.

Roy is thinking about it, staring at a crooked, unlit cigarette someone had put into his shaking hands, when he's introduced to the new alchemist.

"Good news, Mustang," Hughes says, with absolutely no joy in his cheerful smile, and less so in his cheerful voice. It sounds like he's chewing charcoal. "You're getting partner."

Roy looks up, his mind still in the meeting room, thinking about numbers on a map, how they didn't quite capture the reality of charred skeletons. It takes a moment for what he sees in front of him to sink in.

Another blue uniform, still pressed sharp and bright new under the beige overcoat that's supposed to protect it and it's wearer from the dust and heat of Ishval. What stands before him isn't a soldier though - it's barely a man. It's a short blond boy, no older than sixteen at most, with heavy non-regulation boots and silver watch chain at his hip.

The horror and disgust that wells up it's barely a blip before it's smothered under, oh, of course, and shit, are we here already? Then Roy stands up, puts the unlit cigarette away and holds out his right hand.

"Major Roy Mustang - the Flame Alchemist."

The blond boy smiles, crooked and sharp and just as mirthless as Hughes beside him. "Nick Flamel - the Fullmetal Alchemist." His grip is tight and brief, his hand gloved.

He'd be the newest youngest State Alchemist then. Roy had heard his record had been beaten, though he hadn't really paid attention to who or how.

Hughes looks between them and for a moment his eyes show a certain desperation. Then he covers it up and pats Flamel's shoulder. "Fullmetal here is stationed under you until he gets a hang of things - you'll show him the ropes, teach him what's what."

Keep him alive, is what Hughes' eyes say, and no wonder. Being as young as he is, the kid can't have much in the way of training. Alchemists don't need to go through basic, after all - they're not there to march or shoot guns or stand in lines. Flamel had probably just gotten his watch, his uniform, and a one way ticket to Ishval. To one of the worst, most contested zones at that. Shit.

Did the brass send the kid here to die?

"What's your specialty - metallurgical transmutation?" Roy asks.

"I don't have a speciality, really," Flamel says and pushes his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. It doesn't quite fit him right - too wide across shoulders, a bit too long. They'd either left some growing room, or they just didn't have a uniform small enough. "But I'm damn good at environmental alchemy, which I figure is what I'll be doing the most around here."

Roy blinks. "Environmental alchemy," he repeats.

"I can make the battleground my bitch," Flamel says, his crooked smile sharpening.

And abruptly Roy is already exhausted with the kid. He's one of those, then, a cocky little sumbitch, top of his class and talk of the town, so used to being the top dog of his little bubble that he has no concept of what the real world is like outside that little bubble. Guys like him come swaggering in all the time, all big talk and smug grins, so sure they're going to be carrying their little superiority complexes spotlessly over the finish line that they walk into the first fucking landmine that comes across.

Roy sees himself holding the kid's hand after he gets gunned down, still thinking himself invulnerable, and it's exhausting.

"What?" Flamel asks, suspicious at his silence.

Hughes, giving the kid the exact same look Roy must be, clears his throat. "How about you show us?" he suggests. "So we'll have an idea what we're working with here."

Flamel arches a brow at that and then looks around, light brown - or are they burnished gold? - eyes narrowing in thought.

Their camp is still a mess from the last attack - they're fixing the fences and filling the holes in the road that got busted in the smattering of mortar fire from two days ago. The perimeter is more secure now, for a given value of secure. They'd chosen the highest spot in the town, the temple mount, to give them a high vantage point - better than being penned into a valley. It leaves them pretty damn open though.

Flamel looks over the houses they'd taken over, the tents pitched in the streets and the flag of Amestris hung over the prayer hall, and clicks his tongue. Then he claps his hands together, and crouches down.

For a split of a second, barely a blink, it looks like he's praying.

Then he slaps his hands on the street beneath their feet - and in a crackle of alchemical energy and rumble of displaced earth, the street reforms. The dirt flattens, grows perfect paving stones, shifts to form neat walkways on the sides, even forming gutters. Between one breath and the next, they have a perfect Amestrian city street, formed from the dust of Ishval, surrounded by Ishvalan buildings.

While the soldiers on the newly reformed street let out shouts of shock, Roy just stares, his mind trying to jump hoops figuring out how the kid just did that. Circles in his skin, under his sleeves, inside his gloves…?

Hughes whistles, hiding his wild eyes in a squint. "Nice. You know, it doesn't rain much around here," he comments.

"So?" Flamel asks.

"The gutters aren't really necessary."

Flamel looks at the street he'd made, hands resting on his hips, and shrugs. "Eh, can't hurt," he says and motions at the street. "Anyway, imagine that, but spikes instead of paving stones."

Roy swallows and looks at the kid, who's just standing there, seemingly in no way bothered. Fullmetal doesn't look smug or proud of what he'd done, only grinning a little bit at the way the soldiers throw away their shovels, no longer needed. If this isn't something for the him to even brag about, then…

Roy has in his head an image of the kid doing a field of spikes under a charging assault force, eviscerating people by the dozens, and it's clearly not Flamel's only trick. It's probably not even in his top five.

Fuck, the kid would end up with a three digit death toll by his first engagement.

"Right," Roy says. He isn't sure what his face is doing but going Hughes' expression, it's probably not good. "You can make gutters. How about trenches?"

Flamel grins, his eyes like molten metal. "Try me."

-

By the end of the week - no, by the end of the day their camp is hugely improved by Flamel. The fence is turned into a solid stone wall, constructed within minutes from the remains of bombed out houses. Another pile of rubble is turned into a watch tower. They have trenches, they have pits, Flamel even adds a moat and spikes around the camp, like they're in an ancient fortress or something. Hell, there's even gargoyles in the corners of the wall.

They go from one of the least secure camps to one of the most heavily fortified seemingly overnight. It's a huge boost to troop morale - not so for Roy's sanity. Flamel doesn't even look winded by the end of his improvements.

"How are you doing the circles?" Roy asks finally - bit of a social Faux Pas among alchemists, especially military alchemists, but he has to ask. Flamel made entire buildings, and he hadn't stopped to draw a single sigil.

"In my head," Flamel says, shrugging. Like that makes any sense.

Roy looks at him and then at the changes he's made, and can't say it's impossible - he can see the results with his own eyes. And they're more than impressive, they're…

Flamel isn't going to be here long, he realises. Whether the brass send the kid here to get rid of him or not, the moment word about Flamel's real abilities spread, he'd be snagged by the first general with any fucking sense. The kid's a powerhouse. Roy is too, of course, that's why he's here - but Fullmetal is a different kind of powerhouse. Just by himself, he would be able to establish a secure foothold in the middle of enemy territory and that's not someone you just let sit idle.

Roy looks at the kid and feels torn between feeling sorry, jealous and a little bit bitter. If only he was a bit higher in rank, he could keep Flamel and make a full use his abilities - and maybe keep him from becoming a mass murderer in the process.

"What was your exam like?" Roy asks. There's no way the kid showed even a fraction of these abilities, he wouldn't be here at all if he had. "How'd you end up with a name like Fullmetal?" From what he'd seen something like Earth Moving or Groundbreaking would've been more apt.

"I made a spear in my exam," Flamel says, not looking at him. "And pointed it at Bradley."

"... And they didn't arrest you?"

Flamel smirks a little and looks at him. "What did you do?" he asks. "I bet you scorched something."

Roy had. He'd been welcomed in on the spot. "Training dummies," he agrees, giving him a pointed look. "Because I don't have a death wish."

Flamel shrugs. "It got me what I wanted," he says and stretches his arms. "So, what comes next?"

Roy looks at their newly secure camp. "Depends on the Colonel, but I bet you'll be doing more road work. We need a clear path in and out of the town."

Even though the town is officially theirs, that doesn't stop the guerilla attacks - but now, with a secure camp, all they needed was a clear path for troops to move in and then it'd be only a matter of time. If the two of them weren't already reassigned by then, they'd be after the supply line was secure. Alchemists weren't wasted in safe stations.

"But that's tomorrow's problem," Roy decides. "Come in, kid - let's get something to eat."

- - -

Nostalgia is doing rounds in my brain.

[delimeful]

Snapshot: Release

new WIBAR Snapshot! 

warnings: mention of trafficking, PTSD, mentions of funeral rites, catharsis, crying, sad hours

-

Patton liked to think himself an optimist, but even he could admit that there were some days where things were bad.

He didn’t like to, of course. Gratitude was a virtue in Ampen culture, and he had carried it with him gladly when he first started spacefaring. It was easy, most days, to find something to be grateful for and thank the sea’s tidings.

Most days.

Though it had taken time, Patton had learned to loosen his grip on the idea of the foam edge, the bright side to a bad situation. He still found the cup half-full, of course, but he also knew that sometimes things were hard, and it was okay to be sad about that.

He was still getting to the part where he told others when he was sad, but that was okay! He was working on it, and as Logan always said, growth took time.

A few rotations after Virgil and him were reunited with his best friends, Virgil had one of those days.

It had started innocuously enough. Patton had been sprawled over Virgil’s legs, continuing his not-so-secret agenda to show Roman and Logan exactly what kind of Human Virgil was. Not harmless, certainly, but-- what was the Common word? Disciplined.

They both knew how easily Virgil could hurt him, could hurt any of them. Patton had been there watching while they escaped, when Virgil slammed into aliens much stronger than an Ampen with unforgiving force. There was no question of his capability for violence, when faced with a threat.

But that was just it. Virgil knew he could hurt them, even through simple carelessness, and he worked so hard not to.

It was clear in every movement. How could Patton feel the subtle tremor in Virgil’s hands when he held him, the attentive stillness of his body when Patton perched on him, the careful softness of his fingers carding through feathers, and feel anything but treasured?

Virgil had protected Patton with everything he had, and Patton was going to return the favor however he could. That’s what friends were for, after all.

So, Patton was nestled into the crook of Virgil’s legs, listening intently as he told a story from back home, occasionally piping in with questions or a story of his own.

Logan would have metaphorically killed for the opportunity to even just listen in on these firsthand Deathworlder anecdotes, but Virgil was still avoiding the Ulgorian with skillful determination. It was a little saddening, but Patton knew better than to push.

Everything was still settling down from their last incident; he didn’t want to disrupt the delicate balance again by shoving Virgil out of his comfort zone.

Instead, he just listened, happy to see the little differences that had overcome his friend since they’d finally gotten free of that horrible cell.

This was far from the first time they’d sat around storytelling.

There was little else to do in their cell, and besides, it was one of the fastest ways to share words, telling tales tall and small and only pausing whenever a word didn’t quite translate or their voices went out. Back then, though, Virgil had shared his stories with an almost bittersweet air about him.

It reminded Patton of the way Crav’n held wakes, long stretches of time spent gathered around their pyre, sharing stories, remembering and honoring the deceased in every way they could. It was as though Virgil was giving up those little pieces of himself in advance, for someone to remember after he was gone. As though he was performing his own funerary rites.

His coatfeathers fluffed up sharply at the thought, and he shuddered a few times to try and settle them back into place. That time was past, Virgil was safe, and so it bore no further thought.

Unaware of the way Patton’s attention had strayed, Virgil ran a hand over his back, shifting feathers back into alignment with surprising delicacy for such a large being. Patton trilled lowly in pleased gratitude, wishing wholeheartedly that Roman would stop glaring long enough to notice this aspect of the Mindscape’s newest resident. They could get along so well if they gave each other a chance, he just knew it…

“Hey, Patton?” Virgil asked, shifting from the bright, long vowels of Patton’s native language to the lower register he used for his own home tongue. Patton perked his antennae up to show his friend that he had his undivided attention; Virgil usually only used English when he was asking something he didn’t want anyone else to overhear.

Nobody was nearby to listen, but that didn’t stop Virgil from casting a guilty look over his shoulder when he admitted, “I snuck into the map room yesterday.”

The ‘map room’ must have been referring to the nav room, where they plotted courses. It had a manual pilot control station as well, which was why Roman had been safeguarding it from Virgil as though he thought the Human would suddenly take up space piracy and seize control of their vessel.

Patton certainly didn’t have any problem with trusting Virgil in there, so he didn’t even twitch at the confession, only narrowing his eyes in silent encouragement for his friend to continue.

Just as Patton no longer shied away from bared teeth, Virgil no longer assumed narrowed eyes signified anger or doubt. He had picked up on a fair amount of Ampen body language during the course of their friendship, and so his lips quirked to the side slightly before he took the invitation to explain.

“I just wanted to know where we were, I guess. It was difficult to make sense of the maps-- It’s not like I’ve had a lot of opportunities to check them out on any of the other ships I’ve been on,” he said, and only the way his eyes rolled up slightly told Patton he was mostly-joking, the hesitant way he did sometimes.

Patton knew their time spent with the smugglers was something everyone on the ship would prefer to forget, including them, but things like that changed a person. They couldn’t be denied. If small, slightly-bitter jokes like this one were how Virgil honored that change, Patton could support it.

“I’d be mappalled with their terrible hosting skills, if I were you,” he chimed in, and he couldn’t help the way his feathers’ glow increased at the sight of Virgil’s smile, even muffled behind a hand. “Do you want to learn how to read the maps?”

“Yes,” Virgil answered, unable to conceal the too-quick way he leapt on the opportunity. There was a pause, his face going slightly pink, but Patton didn’t comment, feeling a swell of sympathy in his upper heart. It was hard to remember sometimes, with how adjusted Patton was to the wayfarer lifestyle, that Virgil was immeasurably far from everything he’d ever known.

“I mean, yeah,” he corrected, clearing his throat in a way that Patton had once mistaken for a growl, “but that’s not actually-- I was trying to see if I could recognize anything. Any stars, or-- or planets, y’know?”

He was avoiding eye contact now, staring at a distant point. He hadn’t moved his hand, which meant that Patton could feel the tremble in it when he butted his head into the point of contact. He crooned soothingly, the type of sound a parent would use to soothe a hatchling.

“I, um. Well, I figured if I knew how far it was, I could figure out how much it would cost to make that sort of…,” he fumbled for a word Patton would know, slipping back into Common for a few words, “extra trip. But I couldn’t find anything familiar. So, I... I thought I’d ask. Like I probably should have in the first place.”

Patton waited, but that seemed to be all Virgil could manage. “Ask what?” he prompted gently. “Space is big, but if there’s certain skysights you miss, I’m sure we can get started on finding them! What are you looking for?”

Virgil’s attention dropped down to him and then flitted away again, not a single sign that he’d even heard Patton’s pun. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and then dragged his gaze back to meet Patton’s.

“... Earth?” he managed, in one of the smallest voices Patton had ever heard from him.

Oh.

Oh.

Patton’s antennae flicked back in dread before he could stop them, and Virgil’s face twitched slightly, making an expression that he’d never seen before. His chin had dimpled, his jaw clenched, tense as though waiting for a blow.

Waiting for Patton to tell him he couldn’t go home.

This wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, Patton realized. Far from it, it seemed as though Virgil had been cradling this question like an egg surrounded by downy feathers, keeping it tucked away, waiting desperately to be secure enough, safe enough to ask. To try hoping for a future again.

He was so afraid to want, and Patton couldn’t help but whine slightly, because this time, he was right to fear the worst.

They couldn’t go to Earth. Patton knew, because it was the first thing he’d talked to Roman and Logan about, that first day, as soon as Virgil had retired to his new room.

It wasn’t a matter of should or would. They couldn’t, not even if they all agreed to try, not even if they were willing to go directly against the council’s edicts. They didn’t have the equipment to get past the barricade undetected, they didn’t have the knowledge to slip between patrols, they didn’t even have the cloaking capabilities they’d need to land on an uninformed planet. They didn’t have enough funds to try and obtain any of those.

Honestly, they were barely scraping by as it was. Roman and Logan had halted their normal cargo runs to search for him, and their savings had suffered as a result. It was part of the reason they had been taking more jobs, any they could find that wouldn’t put them in the sights of any potential Human-hunters.

He’d done his best to shield Virgil from realizing just how much his presence had changed their routine, but going by the way he thought he’d have to pay them just to get back to a home he never should have been stolen from in the first place, he hadn’t been successful.

Patton glanced to the door with a half-formed desire to go get Logan, who had patiently walked Patton through every possible scenario until it sunk in that they really, truly couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t fair. Patton had chosen this life, and he could still go home, and see his family, and greet the ocean breeze. Virgil hadn’t had a choice in anything, hadn’t had the freedom that spacefaring brought so many, and now he didn’t have the option to return home, either.

“It’s not— I don’t want to leave you,” Virgil forced out, looking a little frantic. “I mean, we’re friends, right?”

He used the Ampen version of the word, the one that translated literally to ‘treasured one’, and could be used by any who had bonded closely, blood or nest-sharing aside. Patton nodded firmly, mouth clamped shut to keep from sobbing.

“Right,” Virgil continued, near-pleading, “so it’s not you, I promise, and I can find a way to pay back my debts, I know Roman wants me gone and Logan wants s-samples, and I can do that. It’s fine, it’s worth it, just… I miss home. So bad. Even the parts I used to hate.”

“I’m sorry,” Patton said in the most honorable way he had, the low, agonized call of I repent and I regret. “If we could— I promise we would, Virgil. It’s not your fault, you have no debts here. You deserve to go home.”

Virgil’s face was miserable to even witness, the way faltering hope had been crushed under the weight of his worst suspicions being confirmed. Patton reached for him automatically, his attempts to comfort his friend coming out as a soft empathetic cry instead, and that wounded sound was all it took for Virgil’s self-control to finally break.

He crumpled all at once, a breezecatcher with its tether cut, crashing to the sand below. The top of his head butted gently against Patton’s side, a mirror of the way Patton so often sought comfort from him, and he began to cry in earnest, as though releasing months of built-up misery.

Disciplined, Patton remembered with a pang of bitter sorrow, and let his Deathworlder finally weep for everything that had been taken from him.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Gang find out about Merlin’s faith;

And proceed to be awkwardly, endearingly supportive about it.

Merlin is Pagan, not that anyone bar Gaius knew.

The fancy new religion (all about the One True God or whatever) hadn’t really reached the more rural parts of Albion yet, so the Old Religion and it’s offshoots were still a lot more mainstream in those areas; meaning that if the Gang had put more than two seconds of thought into it, they would’ve realised that Merlin was something other than… what was it? Christian? But they hadn’t. So they didn’t.

Merlin was private about his faith; it wasn’t anyone’s business what he believed in, what he prayed for, or who to. Even when Arthur repealed the ban on magic, and Merlin came clean about everything, his faith was left out of it. Why would it be included? It wasn’t relevant, and it was the one secret he was actually glad he kept.

Of course a lot changed when Merlin was promoted to Court Sorcerer, but his faith remained the one constant, the reassurance in the back of his mind. His worship and prayers remained consistent in Merlin’s routine, though they definitely took a more thankful route, as opposed to the begging for help it had been before.

At this point in Merlin’s now very good life, he would consider his faith being exposed as one of the worst things that could happen to him (bar... well, someone dying I suppose), so he’s surprised, when it actually makes his life a lot sweeter.

~

The Gang is on some sort of expedition. Who knows what for, they all sort of blur together nowadays.

Perhaps there’s a problem somewhere, perhaps a celebration, or perhaps King Arthur just fancied a vacation.

But for whatever reason, The King, his Court Sorcerer (and personal bodyguard, though Arthur would never admit it), and his five best knights are wondering purposefully through an area of woodland that they had never ventured into before. They had no maps and travelled by the sun, knowing only which direction they had to go in, and for roughly how long.

They weren’t worried about home, which was a definite relief from the early days; the Lady Morgana had been left with the crown, Guinevere and Gaius as her advisors, and Sir Mordred as her guard. Camelot was in good hands, leaving Arthur and the others only their journey to worry about.

It was late, the sun had fallen slowly at first, but seemed to drop all at once in the last half a candle-mark or so, and the group was desperately searching for an appropriate campsite.

It was the height of summer so shelter wasn’t too much of an issue, they were unlikely to get rained on, but protection from animals, enough space for the horses to spread out a little, and a safe area for a fire were also needed.

It was the ever observant Lancelot who called for everyone to stop all of a sudden, pointing through the thick foliage towards a large stone outcrop:

“Looks like a cave, it would be perfect to settle for the night Sire, as long as nothing else is already in residence.”

Arthur rides up next to his knight, clapping him on the back, before leading the way through a narrow path in the bushes:

“Nice spot, we almost walked straight passed it.”

After a few minutes of struggling to encourage the horses through the thick underbrush, the seven of them gather outside the entrance, Merlin and Arthur at the front.

Arthur looks to his Warlock with a raised eyebrow:

“Well? Is it safe, oh powerful Warlock?”

The knights snicker slightly behind them, but Merlin frowns, peering into the dark cave. He dismounts his horse, running a soft hand over the rock:

“I think we should move on.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, dismounting and standing next to him with crossed arms:

“And why’s that, Merlin? One of your funny feelings?”

Merlin scowls at him briefly before looking back into the darkness, hand still resting on the stone:

“Hmm. It... it feels odd. I don’t think you should be here.”

Arthur frowns slightly; as much as he mocks, he’s learned to listen to Merlin’s funny feelings in recent years. If the other man was adamant that it wasn’t safe, they would move on. It’s Elyan though, that pipes up before he can say anything:

“What, is it magic or something?”

Merlin shakes his head slowly, looking behind him briefly before meeting Arthur’s gaze for the first time, still frowning slightly:

“No, no, I just think we should move on is all, it doesn’t feel right, you being here.” 

Merlin seems a little perplexed as to why he feels like this, and Gwaine interrupts anything Arthur would have said with:

“Well does it feel evil? Because I can deal with odd, just not evil.”

The other knights hum in agreement, but Merlin looks vaguely uncomfortable as he replies:

“Not evil. If anything, it feels... benevolent, but I still don’t think-”

He’s cut off by Elyan again:

“Isn’t that good? Surely stopping in a benevolent place is better than stopping in a... not-benevolent place?”

Arthur nods and hums in agreement, and the others take that as their cue to dismount, pulling their horses by the reins to be tied to trees by the entrance. Merlin shakes his head holding his hand out and moving back to his steed:

“No, I really think we should-”

Arthur claps him on the back, smiling:

“Come on, Merls, surely if it feels... benevolent or whatever, we should at least check it out. If it’s not right we’ll move on, but it’s getting late, so checking is better than not checking.”

Merlin huffs, shrugging Arthur’s hand off in annoyance before tying up his own horse and following the knights into the cave, bringing up the rear.

He’s so busy running his hand along the stone wall he walks beside and grumbling to himself, that he runs into Percival’s back with a gentle “oof” when the man stops suddenly in front of him.

He taps him on the shoulder, but gets no response. Merlin rolls his eyes before pushing round the larger man, walking into a large cavern.

The cavern is circular, centred around a large statue of a woman, at least twenty-feet high. Above her, there is a hole in the ceiling through which crystal clear water falls, splashing over her head and falling down her back and shoulders like long, flowing hair. There’s a sort of stone barrier around her, and the water gathers in a pond, draining off to Gods know where. On the outer edge of the barrier, sits a thick stone shelf, going around the whole circumference of the pond about two feet off the ground.

The stone shelf was covered in oddities: shining jewels, old coins, scraps of cloth, coloured pebbles, sketches, and shards of metal. The cavern itself was vibrant with life, moss and flowers and birds making their homes in every crack and crevice in the stone. The place was, all in all, beautiful.

Merlin’s wide eyes had not left the statue, and he momentarily forgot that he wasn’t alone, only to be reminded by Gwaine exclaiming:

“Bloody hell. The fuck is this?”

Merlin turns on him quickly, and the knight was taken aback by the anger on his face:

“Lower your voice Gwaine, and show some respect, please.”

Gwaine widened his eyes, before nodding in apology. Arthur rolled his eyes at the interaction, Merlin had always been stupid and sentimental when it came to things like this. The King walked towards the shelf, going to casually pick up a particularly shiny rock when he feels himself frozen, unmistakably by Merlin’s magic:

“Don’t. Don’t touch anything. Everyone out, right now. I told you, you shouldn’t be here, it’s sacred.”

Arthur finally feels himself be released, and turns to Merlin, annoyed. He stops the angry retort he had been preparing when he sees the look on Merlin’s face: a mix of absolute awe, and vast discomfort. He imagines the discomfort comes from everyone’s curious stares on him.

Leon is the first to speak, quietly asking:

“I thought you said this place wasn’t magical? And how can you know it’s sacred?”

Merlin only glances at him briefly, letting out an incredulous laugh as he gestures around the cavern vaguely:

“It’s not magic. But it is sacred, look at this place, how can you not tell? How can you not feel it?”

Arthur frowns slightly, looking around the cavern, paying more attention to the details:

“Hmm. My father would’ve called this heresy and ordered it burned.”

Merlin visibly tenses, and for the first time since he found out about Merlin’s magic, Arthur finds himself more frightened of the invisible tendrils tightening around his limbs than comforted. Merlin’s tone is low and cold, though he tries to push his words out casually:

“And you? Would you burn a place this sacred just because it didn’t conform to your fancy new religion?”

Merlin doesn’t look at him as he speaks, staring tensely at the statue and Her offerings as the knights wait with baited breath for Arthur’s answer. He speaks slowly, staring at Merlin with an intense curiosity:

“No. I don’t care what people believe, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone. The new religion never took with me much anyway. God, I believe in, all the rules that mankind made up about Him out of hubris? Not for me. If you really think we should leave Merlin, we’ll go.”

Merlin finally meets his gaze, relaxing slightly as he nods, and Arthur feels his magic turn warm again. The King takes a deep breath, unnerved for some reason, and returns the Warlock’s nod before walking out of the cavern, the knights wordlessly following his lead.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he was holding, fully relaxing as he begins to smile at the statue again. He walks forward, kneeling in front of the shelf and bowing his head, his hands folded gently in his lap as he whispers a short prayer, knowing he hadn’t much time.

When he finishes, he stands again, removing one of his rings (a rough one that he had formed himself, using his magic, from a nice rock he had found a few months ago) and placing it lovingly on the shelf as he mutters:

“I offer this back to you, Erce, as a show that I never intend to take, just borrow, to strengthen my connection to yourself and your domain. I thank you for allowing me this beauty, and I am grateful for the time we shared, but now I offer it back to you to be renewed.”

He bows his head once again before turning to leave, feeling an odd mix of tired from his previous anger, and renewed at the opportunity to pray in such a place.

What he didn’t know, was that he’d had an audience of six confused knights, all of whom struggled to dampen their guilt at witnessing something they now know Merlin had intended to keep private.

~

It only takes them an hour or so to find a suitable campsite, and Merlin is too busy feeling oddly refreshed by the lack of weight on his finger to notice the knights’ silence, at least at first.

It’s when camp is finally set up and they all sit around the fire having eaten, that he raises an eyebrow at each of them in turn as they awkwardly avoid his gaze.

It’s Gwaine of course, that breaks the silence first, turning to Arthur with a clap of his hands and a grin on his face:

“So, Princess! The New Religion didn’t take with you? Bet daddy dearest didn’t like that.”

Arthur just rolled his eyes before answering:

“He didn’t really care to be honest. I’m not sure if he genuinely believed it himself, or if he was just desperate to stamp out the Old Religion. It was fine as long as we made a show of it in public.”

The knights nod as his answer, but Merlin just clenches his jaw, staring into the fire. Lancelot gives him a concerned look, but he doesn’t notice, resisting the urge to roll his eyes when he feels Elyan glance at him before looking around the circle:

“The New Religion has only really taken in the big cities. I discovered in my travels that most rural areas are still followers of the Old Religion, and it’s various offshoots.”

Percival and Gwaine hum in agreement, and it’s Leon, sat next to the Warlock, that shoots Merlin a concerned glance when he hears the man huff quietly. When the awkward silence stretches on for a few minutes too long, Merlin finally looks up to see everyone quickly look away from him, he clears his throat before rolling his eyes and speaking harshly:

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Just ask.”

They all look at him guiltily, and Gwaine is once again the one to break the silence:

“Are you religious, Merlin?”

He gives a single firm nod, back to staring into the fire as he grinds out:

“Pagan.”

Every one of them is taken aback at that, even Lancelot (which makes Arthur even more confused. He thought the man knew everything about Merlin. And no, he was NOT jealous over that, and no, he did NOT take great pleasure in finding something Lancelot was unaware of, even if he himself didn’t know either). Percival tilts his head curiously, asking:

“So who was she? The statue?”

Merlin allows himself a brief smile before remembering that he really didn’t want anyone knowing about this, and rubbing his eyes tiredly, sitting up straight as he answers stiffly:

“Erce, Goddess of the Earth.”

If he were with anyone else, Guinevere or Gaius or Morgana or even Mordred, he would probably have gone on to animatedly talk about Her importance and show them the prayers or the little shrines-in-jars he carries around, protected at the bottom of his saddlebag, but as he’s with the knights, he stops after the simple answer.

He’s not entirely sure why.

Perhaps it’s because, although he loves them all dearly, they’re knights. He’s reluctant to let their violence anywhere near his faith, especially when they tend to make jokes out of anything and everything, no matter how important or sacred it may seem.

Arthur narrows his eyes slightly at his answer, his voice just a tad petulant as he asks:

“And? What does she do?” 

Merlin clenches his jaw, looking up sharply, and Leon finally decides he’s had enough:

“It’s late, we really should be getting some rest. I can take first watch, if everyone’s ok with that?”

Lancelot nods knowingly, standing up to retrieve his bedroll, followed shortly by Percival, but Gwaine and Elyan pout and Arthur simply raises an eyebrow:

“No, come now, Merlin, I’m curious.”

Merlin bristles in anger, but Leon beats him to it, looking to Arthur, clearly annoyed, and saying forcefully:

“With all due respect Sire, Merlin’s faith does not exist to satiate our curiosity, I’m sure Geoffrey has some books in the library, if you’re that eager to learn.”

Arthur looks at his First Knight in shock, Gwaine and Elyan shooting Merlin suitably guilty looks as they leave to fetch their own bedrolls. Merlin looks at the curly-haired knight in slight confusion as Arthur finally shakes himself from his stupor:

“I don’t mean to offend, I’m simply... interested.”

Leon sighs, glancing to Merlin, still staring at him, before looking back at The King:

“Just because you didn’t mean to offend, doesn’t mean you didn’t. Merlin’s beliefs are private, if he’d been happy to discuss them, he would have done so years ago, God knows the man likes to talk.”

Merlin quirks a smile at that as his gaze finally moves away from Leon, and to his lap. Arthur finally looks a little sheepish, glancing to Merlin as he stands up:

“Right... well... you’re right I suppose Sir Leon, I apologise, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, nodding briefly at the flushed man. Arthur walks off stiffly, laying his bedroll somewhere out of earshot of the two men left sat at the fire.

Leon pulls his pack closer to him, rooting out the rough sketch of the terrain he had been keeping up with every night, not looking to Merlin at his side as he mutters:

“Cave, or no cave?”

Merlin looks to the map in the knight’s lap, making a mental note of where they are so he could come back one day, before muttering:

“No cave.” grateful for Leon’s gentle nod, and lack of further discussion.

~

The tense awkwardness only lasts for another half day, but the knights’ curiosity definitely continues to pique when Merlin stops bothering to hide his worship.

He still prays quietly and out of the way, but he no longer does it after everyone falls asleep, or before they wake up. He walks stiffly somewhere off to the side of camp, pretending not to notice everyone’s eyes on him as he carefully sets his jar down somewhere soft and kneels in front of it. He prefers to say his prayers aloud, the whole point of it is to convene with nature around him, but he does so as quietly as possible, to stop the others from overhearing. It’s not necessarily a secret, what he’s saying, but his faith is the one thing he wouldn’t allow them to make a mockery of, and he didn’t want to start an argument when he inevitably has to stand up for himself. 

(Perhaps he should have a little more faith in his friends, but oh well.)

It’s Percival, who first approaches him after his evening prayer, gesturing to the jar clutched in Merlin’s hand, and timidly saying:

“Is... is that something we can ask about? Or is it private? I don’t want to pry.”

Merlin gives him a weak smile, surprised at his genuine tone, but hands the jar over easily before responding:

“You can ask whatever you like, Percy.-”

Arthur scoffs under his breath, quietly muttering:

“That’s not the impression I got.”

Leon thumps him on the arm and Lancelot scowls at him, but before anyone can say anything, Merlin turns his head to look at him, and calmly, though viciously, says:

“Yes, well, you do have a habit of taking the piss out of anything I find important, so perhaps it’s just you I don’t want asking questions about my faith, aka the one thing that stopped me abandoning you a week into this whole destiny shite.-”

Arthur looks taken aback and flushes, muttering a dumb “Oh” under his breath, but before he can say anything further, Merlin turns back to a slightly dumbfounded Percival, and resumes smiling at him:

“-You can open it if you like, just don’t lose anything.”

With that, the two men settle next to each other by the fire, the other knights trying to subtly crowd a little closer so they can overhear their conversation. Arthur, of course, stays awkwardly seated on the opposite side of the fire, looking as if he were studying Leon’s map, but very obviously trying to eavesdrop.

It irked Merlin, perhaps because he was so used to being desperate that Arthur not find out, but he pushes the feeling down. It was actually refreshing to be able to talk about it, especially when the knights were awkwardly forcing themselves to be as respectful as possible.

Merlin explained the importance of his little jar; told them that it was a few things he had taken from his permanent alter back home, so he could carry it with him wherever he went. The items inside weren’t particularly special themselves, individually, but they were representations of Merlin’s connections with his Gods, and the world around him.

They all seemed intrigued, and the more he spoke, the more questions he answered about what he believed in, what he prayed for, and to who, the happier he felt about them knowing; he always felt some sort of way about his own determination to keep his faith a secret, it wasn’t that he was ashamed, I suppose he was just scared he would have to defend himself.

But it’s a relief, that they were genuinely interested in Merlin’s thought process and beliefs, instead of being demeaning like he expected them to be. Which he honestly feels a little silly about now.

~

Gaius was more than a little surprised to overhear Merlin explaining the meaning behind Samhain to an attentive gaggle of knights as they first entered the courtyard, expedition having been successful, but he doesn’t question it, just raises an eyebrow at the wide grin on Merlin’s face, and the carefully concealed frown on Arthur’s.

Gwen, Morgana, and Mordred were slowly made aware of the faith that Merlin had apparently always had, and Mordred was thrilled that he could now relate to Emrys in matters of faith (Druid and Pagan cultures weren’t identical, but they had enough similarities) as well as magic.

Arthur never mentioned it again; awkwardly retreating from conversations in which any sort of religion was brought up, and generally struggling to look Merlin in the eyes, especially when the man had something Pagan on show (before, he often had pendants or bracelets or scraps of cloth hidden under his clothes. He wore them proudly now).

It was maybe a week after they got home, a week of Merlin feeling a little guilty of his harsh tone to Arthur, when The King asked for him to stay behind after a council meeting.

The room drained of all but the two of them, Lancelot shooting Merlin a concerned glance and Leon raising an eyebrow at Arthur’s nervous face as the two knights left, shutting the door behind them.

Arthur finally cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, Merlin burst:

“I’m sorry! For... for what I said, it was too harsh. I had just been dreading anyone finding out for over a decade and suddenly everyone knew and I was... overly defensive, I apologise.”

Arthur looks taken aback, but after a moment of shock he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, running a rough hand through his hair:

“No, I’m the one who should apologise, your faith is your own. You... you were right, I have a habit of being needlessly callous, and I almost certainly would’ve been if Leon hadn’t stepped in. You were right to be defensive, and I’m sorry that your faith was exposed when you wanted it kept private.”

Merlin nodded, fingering the pendent hanging over his chest absent-mindedly. He gives Arthur a weak, though genuine, smile:

“Thank you, though once I got over the shock of it... well, it’s actually been kind of nice to not have to hide it. Everyone’s so... genuinely curious, and eager to learn; I don’t know why I was expecting people to be demeaning. It seems silly, now that I think about it.”

Arthur smiles and nods, tempted to bring up something about how Merlin was unfairly used to hiding who he was, but he kept it to himself, not wanting to remind the other man of his past pain. Instead he gives the Warlock a shy smile:

“Fancy a tankard?”

Merlin rolled his eyes with a laugh, and walks towards the door:

“Sure, I imagine Gwaine is already down there, and I think the others intended to join him tonight as well.”

~

It was two weeks after that, that Elyan slowly approached Merlin in the evening, biting his lip nervously and clutching something tightly behind his back.

Merlin frowned slightly, immediately picking up on the other man’s concerning behaviour, and spoke gently:

“Elyan? Everything alright?”

The knight nodded distractedly, before clearing his throat, and bringing his hands round to the front, still tightly shut:

“Uh, yeah, yes. I just... me and Gwen were clearing out some of the storage rooms at our Smith’s, and I thought... well... I found this,-”

He opens his hand, and sitting in his palm is a rough, unpolished, though beautiful emerald. Merlin widens his eyes, and looks up to Elyan again, confused:

“- it’s too small for anything worthwhile to be left after being polished and cut, so... well, I thought you might want it? I know that you... you know... give things back to nature or have them on your... altar?”

Merlin struggles to hold back a chuckle at Elyan’s endearing nervousness, and takes the emerald with gentle hands, staring at it in awe:

“I appreciate that Elyan, thank you, it’s beautiful.-”

He deposits it carefully in his pocket, leaving his hand in the fabric and running his fingers over the rough edges as he looks back up at Elyan with a wide grin:

“-I already know exactly where it’s going, and exactly Who it’s dedicated to.”

Elyan nods, deflating slightly in his relief that he hadn’t offended somehow; Merlin chuckles at the other man and gives him a softer smile, one that Elyan returns enthusiastically before turning and hurrying off back the way he had come.

Merlin spends the rest of the evening as had been planned: with Arthur, discussing an approaching meeting with the Druids. When Arthur finally rolls his eyes and tells Merlin to just “spit it out, what’s got you so smiley and distracted?”, the Warlock simply smiles knowingly, and continues to run his thumb over the little bit of nature in his pocket.

~

It was less than twenty-four hours later that Percival returns from a week long border patrol, promising Merlin that he had a gift for him later that evening.

Merlin was quietly curious, but managed to push it from his mind until Percival did indeed approach him again, after dinner, a childishly excited grin on his face.

The Warlock yet again found himself stood in front of a knight whose hands were nervously clutching something behind his back. Percival bounced on his feet, biting his lip eagerly, and Merlin raised an amused eyebrow at him as he brought his hands around to the front, and presented Merlin with his gift.

Lying across his palms, was an exquisite falcon feather. Percival had obviously spent the afternoon cleaning it meticulously and lovingly, making sure every strand was back in it’s rightful place before presenting it to Merlin. The smaller man took in a breath, marvelling at the patterns, and Percival finally broke the silence:

“We spotted a nest on a cliff face- we left it be, don’t worry- but this was just sat in the bushes below it. It was the most intact one I’d ever seen and, well... I thought you’d like it, if not for your faith, then for your magic, Mordred has told me of your connection with nature.”

Merlin takes the feather carefully, giving Percival a blinding smile and a vigorous nod:

“This is beautiful Percy, thank you. It’s the perfect bridge between the two, I think. It’ll go nicely with the others I’ve collected, over the years.”

The knight looks triumphantly pleased with himself, and nods at Merlin’s gratitude before giving him a short wave goodbye and speaking over his shoulder as he walks away:

“I’m glad you like it! I’ll see you at the debrief tomorrow.”

~

Merlin got a short break from his friends’ endearing support after that, and it wasn’t until a patrol with Gwaine, Lancelot, and Elyan (that Merlin decided to tag along on) a few weeks later that he got another gift.

This time, it was from Gwaine. He was a lot more blasé about it than the others had been, but that didn’t mean that Merlin was any less touched that the knight had thought of him when he fished the stone out from the bottom of a shallow stream.

(and also didn’t disguise Gwaine’s hidden relief when Merlin accepted it with a wide smile.)

It had been smoothed by years under the water, and with the layers of bright oranges and reds that it was made of, well, there was no surprise that it had caught the talkative man’s eye.

Merlin stowed it safely in his jar for the remainder of the three day patrol, and it was quickly joined by two more smaller stones and a pretty leaf that the knight had picked up.

When he got home, he had a good rearrange of his altar, putting all the gifts he’d received from his friends together. When he was promoted to Court Sorcerer, and given bigger chambers, he moved his altar from the slightly pathetic back corner of his wardrobe, to a set of shelves and stands in an alcove in his new rooms. It used to be hidden behind thick curtains and a tactically placed chair, but he let it breath a little more now, now that the idea of people seeing it didn’t bother him.

He cast preserving spells on the leaves, but removed them and released them to the wind out his window as and when Gwaine presented him with more (he got a new leaf or a pretty rock or a nice looking flower from that specific knight at least once a week).

~

Eventually, almost everyone was joining in on the gift-giving: 

Elyan and Gwen presented him with small lumps of metal or precious stone that they felt bad just throwing out from the Smith’s.

Percival would bring home, lovingly clean, and present him with rare bird feathers or animal bones he’d stumbled across (he was rather proud of a fully intact fox skull, and it sat strongly in the middle of Merlin’s altar, surrounded by Gwaine’s flowers).

Gwaine presented him with all sorts of bits and pieces on a constant basis. Merlin got the most gifts from him by far, in the form of whatever pretty thing (be it a rock, a leaf, a stick, a flower, etc) happened to catch Gwaine’s eye that day.

Morgana passed on gems and metal from jewellery that she didn’t wear anymore, and occasionally leftover spell components that she no longer had use for.

Lancelot, as it turned out, had a real knack for whittling wood, something he did when he was bored or stressed, and passed on all his little statuettes and carvings to Merlin. 

Leon has a windowsill covered in plants. Each one lovingly cultivated and cared for and named (not that anyone but him knew that last part), and whenever one got too big for it’s space, he would split it or take cuttings, one always staying on his windowsill, one going to Merlin, and the others, he gave to the gardens of the schools in the lower town. The plants always went near Merlin’s window, as opposed to in the little alcove (he preferred keeping them alive naturally, as opposed to with magic, so they needed the sunlight and airflow), but he still considered them part of his altar.

Gaius passes on pouches of herbs and poultices, now always making just a little extra to give to his former, now grown, ward. They would stay on Merlin’s altar until a time when he would need them, and like Merlin borrowed his rocks and leaves from the Gods, the Gods borrowed healing from Merlin.

Mordred didn’t give... gifts, per se, but maybe twice a week, he would join Merlin for his prayers, offering his magic and worship directly to Merlin’s altar as they kneeled side by side. Honestly, it was mainly Mordred’s magic that sustained all the living gifts from Gwaine, and Merlin was thrilled with that.

The King had yet to give him something. Not that Merlin was expecting anything, but it would be nice for him to be able to complete the collection; it would put his mind at ease, knowing that he had something of each of them to pray over.

Unknown to the Warlock, Arthur had been thinking about it as well, more and more in the days after he realised that he had been the only one to not gift something to Merlin’s faith.

But he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted it to be meaningful, personal, not just some rock or leaf or piece of something he didn’t want anymore. It had to be special. Partly to prove to Merlin that he really didn’t mind his different set of beliefs, and partly because... well, it was Merlin, anything The King gave him had to be as special as he himself was (not that he would EVER admit that).

In the end, it was a spur of the moment gift, an idea that came to him in his reminiscing.

~

Training for the day had just finished. 

He would never admit it, but a growing bruise on his shoulder, gained from a particularly strong swing from Gwaine, was causing him trouble, and struggling through the rest of the afternoon pretending that it didn’t hurt really hadn’t helped things. Once the field was clear of all bar himself and Merlin, he’d had to sheepishly ask his former manservant to help him remove his armour.

Merlin, of course, tutted disapprovingly (something Arthur is sure he learned from Gaius), but followed him back without a word, growing more and more concerned at Arthur’s slow place, and the awkward way he held his arm to his chest.

Thankfully, it wasn’t broken or dislocated or anything else too serious, but the bruise was rather large and rather purple, and even Merlin, a physician, winced when he saw the mottled colour spreading across Arthur’s shoulder and down his back.

Merlin spread a poultice over it (one he’d fetched from his altar, of course) which he then covered in bandages to hold in place, and Arthur had to stop himself from shivering when the other man pressed his hands to the skin below the fabric and muttered a few spells, the warm feeling of his magic spreading under his skin and touching his heart:

“I can’t heal it fully, but that should lessen the pain until morning at least, and the poultice will bring down the inflammation over night.”

Arthur nodded, but winced as the movement pulled on the back of his neck. He’s really starting to regret forcing himself to continue to train; considering the bruise was apparently a lot bigger than he had first thought.

Though he doesn’t regret it as much when Merlin puts a soft hand on his other shoulder and stares at him in worry. Arthur doesn’t let his fondness show, rolling his eyes and speaking softly instead:

“Don’t you worry Merlin, I’ll be fine. Thank you though, I do appreciate it.”

Merlin smiles, and much to Arthur’s disappointment, drops the hand from his shoulder. The Warlock hauls Arthur’s chainmail away from The King’s bed, seeming to forget he has magic, and lays it out on the table for a squire to deal with tomorrow.

Arthur stares at him with narrowed, curious eyes as the other man runs a hand over the metal links, staring wistfully down at it as he mutters:

“I miss it sometimes, the good old days-”

He looks up to Arthur with a cheeky grin, though leaves a hand on the metal:

“-not the hiding or the hours I spent in the stocks of course,-”

He looks back down to the chainmail, sighing before continuing:

“-but the simple life I had, between destinies; cleaning your armour and serving you breakfast and writing your speeches.”

Arthur quirks an eyebrow, standing up and walking over to him as he chuckles and responds:

“Well, you are only down the hall from me, you can serve me breakfast or do my paperwork whenever you like, Merlin.-”

The dark-haired man snorts a laugh but doesn’t look up, not noticing the widening of Arthur’s eyes as he’s struck with an idea:

“-Actually, I was wondering if you could do me a small favour?-”

Merlin looked up at him with a confused frown, but nodded, knowing he couldn’t refuse Arthur anything. Arthur cleared his throat and tried his best to dampen his blush at Merlin’s clear concern, continuing quickly:

“-The sleeves on this new set of chainmail are a little long, I don’t suppose you could remove the bottom row, could you?”

Merlin’s frown was quickly replaced by a raised eyebrow, and his tone is deadpan as he retorts:

“You don’t want me to do that by hand, do you?”

Arthur chuckles, wiggling his fingers in a vague impression of magic as he shakes his head:

“No, no, by all means.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but mockingly wiggles his fingers through the air as he mutters a short spell, his eyes glowing gold as the chainmail floats above the table. A row of links from each sleeve separates, and Arthur holds his hand out expectantly. The Warlock’s eyes fade back to their natural blue, and all the mail drops at once, the bulk of it back onto the table and the two little loops into Arthur’s outstretched hand. He hums, satisfied, before looking up to Merlin, a slightly guilty look on his face.

Merlin just raises an eyebrow, and Arthur clears his throat, before setting his face into the faux confidence he usually uses for public appearances:

“Ok, so I may have lied. The mail was fine, but I wanted you to have these-”

He holds his hand out, and when Merlin just stares, bewildered, he huffs and takes his arm, slipping the loops onto his wrist and tucking them under his sleeve as if they were bracelets:

“-for your... altar. Or one of your little jars. A piece of me, of my protection, to offer your Gods, as a thank you from me, for giving me you. Metal is a natural resource after all, Merlin, I’m simply giving back something I borrowed, and got use from.-”

Arthur frowns as Merlin stares at him with wide eyes, flushing slightly and reaching for Merlin’s wrist again, speaking quickly:

“-Or is that wrong? Ok, never mind, I can find something else that’s-”

Merlin pulls his hand away quickly, and Arthur barely has time to deepen his frown before the younger man throws his arms around his neck and pulls him into a tight hug.

Arthur lets out a quiet “oh... ok”, before returning the hug, resting his chin on Merlin’s shoulder as he smiles to himself. He’s not exactly sure what he’s done to deserve this; he’ll have to ask so he can use it in the future. Merlin finally pulls back and quickly blinks away the tears gathering in his eyes. Arthur keeps his hands on his shoulders as he frowns slightly in concern, waiting for some sort of... explanation.

Merlin looks up at him, biting his lip nervously before saying:

“I thought it made you uncomfortable.”

Arthur blinks in surprise, shaking his head slightly as he asks a bewildered:

“What?”

The Warlock gulps before responding:

“My faith. You always seemed so confused and uncomfortable so... I didn’t think you... liked it, that I was Pagan.”

Arthur looks slightly outraged as he all but yells:

“NO!-”

Merlin takes a surprised step back at the outburst, and Arthur forces himself to take a breath before continuing:

“-No, I just... didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. That, and I wanted whatever I gave you to have some sort of meaning; I suppose I thought on it a little too deeply. I really can find something else if the links aren’t right?”

Merlin shakes his head and relaxes again, giving Arthur a soft smile:

“No, they’re actually kind of perfect. The thought behind it, your reasoning, makes it special, gives it meaning. Thank you Arthur, I... I love them.”

Arthur returns Merlin’s soft smile with a childishly proud one of his own, and Merlin chuckles slightly, nodding towards the door:

“It’s my day to check the wards on the outer-walls, fancy joining me? It’s a nice afternoon.”

Arthur nods, quickly putting a doublet on over his tunic as he follows Merlin out into the corridor. He waves a hand in the direction of Merlin’s chambers:

“Do you want to go add them to your altar before we go?”

Merlin looks down at his new gifts, stroking a soft hand over them as he re-tucks them under his sleeve. He looks up at Arthur with a soft, shy smile:

“I actually think I’ll keep these ones with me.”

Arthur returns his smile, nodding slightly and turning away before the other man can see the pink of his cheeks.

~

THE END!!

This isn’t exactly what I wanted, but I still really enjoyed writing it and I hope y’all like it :)

Same as always lads, you wanna right it out properly, go for it!

Check out This List to see what I’m working on next, and cast your vote!!

[ilovefandoms102]

The Worst Vacation

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend surprises you on your vacation with your work friends...

Note: Inspired by my trip to AZ which was terrible so this is kind of based off real events that happened to me but dramatized for the story, and of course inserting my baby daddy Drew😛.

Click here to be apart of my taglist

=====================================

Life works in funny ways…

I never expected to find the love of my life a little over a year ago. Drew came unexpectedly into my life and we instantly had a connection. I know, I know...sounds extremely cliche, but it’s the truth.

Although our relationship was mostly long distance, we made it work. Sure it was really hard sometimes not having him around, but once I graduated from college we planned on moving in together. It might seem a bit fast since we have only been together a year, but I’m ready and I know Drew’s the one I want to spend forever with.

=====================================

I go on vacation with a girl I work with every year, Sally, since I started working with her two years ago. This year, we chose to go to Arizona. I was super excited because we had also planned on going to Las Vegas and Los Angeles.

Drew was extremely supportive and was happy that I was getting the opportunity to travel. I was hesitant with wanting to go at first because I had wanted to save up enough money to visit Drew while he was filming.

However, we both agreed his schedule was too hectic at the time and that we wouldn’t be able to properly spend time with each other. We were both disappointed, but still I was excited to go with my friend.

Or so I thought…

The trip was slowly turning into a disaster, everything that could have gone wrong did. My friend had brought along her niece, Caroline, which I didn’t mind despite not knowing her very well. It felt like the trip was mainly focused on them and I was just there to be the chauffeur.

I called Drew the first three nights of my stay crying because they were so awful to me. Drew being the sweet man he is offered to pay for a flight home, but I declined. I already had spent too much money to not finish out the trip.

“But sweetheart, if you’re not having a good time there’s no point in being there.” Drew pressed, his handsome face lighting up my phone screen.

“I know honey, but I’ve already spent a thousand dollars for this trip. I can’t just come home and leave them here.” I sighed, snuggling further into what would be my bed for another 10 dreadful days.

“I’ll give you the money back angel, I just don’t want you to be miserable when this is supposed to be a relaxing trip.” Drew insisted.

“I’m not taking your money Drew you spoil me enough.” I smiled, wishing more than anything he was lying here with me so I could kiss his cute face.

“I always want to spoil you baby, you mean the world to me.” he professed, grinning widely afterwards.

“I miss you so much,” I whispered, my heart aching to feel his strong arms around me.

“I miss you more,” he whispered back, pouting his lips slightly.

We talked until one of us fell asleep only to call back the next morning. My friends even had the nerve to comment on how much I talked to him.

“It’s a little obsessive...I mean you guys have been together for what a year?” Sally condescended, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Yeah? So what?” I questioned, the annoyance clear in my tone.

“I’m just saying it’s weird.” she scoffed, crossing her arms behind her head as we laid out in the sun by our pool.

“It’s weird for me to talk to my boyfriend?” I asked, making sure I was extra sarcastic.

“Every second of the day...yeah.” she chuckled, making my blood boil even higher.

I chose to be the bigger person however, and just kept to myself.

=====================================

The 5th day of my vacation, I hadn’t heard from Drew the whole day. It worried me, but I was also thinking about what Sally said. Maybe I was being clingy…

A knock on the door startled me from my thoughts. I thought maybe one of the girls had ordered food or something, so I opened the door and my mouth dropped open.

“Hi baby,” Drew greeted, my eyes watering from pure joy.

“Drew! What are you doing here?!” I asked excitedly, throwing myself in his arms.

“I came to see my baby,” he mumbled into my cheek, placing a gentle kiss on the red skin from being in the sun.

“Are you actually fucking kidding me?!” Sally exclaimed from behind us.

“Well nice to meet you too.” Drew mumbled sarcastically while letting go of me but not completely.

“Chill Sally, he’s just here a few days.” I huffed, rolling my eyes as I turned to face her.

“This is supposed to be OUR vacation!” She reiterated, throwing her arms out.

“It still is our vacation,” I emphasized.

“Not when you’ll be all over your boyfriend!” she shouted.

“I barely get to see him as it is Sal, you know that.” I said softly, trying to gain an empathy pass so she would just leave me alone.

“Whatever,” she sighed, clearly irritated as she stomped off.

I paid her no mind since she threw fits all the time like this. I pulled Drew to the room I was staying in, slamming the door shut. Drew threw his stuff by mine, then smirked at me and tackled me on the bed. I let out a little squeal, beaming up at the handsome man that I got to call mine.

“I’m so happy now,” I confessed, biting down on my lip to try and keep my tears in.

“Me too my love,” Drew whispered, sealing our lips for the first real kiss we had shared in a long time.

=====================================

Today was the day we were taking a drive to Las Vegas, which I was very very excited for. It was a nice change to wake up to soft kisses instead of Sally barging in here and demanding I wake up.

“Good morning beautiful,” Drew murmured in his deep morning voice, his kisses continuing their loving assault.

“This is a very nice wake up,” I giggled, snuggling further into him.

Drew hummed in agreement against the skin of my neck, his slight stubble tickling the delicate area. His large hands felt up the curve of my hips, taking my(his) shirt with them.

Drew had always claimed since we started dating that he was obsessed with the wide curves that I hated more than anything. He even said he loved how thick my thighs were, which I never thought in a million years I’d hear come from a man’s mouth.

“I love you, my girl. ” he whispered, my heart fluttering in my chest.

“I love you, my man.” I whispered back.

Our moment was rudely interrupted when Sally banged on the door saying we needed to hurry up. I couldn’t control my eyes from rolling in annoyance as Drew and I untangled from each other. We got ready quickly before making our way to the car to start the four hour trip.

=====================================

The drive was smooth sailing, Drew and I taking turns driving while Sally pouted about having to sit in the back. My hand clenched Drew’s tightly at her sly comments. Luckily, Drew wasn’t having it with her since he knew I wouldn't say anything.

“So this is the guy you’ve been obsessing over for the past year?” she asked snootily, knowing it would irritate me.

“I think it’s more like I’m obsessed with her.” Drew spoke up, squeezing my hand before smiling at me.

“Really? She never shuts up about you.” Sally retorted, raising a challenging brow at him.

“Well, I’m glad because I’m the same way with my friends, they love her.” Drew chuckled, but I could tell he was just as irritated as I was.

We stopped to get gas thankfully or otherwise I would have exploded. I stomped inside to the restrooms, slamming the stall door shut.

I got in the drivers side after I came out, Drew waiting by the door to open it for me. I smiled small at him, getting on my tipey toes to kiss him quickly before getting in.

We finally had made it, but things were not looking good. I had accidentally ended up in the old part of Vegas instead of the main strip, and Sally blew up on me.

“How can you be so fucking stupid is it really that hard to type shit in on a map?!” she screeched.

“It’s not that big of a deal, we're not far,” Caroline commented, annoyed with her aunt's attitude.

“God this is a fucking disaster I don’t even want to be here anymore!” she shouted, my hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Drew sat in silence, not sure what to do to diffuse the tension.

“God will you just shut up! I don’t know where every fucking place is in the world! This is my first time here just as it is yours, now just shut the hell up and let me concentrate!” I finally snapped, angrily typing on my phone to figure out where we needed to be.

I found where Caesar’s Palace was located, and they just so happened to have free parking as well. I slammed the gas and took us there. Drew and I got out of the car, but Sally and Caroline didn’t budge.

A few minutes later, Caroline storms out of the car slamming the door as hard as she could. She rushed past Drew and I, heading towards the exit.

“I’m sorry y/n, I hate that she treats you like that.” Caroline spoke up once we exited the parking garage.

“I’m used to it, she talks to me like that at work too.” I confessed, Drew whipping his head towards me.

“Y-You never told me that…” he murmured, looking down at me with an almost hurt expression.

I shook my head at him, signaling now was not the time.

=====================================

Sally threw her tantrum, then met us in the Bellagio. We sort of made up, but I did it merely so the rest of the day wasn’t awkward. Drew was quiet, probably still a bit upset with me.

We toured the hotel, the decorative flowers and artistry truly breathtaking. We ended up in front of Hell’s Kitchen where we would be eating later tonight. Drew and I took some pictures together to post on our stories while Sally and Caroline walked towards Caesar’s Palace.

“I wish you’d let me say something,” Drew blurted, sitting on one of the steps with me standing between his legs.

“No Drew, it will just make things worse.” I sighed, leaning into him.

“She’s so mean to you my love, I don’t like it.” he stated, his arms coming around me.

“I’ll be ok baby,” I mumbled, playing with his hair while smiling down at him.

“How about...you and I sneak away.” Drew suggested, tapping his fingers on my hips.

“Then they’d really be pissed,” I chuckled.

“We can just say we got lost.” he shrugged.

“Why do I feel like you’re up to something Starkey?” I questioned, raising my brow at him.

“I may or may not have booked us a room for today.” he grinned slyly, suddenly pulling me tight against him.

“To cuddle?” I teased, smirking as I ran my hands up his chest to the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Well yes...but also to fuck.” Drew said bluntly, smiling as I gasped at him.

“Joseph Starkey!” I exclaimed, giggling as my cheeks turned a deep shade of red.

“Baby come on it’s been sooooo long, my balls are aching.” he whined, cupping his hand over his manhood.

“Awwww are they? My poor baby boy.” I pouted, rubbing his cheeks with my thumbs.

He nodded, his lips pouting out as well. I couldn’t help the smile widening on my face, his cute pout making my insides melt.

“Let’s go then Drewbear,” I giggled, pulling his arms to stand up.

=====================================

We quickly checked in, rushing up to the room. I didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty of the room, Drew immediately spinning me around and lifting me into his arms. Drew laid us down on the bed, my phone rang out, no doubt one of the girls calling.

“Drew, I-I should get that.” I panted, his kisses moving down my neck. I felt his hand snake down my body, reaching into my pocket to take out my phone.

“They’ll be fine without us,” Drew smirked, lifting up and silencing my phone.

“Drew I should at least text the-” I started, but stopped talking when Drew took his shirt off.

“Sorry baby, were you saying something?” he asked rhetorically, smirking at my staring eyes. I shook my head, my eyes traveling down his toned form.

Drew stared down at me, his gaze sending chills down my spine. His hands traveled from my knees, down my thighs, up until they reached the bottom of my shirt. His eyes flickered to mine, and I nodded my head. Drew’s hands went under my shirt, my breath hitching in my throat.

I lifted my hands, sitting up a little so Drew could take my shirt off. He tossed it to the ground with his, while he did that, I unhooked my bra and threw it in the same direction before laying back down. Drew’s hands ventured towards my breasts as his lips explored the skin of my collarbones, lightly nipping at the area. I couldn’t contain the moan that escaped when Drew lightly rolled my nipples between his fingers,

“Fuck,” I whispered, my nails lightly digging into his scalp as I tugged on his hair.

Drew wasted no time in getting to where he really wants. He shoved off both our pants and underwear, situating me just how he likes before he buried his face in me. His tongue worked wonders, licking and sucking on each spot that made me tick.

“Oh my, baby please don’t stop.” I begged, my back arching slightly off the bed as my legs started enclosing towards his head. Drew lifted his head momentarily to stick two of his fingers in gently, my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

“My girl has such a pretty pussy.” he commented, his breath ghosting over where his tongue had just been.

I moaned loudly at his praise, gripping the sheets between my fingers as I felt my orgasm just in reach. Drew smiled as his mouth went back to work, his fingers increasing their pace as well. I could feel the band about to snap, my legs shaking the closer I got. With just the slight curl of his fingers, the flick of his tongue, and I was done for.

“I’m-” I gasped, not finishing my sentence as my orgasm hit me like a freight train.

“Mmmmm fuck yes baby,” Drew groaned, working me through it as he watched the cum drip from his fingers and onto the bed sheets.

Drew took his fingers from me, sliding them in his mouth to suck them clean. My stomach fluttered watching him, it was the hottest thing I had ever seen him do. He then grabbed my hips and flipped us over so I was on top, my head spinning a bit from the quickness of his movements.

“My turn princess,” Drew smiled, kissing my lips hotly before lying back down.

I smirked down at him, kissing my way down his body. I got to his vline, leaving my mark down it until I got to his dick. I licked from his balls to the tip, squealing lightly when his hand was suddenly in my hair. His chest was moving at a rapid pace, his eyes burning into mine as I took him in my mouth.

“I missed your mouth so much my love, fuck it’s so good.” he moaned, throwing his head back.

I moved my head up and down, using my hands to meet my mouth with what I couldn’t fit in my mouth. His grip on my hair tightened, pushing my head slightly. I gagged once I got to the base, taking a deep breath as my eyes watered.

“I’m gonna cum,” Drew panted, thrusting his hips into my mouth as I sucked harder. I pulled all the way up, sucking on his tip and flicking my tongue as fast as I could. He moaned as he came, spurting his seed into my mouth.

“Let me see, did you swallow it all my good girl?” Drew asked, pulling my hair so my mouth was removed from him.

“Mhm,” I hummed as I showed him my tongue that was clean.

Drew smiled at me, moving his hold to either side of my face and smashing my mouth to his. I held his wrists, moaning softly into his mouth as I shuffled closer.

“Come on beautiful, I want to see you on top.” Drew whispered, helping me straddle his waist and inserting himself inside me.

“Oh my god, Drew.” I groaned, digging my nails into his shoulders.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good.” Drew grinned, helping me move on top of him.

I rolled my hips into his, the tip of his cock hitting my gspot which had me a moaning mess. Drew slid a hand down so his thumb rubbed against my clit, a high pitched whine flying from my lips as I moved faster.

“I could live in your pussy,” Drew moaned, his thumb pressing harder.

“Drew,” I pleaded, throwing my head back before coming back to stare into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Would you like that baby? To sit on my cock all day?” he growled, thrusting his hips upwards to meet mine as I came down.

“Yes, I would love it.” I whimpered.

“I can feel how close you are my love, cum with me.” he demanded, but I was already there before he finished his sentence.

“F-uck baby,” I squeaked, my body going to cloud nine as I shook on top of him.

Drew came seconds later, burying himself inside of me. I laid my head on his shoulder, ran out of energy to keep myself upwards.Drew held me to him, laying back on the bed as we calmed down.

“Ok?” he asked.

“Amazing,” I answered.

=====================================

After we met up with Sally and Caroline, explaining how ‘lost’ we were, we ate dinner at Hell’s Kitchen. It was amazing, but definitely not worth the price. We walked around a few more shops in Caesar’s Palace, actually getting lost and taking a while to find the way out.

Once we did, we came across a group of men walking by…

“Damn she thicc,” one commented.

“Ooooh she got a nice one, hello!” another yelled.

Drew turned around to say something, but I yanked his hand to keep walking.

“Do not,” I hissed.

Drew instead to make it clear I was taken, placed his hand directly on my ass.

“Drew! We’re in public!” I whisper yelled, but he made no move to remove his hand.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he shrugged.

“Hey baby! Why don’t you leave your pretty boy to be with a man for a night!” someone else called, Drew’s eyes narrowing.

I was suddenly airborne, Drew bending down and lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, surprised to say the least.

“Drew! Put me down!” I yelped, holding on to his shoulders.

“Apparently, these boys need to know you’re taken.” Drew snapped, tightening his grip on me.

“Seriously babe, you’re gonna hurt your back.” I mumbled.

“Didn’t you say your feet were hurting babydoll?” he questioned.

“Yes, but Drew-” I started.

“You’re light as a feather my love, I could carry you all day.” he spoke softly, kissing my nose before coming to a stop in front of the water show between Caesar’s Palace and the Bellagio. He sat me on the railing, standing between my legs with his hands placed on my hips. I kissed his cheek, smiling at how sweet and protective this man of mine was.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you baby,” he whispered back, sealing the deal with a soft kiss as the water show ended.

=====================================

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[ichorai]

cellmates ; four ; j.wy

pairing ; jung wooyoung x reader

summary ; stuck in jail after stealing a necklace off the princess, what happens when your new cellmate with an impossible escape plan comes along?

words ; 5.2k

warnings / includes ; medieval fantasy au, blood and grime and death and everything in between, some curse words, future ateez cameos, future suggestive / mature content, cellmates to (future) lovers !!

a/n ; surprise !! here you go stop crying >:( kdjffj jk i hope yall enjoy !!! the plot thickens up quite a bit in this one 👀 ,,, there are also a couple surprises sprinkled here and there :DD to make up for what i did to yall last chapter lol

cellmates masterlist.

As a child, a popular tale you often heard was one depicting a man stranded on an island, throat dry with thirst and stomach void of nourishment. He passed out in exhaustion by the beach, just on the brink of death. But before his soul could fade away, the mermaids took pity on the man of skin-and-bones and brought him underwater, breathing life back into his lungs. He contentedly lived the rest of his life as a merperson.

Although stories like those always had happy endings, they could never really make you smile, unlike how all the other children reacted. What about the people the man cared about when he was on land? Had he just completely forgotten about them to selfishly live an easier life underwater?

The same thoughts ran through your pounding head repeatedly as you dully stared out into the gleaming ocean. From where you were, bound tightly against the main mast, you had a clear view of both the ship’s deck and the waters. You couldn’t really remember how long you’d been tied up… if you could recall correctly, they had only thrown Wooyoung overboard just last night. That felt like an eternity ago. 

All thoughts of mermaids and fairy tales and Wooyoung dissipated from your mind once a pirate stepped into your view. In the daylight, they were far less scary than when you had first encountered them. The pirate had bronzed skin verging on being sunburnt, and sharp eyes of molten gold. A red bandana held his hair out of his leering face, and you noticed a dark branding burn of a sword ran through a skull embedded on his chest, partially covered by his loose tunic.

The man tutted, grabbing your chin between two fingers. It was then that you realized just how tired you were; you hadn’t gotten any sleep, instead spending the night struggling against your bonds and crying after Wooyoung.

“Let me go.” Your voice was so hoarse that it didn’t sound like yours anymore.

The pirate merely grinned and shook his head.

You wracked your brain for a second before spitting out, “Isn’t it bad luck to have a woman onboard? Your ship will sink if you keep me here.”

“Why, you must have nothing but worms between your ears,” He cackled in a sinister manner. “That’s just a silly little myth, sweetheart. Women are more than welcome here.” With those words, he ran his eyes over your tense form. A predator surveying its prey.

Much to your relief, the pirate stepped down. That feeling didn’t last very long, however. Just as he slid back, more pirates filtered into your view, clearly just having woken up to start the day. There were so many eyes on you; some curious, some disinterested, and some boldly staring with unsavory expressions.

“I say we make her do the dirty work,” One with golden teeth chimed. “Scrub the decks, clean the chamber pots.”

“We should toss her overboard. We don’t need another mouth to feed.”

“Keep her tied up there! A pretty thing like her should be on display for everyone to see!”

“We can drop her off at the next port and sell her off as a slave. We could use the extra gold.”

“Awh, don’t you think we should keep her? Ain’t half bad to look at.”

Those were only just a few snippets you could make out in the midst of the tumultuous roaring of the pirates as they yelled their suggestions over each other. They grew progressively louder as more ideas came into mind on what they should do with you. Panic brewed within you, but your limbs were tired and your mind was numb. All you could do was stand and watch.

The pirates immediately quietened once a one-eyed man with a peg leg hobbled out of the navigation room. The soft clunk, clunk, clunk of the wooden leg against the planks was not unsimilar to the rapid thundering of your heartbeat.

This is the captain, you thought. It was obvious, what with the way the pirates shut their mouths tightly and bowed their heads down to their chests. Some even trembled on the spot. If Wooyoung were here, he’d laugh at them.

Oh, how you missed him. 

The captain had a voice of pure silk, a stark contrast to his ragged appearance. In a quietly powerful tone, he stated firmly, “We leave her here until we reach Aurecia. Then we sell her off.” After a tense pause, he sternly added on, “Nobody touches her until then. Aurecians pay well for unspoilt women, so if any of you lot come remotely close to her, I’ll have your heads.”

The diminutive consolation you received from the captain’s commands ebbed away slightly when you thought more about what he was saying. They were going to sell you off as a slave in Aurecia. And if you could recall the map correctly, Aurecia was the opposite direction of Virelis, where you were supposed to be going. To top it all off, Cerulea and Aurecia were trusted allies, and that could mean nothing good for you.

“No!” You suddenly interjected in a croaky voice, throat so dry it felt like you had sandpaper in your mouth. “Please, don’t take me there. I need to go to Virelis. Please, you can sell me there!”

Everybody stared at you in complete befuddlement. The captain gaped at you with one narrowed eye and spat out, “Virelis doesn’t take slaves. Don’t play games with me, girl.”

Out of desperation, pleading words frantically poured out of your mouth before you could stop and hesitate, “Then don’t sell me! I’m useful, I swear!”

“Forgive me if I have difficulty believing you,” The captain said in a bored tone, gesturing to your bleeding, tied up form. 

A frustrated huff escaped you as you hissed out, “I’m Y/N L/N! I was the one that stole the princess’ necklace! I’m a valuable asset and you’d be lucky to have me on your crew.”

A stunned silence washed over the pirates. Then, one by one, they started laughing. They snorted and chuckled and slapped their knees as if you had told them the funniest joke in the world. You half-heartedly attempted speaking again, but your voice was drowned out by their howling laughter.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I FEED YOUR SORRY ASSES TO THE SHARKS!” The captain bellowed, his velvety tone long gone. He had his arms crossed tightly over his chest, a scowl pulling at his lips. 

The lot of them snapped their mouths shut so quickly you could hear their teeth clacking against one other. 

“Y/N L/N is nothing but a legend,” The captain stepped closer to you, his one eye narrowed in suspicion. “I don’t know, nor do I care for why you’re lying, but it better not become a problem. I’ve already got one crew to deal with. I don’t need to add a raving lunatic onto the list.”

“Please!” You wiggled against your bonds slightly, wincing at how the coarse rope fibers scratched at your chafed skin. “Why would I lie?! You’ve got to believe me, I’m Y/N L/N, I’ve been in jail for a long time and I’ve only recently escaped with the man you tossed overboard. Please, we can go bring him back, he can tell you, I - !” 

The words lodged in your throat. It was pointless, trying to convince a haggle of savage pirates to go back for someone they tossed to the sharks. There was a sort of heavy pain deep down in your chest, and you brokenly blew out a sigh. The feeling churned at your insides uncomfortably. It might’ve been the sea sickness, but you knew it was a nasty combination of guilt and panic and regret.

The captain noticed your abrupt change in demeanor, but decided not to comment. Instead, he said stoically, “Y/N L/N is a wonderful character in a legend told to scare children and I would absolutely love to meet her. But unfortunately, I don’t think I’d ever get the pleasure to. She’s not real.” You stared into his one eye, tears welling up in your own. “And about the man we tossed over… he put up a real fight and he wasn’t worth the trouble. He’s probably long gone by now. It’d do you good to forget about him.”

Pirates behind the pair of you started snickering, but were quietened when the captain straightened and just about snarled out, “DON’T YOU HAVE WORK TO DO? GET ON WITH IT, YOU STINKY BASTARDS!” 

They scrambled in a panicked fashion, a few of them running into each other as they dashed in opposite directions, others clumsily slipping on the damp plank wood, and some merely ran like headless chickens with no definite direction in mind. 

“They’ll treat you well in Aurecia, girl,” The captain slipped back into his velvety tone once more. You supposed this was his way of apologizing… or, the closest thing to an apology you’d ever get from a pirate. “Just try to accept it and it won’t seem as bad. This lot here won’t hurt you in the meantime. I’ll make sure of that.” He gestured to the rest of the men who were settling back into their daily routines. You were surprised to see that they were already hard at work; manning the sails, scrubbing the decks, navigating the ship, so on so forth. The life of a pirate definitely wasn't an easy one. 

You said nothing in return, staring blankly at the glinting ocean. The hollow clunk, clunk, clunk of his peg leg fading away was a sure sign that the captain was gone. You couldn’t bring it in yourself to watch him go.

This was most probably the worst possible time to cry. At this point, you were surprised your sore eyes could still manage to produce tears, considering how dehydrated you were. It was obvious that some of the pirates were still watching you, pausing mid-job. You tried to ignore them and hung your head sullenly as dry sobs rumbled in your chest.

You were stuck floating in a gigantic cesspool of saltwater, and yet your body had the audacity to produce even more. It was this very water you were bobbing on that most probably filled Wooyoung’s lungs as he gave up his last breath. The thought did nothing but make you weep harder. 

Pirates really had no designated time to have luncheon and supper, but their stomachs all seemed to revolve around roughly the same hours. By the time the golden of the sun was grazing against the deep green waters and the sky was bleeding a strange shade of amaranthine, they were all shouting out complaints of hunger and trotting to the small kitchens below deck to have supper. 

You were hungry, but also sure that if you had even a morsel of bread, you would heave it right back out. The day was spent with you gazing at the rocking waters, bustling pirates, and the large, tattered flag that hung proudly way above you. On occasion, you tried pleading to the pirates who were passing by, but none of them so much as glanced towards you. It seemed as though they took their captain’s orders to heart. 

And so, after hours and hours of being neglected, imagine your surprise when one particular pirate sheepishly walked up to you, a little after all the others had disappeared below the deck to eat.

At first, you hadn’t noticed the quiet man because you had your stinging eyes shut, trying to block off the last and harshest glares of the sun as it sank under the edge of the world.

He cleared his throat once, and your eyes flew back open, startled.

“You must be starving,” He said. 

The first thing you noticed about him was the strangely soft shade of pink his hair was. It wasn’t unsimilar to the color of Yunho’s hair, and you found yourself wondering how the kind giant of a man would react knowing that you lost Wooyoung. 

“Oh,” He gestured to the brightly-hued strands on his forehead. “I’m half fairy. Everybody looks at me funny when they first see my hair.”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you observed the man in front of you suspiciously. You had little to say in reply to the strangely personal fact he told you, and so you bit down on your tongue and let silence further consume you.

He had an angular face and complementing sharp features, but he bore a timid expression in an unexpectedly stark contrast. What was this fairy-man doing on a pirate ship? He didn’t look at all like the rest of the crew. The others were sunburnt and filthy and rugged. He, however, was somewhat well kempt, skin void of burns and scars and dirt. A loose cream-hued tunic was hung over broad shoulders, barely slung over his hardened chest, a leather belt tightened around the small of his waist and tucked into black trousers. It was quite a dignifying outfit in comparison to the rest of the crew clad in dirty rags and stolen clothes that didn’t match in the slightest. But for that, you could understand. Seeing the pirates randomly throw on haphazard articles of clothing, you thought back to when you were on the run with Wooyoung, stealing clothes off of drying lines and changing into whatever would fit.

The only thing that pushed the strange pink-haired man more towards the ‘rugged pirate’ side was a silver lip ring glinting with the late sunlight from the side of his bottom lip. In his eyes you saw gentle kindness, but you knew better than to trust him just yet. 

“Are you hungry? I can sneak something up for you while everyone’s busy stuffing their face full.” He had a voice of honey and silk, tempting you to accept his generous offer. But you kept your mouth shut.

“I understand,” A sad, empathetic look crossed his face. “Sea sickness is the worst the first couple of days. From there, it’ll gradually get better once you get used to it. But please, drink some water.”

From out of nowhere, he brandished a pretty silver chalice and held it up to you, the metal stingingly cool against your lips. You would’ve been stupid to turn down the water, so you leaned forward slightly and slurped at the drink so quickly that some sloshed down your chin and dripped onto your chest. 

“I can get you some more later,” He said, pulling the cup away as you gasped for air. “But I have to tell you something important first. My name is San, by the way.”

He had a name that roughly translated to ‘mountain’ in Old Cerulean. You thought it was a rather pretty name… fitting for such a pretty man.

“I just wanted to say this while no one was around,” San sucked in a deep breath, steeling his quaking nerves. “I believe you.”

The water had certainly drowned away the scratchy burn in your throat, so you were free to painlessly stutter out, “W-What?”

“I believe you,” He repeated. “It’s like you said… why would you lie?”

“You believe that I’m Y/N?” Your voice raised an octave or two higher, to which San shot you a warning look and glanced behind him as a precaution. If anybody heard or saw either of you, the captain would have his head. “Why?”

Hope was a dangerous thing. It muddled your brain and clouded your consciousness, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. So you looked upon the pink-haired pirate dubiously, furrowing your eyebrows.

“I might be the most gullible man out there,” San snorted, raising a hand to rub against the back of his neck. “You kinda fit the description in all the stories and legends. And you don’t look like you’re lying… I don’t know… it must be the fairy blood in me. My mother always knew when I was lying or telling the truth. She used to tell me that good people only truly lie when they want to protect others. But… you don’t have anybody here to protect. Not anymore, anyways.” There was a guilty, remorseful sort of look that flooded his face. 

You were so relieved that you could’ve burst into tears right then and there. 

“And… that man the others threw overboard… he kept saying your name. You might’ve had reason to lie to us, but he didn’t. Especially not then.” San spoke gently in a low tone, as if he were speaking to a frightened child. Something painful twisted in your stomach at his words. “So… yes, Y/N, I believe you.”

Then he leaned forward and quickly swiped his cool thumb over your damp cheek. You only then realized that you were crying again, flinching away from his touch at first, before relaxing your tensed muscles. 

“Thank you,” was the only thing you could properly croak out. There were so many things you wanted to tell him. Help me. Let me out. Bring Wooyoung back. Take me away from here. Why are you helping me? What are you doing here?

Although none of your erratic thoughts were heard, you sagged in relief when he said, “I’ll try to talk to the captain about making a stop in Virelis.” As a tentative afterthought, he added, “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“I loved him,” You croaked out, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t know that I did.”

San flashed you a sad smile, “Some people never realize. You’re lucky that you did.” Then, he murmured after gesturing to your bloody hands and wrists, “I’m also sorry about them hurting you. I have a special coconut extract lotion that treats wounds and burns very well. I’ll try to sneak up something for you to eat, as well. We’ll have to wait until it’s completely dark, though.”

You had so much to tell him, so much to ask, so much to thank him for. The fairy-man rotated on the stub of his heel to walk away, and you whispered out, “San!” He glanced back at you with a curious expression, and you nodded your head, sincerely grateful, “Thank you.” The questions could wait, you supposed.

A smile so wide spread across his lips that his eyes almost disappeared. Around savage pirates practically all his life, he rarely ever heard those two strangely comforting words. He dipped his head politely and walked away, leaving you to your own overwhelming thoughts.

Sleep had taken you under its dark wing a little while after San left, however fitful and sporadic. Your head pounded as your swollen and aching eyes fluttered open, somewhat surprised to see that it was still dark. Where was San?

Then, as your consciousness shook away the foggy webs of sleep, your brain registered a faint singing voice. However, it wasn’t just any rotten pirates’ singing voice; it sounded as if a woman was wailing, but in the most beautiful way possible. The trembling vocal chords pierced through the night sky, high-pitched and ringing in your ears melodically. It was a song in a language you couldn’t understand, but the warbled words molded together sounded pure and whole, just about placing you under a trance. But of course, you were still quite dazed and confused from slumber, unable to clearly hear the singing voices. On top of that, the water seemed to be extra loud, splashes and waves thundering against the boat almost every five seconds.

Tired, you rolled your stiff neck. Strangely, you noticed that the deck in front of you was void of any pirates. Glancing to the side, there was not a single soul to be seen manning the navigational wheel. Your neck ached as you craned it to look upwards, squinting at the crows’ nest, just to see that it was equally empty. Where are they? you thought absent-mindedly.

The singing was getting louder, and you had to physically shake your head to get your mind out of the gutters. The ropes strained against the skin of your raw wrists even more when you shifted to look behind you.

The sight that you were met with had you reeling against the mast in panic. 

Sirens. Dozens of them, sitting on moldy rocky ledges jutting out of the ocean waters. They were beautiful creatures, smooth skins tainted a faint green and shimmery silver hair just long enough to drape wetly over their breasts. They bore seductive expressions and parted their full lips to croon out the mesmerizing song in unison.

And the splashing against the boat? With a choked gasp of horror, the undisputed mystery of where all the pirates had gone was answered. One by one, they were marching off the planks, plummeting into the salty ocean waters, swimming as if their life depended on it, closer and closer to the beckoning sirens. They all held entranced expressions, some with gaping mouths and others with fully blown pupils of adoration and lust.

The sirens were far enough where you weren’t fully under influence, but much too close to be clear of mind. You had to count yourself lucky for being female; it was known that sirens had stronger effects on men. But you didn’t have much time to spare.

You suddenly became short of breath in panic. Where was San? Had he already jumped off? Blowing out a shuddering sigh, your neck trembled with great effort as you angled yourself to look back again. It was easy to spot his brightly-colored mane, the pink starkly bright in the moonlight.

“SAN!” You screamed to the best of your abilities, voice scratchy from your previous slumber. For a second, the fairy-man seemed to twitch slightly into your direction. A particularly high-pitched note echoed across the waters, just about slicing through any hesitation San might’ve held. Just like that, he turned completely away from you with a stupefied look, before hopping off the ship and plunging into the ocean.

A scream of protest ripped through your throat. There was no time to think… you could already feel their lulling voices numb the corners of your mind…

No. No, I have to get out of this. 

With a quick glance back, a flare of hope ignited somewhere within your chest when you spotted a dagger just behind you, buried in the fraying wood of a grog barrel. Its handle was jutting out in your direction, the crooked blade void of rust and gleaming with reflected moonlight. Excruciating pain shot through your right arm as you twisted your wrist about, desperate to be freed of the knot. The hardest part was getting your hand through the tight loophole, groaning at the throbbing sensation.

After frantically yanking yourself upwards, you managed to wrench your right wrist free, covered with blood and scratches and blisters. Then, with no time to spare, you reached as far as you could behind you, towards the barrel. Your bones ached and cracked under the strain, but you pushed through with gritted teeth. Tears ran down your twisted features from the pain. With a final shriek, you lunged and wrapped your blood-slicken fingers around the hilt. The sick sound of your left shoulder popping had you screaming in pained misery, but there was no time to lament. You’d fix it up later.

It took little effort to extract the blade out of the rotting wood. You prayed not to drop the dagger as your hand trembled ruthlessly. Swallowing dryly, you raised the blade to your left wrist, and began hacking away at the ropes.

They were tough, coarse things, but gave way eventually, unraveling with each strand. You didn’t even have to cut through the whole thing until it was weak enough to break on its own. 

You were free. 

The sirens’ song grew louder and louder, and frantically, you wobbled away from the mast and to the side of the ship, steadying your shaking legs against the rail. Every fibre of your being screamed at you to stop and jump into the water, swim to the beautiful melody that came from just over there…

“No!” You managed to moan out. Your left arm was completely useless; you weren’t able to move the limb at all. The tearing of your shirt as you somehow managed to rip off the sleeve rang in your muddled head alongside the foreign words quavering through the air. You used the dagger to slice the cloth in half, and shoved each piece into your ears. It was disgusting and uncomfortable, but it would have to suffice. The sirens’ voices sounded little other than muffled hums, and though you had to stay cautious, you could already feel your mind clear tremendously.

The last of the pirates had just clambered off the side. You would’ve heard the large splash he made as he cannon-balled into the waters if it weren’t for your make-shift ear plugs.

You were tired. You were thirsty, aching, sleepy, and just about every other bad feeling one could possibly have. Unfortunately, the ship was still heading right towards the sirens, no doubt turned off-course by a crewmate heavily under their influence.

And so, you dragged your heavy limbs over to the navigational wheel, letting out a soft tormented wince when the small act of curling your quaking fingers around the wooden spokes were enough to send what felt like great electric shocks of pain up your spine. Then, you spun the wheel one-handed, over and over and over again until the massive beauty of a ship leaned away from the sirens (who were clearly enraged, hissing and baring their sharp teeth), silkily gliding over the waters. Warm ocean air billowed into your face and tousled your hair, and for the first time since you’ve gotten onto the ship, you didn’t feel like throwing up. 

A part of you felt bad for leaving San, the only pirate to show you even just a morsel of empathy. Who knows, maybe he’d survive. He was half fairy, after all. You muttered out a soft soft wish of good luck for the pink-haired man, though you doubted that would do much.

Your mind was quick to leap from the fate of San to a man who’s been in your life for much longer. Where would you be if it weren’t for him?

Wooyoung wasn’t one to just… give up like that. He couldn’t be dead. Perhaps you were being a fool for holding onto hope, but you would gladly welcome that title if there was even the slightest chance that he was still out there, alive and breathing.

And so, you steeled your nerves by drawing in a grand breath. Your lips settled in a firm, determined line.

You were going to go find Wooyoung.

Where were you to start?

Dozens and dozens of maps and scrolls were tossed about as you pillaged through the papers, in search of a chart that would actually be of use to you. Much to your dismay, there weren’t any maps whatsoever that held the directions to Virelis. There goes that plan down the drain. Where else was there to go?

The sling that held up your left arm was procured hastily from the medbay after you popped your dislocated shoulder back into its socket with a quailing shriek. The pain had faded into a dull ache, but at least now you could wiggle your fingers. That was a good sign, you supposed. Your stomach was full with what you could find in their kitchen pantries (which was mostly just stale biscuits and half-cooked fish), and to be honest, you felt better than you have in a long, long time, despite the circumstances.

There was still the problem of finding him, though. If you could recall correctly, you were only around a days’ sail away from where they had kicked Wooyoung off.

But that would mean turning back to Cerulea. And that… definitely didn’t sound smart. You rubbed your fingers against your throbbing temple, taking a long swig of refreshing water from a pitcher. Gentle light was filtering in through the small circular window, illuminating the yellowed maps in such a way to make them look golden. There was no time to appreciate the simple beauty of this, however, because a stupid, moronishly foolish, plan was forming in your head.

What if you went back to Cerulea? Would Wooyoung be waiting for you there? Maybe he was staying with Yunho while he got back on his feet. After all, it’s not like he could swim all the way to Virelis, especially with how injured he was. Cerulea was a much closer, safer plan. It was the only place he could go, right?

Unease twisted your stomach at the thought of going back to the country that locked you in a dark dungeon for moons upon moons upon moons. Deep down inside, you knew that no part of Wooyoung would ever willingly go back to Cerulea. Not after all he went through trying to get out. But what else were you to do? And even if he weren’t there, at least you’d be able to inform Yunho on what happened. Then the sweet giant of a man could help you find him.

You stood up, compasses and maps slipping off your lap, respectively clanging and fluttering towards the ground noisily. With large, determined strides, you exited the navigational room and to the main deck, where the steering wheel was situated. Warm, salty breeze whispered against your ears, calm and encouraging.

“I’ll find you, Wooyoung,” Your words were swiftly stolen by the wind. You hoped that gale would be kind enough to carry the message over to him, however impossible it was.

Halfway across the world, laid an unconscious dark-haired man, clad in nothing save for his smallclothes and bandages tightly wrapped around his skull. He was situated stiffly atop a narrow bed, scars and bruises still quite fresh and clearly visible against his paler-than-usual skin.

Wooyoung awoke with a startled choke of a gasp, sore eyes flying wide open. There was a searing pain in his abdomen as he sat up, wheezing and hissing in agony. He took in his surroundings with a panicked demeanor, gaze landing on the mildly surprised fair-headed figure with striking green eyes standing by the doorway, fresh bandages in his palms. He’s an elf, Wooyoung realized after a long moment of gaping, noticing the ever-so-slightly pointed ears poking out beneath silvery locks and the infamous nature-woven clothes only elves wore.

“Took you long enough,” He said in a thick Elvish accent, followed by a beguiling snort. “I thought you would stay asleep forever. I’m Yeosang.”

Wooyoung blinked sluggishly once, twice, and a third and fourth time for good measure. He knew very well that he should probably answer. After all, elves were widely known to be an easily offended kind. But for the love of everything he held dear, he just couldn’t seem to crack his lips open. 

The two stared at each other awkwardly for a second more. Then promptly, his eyes rolled into the back of his skull as his upper half crumpled onto the bed, instantaneously returning into the sweet relief of unconsciousness.

[qqueenofhades]

Your majesty, may I humbly inquire if/how you would imagine a reunion of Ivan and Fedyor after the events of season 1?

Also on AO3.

Ivan wakes up on the far side of the Shadow Fold with very little memory of how he arrived there. He lies flat on his back beneath the cold white sun, which drills into his head like a blade, and at last, after a great effort, he vaguely recalls sunlight of another sort, wild and fey, bursting from Alina Starkov’s hands on the deck of the skiff as everything else went to hell. He remembers the Zemeni brat getting a lucky jump on him and shoving him over the rail, and then falling. Swirling, hungry shadows, shrieking volcra, running with his arms flung over his head, knowing only that he wasn’t dying like this, that he had to survive. In that, at least, he has succeeded. His kefta is torn and filthy, his lips are cracked and bloody, his face is striped with an ugly wound that might scar, he reeks of monstrous ichor, and he may or may not have just witnessed the entire city of Novokribirsk being scoured clean off the map, but Ivan Kaminsky is alive.

After a while he sits up, retching and forcing down the reel of dizziness. He squats on his haunches and tries to focus enough to heal his own wounds. Healers and Heartrenders can learn each other’s craft, but Ivan got complacent with Fedyor always around to do it for him, safe in the luxurious privacy of their bedroom at the Little Palace after another hard campaign. As the general’s right-hand man, he is more often on the front lines, and it became an enjoyably erotic exercise for Fedyor to tenderly patch him up, even if the Second Army Healers had already seen to most of it. I do not mend things, Ivan thinks, looking at the rough results of his efforts. I break them.

With a groan, Ivan forces himself all the way to his feet, looks down at his hand, and discovers that his amplifier is still there, the bear claw that was a valued gift from General Kirigan. No, not Kirigan – there was something else about who Aleksander really is, something Ivan needs to remember, but he can’t. But the bear claw was how he took down all those diplomats at once, something that doesn’t bother him, exactly, but what he still needs to reckon with. So, in his usual tidy, methodical fashion, he does so. They were representatives of cruel, greedy, incompetent governments who all want the Grisha dead or exploited, and while they might have been unarmed civilians, how many unarmed Ravkan children have died cowering in the dark because of their soldiers? As for Novokribirsk –

Ivan closes his eyes hard. He knows that one is harder to explain away, but at the end, he still can see the cold, merciless logic of it. West Ravka was a nest of traitors, and General Zlatan wanted every single person on that skiff dead. There is a certain sordid sense, there always has been, in inflicting one strategically planned atrocity to ensure the compliance of the rest. He knows that Fedyor will be upset. He has a soft heart, and having grown up near Kribirsk, he will have heard stories of its Western Ravkan counterpart and the separated families who lived there, dreamed of visiting when the Fold was banished. That –

Fedyor. Ivan freezes.

He doesn’t know where Fedyor is.

He doesn’t know if Fedyor is alive.

Frantically, he searches out through the network of the world, the meshed echo of heartbeats and living creatures that has always been a Heartrender’s particular soundscape, the extra dimension of humanity that he learned to experience as a child long before he had a name for it. Of course he can’t find Fedyor if he isn’t relatively nearby, but Ivan has always believed that no distance, no matter how great, could truly separate them for long. He just needs to start in one direction and work it down. He can’t stop. In all likelihood, Kirigan is dead now. Someone needs to muster the Grisha and rally them against the Fjerdans, the Shu Han, the Kerch, everyone else who will be swooping in to take advantage of Ravka’s stunning weakness. No more Black General. No one to keep them all safe.

Cold panic twists into Ivan’s heart like a railroad nail. It’s not that he didn’t know that Aleksander has – had – that deep ruthless streak, but he understood it. He just wanted to keep safe what he loved, even if it has twisted and calcified into something else, something still darker. Ivan Kaminsky loves two things: Ravka and Fedyor. He doesn’t need anything else. And he too will burn the world down if it means keeping them safe. If that makes him the new Black General, though he would not presume, so be it. Someone needs to do the dirty work.

Ivan grits his teeth, and ventures into the unknown.

It takes a few weeks, searching painfully and slowly down the coast, pelted with wild rumors of Novokribirsk’s horrifying fate and what awaits them now, trying to shut his ears to all of it, until he finally makes it to Os Kervo, on the shores of the True Sea. There is a ship with the Grisha banner in port, and as he gets closer, Ivan knows with a searing jolt that this is it, Fedyor is here somewhere, he is here. He follows heartbeats, stumbling through the streets and pushing people aside, ignoring their dirty looks and their curses. Some of them halt when they catch sight of the black embroidery still faintly visible on his filthy kefta, but others don’t look twice. Until he staggers down to the dock, and –

There he is. It drives the scanty breath out of Ivan’s lungs at a blow. He could stand here forever, looking and looking. But eventually, in a whisper, he has to speak.

“Fedya?”

Fedyor whirls around and stares. He looks like a man who can’t believe his own eyes, who has not even allowed himself to think about the worst, has shut himself down to avoid the prospect. He looks older and colder and harder than Ivan’s sweet Fedya, the man he left behind not the same as the one that greets him now, but it is still him. He doesn’t bother with words. He closes the distance between them in three strides, throws his arms around Ivan’s neck, and kisses him savagely.

Ivan doesn’t give a shit that they’re in public, that everyone can see them, that he himself is weak in the knees and can feel tears running down his unshaven cheeks, the taste of the salt mingling in their kiss. They sway on the spot, unwilling to let go of each other in case they evaporate, until Fedyor finally whispers, “Below. Now.”

They stumble onto the ship and into one of the tiny berths, barely large enough for Ivan to stand upright, but he doesn’t care. Fedyor strips him out of the tattered remains of his kefta and sets to work, as Ivan closes his battered eyes and lets himself sink into the sheer, unbelievable joy of his lover’s familiar touch, the restored wholeness of their two halves. But of course, the illusion that nothing has changed cannot last forever. As he smooths his fingers over the deepest of the volcra gashes, Fedyor says, “Vanya, what happened?”

Ivan stares at the low ceiling of the bunk. He doesn’t know if he can put it into words, doesn’t know if he wants Fedyor to know everything, even as he doesn’t think he can justly keep it from him. He does his best to provide a terse, clinical summary of the events on the skiff, and reaches out to grab Fedyor’s hand before confirming the truth about Novokribirsk. “It’ll be all right,” he says urgently. “As long as there’s you and me.”

Fedyor stares at him. His dark eyes look huge and terrified. “You think that’s all right?”

“No. Not exactly, I just – ” Ivan has never been the best with words, and they are once more cruelly failing him. He puts his other hand on Fedyor’s cheek, turning his face back to him. “I need you to understand that we’re at war. War, Fedya, in a way we never have been before. All the others, they hated us, but Kirigan kept them at bay. Now there’s nothing. They’re all coming for us. Novokribirsk is only the start.”

“And whose fault is it,” Fedyor asks flatly, “that that happened? If Kirigan hadn’t gone mad with trying to expand the Fold, with Alina Starkov – things were stable before! Not good, maybe, but predictable! Constant! Now this – ”

“It was a stalemate before!” Ivan crawls out of the bunk and kneels in front of Fedyor, looking up at him imploringly. “They were trying to smoke us out, wait for us to make a mistake, so they could pounce on us and tear Ravka to pieces! Fedya – look at me, Fedya, darling, Fedya, my heart. Look at me. I will keep us safe. I will keep you safe.”

Fedyor looks at him mutely, tears running down his own cheeks, catching on the dimples that Ivan has always found so irresistible (even if he does an excellent job of pretending otherwise). Finally, with no other option, Fedyor nods slowly, his hands still knotted tightly with Ivan’s. He lets Ivan hold him, and Ivan does so ferociously, wrapping him in his arms and resting his head on Fedyor’s mussed hair and swearing in the dark that he will slaughter the Sun Summoner himself if need be, whatever needs to be done to keep Fedyor Kaminsky alive and whole and happy. Nothing else matters now. Not really.

After that, Fedyor lets Ivan tend to him, and opens up a little, and says that he found Nina Zenik in, of all places, a port city in the company of a Fjerdan drüskelle. She wanted to insist, improbably, that this witch hunter had changed for the better in the course of a few weeks, but Fedyor didn’t believe it. Ivan is comforted to hear him say this, that not all of Fedyor’s old certainties have totally dissolved, that he still trusts their enemies are their enemies. The drüskelle has been shipped off to Kerch, after Nina accused him of slaving in what Fedyor thinks was a calculated ploy to keep the big blond bastard out of the hands of the Grisha. “I don’t understand, Vanya,” he says, his head on Ivan’s bare chest as they lie together in the narrow bunk, naked except for the furs piled on top. “He hurt her, he captured her, he would have killed her as soon as he remembered. Why would she defend him?”

We all defend the things we love, even when they hurt us. Ivan doesn’t say this aloud. He doesn’t want to believe any more than Fedyor does that Nina improbably found the one good apple of an otherwise bad lot. It is easier to think of the Fjerdans as a faceless mass of ice-cold holy warriors, especially since they will be licking their chops at the downfall of the Black General, their archenemy and the king of the Grisha demons. “We do stupid things for the people we think we care about,” he says instead. “And Nina is young. Impressionable. She will learn the truth soon enough.”

Fedyor doesn’t answer, his fingers tracing light circles around Ivan’s collarbone. Finally, he shifts on top of him, his mouth finding Ivan’s with something close to desperation. After they pull back from the kiss, he says, “Promise me that we won’t lose each other again, Vanya. Whatever comes next. We have to do it together. Please?”

Ivan looks at the face of this man he loves so much and so well, who needs to hear this sweet lie no matter whether it is true. And with his own heart, closed and guarded as he generally keeps it, he wants to believe it too. He does. He does. He does.

If only it could make it so. If only he could be sure.

“Promise,” he whispers. “Promise.”

[tickle-bugs]

Some Things Never Change

Summary:  Elsa visits Arendelle to plan her wedding. Like old times, she gets too invested in her work, and Anna helps remind her that perfection doesn’t have to come at the cost of peace.  Anon: May I please request and Elsa and Anna fic where Elsa is working and Anna is either voter or just wants Elsa to pay attention to her,resorting to her using one of her quills to tickle her that turns into a huge tickle fight?

Spoilers for Frozen 2! DO NOT TAG THIS AS SHIP.

“...Elsa?”

“Hm?” Elsa didn’t look up from her parchment, just kept writing. Document upon document covered every inch of her desk, spilling over onto the floor. Sunlight streamed in through the window--thankfully she hadn’t gone full vampire and shut them. 

“How’s it going?” Anna came up behind her and rested her hands on her shoulders. 

“It’s going well,” Elsa muttered. She scratched idly at her chin and left a small inkstain. She tapped the tip of the quill on the parchment, leaving little dots of ink along the margins. 

“How’s it going really?”

“Terrible.” Elsa groaned and dropped her face on the desk, narrowly missing her still-wet parchment. Her hair spilled loosely around her face and down her back in waves. Anna smiled and twirled some of the locks around her fingers. The little changes in Elsa’s style weren’t lost on her. 

“Talk to me.” Anna gathered Elsa’s hair properly in her hands and started braiding, hands flying with practiced ease. They were making up for a lot of lost time nowadays. 

“Originally, we were going to get married in the woods and stay at my palace for the honeymoon. Maren just told me that she wants to do a split culture wedding to, um, ‘reunify our people’.” Elsa hummed and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Maren said that? She was so excited for a Northuldra ceremony. She’s been looking forward to it since she was little.” Anna’s hands stilled.

“How’d you know that?” Elsa turned and squinted at her sister. 

“Oh, y’know. Heard it from a little birdie on the grapevine.” Anna’s voice cracked and she looked anywhere but Elsa’s face. 

“What?”

“We may have talked about the wedding. Extensively,” Anna breathed out her admission, holding out her hands in a gesture of peace. Elsa fixed her with the patented disappointed stare of an eldest sister, piercing directly to her soul. 

“Don’t look at me like that! I just want you to be happy and I know how you tend to–“ Anna gestured at Elsa and her mess– “disconnect from everything.”

“I told you not to worry about it.” Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose with a long-suffering sigh. 

“I’m not worried about it at all! I’m worried about you. You’re planning a wedding, not a funeral.” Anna poked Elsa in the forehead a few times.

“I’m okay.” Elsa smacked her hand away. 

“Let me help.” Anna crossed her arms. She could see an argument forming in Elsa’s head and she was already prepared to shoot it down. 

“Fine. You can write the letters to Corona and I’ll write to Denmark.” Elsa passed her a stack of parchment, a quill and an inkwell, making a noise of warning so Anna would show care in balancing the pile. After plucking a heavy book on Arendelle history from the bookshelf and precariously balancing everything in her arms, Anna situated herself on Elsa’s bed.

“On it.”

They passed the time in a meditative silence. Anna hummed a quiet tune while she worked and Elsa unconsciously joined in, their voices uniting to fill the room with lullabies. The soothing scratches of quills on parchment eventually quieted their songs, though Anna picked the tune up again as she signed the last invitation. 

“Are you...almost done?” Anna stacked her bundle of letters on the far corner of Elsa’s desk, out of the way. 

“Why?” Elsa mumbled, resting the feathered end of the quill against her lip. She crumpled the parchment she was working on and tossed it to the side. The paper ball bounced sadly into a rapidly-growing pile of letter rejects. 

“We were supposed to visit the tailor, remember?” Anna rested her hands on the back of Elsa’s chair. 

“I’ll just make a dress.” 

“For your wedding?” Anna turned the chair around and forced Elsa to look at her. 

“It’s not like I haven’t done it before.” 

“I’m offended.” 

“Anna, please.”

“What are you gonna do in twenty years when you want to remember your wedding dress? Stick your hands in a puddle?” Anna knew that she was starting to sound like their father, but how could she not scold her? It was Elsa’s wedding--not a runaway trip to the mountains, not a birthday party, but her wedding. Yes, she could do some amazing things with her powers, but this was ridiculous. 

“...you have a point.”

“Thank you!” Anna huffed and crossed her arms. 

“After I finish this batch of letters, we will go. I promise.”

“Pinky promise?” Anna reached out her pinky, just like she used to when they were kids. She knew it was silly, especially now that she was queen, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“Pinky promise,” Elsa linked her pinky with Anna’s, chuckling when Anna yelped at the coldness of her hands. 

Anna flitted around the room for a while, skimming through random books on the shelves and admiring the paintings on the walls. One hour passed, then two, and Anna’s patience waned with the time. She really didn’t have the faculties to sit still for this long. When she turned to properly bug Elsa about leaving, she found her with her head shoved under her desk. 

“What are you looking for?”

“My…” Elsa stood completely, pulling her chair out of the way to properly peer under the desk. She scratched idly at the back of her head, disturbing the swan-feather quill tucked behind her ear. 

“Your…?”

“Quill. My quill is missing. I just had it, too.” She lifted her parchment and books one by one, brows furrowed, and Anna muffled a giggle behind her hand.

“What?”

“Nothing. You, um, really don’t know where it is?” Anna forced her expression into neutrality but her wobbly smile wasn’t doing her any favors. 

“I wouldn’t be looking for it if I knew, would I? Just help me look.” Elsa frowned, revisiting her stack of books. Anna smiled, pulled the quill from behind Elsa’s ear, and all hell broke loose. 

Elsa squealed and jumped, knocking her chair on its side. Two blasts of ice flew from her hands and painted frozen waves upon the wall, just narrowly missing the framed portrait of their parents. She bumped her desk with her hip, and if it wasn’t for Anna’s quick reflexes, all of their hard work would be drenched in ink. 

“Oh, thanks. I’m finishing up now, so-” Elsa mumbled, reaching for the quill. Anna crossed her arms and stared her down until she sighed, righted her chair, and started proof-reading their letters--as if that was remotely what Anna’s knowing stare meant. 

“No, you’re done. Up! C’mon.” Anna tugged on Elsa’s hand but she didn’t budge. 

“Don’t make me do it.” Anna narrowed her eyes. Elsa didn’t blink. 

“You leave me no choice, then. Get up and I’ll stop.” Anna tried not to enjoy Elsa’s confusion too much—’tried’ being the key word.

Elsa shrieked when delicate hands attached to her sides and stayed there, mapping out the subtleties of the terrain. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes squinted in newly-familiar mirth, and she doubled over to try and escape. She’d never been great at resisting laughter, but then again, neither was Anna. 

“Get up and I’ll stop,” Anna repeated, fingers gently crawling to her ribs now, and Elsa’s laughter jumped far more than such a delicate action would normally entail. Anna so badly wanted to tease her for it, but it wasn’t Elsa’s fault that she’d never gotten even somewhat used to this. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. 

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Let’s go-”

“Not so fast.” Elsa huffed, a little pink and very out of breath. Strands of hair were already flying loose from her braid, and matched with her smirk, it gave her a sort of unhinged look—the kind that no younger sibling wanted directed towards them. 

“Let’s be reasonable-” Anna backpedaled, hands raised in a surrender, but Elsa pulled her back by the wrist and used her momentum to wrap Anna in her worst weakness: tickly hugs.

“I-I’m gonna die!” Anna screeched, prying at Elsa’s wrists to no avail. 

“You’re so dramatic.” Elsa rolled her eyes, squeezing Anna’s sides. Anna’s bones were all but jelly now—without Elsa’s mean hands holding her up she would definitely be getting acquainted with the nice hardwood floor. Anna’s hands flailed and occasionally found purchase against Elsa’s face, which, while objectively hilarious, was starting to get annoying. 

Elsa’s fingers pressed into Anna’s stomach just as she ran her fingers over Elsa’s ear, and the two flew apart like magnets with opposite poles. 

“Hey!” Elsa snapped her hand up to her ear with a silly smile. Anna recovered from her giggles a bit slower, but she was fast enough to see that Elsa’s playful smirk hadn’t gone anywhere. 

Uh oh. 

“Last one to the Tailor’s a rotten egg!” Anna threw open the door, already halfway to the stairs. Elsa’s footsteps were scarily close behind. What better encouragement to slide down the railing?

“Wh--Anna, wait up!”

[generalfoolish]

Aay'han

Rating: 18+ (minors take a hike)

Warnings: lots of bad space language, talk of Bo-Katan and Death Watch, mentions of lost family, Soft!Luke (needs a tag), maybe some lusting over Luke? He's handsome, y'all, mad!Mando, some Grogu because I can't help myself, some nightmare talk/horror type themes-blink and you'll miss it though

Word count: ~2.4K

Pairing: (eventually!!!) Din Djarin x F!reader

Summary: Two Mandalorians on the road to Dagobah, in search of a Jedi.

A/N: Hey babes! This is number six of the #mandomay2021 prompt list. This one is soooo self-indulgent, but it's pretty exposition heavy. Our sweet mandalorian doesn't know Mando's story like we do, so bear with me! Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Cyare'se | Partaylir

Mando is silent as he toggles the destination into nav, and remains silent long after the jump into hyperspace. You don’t know what to do. The cockpit isn’t cramped, but you feel like your thoughts are too loud. You wonder if he can hear you thinking.

If he could hear you, he’d know that you were second guessing this whole quest. You had once been spurred on by hate and loss and grief, but in the starkness of this new ship you think you may have run head-long into something you couldn’t control.

You wonder, not for the first time since meeting Mando, if your resolve is weakening or if you’re simply intrigued by this mandalorian.

As if he could read your thoughts, Mando turned to face you.

“I’m not sure that Skywalker will be much help. I have hope, but I need you to know that it may not be productive.” He sounded so earnest, that all you could do was raise your shoulders in a pitiful shrug.

“Where is Skywalker?” You asked quietly.

“Dagobah. It’s a swamp planet.”

“I’m not sure I know it.” You thought back to the last time you mapped the galaxy. It had been a long time.

“You wouldn’t. It’s almost Wild Space. Further south than Naboo.” You nodded, then considered it.

“That’s across the galaxy?”

“Yeah, but he’s the only one who would know anything. Except for Bo-Katan, but we both have reasons to avoid her.” He added, wistfully.

“You do?” You asked, and Mando shook his head.

“Yeah, but it’s a long story.” You shrugged, it didn’t really matter. As long as you were on the same page when it came to clan Kryze. You sat back in the seat, and Mando turned back around. You wondered about his motives. He had mentioned having a son, one that could still be hunted by the Empire. But, he was alone. And there was no covert on Nevarro. If he was staying away from Bo-Katan, then the son wasn’t likely near Mandalore. You narrowed your eyes as you worked through it.

You didn’t have children, not your own. Your Tribe had been very closely knit, and you had loved and looked over the children. They were why you had thrown yourself into this plot. You would never leave them behind, though. If you had them in your arms, would your hate dissipate as well? He mentioned loved ones, and you wondered again about his entanglements. Was there a Tribe? More hidden? His son had been hunted, was his Tribe destroyed along with the covert?

You wouldn't speculate anymore.

“Mando, where’s your ad?” He stiffened visibly. You worried you had crossed a line, one that you couldn’t easily retreat from.

“Why?” His voice was terse, and his shoulders remained tense.

“If he’s alive, you should be with him? This is a suicide mission, you said so yourself. Why would you agree if you had a son who was waiting for you?” You prodded. It felt important to know. You needed to know what kind of man he was, that’s what you told yourself, anyway.

You needle people, that inner voice told you. You needle and push until they’re gone.

Minutes passed before you heard Mando sigh, long enough that you had started to regret ever getting on the ship.

“He’s in training. He’s a foundling.” You nodded, but didn’t fully understand. Training for what? Combat? Guns? A bounty hunting mandalorian should be able to handle that.

“Training?” You asked, no longer able to keep your question at bay. He exhaled loudly, and turned to face you, the tension released from his shoulders.

“He is with Skywalker. They’re Jedi.” He told you plainly. As if that explained anything.

“Jedi?” You scrambled trying to remember if your buir had ever mentioned Jedi in your lessons. You recalled their weapon, the jetii’kad, a laser sword, you thought.

“They use the Force.” He told you, confusion laced in his words. “I...I’ve seen it. They use their powers and laser swords to fight. I have seen things I can’t explain.” You listened intently. You had only heard the stories, the reason Mandalore needed a Mand’alor, and the reason mandalorians wore beskar. But even in your wildest machinations they weren’t true, just stories for the children to cling to. Something to believe in, when everything else seemed helpless.

“The jetii are real? You said “they,” are they more than one?”

“Mm. Two, well three if you count the kid.” You closed your eyes under the helmet, and wished you could rub your face. It didn’t seem real. You turned your attention to the streaking colors of hyperspace. It wasn’t impossible that Jedi would be real. The dark saber was real, you had heard the chatter. A mysterious mandalorian, one without ties, wielded it now.

Your eyes snapped back to Mando. A mysterious mandalorian, one without ties.

You rolled your eyes at yourself. This guy wasn’t the Mand’alor.

Why else would he be running from Bo-Katan?

He’s connected to the Jedi.

The Mand’alor a Child of the Watch from a backwater like Nevarro?

It would be impossible...right?

You snapped your eyes back to Mando. He had busied himself with the control panel, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mando?” He turned toward you slowly, his body language a question.

“Why are you hiding from Bo-Katan? I don’t care if it’s a long story.” He sighed at your request. He didn’t answer, he simply stood and left the cockpit. You sat up straight, fear creeping up your spine. You had pushed too far.

He returned after a moment, though it didn’t seem as though he had grabbed anything. Confusion replaced your fear, and you leaned forward on your knees.

“I kind of made a promise to her that I never intended to keep. She knows my face, and I have something she wants. I just need to keep space between us.” You narrowed your eyes again, his story sounding like bantha shit.

“Okay, Mando. We’ll stay off her radar.” You told him, but that dark voice crept up from your stomach and filled your throat with bile. Something was wrong. He was lying.

~

“Well, this is Dagobah. Nowhere to land. At least an X Wing will be easy to spot.” Mando muttered from the pilot chair. You said nothing. In fact, you had more or less kept silent for the few days it took to travel. Mando seemed to operate quietly usually, so it didn’t bother him. Or if it had, he hadn’t voiced it. You had been keeping in the hold, for the most part, as well. Keeping distance seemed the proper course for now. Until you could parce out why he had lied about Bo-Katan. A growing part of you was terrified you’d awaken to him standing over you, wielding that damn dark saber. Your thoughts ping ponged from the saber to Bo-Katan, and when you could finally put them out of mind, you were assaulted with the new information about the Jedi.

You were having trouble processing. And you had kept your crikking helmet on for far too long.

At last, you had seen the planet looming in the darkness of space, massive and green. You’d have answers soon. You had a mental inquiry for this Skywalker, ranging from Mandalore to the New Republic. The Empire side-lined for a moment, was queued up after your current thoughts were sorted. It was too much.

Mando piloted the ship easily down into the muggy swamp. You wrinkled your nose, and were actually thankful for your helmet. It would filter out the worst of the smell. Mando had set the ship down on the, seemingly, only piece of dry land. It housed another ship, the X wing, you presumed.

He motioned for you to follow, and you complied. Not speaking for almost a week had it’s advantages, the two of you had become masters of nonverbal signals. You looked around outside of the ship. Skughole, that was your only thought. Crikking skughole. Not even a port. Mando walked forward, and you followed behind.

You heard the man before you saw him. He was cursing a blue streak through the muggy air. He wasn’t what you expected. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but the lean, human male wasn’t it. He was dressed in tan, loose fitting clothes, and was covered in the bluish mud. His brown hair hung messily in his face, which was plastered with sweat.

You tore your eyes away from the only Jedi you had ever seen, and gaped at what you saw. A massive boulder was levitating in front of him. It was just floating there, in the open space. You turned quickly to Mando, and he nodded once at you. It felt like a confirmation that you weren’t insane. That what was happening was real.

Not that you had time to dwell on it. Before you could blink, the rock imploded. Tons of small rocks fell to the mud, and the man exhaled loudly.

“Mandalorian. I’ve been expecting you.” The Jedi panted, before walking over.

“Grogu?” Mando asked. You blinked in confusion. It wasn’t Mando’a. Or any other language you knew.

“He’s napping. We’ve been training hard. Searching for more of his kind. My Master was one of his species, and I believe there to be more here. This planet…” He trailed off before turning to face you. “Apologies, I am Luke Skywalker, a Jedi Master. The Jedi Master, I guess? There’s not many of us left. Not to worry,” he added, leveling a kind look at you, “You travel with a kind man.” Mando snapped his head down at you, but you were as confused as him.

“Can Jedi read minds?” Luke laughed and wiped his forehead off.

“No. I can sense that you are nervous though.”

“With the Force?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. You had never had to filter emotions more than through your voice. The beskar hid everything else. You felt Mando’s eyes on you, burning through what was left of your shield.

“Kind of. Let’s get some food, yeah? Grogu needs to eat, and I’m sure he’ll be excited to see you, Mando.” You followed Luke, but you could feel Mando’s eyes on you the short walk to the hut. Luke dipped into the small hole, and disappeared inside.

“You don’t trust me?” Mando asked, gruffly, as soon as Luke was out of earshot.

“No. You lied to me.” You leveled. He scoffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“You lied to me!” Exasperated, you yanked your helmet off.

Of course, you regretted that immediately. The smell of the swamp nearly gagged you. You hadn’t gotten acclimated to it at all, and it hit you full on. Mando took a neat step backward, hands mid air, helmet looking down. Luke was walking out with bowls, and peeking around his leg was a long green ear.

Your eyebrows pulled together, and you opened your mouth to say something--anything. But Luke beat you to it.

“Oh criff.”

~~

You sat with Luke, helmet beside you on the log, and faced the fire. Mando had taken a walk with Grogu.

“What makes you so apprehensive to the warrior?” Luke asked, slurping stew from the bowl. You looked at him, aglow from the flames, and sucked your teeth. You didn’t know their relationship, but you couldn’t hide it from the Jedi.

“I think he has the dark saber.” Luke nodded.

“Would this be an issue?” You considered it for a moment.

“I don’t know. I keep having nightmares. He...strikes me down with it.” Luke drained his bowl, and sat it aside.

“Why would he do that?” Luke asked, full attention on you.

“That’s what I’m nervous about. He doesn’t have a reason. Unless, he thinks I’m a threat to him. Luke, do you know the story?” He shook his head, and you thought about it. “My buir, sorry my Mom, taught me many lessons of the mandalorians. My father was lost during one of the many civil wars. I saw the destruction and horror first hand, as I’m sure Mando did. The difference though, is that his people were the ones that murdered mine. It’s hard to separate the man from the myth.” Luke nodded thoughtfully.

“I am afraid I know little of Mandalorian lore, but I have seen my share of pain and betrayal. We cannot always know what path is right, but we can trust in the Force to lead us there. What does your gut tell you about Mando?” You sat silently, staring deep into the flames before you. You had been turning it over since Nevarro.

“He’s safe.” You told the Jedi, so quietly it was almost lost to the crackling fire. But the man beside you nodded, and patted your knee. You looked down and saw that his hand was mechanical. You snapped your eyes up to his face, and his eyes twinkled at you. You heard a twig snap and your eyes shot to the source, fingers wrapping around your blaster.

You saw Mando’s beskar reflecting in the low light, and the curl of his arm, before you heard the child’s babbling.

Mando was a mystery, but Grogu had stolen your heart immediately. He had been in Mando’s arms, cooing, since he woke up. Mando, for his part, had nodded and participated in the very one sided conversation.

You offered Mando a small smile when he approached, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“It is a bittersweet reunion for him.” Luke told you quietly, when Mando dipped into the hut.

“Why?” You asked, watching the hut closely.

“He knows he must leave him. Grogu’s training takes precedence, but their bond is strong.”

“Ah, we have a word for this: aay’han. It is both mourning and joy at once.”

“Aay’han,” Luke echoed the Mando’a back perfectly, and you thought it sounded lovely. “Such a beautiful word, the meaning is interesting. I would like to know more of your culture, someday. First, I am seeking my own.” You smiled at Luke as he stretched beside you. It had been days since you had truly spoken.

You hated this swamp planet, but you were growing fond of its inhabitants. Aay’han, indeed.

**Translations

Aay’han: bittersweet

Ad: son

Buir: parent

Mand’alor: Ruler of Mandalore

Jetii: Jedi

Jetii’kad: lightsaber

[sproutsgcrden]

sentinel of naruhata | chapter two

mr. nice guy

warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, one short scene implying sexual harassment (non-graphic), manga spoilers for my hero academia: vigilantes

word count: 3383

previous chapter | masterlist | read on ao3 | next chapter

want to be tagged? send me an ask and let me know!

If someone had told Koichi that he would get jumped, well, he may have believed them. That’s not too uncommon, especially around Naruhata. And it really wouldn’t be odd if it happened to him specifically. He just had that kind of luck. However, if they had also mentioned that a nine-year old would jump in and save him, he’d be a bit skeptical.

He honestly didn’t know if he quite believed what he had witnessed. One moment he was about to get hit by a guy he had managed to piss off earlier in the day, and the next some kid had shown up seemingly out of nowhere, threatening to steal his attacker’s quirk. Koichi didn’t think that was possible. Sure, there had been copying quirks, and erasure quirks were rare, but a quirk that allowed a person to take another quirk? That didn’t seem right, at least, it didn’t seem too entirely possible. A quirk is an integral, unique part of each individual- there’s no way somebody can take that, right? He could be wrong, it wasn’t like he was studying quirk theory.

As soon as the kid hightailed it out of the store with his strange assortment of items, Koichi knew he’d been in for it. He had already been late to work today because of the whole fiasco from earlier. He didn’t mean to run into Spiky Dude- it had just happened! Yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have been using his quirk in public, but he was running late! And then, of course, Spiky Dude just had to show up at the same convenience store Koichi worked at, and had to rough him up on the same day he was late. His manager was already absolutely pissed, and Koichi really didn’t want to stick around any longer than he had to in fear of a lecture, or something worse.

Luckily for him, he was nearing the end of his shift by the time Spiky Dude had entered the store, and the kid had helped him waste a lot of time due to the insane amount of items he was purchasing. All he had to do was clock out and sneak out of the door, which should be fairly easy. After punching out on the system and closing the register, Koichi grabbed his bag and began to get ready to leave.

“Haimiwari.” Koichi closed his eyes in disappointment, sighing before turning around with a fake grin.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

The angry tapping of the shoe really should have been enough warning, in hindsight.

------

The streets of Naruhata were busy for the late hour, not too unusual but it was something that Koichi didn’t want to bother with after the night he had. Of course that stunt had gotten him fired. Perfect. It wasn’t like it was his fault! He was the victim in all of this! What, did his boss really think that he wanted to get dragged into an alleyway and get beat up? Koichi grunted as he walked around a slow-placed couple. He would have to find another job and fast. Rent was coming up, and he still had payments due on his tuition. His left hand adjusted the strap of his backpack while his right passed over his face. This was too stressful to think about right now.

There was something he knew he could to help take his mind off of things for a while. Koichi’s eyes narrowed in determined concentration. Yeah, tonight was a good night for that.

------

The wind rushed through Izuku’s loose hair, tousling it beyond fixing. It felt wonderful, racing across the rooftops of an unknown city in the dead of the night. He was barely let out of his room and the training hall on good days- he could never hope to leave the confines of Kurogiri’s watchful eye. Which, unfortunately, meant that it was a rare opportunity to go outside… ever.

Izuku let out a harsh giggle, letting it echo in the air with a wide smile. He had never felt so free.

Slowing to catch his breath, Izuku pulled a wrinkled, old notebook out of his bag. Skimming through the pages, he stopped on the last entry he made. When researching Eraserhead, it wasn’t that hard to find out that the underground hero mainly patrolled in the Narahata Ward. However, it was a bit more difficult to find out specific times and locations of his daily patrols. He assumed that it changed quite frequently due to Eraserhead’s cryptid-like nature, but it was still frustrating to not know exactly where to find the hero. Especially since he wasn’t aware how much time he had before Tomura caught on to where he was.

However, Izuku did have a few locations that seemed to be promising. Most of them were hidden back alley’s, which made perfect sense. A majority of petty crimes took place during the day- they were a beacon to spotlight heroes, those who lived off the praise and popularity from civilians. But the nasty, evil villains? Oh, Izuku knew from experience that the worst of the worst were always found in the dead of night. Underground heroes always had to be on their toes, and it spoke volumes to Eraserhead’s vigilance that he’s remained pretty much untouchable and unnoticeable to those who wished ill intent.

Pulling up the map on his outdated phone, he inputted the first location he had written in his notebook. The specific alley was only about three blocks away. With a manic grin, Izuku pulled up the hood of his jacket and let Enhance swim through his veins once more.

------

The discs of air underneath Koichi’s palms lit up with a familiar burst of light, making the nineteen gleefully chuckle. The feeling of his signature All Might hoodie snugged tight over his torso provided him with an unexplainable comfort, as did the plain black mask covering the lower half of his face.

Koichi was inexplicably known for his plain nature at college (save for the rumors that said he was some creep that tried to lure girls into abandoned buildings. He really was just trying to make friends!), so it wasn’t like anyone would expect him to be the vigilante that ran around Naruhata at night.

Well, he supposed the word “vigilante” was a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t like he sought out and fought criminals, he just used his quirk to get around a bit faster and help out the common man. Koichi lost out on his chance of being a hero a long time ago, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t help people when he had a bit of free time. As Mr. Nice Guy, he was able to get a glimpse of what he had dreamed about being his entire life.

Koichi zoomed through the lit up streets of Naruhata, providing directions to the lost, helping find missing items, and picking up bits of random trash. Everytime he received a “thank you” his eyes lit up- it was nice to be appreciated sometimes. The chorus of grateful civilians echoed within his mind as he continued to do good deeds throughout the night. After a few hours, he found himself moseying down a side road in hopes of heading home.

“All that do-gooding sure does make a guy thirsty.” He slipped down his mask, mumbling mostly to himself as he readjusted the straps of his bag.

A water bottle was thrust in front of him, followed by a peppy voice. “Here ya go!”

Koichi took the water bottle without thanking, shouting a quick “thank you” to whoever handed him the drink. And then, once he realized what had just happened, immediately did a double-take. Wide eyes looked over to the side of the road, only to see a young girl with pink, puffy pigtails staring at him with a bemused smirk.

“Pop Step?!” Koichi straightened his posture. “What are you doing here?!”

Ignoring his question, she began to walk out in front of him, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. “So… you’re the guy picking up trash around town?” Her hand went to frame her cheek in wonder. “What’s your name again? Cockroach Guy?”

Wide, admiring eyes became downtrodden in an instant, an annoyed glare taking their place. “It’s Nice Guy!”

“Whatever! You’re the one who alerted me to the fuzz during my show, right? I wanted to say thanks, somehow!”

Koichi was the one who let her know the police were coming when she was performing her illegal street show earlier in the day. He didn’t care much for her music, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see her get arrested. Either way, he wasn’t sure why that provided an excuse to essentially stalk him. “So, you’ve been tailing me all day, huh?”

“Yup! I saw you almost get pummeled by those customers while you were working at that convenience store! I probably wouldn’t have stepped in either way, but wow! You were lucky when that little kid showed up, huh? Gotta admit, Cockroach Guy, that was pretty lame!”

“I don’t do well with violence, okay!” Koichi felt his eye twitch in annoyance; it was probably time to get out of this conversation before he lost his temper.

Pop Step’s face twisted with confusion. “Isn’t that dweeby hoodie supposed to be an All Might cosplay? And yet, you suck at fighting? That totally makes sense…”

“Sure, I look up to the guy. I wanna be useful to society however I can, just like he is! It’s got nothing to do with fighting! And the hoodie isn’t dweeby! It’s cool!”

“However you can?” Pop Step giggled, using her quirk to jump ust high enough to appear a little taller than Koichi. “So you know your place, at least!”

Koichi clenched his teeth in frustration, stepping around Pop Step to try and speed around her. “Stop getting hung up on the details! Knowing your place is important! If you keep playing at being some sort of pop idol, the cops will catch you sooner than later.”

Pop’s face scrunched up with a flash of anger, and if Koichi hadn’t had the night he had, he may have even been terrified. “Hey! I’m not ‘playing’ at anything! I’m the real deal!” She sped up, stopping in front of him as she pointed a perfectly manicured finger in his face. “You’ll just have to keep an eye out for the police! Also, I’ll need you to usher in my fans, set up the venues, and sell some merchandise!”

“Are you pissed off or hiring me for a job?!”

“Don’t you need one? Wouldn’t be surprised if you got fired after what happened!” Pop didn’t even take a moment to notice Koichi’s crestfallen glance towards the wall. “Anyways! If anyone can help me, it’s you- Know Your Place Guy!”

“Ugh. It’s Nice Guy!”

“Oh whatever!” Pop Step turned away from Koichi in order to run further down the alley, sparing him a glance backwards as she made her getaway. “I went through all of this trouble to express some gratitude… I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal, asking a ‘Nice Guy’ like you to do a little work to help a girl out!”

Koichi, good mood effectively ruined once again, went to bite back with a response. That was, until a familiar group popped into his view. He flinched as he saw Pop Step run straight into the leader, none other than the Spiky Dude who threatened to pummel Koichi into the ground just hours before. He could do nothing but stare as the group cornered Pop Step up against the wall, no doubt making her uncomfortable. Probably much more so than he was when he was in her position.

Now, if Koichi were a hero, this is when he would pull out all of the stops. He would crouch low to the ground, speeding to the men terrorizing the young girl and knocking them all on their asses. He would make sure he sped Pop Step to a safe location before coming back to make sure those bozos got arrested like they deserved. But, Koichi wasn’t a hero. And he would never be one. What could he do? His quirk was essentially useless in a fight. The only thing he was good at was running away.

But didn’t he have a duty to try and help? After all, if he couldn’t find the strength to help a young girl in this kind of situation, how could he try to help anyone else? With shaky legs and a determined glint in his eyes, Koichi bent low to the ground. The familiar pulse of his quirk activating below him provided little comfort, but he knew he had to push through this fear and go.

Mask pulled up, Koichi flew against the dirty pavement, locking eyes onto one of Spiky Dude’s lackeys. Now, if he could just get by unnoticed this time, he could knock this guy off his game and get Pop out of there. But of course, things never go Koichi’s way. That’s his luck.

The man caught him, large physique towering over him. The small tuft of flame acting as his hair cast an eerie shadow against the ground. “Well, well, well… look who we have here! Hey, boss! It’s the cockroach from earlier!” Still holding onto the back of Koichi’s hoodie, the large criminal threw him against the wall.

The pain of his head hitting against the rough edges of brick didn’t compare to the spikes slashing against his cheek.

“That annoying brat ain’t here to save you this time.” Spiky Dude’s eyes seem to glow in the dark night, and Koichi couldn’t ignore the sinister feeling pooling in his gut. “You ain’t getting away with just a small beating this time. I’m going to crush you. And I’m gonna enjoy it.”

The spiky criminal stalked closer to him; Koichi’s eyes immediately latched onto the blood dripping from the thick barbs protruding from the knuckles of his enemy. Shit. Shit. What could he do?! He really was going to die. Koichi shut his eyes in gruesome anticipation, hoping that at least Pop Step was using this opportunity to get away. A rush of air flew past his nose, and he blinked slowly. Looking up, Koichi locked eyes with Spiky Dude. The skewers had vanished from his knuckles, and the same, pale look of absolute petrification the criminal wore earlier in the night was on his face once more.

“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t going to warn you next time?” The familiar voice of the kid that had stepped in during Koichi’s earlier encounter with this group echoed through the street, venom and animosity clear as day in his tone. Even Koichi shrunk into himself in fear. His wandering eyes latched onto a figure leaning down from the rooftop above, All Might hoodie bright against the black of night.

“I was looking for Eraserhead, but maybe I can do his job for him tonight and knock you fucker’s out.” Holy shit, what was up with this kid?

Koichi had noticed earlier that the kid had bright green eyes, but they seemed almost electrified, bright green sparks lighting off in his pupils as his glare deepened. He jumped off the roof, floating just above the ground before he hit it at full speed. His hand was held out, and Koichi glanced at the numerous scars stretching against the palored skin.

While Spiky Dude was distracted, Koichi took the opportunity to get back on his hands and feet, and forced himself to crash into the lizard looking man that was still holding onto Pop Step. She used the momentum from Koichi along with her quirk to jump out of the way and out of the alley. In his happiness of the fact that Pop was able to make a getaway, he wasn’t able to stop his momentum. Koichi ended up crashing straight into the other wall, the force of it knocking out the criminal he held tight in his grip.

“There’s no need for that!” A deep, grudd voice echoed from the other side of the street, and before anyone could react, a large fist connected straight into Spiky Dude’s nose. “The name’s Knuckleduster. And it’s my job to take out the trash like you.” Koichi barely even blinked, and the next moment the other tone was conked out right beside the leader.

What the fuck was happening?!

------

Izuku sighed in relief as he felt the rubber band snap against the quirk he held in his grasp, sending it back to its original owner as some random old man knocked him out. He didn’t want to steal a quirk, but that dude really wasn’t going to give him any choice. Luckily some geezer showed up before he could make good on his threat. He watched the man with a careful stare, seeing as he checked each of the criminal’s tongues before standing back up. His red sneakers crunched against the pavement as he lowered himself back to the ground; he walked towards the cashier he met earlier and held his hand out for him to take.

The man sitting across from him scratched the back of his head in a sheepish manner, choosing to take Izuku’s hand in order to get back up. “Uh, suppose that’s twice you’ve saved me, huh kid? We really have to stop meeting like this.”

Izuku chuckled, nodding his head in agreement. A cough sounded behind the two of them, and they both turned around to find the old man staring straight into their souls. Knuckleduster’s bandana covered his entire head, including the top half of his face, only leaving holes to see out of. His black trench coat was grimy, not to mention ripped on the hemlines. Everything about this screamed “homeless old man”, even down to the gritty way the man seemed to fight.

Izuku couldn’t help but think the man seemed familiar.

“You take quirks or something, kid?” The man’s eyes narrowed, his already gruff voice deepened.

“No! I don’t take quirks! I was just playing a bluff, really!” Technically, Izuku wasn’t lying. He hadn’t ever willingly taken a quirk before. “I have an erasure quirk! That’s why I’ve been looking for Eraserhead. I’m hoping he’s willing to train me.” Now, there’s the lie.

“Hmph.” Knuckleduster’s eyes stayed on Izuku a little while longer, tense silence following before he shrugged it off. “You both show promise. Gotta admit, when I heard about Naruhata’s newest vigilante, I wasn’t expecting him to have a sidekick.”

Both Izuku and Koichi stared at him in shock, making the old man laugh. It was a hearty laugh, scratchy and sarcastic. “People are gonna make that sort of assumption when you’ve got two kids helping fight crime in the exact same hoodie.” The two boys flushed, causing Koichi to shake his head.

“We just met today.”

“So? Doesn’t mean the two of ya don’t work well together. I almost didn’t need to come down here. If it weren’t for the threat of Trigger I probably wouldn’t have. Don’t know if it’s luck or not, but these thugs didn’t have a trace of the drug on ‘em.”

“Trigger?” Izuku knew what he was talking about. His father was one of the main benefactors of the production and distribution of the drug. Or well, he was before he got forced into a coma. He had originally thought the distribution would slow after the underworld had found out about All for One’s current medical status, but it seems that wasn’t the case.

Knuckleduster waved it away. “I can explain that later. After you two accept my offer.”

Koichi paled, backing away from the crazy old man. “What offer?”

A sinister grin formed its way onto Knuckleduster’s face, making the duo in front of him back away even further. “Let me teach you kids what it takes to do hero work, and how great it feels to pound some villains!”

Koichi thought this man was absolutely insane and would only lead him to more trouble.

Izuku thought that he had enough training from the villains themselves.

They met each other’s gaze before turning back to Knuckleduster.

“We refuse your offer.”

[autisticlenaluthor]

road trip ficlet

Kara hopped out of her car, stretching her arms out behind her head as soon as her feet hit the pavement. Of all the days she could’ve picked to pack up and throw her life into the metaphorical wind, this had to be the worst. Tuesdays were just never good for life changing events, especially when they ended up like this. 

Sun beaded down, forming droplets of sweat that lined Kara’s forehead, and caused her hair to frizz up from the humidity. Normally, she didn’t mind the heat, but Kara was starting to think the weather, and the lost road map, and the fact that her car radio had broken down about ten miles back were all signs that maybe she should’ve stayed home. Maybe she should’ve tried to ride it out at work, to fix things with her boyfriend, and every other fuck up she’d spent months trying to handle. Maybe she just wasn’t the adventure type. Some people were built for boring, day by day lives with partners they don’t love and jobs they secretly hate. 

Perhaps that was the world Kara was made for.

With a sigh, Kara ran her hands through her sweaty hair and pulled it back into a low bun at the base of her neck. Once she could finally feel the air hitting her skin again, she allowed herself to lean back against the side of her Jeep and do a quick scan of the gas station. 

It was pretty empty. There was a pick up truck and a man in his mid forties standing by one of the gas pumps, a mini mart with a lit up sign at the other end of the lot. Half the letters had gone dark and Kara was unable to make out any shoppers through the windows. Instead, all she could see was the cashier.

Finally, her eyes landed on a young brunette woman. She sat on the pavement, leaning back against the store with one of her legs outstretched onto the road, the other crossed over at the knee. A cigarette sat perched between her index and middle finger, emitting a long line of smoke that clouded up around her face. Sunglasses had been pushed back into her hair like a headband and a navy blue jean jacket was tied around her waist. She didn’t seem to mind  the smoke nor the heat. Kara couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d been sitting there, for her to become so unfazed to all of that.

With one last pop of her back, Kara began the walk across the near empty lot, grimacing at the smell of exhaust and gasoline creeping up through her nostrils. She did her best to shake it off, turning her head in the other direction in hopes that it would somehow vanish, but  the effort was quickly deemed useless. Instead, she just looked towards the woman and, in turn, made her observance even more obvious.

But it wasn’t until Kara had already made her way into the mini mart and was hit with a wall of crisp air conditioned air that she allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. No bad smells, no humidity. Just a cashier and aisles upon aisles of snacks. 

Just what she needed. 

Kara was so caught up in the satisfaction of one thing finally going her way that she didn’t even notice the footsteps behind her, or the cashier grumbling an oddly cheerful hello to whoever had come in after her. It took her all the way until she was standing between the chips and candy aisle that Kara heard somebody clear their throat and tap her shoulder. 

“Hey.” 

Instantly, she whipped her head around, brow furrowing when Kara saw the same woman from outside standing a few feet away from her. She had her hands planted on her hips, chin raised, with the slightest smile on her lips. The cigarette was gone and so were the clouds of smoke, revealing the rest of her face to the world.

She had green eyes, Kara noted. They were narrowed ever so slightly, but Kara could still make out the color, the way the fluorescent lights seemed to bounce off the little pools of honey surrounding her pupils. 

“Hey…” Kara said, slowly setting her bag of chips back down on the shelf. Was she in some sort of trouble? Because it felt like she was about to face the adult version of getting called to the principal's office. 

“I could see you staring at me,” the woman stated. “Outside, I mean.”

“Oh… yeah, sorry about that,” Kara said with a nervous chuckle. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m just-- I quit my job yesterday and I’m kinda in the middle of the biggest mistake of my entire life, and you were just sitting there and I got caught up in my head and I, well, when I get stuck, I stare. It’s a nervous habit, I have this problem where either I don’t make eye contact at all or I just get super aggressive with it and act all robotic. So I stared at you-- but you know that part. But it wasn’t because I wanted to be weird. Or robotic. I just think I’m in the middle of like a quarter-life crisis or something, and you know, when I get nervous--”

“You stare?” The woman finished, raising an eyebrow. 

Kara nodded. She clamped her mouth shut to make sure she wouldn’t get another word out because holy fuck what was she saying. 

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I stare.” 

The brunette smiled, dimples appearing at the edges of her lips. It was a very nice smile, Kara couldn’t help but think to herself. It felt warm like her eyes. 

“So…” the woman began, rocking back and forth on her heels. “I know that you quit your job and now you’re on some sort of self fulfilling journey to go find a new life. You’re kind of in the middle of a breakdown, but you aren’t really sure yet, because you haven’t gotten to the ‘drink yourself into oblivion’ or ‘shave all your hair off stage.’ And now you’re in a gas station because I’m guessing in the midst of your panic, you forgot to pack and now you’re realizing just how big of a mistake everything you’ve done in the past twenty-four hours was. Oh, and how could I forget? You stare when you’re nervous and that’s why we’re here now.” 

Kara just stared again, completely dumbfounded. They’d been talking for all of thirty seconds and this woman was psycho analyzing her as if they’d known each other for years, and for some reason, was getting everything all of it right. The whole thing was so stunning, all she could do was nod and mumble a quiet “yeah, that all sounds right.” 

“Now that we’ve got your life story out of the way, mind telling me your name?” 

“Kara?” 

“Nice to meet you, Kara, I’m Lena.” 

Kara smiled. “Lena, that’s pretty.” 

“Thank you.” 

“So, now that you know every crushingly embarrassing detail about what I’m doing here, what about you? Are you some kind of serial killer who stalks people outside gas stations, comes inside and befriends them Ted Bundy style, only to brutally murder them and stuff the bodies in the trunk of their car once they’re done?” 

Lena paused and raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond to that. The change in expression was so painful to watch that Kara was starting to consider crawling into one of the ice cream freezers and hiding under frozen Snickers bars and Drum Sticks for the rest of eternity. 

“Oh-- you weren’t joking,” Lena said after a moment. She chuckled nervously and pursed her lips, slipping her hands into her front pockets.“No, I’m not a murderer. If I were though, I probably wouldn’t tell you.” 

“Yeah… probably,” Kara said quietly. She could feel her cheeks filling with heat, tomato red was nowhere near strong enough to put a label on the mortification she felt. Give it another minute and she was sure steam was gonna start shooting up out of her ears too. 

“But no, I wanted to get away from reality for a bit so I tried to backpack through the country. But all my stuff got stolen about two shady motels ago and the next bus isn’t gonna come by for another day, so I’m waiting it out here,” Lena explained. “I’m not really sure where I’m gonna go, though. It’s kinda hard to figure stuff out when you’ve got no phone.” 

Kara nodded. For a second, she looked back across the store, trying to see her old, beat up car through the front window. 

She did have extra room-- a lot of it considering she hadn’t packed anything at all. And having someone to talk to might’ve been a nice change of pace seeing as now that the radio was blown out she didn’t have any other way of filling the silence. 

No, Kara! You can’t take a stranger on a road trip with you– she could literally be a serial killer! You just had this conversation, what the fuck is wrong with you?

But clearly, Kara’s mouth worked faster than her brain because the next thing she knew, she was asking Lena if she wanted to come with her. 

“You could ride   with me for a bit,” she’d offered. “I mean, I don’t really have any plans so I’m just kinda driving aimlessly, but if you’re okay with that, you could tag along.” 

Lena hesitated. She pulled at the tips of her fingers as she tilted her head to the side, unable to tell if Kara was bluffing or not. 

“Are you serious? I mean, I could be dangerous. Very, very dangerous,” Lena taunted. Her voice was low and husky, the slightest rasp attaching itself to her words. It had to be the cigarettes shredding up her lungs. Kara knew it was a bad thing, it had to be a bad thing, but god, it was so sexy. 

“Yeah… I mean, as long as you don’t get car sick, I-- I could squeeze you in,” she stammered, grimacing at the way she was sounding. 

“Great,” Lena grinned, though, she still looked a bit confused. “You’ll meet me outside?” 

“Sure, right. I’ll meet you outside.” 

[10kiaoi]

For the 007 Fest Anon prompts: Magical realism

Scav hunt item #55: Create art using a prompt from the MI6Cafe Weekly Art Prompts + “Mayday”

Notes: Unbetaed as always. Canon typical violence.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday-!"

The city is caught in a deluge when he arrives. 

Traffic is backed up for miles, vehicle after vehicle trapped in complete  frustrating gridlock. 

He's walked the two miles to his destination, leaving behind an irate cab driver with a generous tip for his trouble.

Along the way, a young nymph looking to be no more than 10 summers old, offers a flower garland weaved of fresh white Heather from the shelter of a narrow porch. He eyes the fresh cut hanging over the front door. 

He purchases two, to the girl's cheery delight. 

----

“We've lost three engines! Requesting immediate vectors to the nearest airfield! Mayday, mayday, mayday! Shit, Number 4's go-"

----

One mile in, he stumbles across a heavily flooded street.

Earsplittingly loud lighting cracks overhead, an occasional flash that lights the street up. 

The flood waters are ice cold. With the water level at thigh height, his wellies do nothing to keep them from gushing around his equally frozen feet. He resigns himself to a hot bath later.

Here, no cars are able to pass through at all. 

Despite the hazards, there are people out and about in front of their buildings. There are merchants desperately hauling their merchandise to higher ground, attempting to salvage what they can from the havoc. Some are putting up brightly coloured banners and decorative displays. At every door, a stalk of white Heather hangs, children gleefully arranging whole seashells in intriguing patterns around them. 

The mood, though dampened by the terrible weather, borders on festive. 

There are neighbours exchanging sweet breads, a friendly trade of roasted poultry, a shared fish or two in covered dishes to shield the food from the downpour. 

Their joy is a distant consideration in comparison to his inner disquiet. 

An elderly man catches sight of him standing and staring openly at the activities. He glances down to his hand, to the two Heather garlands cradled protectively.  The old man tuts reprovingly and wades through the waters towards him. 

"Shells," the old man tuts as he offers two perfect clam shells, canine tail wagging, "Intention means nothing without it."

He crosses the street, with his gifts in hand. 

----

"Mayday, mayday, mayday! We've lost all four engines- Christ, we're not going to make it back to land-!" 

----

He hears the adolescents well before he sees them. 

In a deserted street, dull with old street lamps and filthy storefronts, the hooded teens giggle with cruel delight as they rip down fabric banners and shatter the crystal glass figurines of various marine creatures. The lovely shells and stalks of white Heather meet the same dismal fate.

Amidst their destruction, one of the teens happens to look up, forked tongue flickering out to taste the wind. Their eyes drop to his arms and they elbow their companions. The group sneers, wisely backing off momentarily and not doing anything as foolish as engage him in a fight. 

Given his state of mind, it is more than likely that the teens will not come out the other end of the fight unscathed despite the protection of armoured scales. 

"The sea witch's a fucking sham anyways!" the kid yells over their retreating backs, "ya'll nuts for believing that shit!" 

When the last teen disappears round the street corner, he sighs, taking the moment to sweep the glass shards to the side with his foot instead of leaving them in the middle of the pavement for some poor sod to injure themselves on later. The rising waters will take care of the mess soon enough anyways. 

The glint of light on glass draws his eye to the ledge, where several pristine figures lie untouched. He is irrepressibly drawn to one in particular- a carving not of an animal but a floating feather caressed by an invisible wind. 

His eyes surveys the street warily for a moment. The glass feather slips unnoticed into the depths of his jacket. 

In the distance, the sea churns with rage. 

----

"Mayday, mayday, may-"

----

There is little else he can do but scour the shores, buffeted by strong gusts and blinded by sea spray. 

The boats are all docked away, no skipper daring enough to take on the sea in her volatility. The worst of the storm is miles away from land, but its effects are felt all the same. 

A set of files arrives in his email courtesy of Q Branch and Tanner- maps and coordinates and prediction models, all of which he studies intensively in the comfort of his temporary safe house. The glass feather sits prominently besides his laptop, a silent but steadfast companion to his activities. 

It, along with the Heather garlands and clam shells, bear witness to him smashing his ceramic mug in a fit of fury. 

The lone image glares accusingly at him from his laptop screen, a low quality shot worsened by the movement of the camera it was shot with. 

The object is a blurry mess, details rendered indistinct by the rolling waves and heavy rainfall. But enough of the form remains for the item to be identified- its implications are what trigger his episode of temper. 

A lone tail fin, ripped from its place at the rear of an aircraft, is a death sentence. 

----

He's on his fifth bottle, drowning his sorrows with a vengeance. Outside, the deluge lets up a little into a light patter against the balcony. 

The helplessness weighs heavily like an albatross around his neck. 

Squeals waft up from the street below, a pod of local mers grasping the opportunity the flood waters present and taking the chance to explore streets they have never traversed before. Their melodious cries of astonishment and wonder, once music to his ears, prove too much for the dark cloud hanging over him. 

He throws back his head against the couch and guzzles down more bitter ale. 

----

He comes to in his tiled bathroom, curled over the toilet seat with acidic sick stinking up his nose. It's no gentle thing, he wakes up with a jerk, disorientated and without memory of how he has gotten to the bathroom in the first place. Adrenaline rushes through his veins. 

With the fog in his head clearing up, he notices the rattling coming from his balcony, accompanied by quiet curses. 

He gets up, hand curling around the walther under his arm. He creeps towards the source of the commotion, feet as light as a cat's paws. Whatever and whomever the intruder is, he's of no mood to be gracious. 

The rattling pauses, an indignant squawk of frustration follows it. 

It speaks volumes of his training, both military and 00 that he does not drop his piece from shock. 

There on his balcony, his Quartermaster scowls angrily at the offending lock while looking like a drowned rat. 

In his chest, his heart leaps. 

His movement draws Q's attention and it's then he's hollered at to "open the bloody doors before I kick them down!" 

There's no word vast enough, deep enough to encompass the depth of his emotions as he swiftly undoes the lock and throws the double doors open. Heather and shells are sent flying but all he cares for is pulling Q into a bone crushing embrace. 

----

The rain picks up, droplets soaking through the cotton of his shirt. The front is already soaked through, thoroughly pressed against a sopping wet Quartermaster as he is. 

He pulls them inside, away from the storm, away from the windows. Disbelief and hope war within his chest as he studies Q with an anxious eye, warm towels in his hand to replace soaked clothes. 

He says nothing of the massive bruising on Q's torso, a large swath that belies the extent of physical trauma its owner has gone through. 

Belatedly, he registers the noticeable lack of glasses, the raw scrapes and bruising over pale cheeks and knuckles. 

The hulking set of white wings tipped with black and dusty grey. 

"Albatross," he breathes reverently.

He'd assumed from Q's presence in the tunnels of Q Branch, the way he draws comfort from his underground haven, that his Quartermaster is a member of an underground species of sorts- a Null even, rare as truly non-magical folk are amongst the general population. The personnel file certainly hasn’t provided much insight either given their propensity for obfuscation when executive members of staff are involved.  

"Yes, well, turns out I was just a late bloomer" Q sniffs, squinting at a dust speck on the wall through the conspicuous lack of glasses, "you're not on the water all the time either." 

Bond smiles indulgently though offers no contest. 

With his parents and kin long gone, there was simply no incentive to remain near his family’s seat of power all the time. The murky depths of the loch holds no interest, lacking in the thrill and constant entertainment cities like London offer. Besides-

First M, a hawk, now Q, an albatross - he's always been drawn to the sky much more than his peers. 

He feels out Q's wings carefully, stretching one out to examine the feathers and bone. The appendage trembles under his tentative scrutiny, morphing into a full body shiver that goes right down to Q's toes. The first wing passes muster, so he moves on to the other. 

Q yelps loudly as his fingers prod a particular sore spot. 

It has him relaxing his fingers immediately, though he does not cease supporting the injured wing. 

"I don't think it's broken," Q whimpers, fingers twisting anxiously. 

Like a dam, Q's hard won composure crumbles. "Couldn't get them out," Q sobs, "They were too far forward, I barely got myself out-" The frantic babble dies away into hitched sobs. 

He croons lightly in response, a soothing rumble he's heard mers sing to their fry. He runs his fingers through mussed curls, letting the grief and guilt run its course. 

The kit he has isn't stocked for treating winged individuals or traumatised ones for that matter, but he's a witch- he'll make the best with what he has. He'll get them both home. 

---

In the distance, the sea finally calms.