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acourtofsnakes · 3 years

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Cabur - Rogue, Chapter 6| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: A few weeks have passed and after landing on a small planet to collect a bounty, you and Mando decide to take a little trip to the market to stock up on some things. Nothing will come up here.. right?

Warnings: Angsty angsty annnnngst, (Sorry, I don’t mean to be so horrible to dear reader), Swearing (mild), brief mentions of death, touching on the same things as chapter 4 but not as heavy but I’ll still add the trigger warnings ♥︎ These chapters will get lighter, I promise,

Not beta read, I wanted to get this one out because I love it so apologies for any mistakes, I’ll be going in to edit a little later

Trigger warnings: Anxiety, horrible thoughts/insults, triggering comments maybe, thoughts of not being able to cope.

Words: About 6210

AN: Okay, okay, so, I was listening to my Rogue playlist on Spotify (link coming soon) and a certain song came on that just fuelled this chapter. SO, I highly recommend listening to Leave A Light On by Tom Walker if you want the vibes for this chapter. Just… honestly, please do it (I may have had tears)

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss

Mando’a translation: Cabur - Protector or Guardian

A few weeks had passed since that night you saved the Mandalorian’s life, since he threw away the bounty puck to keep you safe.

You’d stayed that night grounded, and then when Mando was able to get up in the morning, he flew you off of that dump of a planet.

He didn’t ask anymore but how you had managed to save him. Whether he knew you were lying or not, he hadn’t pushed it, choosing instead to respect you. Kind of like how you respected him and his Creed.

You’d fallen into a sort of routine around the Razor Crest, without either of you realising it. Mando would fly the ship, and you could be found seeing to Grogu and Duru, or tidying things up. Sometimes you would clean the weapons in the cabinet, making sure they stayed in pristine condition.

Now and then, Mando would head out to get a bounty and when he got back, he would let you help patch him up. You never saw his bare skin, respected that. You would look away or close your eyes, pointing out the best things to use or how to administer them. The man was good at first aid, but his answer to everything was to shove the cauteriser on it. So, when you had been passing through some shops one day, you had stocked up on medical supplies, even found a shop selling the same herbs and plants that your mother had taught you about.

You’d even been on a few of the hunts with him.

Of course, you had argued first. When you’d asked him about it one day on the way out of Nevarro, Mando had simply said no.

Which had immediately riled you. You were not a girl who liked that word. You despised that word.

Which is how you’d spent the whole night and next two days bickering, over the question of your safety. When he lost that front, (“Seriously, Mando? I’m a fugitive. And after all, I’ve got a big, strong Mandalorian to protect me”) the Mandalorian had moved on to your lack of thinking before throwing yourself into the firefight.

He lost that one too.

(“Says the man who stole back a child surrounded by Stormtroopers.”

“You’re not coming. End of.”

“Did you want me to bring your pulse rifle over?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“You’re right. Pulse rifle and an extra blaster.”

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Sure you do, Lori. I’ll see you at the ramp.”)

That nickname had slipped out by accident, and he’d regarded you, for a long time. He’d gone still, and you almost swore you heard a hitch of breath through his helmet and then he just nodded and murmured softly, “See you down there.”

There had been a lot of little moments like that but they were so fleeting that you were almost convinced you’d imagined it. You were imagining a lot of things lately.

Sometimes, when you were walking through forests or towns, you thought you spotted something lingering at the edges of your vision.

A tall figure, cloaked in a hood that was embroidered in either silver or gold, depending on the light.

You’d even asked Mando about it a few times, but he hadn’t seen anything so you simply put it down to a trick of the light or sleeplessness, nightmares still plaguing you now and then.

Regardless of the nightmares and your vision playing tricks on you, you were doing… okay. You were warm, safe, had a comfy place to sleep. You had things to keep you busy, things that weren’t hunting for food or a good spot to hunker down in for the night.

Duru was happy too, having become fast friends with Grogu and the two of them ran rings around you and the Mandalorian. Well, mainly Mando, which you found hilarious because he was such an exasperated dad with them both.

It was a rare reprieve from your life, letting you slow down and… live. Rather than survive.

“I do not talk in my sleep.”

“Yes, you do!! Sometimes, I think you’re awake but you’re just having a fully-fledged conversation with your blanket.”

“Oh, shut up. I know I don’t talk in my sleep, tin can. You were probably just having dreams about me again.” You examined the fruit in front of you, then handed over a few credits to the kind vendor, slipping the fruit in your bag.

The sound of fabric hitting the floor sounded from behind you, and you turned to see that the Mandalorian had dropped the bag you’d made him carry. “I do NOT have dreams about you!” He stooped to pick up the bag, then rose to see you standing with your hands on your hips, eyebrow raised and that damn smirk on your lips.

“Mmhm, is that why you always have to pull something over your lap when I wake you up?”

He stared at you, and you had the very correct feeling that he was looking at you in mild shock, too caught out to come up with his usual cocky response. “I -you.. That’s completely..”

You burst out laughing, rolling your eyes at him and then dropping him a wink, “Come get me when you’ve thought of a response, Lori.” You turned and carried on walking through the market.

The two of you had stopped off on a nearby trading planet, to gather supplies. Mando had recently secured a bounty with your help and it had paid well, giving you enough extra credits to stock up and treat yourselves. Grogu was already half-way through a packet of blue macarons, which would no doubt come back to bite you both later when he was pelting through the ship whilst you tried to catch him. And it would be your fault because you had taken one look at those big ears and eyes, determined not to break but when the little womp rat had cooed at you… Of course, he had gotten his own way.

It felt good, to wander a market and not be scrounging for things under the cover of a hooded cloak. You still had one on, you couldn’t bear to part with this item, the most beautiful piece of clothing you had ever had. You just didn’t have the hood up disguising you.

A gift, from Mando.

The first time you went out with him after the puck was destroyed, Mandalorian had insisted you wear yours. However, it had been covered in his blood from his injury, and you couldn’t get it out, no matter how hard you had tried. It hadn’t bothered you that much, though you were.. not sad as such, but it felt a little strange because it had been one of your few possessions for so long. But, maybe it was a symbol. That things had changed, and that was in the past.

A couple of days later, you had just walked into the cockpit when you noticed there was a package on your seat. When you picked it up, it was squishy, bound in a sort of thick papery material and tied with a length of string.

You’d glanced at the Mandalorian, who was watching you, the picture of calm but his hands had been fiddling with something on his belt, a shockingly nervous gesture you weren’t used to.

That simple, uncertain gesture had risen your pulse and you unwrapped the package, trying not to show how your hands were shaking at the first gift you’d received since being a child.

A gift from the Mandalorian.

Pulling away the paper had revealed a mass of fabric, a blue so deep it was almost the same colour as the night sky. You’d lifted it out and it had unfolded and revealed itself to be a new cloak. The material was soft, thick enough to keep out a biting chill. You’d made a noise of awe and surprise, but had immediately fallen in love with it, pulling it on. It fell to about the middle of your calves and secured at the base of your neck with a small silver clasp.

The inside was lined with a thin layer of heat-reflective material, and when you’d run a hand over it, Mando had finally broken his silence, “I noticed you were always cold, even if you had layers on so I.. wanted to make sure you weren’t cold anymore..”

You swore you could almost feel the heat creeping up his neck, and that softened you. He was nervous about giving you this cloak, like he didn’t know how you would take it.

You had smiled at him, a soft smile that made your eyes glitter like the surrounding stars and placed a hand on his knee lightly, “Thank you, Lori. I adore it, I truly do.” Then you’d spent the next minutes admiring it, putting the hood up and realising it shielded your face in shadow.

So, naturally, you had moved around the cockpit and upper level like a phantom, pretending to be a shadow in the night.

You’d even earned yourself a laugh from the great wall of beskar that was fast becoming your friend. It was only a soft chuckle, just picked up by the vocoder, but all the same, it had lit something within you.

It still echoed in your ears now.

A few moments later, the Mandalorian was back at your side, Grogu in his little bag and Duru walking next to him. “The point still stands. I thought I might finally get some silence at night, but you talk just as much.” His raspy voice had a softened edge, one of teasing and you might even have heard the hints of a smile playing at his lips.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder, “You love it when I talk. I have to talk to you, otherwise I’d be worried you had turned to stone. You’re so quiet sometimes.” You stopped at a stall, admiring the fabrics here – not to buy, just to look at the different things in a place you had never seen before.

The Mandalorian made a soft noise, “No, sweetheart, that’s just called quiet time. You might want to try it sometime.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but something behind Mando caught your eye. Rising up on tiptoe, you peered over his shoulder… but there was nothing there. Weird. You could have sworn you saw someone wearing a hood just… watching you.

You shrugged, assuming you had imagined it like before and then looked back to the man before you, “I can be quiet. I just choose to fill your hours with my wonderful voice.” You flashed him a grin, eyes dancing.

A voice cut across before Mando could talk to you, “You.” It was a snarl, tinged with recognition that wasn’t exactly the most positive. It was bitter, aggressive and almost… pained.

Mando turned quickly, his hand flying toward the blaster on his hip, instinct overriding him. His movement allowed you to see who had just interrupted the conversation.

A lady stood there, with curly magenta hair twisted up into a braid. She had tattoos along her neck, and her eyes were a shocking green. She was breathing quickly, staring at you with such disdain that it made your neck prickle.

How did you know this woman? You’d never been to this planet before.

You blinked, holding up your hands as a surrender gesture, “Uh… I’m sorry but I don’t know you. I think you must have me confused with someone else…”

The lady shook her head fiercely, making the whisps of her hair that had escaped bounce wildly. “No. I do not have you confused. I would know you anywhere.” Her eyes were wild with fury, pinning you to the ground with just a stare.

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t know who you are. Maybe you could tell me your name?” You extended a hand, trying to diffuse this situation and help the woman understand that you aren’t who she thinks.

She flinched back from your reach, even though she was still a good few feet away. “How dare you. You don’t even know who I am?” She made a noise of disgust, looking you up and down in such a way that you were surprised the skin didn’t flay from your bones, “Typical. I don’t know why I’m surprised. She was probably just another tool to you, wasn’t she? Another person to use and discard like trash.”

You blinked, your hands dropping to your sides. Your skin began to tighten, your blood turning a little frosty. You looked to the side, seeing a few people start to stop and watch this altercation happen.

The Mandalorian seemed to pick up on this at the same time as you. He turned more toward the lady, his hand still within reach of his blaster, “Why don’t we take this somewhere more private?”

The woman barely even looked at him, “Don’t get involved in this, Mandalorian. You’re just as bad as she is. At least to do what you do, you have to have respect and creed. You have morals, no matter how murky they are.” She jabbed a finger at you, “Unlike this savage monster.”

Your breathing immediately shallowed, getting a little unsteady as she spat out that word, that hateful word that followed you around and hounded at your feet. “I’m sorry? For whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry if it’s hurt you. I didn’t mean it, truly-”

She laughed, a cold and cruel laugh, but her eyes were slowly turning glassy with tears. She took a few steps closer, “You don’t even remember her name, do you? Shall I remind you? Help you distinguish her from your kill list?”

You didn’t fail to notice the way the Mandalorian’s stance shifted. His body tightened and he stood closer, shielding you slightly with one of those ridiculously broad shoulders. He was going on the defensive, feeling the situation start to spiral.

The woman barely spared him another glance, “3 years ago, you showed up on Trask. You stumbled around the market for a few days, bleeding from a wound in your leg and you passed out.”

Realisation was beginning to filter through you. It sparked in your mind and you remembered a dark street and rain, your leg heavy and cumbersome beneath you. It had burned like fire and when you went down, you couldn’t get back up again.

The woman was still talking, “Someone picked you up, took you to their home. My sister. She was there for work, and saw you lying in the street, like some kind of dumped animal. She nursed you back to health, gave you somewhere to stay.” She could see it as it began back to you, “You took her aid, her comfort and then, there was a warning put out in the village. There had been a high-risk fugitive spotted in the village. Anyone with information was to come forward immediately.”

Your hands curled into fists, your chest shuddering as guilt and darkness began to swirl within you, “Stop.”

She chose not to hear your quiet plea, “I was supposed to meet her. But she sent me a comms message. She would meet me, but she would have someone else with her. Someone who she couldn’t tell me over a comms message. Someone in trouble. People said this girl was dangerous, to be handed over with no hesitation but she didn’t see that. No, she said this girl was terrified, that she just wanted to live.” She tilted her head, walking closer again, “But the next day, this special little girl was gone. And then the Imperials came.” Her voice shook, her expression unreadable.

You shook your head mutely, not wanting to hear this, memories flooding your brain.

“Someone had tipped them off that my sister was harbouring a fugitive. They tore through her home, destroyed it and dragged her in for questioning. They demanded she tell them, beat her when she denied it. She never gave it up.”

The woman was right in front of the Mandalorian now, who extended his arm out, ‘That’s close enough.”

Nausea roiled your stomach, and you weren’t sure if you were going to pass out or throw up. There were too many eyes on you, too many people watching as this woman revealed you bit by bit.

The woman lowered her voice, deadly soft and it shook, but carried in the silent square, “My sister was murdered because of you. Because of what you are.”

Mando froze, his head tilting back to look at you slightly. You still hadn’t told him.

She wasn’t done. “They told me a few weeks ago that you’d been captured by a Mandalorian. I wept with relief that day, because I knew the Mandalorian wouldn’t fail. You’d be taken to whoever wanted you, and you would finally repent for every single sin you’ve ever committed. Your life is littered with them. My sister, my beloved sister is dead because of you. A killer. A beast. Your hands are stained red, girl, and they will always be stained red. I admit, I’m disappointed that you slithered into his head with your poison too but you will kill him too and then… You deserve everything that will ever come to you. And more.” The woman was breathing almost as quickly as you, her eyes glinting in sick delight at the pain she was causing you.

My sister is dead because of you.

A beast.

Her words mingled with that seductively dark voice in your mind and you gasped for a breath, knives feeling like they were digging into your lungs. Your eyes darted around, noted the strangers looking at you with horror and that shared disgust. A father pushed his daughter behind his legs as he caught your stare, hissing at you.

A flinch ran down your body and without a second thought, you turned tail and bolted. The sunlight was too bright, obscuring your vision harshly and making you stumble every now and then.

You were distantly aware of a male’s shout, then a harsh thumb and the Mandalorian’s voice snarling, “Stay down.” He stopped to check your pursuer was down and then he was running after you. “Hey, wait.”

You ignored him, boots pounding into the dust as you ran through the market, needing to get out of this place, get away from her and the memories. Where the hell was the ship? It was right here a minute ago. I haven’t gone the wrong way. This is the way we came.

You could still hear Mando behind you, knew he was hot on your heels. “Drop it, Mando.” You led him around people and stalls, knowing if wanted to be in front of you, he would be. He was letting you flee, stopping anyone coming after you.

Dodging around a crate of fruit, you almost sobbed. There it was, the Crest, gleaming in the sunlight. You slowed down as you reached it, stopping a little way away to let the ramp come down, let you inside to sanctuary.

Nothing happened.

Bastard.

You took a breath, trying to get past the tightness in your lungs, “Let me in.”

“No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.” His voice was firm, arrogant, in a way like he knew best and you’d listen to him.

~“A killer. A beast. Your hands are stained red.”~

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, staring at the Crest, at where the ramp was tucked in tight. Your heart was pounding, not from the run, but from the realisation that no matter where you went, there would always be someone you had touched with that curse. “No. I’m not telling you anything. I don’t owe you anything.”

He laughed behind you, but it was a cool laugh, nothing humorous in it, “I’m not saying you owe me anything, princess. But some woman just cornered you in the street and spat abuse at you. I thought I would be prying you off of her, not chasing after you.”

A wolf. No. A beast.

You spun round, eyebrow raised, “Because I’m some wild animal that would rather fight than talk my way out of a situation?”

If he had no helmet, you would have seen him blink, “No, I’m not saying that. But, well. You have to admit it, don’t you?”

Something was beginning to prickle up the back of your neck, his words threatening to cut a little close, “Admit what?” Venom laced your tone and you tensed, as if bracing for a punch.

The Mandalorian walked closer, oozing confidence like he somehow knew you better than you knew yourself, “You don’t really think, do you? You never calculate the risks of a fight. You just jump straight in with no regard for your own safety. I mean, when I came for you on Sorgan, anyone smart would have seen a Mandalorian and run.” He wasn’t saying it in an arrogant way, he was saying it as fact. And he was right. A Mandalorian appeared on the street and you turned around and crossed to the other side. You didn’t engage him a fight and flirt with him.

A cold laugh rocked though you and you tilted your head, “Anyone smart? So you’re calling me stupid now? Is that it? Beast or stupid?” You took a few steps closer to him, ignoring the villagers milling around that had started to look, having heard the fight in the centre of the market. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t calculate risks. You think I’ve had time to calculate risks in my life? I don’t have time to sit with my little notepad in my ship and jot down the pro’s and con’s of engaging in battle. I didn’t have the luxury of being trained like you.”

Bitter astonishment filled the Mandalorian’s voice, his own body going rigid, “The luxury of training?! You think I chose to become a Mandalorian? That I woke up one morning and skipped along to Mandalorian school?” His voice rose, the rough rasp turning to stone with every word.

You observed him with a steely gaze, something in you needing to push him away, to protect yourself before he got too close. So, you aimed for what you knew would work, his Creed. Your eyebrows rose, looking him up and down as you leaned your weight on one leg, “You’re telling me you weren’t born with that thing already stuck on your head?” Spiteful sarcasm dripped from your voice and you pointed up at his helmet.

The Mandalorian let out a snarl that no doubt usually sent normal people running. He stalked toward you with predatory grace, a hunter toward his prey. “Don’t you dare.” Like he read in your eyes where you were going with this.

Ugly triumph filtered though you as you stood your ground, not afraid of him, “It’s all the same with you Mandalorians, isn’t it. You have all your training, don your shiny armour and suddenly you’re better than anyone. That helmet goes on, you don’t have to face the consequences of what you’ve done. No one knows who you are, so you don’t need to take the blame.” These words were spiteful, beyond cruel and you hated yourself more and more for each one, but he was starting to get into the cracks, starting to see you. You couldn’t see him die.

Mando was right in front of you now, towering above you with all his broad-shouldered posture, frustration roiling off of him in waves. “You think I don’t feel remorse for what I’ve done?” His voice was so low, barely leashed.

You nearly purred, tasting the promise of a fight, even if it did twist a knife into your heart. “I’ve never seen it.” You tilted your head back to look up at him, letting every ounce of spoilt, cruel brattiness melt into your expression.

A soft growl rumbled through the helmet, so muted you barely heard it in the noises of the market behind him.

Yes. Yes.

And then he relaxed, his shoulders eased and his hands uncurled.

What? No – Disappointment, maybe even shock registered on your expression. You’d been sure, so sure that aiming for his beloved Creed would get him to fight you. Why hadn’t it worked?

Mando shook his head, the sunlight bouncing off of the shiny metal, “No. I’m not doing this with you. You can’t push me away, no matter how hard you try. You don’t mean anything that you just said, I can see it in your eyes.” He pressed a button on his vambrace, and the ramp opened behind you.

He saw you.

That dark beast was starting to awaken, its ears pricking up. You needed to get out of here, away from him, away from this, now. You just shook your head, turning around and walking up the ramp, watching Duru as she ran ahead of you.

Footsteps sounded from behind you as the Mandalorian followed you. He took Grogu from his little pouch, popping him on a cargo crate and Duru immediately jumped up next to him. “Don’t walk away from me. I’m trying to help you, but you keep shutting me out. Why did that woman say those things about you?” His gloved hand enveloped your wrist, his grip not tight or authoritative, but it began to break something in you.

“Let me go, Mando. I mean it.” You let ice creep into your tone, trying to disguise the cracking inside you, the darkness that was beginning to stir and whisper.

And the damn tin can saw it all. Your back was to him, but he still fucking knew, “Please… You know I would never judge you for it, for whatever you did to make her say that.”

Excuse me?

Anger flared through you now, igniting into a blaze and you snarled, “Whatever I did?!” You didn’t give him time to respond, not before you swung around, using his grip on your wrist for leverage. You had spent enough time around him now to become familiar with the plates of his armour, so you knew you aimed correctly when your fist connected with the side of his ribs between the front and back plates.

He grunted, jolting a little but he still didn’t let go. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant-” His voice had softened and, in your rage and hurt, you mistook the pleading tone for a condescending one.

Before he could finish, you punched him again, harder, “Don’t. Don’t try to start spewing excuses at me. I knew perfectly well what you meant. You thought that she had been hurt by me. That I killed her sister with my own hands. Probably slit her throat and bathed in her blood.”

“No, no, I didn’t. If you would just listen to me and stop shouting, please-“

Your foot connected with his shin, making him stumble backwards. You followed after him, “You didn’t even stop to think that maybe, for once, I didn’t actually do anything. But no. Like always, you looked at me and saw the worst. You assumed that I was a monster.” You chopped down at his inner elbow this time, causing him to let go of you in reflex.

Mando tilted his head, his voice coming out sharper this time, “I assumed?” He laughed, the bastard laughed, “What else am I supposed to do, sweetheart? You’ve been on this ship for nearly a month now and I still don’t know anything about you. So yes, I was wrong for assuming, but can you blame me?”

Your eyes flashed and you were on him again, “So it’s my fault that you thought I was a monster? You’d met me for all of two seconds on Sorgan and started whispering in my ear like honey, that death followed me wherever I went. There was a bounty over my head and that’s all you saw.”

Mando went still, his shoulders tightened, and his voice came out lower, “You’re still bringing that up? I told you that you weren’t my bounty anymore.”

Before you could answer him, that velvety voice inside your head started to whisper in your ear, “Oh no, oh my sweet darling. He sees you. The real you. He knows you’re a monster.”

You shook your head sharply, lifted your eyes back to the Mandalorian’s stupid face. Helmet. Visor. Whatever. “I’m not your bounty but you believed that woman. So say it.”

His confusion was palpable, “Say what?”

You took a step forward and your chest butted up against his, “Say it! Say that I’m a monster. A murderer. I kill everything I come near.” You laughed, coldly, the words coming out with your voice but in your head, they were being repeated in that cruel, silken whisper. “You regret it, don’t you? Throwing away my puck. You wish you’d kept it, then you could get rid of me, be free of what I’ve done, why I’m being hunted.” Those steel bands were still wrapped round you, crushing you, swallowing you whole again.

Something broke in him, his composure as the anger rose again and he leaned down to you, “Stop.” The command was a growl and he lifted a finger, pointing at you, “You’re a fucking hypocrite.”

Yes. Yes, fight back, fight me. Tell me what I know I am.

You raised your eyebrows, smirking at his finger and then back up at him but your expression was bitter, “Am I? Why’s that, Mando?” You tilted your head and practically purred, “Tell me.”

The tension in the room was tight, the air almost crackling around you with this outburst of emotion, the threads of your entwined lives pulling taut.

The light bounced off of the plates on his shoulders, betraying his slightly ragged breathing, “You just screamed at me for assuming the worst about you, yet you did just that to me. How can I want to be free of you, when I don’t even know who you are.” He lifted his hands to your shoulders, to try and calm you down, to push you away maybe.

The smirk began to slip from your face, “Does it matter who I am?”

His grip tightened, “Of course it does. Because you’re not a bad person. Let me help you, please. Just tell me something. Anything.” His voice turned pleading, and he lifted a hand from your shoulder, like he was going to cup your cheek.

You’re not a bad person.

Fire blazed within you again, protective and destructive. This was too close. He was getting too close. You had to stop it, now. You had to get away.

You reached up, grabbing his wrist and using the element of surprise to slam him against the wall behind him, pinning his wrist there and then your blade was at his neck, dull light glinting off of it, “Back off. You can’t help me. I’m not some broken doll to add to your ragtag collection.” Your own breathing was ragged, coming in sharp pants as the room started to spin.

The Mandalorian flinched, like you’d hit a nerve and his free hand moved. Bingo.

Yes, you thought, almost begged, Punch me. Fight me, please.

But he didn’t. He just curled his fingers around your wrist and pushed you away, dislodging your knife and knocking you back a few steps. Like you were weak.

You couldn’t do this, he was starting to slip through the cracks that were forming in you. He was looking at you, seeing you. He always had, from the moment you were nothing but hunter and prey, he knew exactly how to get through your intricately woven net of silver-tongued quips and cocky arrogance.

No.

Your voice cracked, echoes of the dark beast’s laughter in your ears “No! Stop pushing me away, stop taking it. Fight me!!” You surged for him again, your hands curling into fists, slamming against the beskar plates again and again.

You didn’t care that it hurt, that it made pain explode across your knuckles.

You liked it, you liked the pain. Deserved that and so much more.

And the Mandalorian… just stood there. He shook his head, just slightly, “No.” He stood there as you hammered your fists against his chest, even when you started to kick him. Just watched as your eyes became glassier, your punches harder but less accurate.

Why wasn’t he fighting you?

Your hazy mind began to overwork, searching for something, anything to provoke him, “Why? You don’t want to fight a girl? Too proud are you?” You slammed your knee into his, pulled at the armour plates, honed your pain and fury into him but he just absorbed it. “You’re as weak as I am, you’re running too. You’re the hypocrite, Mandalorian, not me.” Your words were stilted, made no sense as you spat out words as cruel as you could, just needing to provoke him.

Nothing did. Nothing. There was no noise in the cargo hold but the sounds of the people outside, beeping, the dull thud of your fists, your spiteful words and your own ragged breathing.

And the whispering in your head that had turned into a full-on symphony of bitter taunts and sniping truths. It rose with memories, flashes of your dead parents, the battered bodies of those that had tried to help you, people who had been caught in the cross-hairs of your life. Innocent people that had turned into nothing more than collateral damage.

Blood had started to smear on the beskar, your knuckles splitting open with the repeated impact. You could hear Duru meowing, Grogu gurgling in worry but you didn’t care.

The beast and its army rose, tasting the scent of blood and bringing you visions of the future, of the Mandalorian, dead on the ground. The blood from your fists turned into his own, painting the ground red. Duru, fur soaked in scarlet and Grogu, his tiny little body broken on the floor in a pool.

And above them, you stood, soaked in the blood of these three. Relishing in the pain and torture that you had caused. You could taste their blood.

The room began to spin further, the whispering detonated into a roar and it unleashed a heavy roiling cloud within you. It choked you, squeezed fists around your lungs, clouded your eyes and snuck into your head. It whispered to you, such cruel taunts, sucking out the deepest, most vile thoughts you had about yourself and spat them back out, combined with these visions of the future. It leeched the energy out of you and with a choked sob, your knees gave way.

Duru let out a yowl of concern, springing off of the cargo box.

I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be confident, or strong. I can’t be brave and cocky, I can’t keep throwing myself into every fight, I can’t run anymore. I can’t do this. I can’t-

And then a pair arms caught you.

Mando caught you. He didn’t haul you up against him. He didn’t try and pull you up.

No, he sunk to the floor with you, supporting your weight in his own body, leaning against the wall and letting you collapse against him.

You froze, your body stiffened as he did. This… people didn’t touch you like this. They didn’t put their arms around you unless they were trying to drag you somewhere.

You hadn’t been hugged since you were a child, and yet here you were. The Mandalorian was holding you, but loosely.

Waiting, for your consent. For you to be okay with this.

And as his gloved hand brushed your back, such a tender warmth broke through you, caressed your pain and you couldn’t resist. You sunk into him, the last saps of energy leaving you as tears flooded your cheeks. The armour was hard, digging into you a little bit, but the feeling of just being held was more than enough.

He wrapped his arms around you, coaxing you against his chest. His legs were either side of you, one stretched out on the floor and the other resting up to support your back. Distantly, you were aware of four clawed feet padding over your lap, Duru settling into the space between you and Mando’s arm.

The armour disguised the frantic beating of his heart, your tears and shaking of your body held the trembling of his own hands, but he didn’t mention it. Didn’t mention the fact that this was the first time he had held someone like this that wasn’t the kid… since he was a child himself. He was just as starved of touch as you, even more so because he had no skin-to-skin contact either. He could feel your warmth through the fabric of his clothes that weren’t covered, could feel the weight of you leaning into him.

He didn’t speak, just held you in the dimness of the cargo hold, keeping you together as you fell apart, kept the promise of death away, just as you had done for him.

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #star wars #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #grogu

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helga-grinduil · 3 years

Note

Hi 👋 I was wondering about Shiggy I know your a big fan of him so I was wondering if you know what his skin condition is? Or how it came about? Because I can’t remember if it was ever brought up on why he’s always itchy?

Okay, so. Shigaraki has dry skin, and the area aroung his eyes and forehead is all scarred over, since because of constant scratching, his skin healed unevenly. In anime Shigaraki's skin is dusty-yellowish. In manga you can see that the scars around his eyes is also a different, slightly darker colour.

It was mentioned that he already had itchy skin when he was 5 years old. His parents thought it was some sort of an allergy, and Tenko himself said that it begins to itch only when he's home.

I'm not an expert OR a doctor, but to me, this all looks like it might very possibly be atopic dermatitis. It's one of the most common types of eczema, and it often starts to affect people in their childhood.

In people with AD, for complex reasons science hasn’t fully sorted out, the immune system becomes disordered and overactive. This triggers inflammation that damages the skin barrier, leaving it dry and prone to itching and rashes that may appear purple, brown or grayish hue in darker skin tones and red in lighter skin tones.

Atopic dermatitis (eczema) signs and symptoms differ widely from skin to skin and include:

Dry skin

Itching, which may be severe, especially during the night time

Red to brownish patches, mostly on the hands, feet, ankles, wrists, neck, upper chest, eyelids, inside the bend of the elbows and knees, and in infants, the face and scalp

Atopic dermatitis most often begins before age 5 and may carry on into adolescence and adulthood. For some, it flares periodically and then clears up for a time, even for some years.

Of all diseases, atopic eczema is one of the most studied from a psychosomatic point of view. Psychological variables and stressful life events can trigger, precipitate or worsen cutaneous symptoms; emotional implications, and sometimes even anxious-depressive syndromes, can occur secondary to atopic dermatitis.

It's not a secret Tomura suffers from depression and anxiety. His 'allergies' were acting up only when he was home or in some sort of an uncomfortable situation. In fact, his anxiety around his father and the pressure and stress he felt at home when he was a kid probably were the main reasons he got eczema in the first place.

It also means that Shigaraki feeling 'itchy' isn't coming from his quirk or from him wanting to destroy something (this is all just AFO being a fucked up asshole), it's an indicator that he's is feeling anxious or is under a lot of stress, which we can see multiple times in the manga.

Hope I cleared this up a bit for you! <33

#ask tag #anon #bnha #bnha spoilers #boku no hero academia #shigaraki tomura

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ishouldreallybeelsewhere · 3 years

Text

Tattoos in the Dark

Dean wasn't one for taking breaks. John never let him, and he had no reason to let himself be any different, even though John was gone. but Sam was gone too. There was no one for him to take care of, at that moment, there were no cases, no things to hunt, no people to save, and for the first time in his life, Dean had no idea what to do.

There was nothing but him and the open road, a half-empty pack of cigarettes in one pocket, a lighter in the other. The thought of smoking used to scare him. It would be a bad example for Sam, but dean already knew that his life wasn't going to be a long one, so he may as well enjoy it while it lasted. It reminded him of his high school days, smoking behind the bleachers, hooking up with anyone who was willing, and pretending the smoke that saturated his jacket was someone else's. It still sent shivers down Dean's spine, thinking of what john's reaction would be if he knew, but right now, there was no way for him to find out, and nothing that could stop Dean.

He pulled up outside an empty corn field, wandering through the thin paths, jumping over the occasional fence, until he reached the other end. There was a platform there, easy enough to climb up, an empty billboard that could no longer see the road.

The sun was already starting to set, playing with the colours of the field below, painting the sky gold and red. Dean leaned against the back of the platform and lit up a cigarette, enjoying the smoke as it funneled into his lungs. It wasn't going to kill him any faster than the job, and at least this way it would be something he had control over, instead of being daddy's little soldier.

Dean sat there until it was dark and the butt of the cigarette no longer glowed. Walking through the uneven path without any sort of light probably wasn't the best idea, but Dean's mind was fuzzy, and nothing like that really seemed to matter. Maybe he would get a tattoo. His own one, not the stupid demon one that john had made him get the moment it was legal. He would've made his sons get it earlier had bobby not intervened.

"You can pick," said Dean a few hours later. He was at the front desk at a tattoo place. it smelt like ink and home, unfamiliar but comforting nonetheless. The guy behind the counter smirked and nodded, then grabbed a binder from under the counter and led Dean through to another room.

"Where do you want it?" asked the man in a smooth voice. It wrapped around dean, a shroud of comfort that he couldn't quite understand, and he thought for a moment. Where was the one place he couldn't hide it?

"Up here," he said, pointing to the patch of his neck that showed above his collar. If he let his hair grow out again, it would be hidden, but John had been pretty firm that if Dean was going to be a man, he better fucking look like it.

Getting the tattoo was strange. He was completely relaxed, even as the needle drove into the skin beneath his ear, unlike the last time, where every fiber of his being had been tensed beyond belief. Now he was calm, almost enjoying the experience. The cracked leather chair he sat in reminded him of his car, the smell, the feeling, everything, but the hands on his neck that deftly made permanent a piece of art he couldn't even see was even more comforting.

"All done," said the artist some hours later. The studio had closed hours ago, but Dean hadn't been told to leave, and the artist seemed content to work. "Do you wanna see?" Dean nodded, stomach churning with anticipation as he looked into the mirror the artist was holding.

A black scorpion curved around Dean's neck, pincers beneath his jaw, the tail curling under his ear, a sharp contrast to the slightly red skin around it.

"It's perfect," said Dean, inspecting it with pure glee. The artist smiled, clearly proud of his handy-work, before wrapping it and giving dean some basic care instructions.

"So, I gather you're not from 'round here," said the artist as he organised the payment. Dean shook his head, the tattoo twinging ever so slightly with the movement. "Didn't think so. So where're you staying?" Dean realised there wasn't enough on the stolen car to cover the tattoo and a motel for the night, but he didn't really care. He'd get a new one in the morning.

"My car, for tonight. Then I'll be heading off who-knows-where." Dean laughed without humour at the thought of it. Back on the road 'til John gave him a case, or he ran out of money and had to go back to Bobby's.

"Well, my place is free for the night. Just up stairs. Free of charge." Dean considered it briefly, studying the man in front of him. His pale skin was coated almost entirely by ink, piercings wherever almost everywhere, and a loose black shirt over ripped jeans. Not straight, definitely not, and it seemed unlikely that Dean would get any sleep. He said yes.

Dean hadn't hooked up with a guy in years, and when the morning came and the night's events came back to him, he couldn't imagine why.

The artist, whose name, Dean had learned some time during the night, was Jamie, was up long before Dean, and already opening the shop when Dean went downstairs.

"How's the tattoo holding up?" asked Jamie with a smirk.

"Better than expected," replied Dean, mirroring the expression. He booked another tattoo immediately, once again letting Jamie choose anything he wanted.

Dean stayed in the tattoo parlour for a week, each day with more ink, each night learning more about his partner. It was nothing official, of course. Dean wasn't going to let that happen. Not when his phone could ring at any moment, and he'd have to leave Jamie for ever. But he made ever second count. Lingered with every kiss, keeping the memory of Jamie's hands on him long after they'd left.

Then the call came. A case two states over. And Dean's break was over.

"Life catching up with you at last," joked Jamie, but there was no humour. All of a sudden, Dean's jacket felt far too heavy, almost oppressive. It wasn't really his jacket, was it. It was John's, a constant reminder that he'd never grow into John's clone, and that would always be his biggest downfall.

"Keep the jacket," said Dean, slipping it off and handing it to Jamie. Their fingers brushed, and Dean held the contact for as long as he could, before he turned on his heel and left.

The car felt a lot less like home as he slipped into the front seat, his inked up forearms no longer fitting in, his tattooed hands not gripping the wheel in the same way, but the cracked leather reminded him of the chair he'd spent so long in over the past week, and that was enough to make him drive.

Hours passed in the silence of the road, all music Dean once loved now a stark reminder of who he didn't want to be. Nothing felt as right as it once had, nothing felt as right as sitting in that tattoo chair, or lying beside Jamie in his bed. And nothing would for a long time.

#not perfect #far from it in fact #but fun to write and i reckon it got the basic point across #dean is alone for the first time and gets tattoos #some time before season one #like a couple months #bi dean #trans dean #dean winchester #tattoos #spn #supernatural #fanfic

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hit-me-with-a-ladle · 3 years

Text

Ch. 6 Creepypasta x fem!reader

Hey, guys hope you're liking the chapters, now I'm sorry I didn't post the chapter yesterday my computer was malfunctioning and I had to fix it. But now we're all good and I can be more consistent. I also turned my comments on so I hope that you'll tell me what you liked and disliked about the story. But without further ado enjoy<3.

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A week had passed since the girl started training, and she could feel herself improve as the days progressed. Jack, at first, was ruthless towards her, but he calmed down and at least waited for her when she was struggling to walk back to the cabin. She also had a strict workout regiment made by him. He acted as a personal trainer of sorts as she had to use heavy objects as weights and was made to sprint around the forest to build up stamina and muscle to improve her strength. But when the week had ended, so had Jacks' first shift to train her, and now it was Maskys turn.

The cold Monday air hit her face when she woke up. Feel her eyelids becoming heavy she wanted to go back to bed but stopped herself. Jack had warned her that Masky hated tardiness and that he expected her to be ready by 7:30 AM. So the girl had set the red alarm clock that laid on the small desk next to her bed to ring at 6:45 AM. Lazily getting out of bed, she neared the closet, getting a set of clean clothes( Her closet had been updated, with more essential clothes, like underwear and socks). Then headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Slackly scrubbing her body under the look worm pellets of shower water that quickly streamed down her bare body, she remembered her first few interactions with Masky, like when he attacked her that cursed night. She could recall his rude and disrespectful behaviour towards her, and if she was honest, she didn't regret stabbing him in the leg with her kitchen knife. An irate expression then fell upon her face as she cursed him and all the others under her breath. Because of them, she was in this hell hole, she hated it. She just wanted to be home. But she was also mad at herself for not taking more initiative and trying to make an actual escape plan.

' Do I have Stockholm syndrome or something?' She questioned herself as she started to feel her eyes water, but immediately pulled back those tears, not wanting her eye to puffen. She'd already been showering for over fifteen minutes without noticing. Not wanting to waste even more time she got out of the shower and dressed she quickly walked to her room to check the time. She had 15 minutes to eat before her training started.

Running downstairs, she instantly started making something to eat as she turned around and was about to head in the direction of the dining table. And in the heat of the moment, she had harshly bumped into something making her drop the large white plate of food she'd been carrying. A loud bang of porcelain contacting the hard wooden floor rung through her ears as she angrily looked up to see what the hell was in the way. Though her features instantly softened when she realised it was Masky towering over her. His white mask was even creepier up close. It looked old and worn out, it also had some red discolouration on the lower half of it with some minor erring at the sides. His demeanour seemed stiff as a deep growl escaped from his throat.

" Watch where you're going, goddamn it." He spoke as he pushed her aside to pass. " And clean that up right now. I mean Jesus Christ, your so much wasting time, you have less than ten minutes." The girl glared daggers as he spoke. Rage fueled her mind as she wanted to punch him square in the face, although she stopped herself, not wanting to cause any trouble. She just took in a sharp breath, closing her eyes she promptly cleaned up the mess. Hastily making herself some cereal she ate it as quickly as she could.

Masky watched her, however feeling disdain towards her as he did. His leg was still sour from where she had stabbed him, but he planned to get back at her by making the next week they had together a living hell. Staring at the clock, every minute or so he would check it to see what it said, and the moment the arrow hit exactly 7:30, he got up from where he was sitting. " Get the hell up we're going," He roughly grabbed the bowl in front of her and flushed the remaining bit of food down the drain. The girls just pursed her lips as her gaze turned bitter in the mere sight of him. She slowly got up and followed him outside. They were on the same path she took to get to the clearing she and Jack would fight in, but instead of turning left and following the path, he went in the opposite direction.

Confusion washed over her as she follower curiously, still not trusting him fully. " Where are we going?" She promptly asked as they were walking for a while. She could feel him roll his eyes, " Be quiet your voice irritates me." Not having anything else to do she just huffed loudly and followed the masked man she dislike so much with her arms folded over her chest. Her feet kept on hitting the many tree roots scattered around the path as she watched the leaves fall from the trees. Her mind wandered with them, she'd been so stressed this last week that she'd forgotten to enjoy her surroundings and she hand realised just how beautiful the forest truly was. That morning she felt a light breeze graze her soft skin as she looked up to the clear blue sky. The sound of rustling leaves filled her ears as she softly smiled at the beautiful sight of the trees being carried by the wind.

Without noticing that Masky had halted to a stop, she walked into him for the second time that day, he stood like a tree and the hard impact made the girl tumble a bit before regaining her stance. Though the man didn't even seem to notice, she softly grumbled under her breath before walking next to him. As she looked up and got a good look at her surrounding she was dumbfounded. In front of her was scattered some of the most beautiful looking flora in her life. The grass that covered the soil seemed lighter than the one she was standing on, different types of multicoloured flowers strewed in patches all around it and right in the middle, in front of them both, stood an old thick tree. It was remarkably tall, moss laid on its right side and it looked worn out over time. Its long brown branches twisted and turned as golden-green leaves spread all along with them. There was a thin stone pathway leading up to the tree and circling it to give room for someone to walk around.

" What is this place?" She softly spoke as her jaw had dropped from the sensory overload she was experiencing by the gorgeous scenery in front o her. Masky brought up his right hand closing her jaw, " This is going to be your first lesson, how to take care of this area of the forest. It's essentially the heart of it giving it its 'power' pet say, this tree is thousands of years old and you, as a middleman, have the task to not let it die." He said pointing at her as he walked through the stone path and stood in front of the tree, the girl soon following. " How do I take care of it? And what happens if I let it die?" She asked as she looked up at the tree then at him.

" Well, firstly, these flowers have to be watered every few days or they die out, and if they die out, the tree soon will follow after them. Also, the tree has to be checked and graded in 3 stages to make sure it's in the right order. Firstly, if the leaves change colour every season. When in the winter their silver and or blue, In Atom orange and or purple, spring red and or pink and then summer as you can see this type of greenish-gold colour or pure gold colour that has a whole meaning in its self. But ill explain the meaning of the colours later, when we get you a notebook you can write all of this down. But there is a deviation from this pattern the tree is most likely dying for some reason and you have to find out what the reason for that is. Second, if you notice that it starts to have some kind of sweet n=honey like odour then its sap is ready to be harvested and you'll have to harvest every last drop of it. Though this could happen any time there's no real regulation the when it can or can't, the sap is needed for magic. Lastly, You will also have to feed the tree a special oil-based serum that you will learn to make, you can do this around the time you water the plants, but f you see it rejecting it and not absorbing the oil then there's something wrong and you will have to inspect it and see if there's some kind of defect going on to fix. Now to answer your second question, if the tree were to die in your care then you will go through the most excruciating execution of your life." He spoke quickly almost as if he was dictating this to a whole class of people, though the way he announced the last sentence his tone got darker and it sent shivers up the girl's spine.

He put his hands behind his back and began to cercal the tree, the girl trailing close behind. " Now, I want to inform you that this is a type of safe space for you during the day as it prevents any magical creature from going through it. Only humans are allowed. Although, I do have to preface that there's a difference between creatures that descend from, magic and creatures that can do magic. A good example of this rule is Jack and I. He is a creature derived from magic and is not allowed to step through this in the day, and I being a human with the core and basic knowledge of magic, am allowed during the day." He spoke very fast and when he finished he took in a long breath and sighed. The girl listened thoroughly to every word he uttered but something seemed to be troubling her. " You keep on specifying that I can go here during the day. Why is that, does something happen at night?" Her tone was lased in confusion as she stopped to look around the small area.

" Well during the night this place becomes a breeding ground for death, many evil creatures come here to finish off their victims or to spend the night. This place doesn't look remotely similar at night. You'll be as good as done for if you were ever to be so unlucky as to be here untrained and unprepared past twelve. The biggest scum of this forest dwell in the night" The last few words he spoke dragged, his body seemed to tense up as he looked at her with his piercing brown eyes, which were the only thing she could see under his pale mask. "That's why unless it's something urgent do not go out in the forest at night if you're not well trained, do I make myself clear?" His tone was rough but she could tell that there was some level of concern tied within his statement, making her faintly smile.

" The first day ill be a little lenient, as to get you familiarized with the basic layout of the forest which you'll have to memorize." Clearing his throat he smirked as he slowly approached her. " I have the map to this place in my back pocket." He said stopping in front of her as he pulled out a big colourful map of the forest, the girl questioned how he was able to fit that in there. "That's why ill give you till tomorrow to learn it all." The girl's eyes went wide, she was sure he was smiling under his mask and she hated it. " What are you crazy how am I suppos-" She interjected but was soon cut off by the masked man chuckling in amusement, he got closer to her and put one of his gloved hands on her shoulder roughly pulling her towards him as he spoke.

" Well, I'm sorry to say this but there's no negotiation. Now, let's continue with our lesson. I kindly advise paying better attention to what I'm saying to make learning this by tomorrow easier. Because if you don't know let's just say things won't end well for you."

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bondsmagii · 3 years

Note

Regarding what was lying in mom's bed three months after she had passed.

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Bonnie Jennings, regarding a discovery made in her mother’s bed three months after her mother’s death. Original statement given May 18, 2009. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Mum and I… we weren’t close. That’s probably an understatement. I suppose the correct word for it is that we were estranged, but that’s always seemed far too gentle for my liking. If I’m being honest, Mum and I hated one another. I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but my mother was a difficult woman to get along with. She drove everybody away in the end, but not even in the tragic, oh, she can’t help it kind of way. No, she knew exactly what she was doing. She revelled in it, I think. Well, I know she did. I’m not sure what she got out of it, but she liked to… to hurt people, I guess. She got a kick out of it. She was never quick about it, never in-your-face, because that wasn’t fun for her. She was so insidious. She would draw it out, let it take its time, ensure you never had enough to directly confront her about it. She never had a kind word for anyone or anything, and especially not for me. You know, I absolutely hate it, because whenever I mention that my mother and I didn’t talk much people always assume it’s because of well, you know. Somebody like that, you don’t expect them to be accepting of these kinds of things, do you? They always assume I had the classic story of coming out and being booting into the street, but no. That’s just a tragic story that gets parcelled up and delivered out as sad little stories meant to tell everyone how brave we are, and how much we endure, and it always ends with a reconciliation or with us getting back on our feet, stronger for it. Really, that’s not what happens most often. Of course it still does, and I’m not denying that, but I think people need to talk more about the more subtle kind of dismissal we might face. When I told Mum I was trans, all she said was “alright”. That’s it. Just the one word. She didn’t want to know anything more about it, she didn’t want to ask what it meant. She was completely disinterested, but not even in the way that some parents might be – struggling to deal with the fact that they’ve lost a child or whatever crap they come out with. I’m charitable about it – I know it is a shock. I have a lot of trans friends with good relationships with their parents who reported that their parents did need some time just to get used to the idea, but I think that’s normal. When somebody has an idea of you and you tell them they’re wrong, and that you were never that person, it’s a shock. But Mum was so self-centred, so absorbed in her own existence, that she really didn’t care about anything or anyone else. It didn’t matter that her son was actually her daughter. It didn’t centre on her, so who cares? It was infuriating, because on the surface she looked like a model mother. She began using the correct name and pronouns immediately and didn’t slip up once. She advised me on clothing and hair and makeup and gave me beauty tips. She looked so supportive, but really it was just her controlling criticism repackaged. I think, in a sick way, she loved having a daughter. Now she was the expert, as the older woman, and she could boss me around and condescend to me even more. It was an absolute nightmare, but I’m not here to talk smack about my mum – even though I could quite happily do so all day. No, this is about what happened after she was dead and gone. You hear that? Dead. She’s dead, and she’s still causing me problems.

I hadn’t spoken to Mum for over a year when she passed. She never even told me she was sick. None of my business, I guess. It was just Mum and me growing up, and there was no extended family. As I said, Mum drove everyone away in the end. There was absolutely nobody there at all, and that’s why her body rotted in her house for months before anyone found her. She died in the winter, and it was so cold her body basically froze – she never left the heating on a timer, always turned it on manually so she could have more control over the cost. It wasn’t until the weather started getting warmer that neighbours noticed all the flies on the window, realised they hadn’t seen Mum for a while. They called the police, the police broke in, and they found the putrid mess that used to be my mother. Pretty messed up, right? Somehow I was still her emergency contact, because I guess there was nobody else, and so the police called me and broke the news and I was shocked but not really that upset. I mean, that sounds bad, but she’s been dead to me for some time, you know? Really it was sort of nice to know she was actually dead, because grieving for a living person – especially a person you never really had – is a very complicated business. Now she was dead, I thought I could finally just close that chapter. Of course it’s never that easy.

As her next of kin, I was responsible for her… estate, I suppose. That sounds so grand considering it was just a small semi-detached in rural Lincolnshire, but little though it was, it was mine. She never made a will, as I found out when I expressed surprise she’d left me anything at all. She hadn’t actually bothered, so by default it had all gone to me. I was living in Peterborough at the time, and Mum’s house was only in Spalding, so we didn’t live that far apart at all. It didn’t take long for my then-boyfriend and I to get in the car and head down there to see what all we needed to do. I wasn’t interested in keeping the house for myself, because why would I want it? Not to mention Henry and I had been considering buying a place together – later, when he proposed to me, he confessed he had been planning to pop the question that weekend but then they had to go and find my mother’s corpse, which was kind of funny in a morbid way – so we figured if we could sell the place it might be good money to put towards our own first house. Of course, there was the small matter of trying to sell a house where somebody had died, but I figured it wouldn’t be that hard. It wasn’t a brutal murder or anything like that. If we could clean the place up nicely, I didn’t think it would matter too much.

Well, they hadn’t exactly told us how bad it was going to be. Did you know that the family are in charge of cleaning up a house after a death? I didn’t. I thought that would be something that would be covered, you know? By who I’m not sure, but I didn’t think it would be down to family members to scrub up blood and worse from the carpets or the walls or whatever. I at least thought the police would warn us, and maybe it just slipped their mind, but whatever happened or didn’t happen ended up with Henry and I walking into that house not knowing what to expect at all.

We soon got the idea. The stench was abysmal, even just walking up the garden path. Of course, the body itself had been taken care of, but a body that’s been laying in the house for three months leaves behind a lot of evidence, even if it did spend most of that time mostly frozen. Mum’s bedroom was just… it was a nightmare. Words cannot describe the stretch. Sweet and sticky and sickly; you can taste it more than you can smell it. Cloying. That’s the word that came to my mind. I always thought it was a stupid word, but in that moment I understood exactly what it meant. Cloying. I could feel it in my throat and in my nose, thick and viscous, like having a cold and needing to cough up phlegm. Thank God I hadn’t had anything to eat or I would have thrown up. Poor Henry wasn’t so lucky – though he just about made it to the bathroom. I suppose I’m just morbidly curious, because despite the stench I walked right in there, holding my cardigan over my nose. The covers were pulled right back from the bed and there was this incredible stain on the mattress, almost like a bruise in the way it faded into different colours and shades. Sort of like a bruise meeting a patch of rusted iron, black and deep red and dark purple and then lighter shades of brown and grey, all in the vague outline of a prone body at the darkest parts, spreading out like some messed up halo as it grew lighter. It was absolutely vile, but fascinating in its own way. At the very least, she had done us the favour of dying in the bed rather than on the floor, because the carpet would have been a lost cause. With this, I reckoned we could throw out the bed and everything on it, air the room out, and it would be good as new.

I needed a little fresh air myself, so I opened the windows wide and then went to see if Henry was alright. He was still retching pretty badly, so I snooped around the spare room a bit – nothing much to see, if I’m honest – and then decided to wait for him in the back garden, where I’d be able to take advantage of the breeze. I was sure I could smell that heavy stench clinging to my hair, and do you know for weeks afterwards I still thought I could smell it? It doesn’t come out, no matter how much you wash it. Anyway, I obviously glanced into Mum’s room on my way out, and immediately I saw something was wrong. The covers were all back on her bed.

Now, I know for a fact they weren’t there before, because I saw the big stain on the mattress. Now the covers were back in place, not tucked in or even overly neat, but definitely covering the bed and tossed around like somebody was curled up under them, asleep. Strangely I didn’t feel scared or even very confused. I kind of… stood there for a moment, wondering how I was seeing what I was seeing, and then quite quickly I just accepted that I was seeing it and there was nothing I could do about that, so I decided to check it out. It’s not something I would ordinarily do, I don’t think – I’m curious, but I’m not touch a bed covered in decomposing body juices curious – but for some reason I just walked in there and pulled back the covers. One fluid movement, like a mother trying to get her teenager up for school. I just yanked it back from the top, near the pillows, and then I finally felt the horror that should have come much sooner.

It was… maggots, obviously. They were everywhere, writhing around in a huge pile, twisting their way over the stain and out of the bedsheets and even crawling up my arm, where I was still holding the covers. I screamed and shook my arm frantically, sending maggots flying in all directions, and immediately they began making their way back to the mass on the bed. It was like there was some kind of gravitational pull dragging them back to that pile of wriggling, twitching creatures, and as I watched I became convinced there was some kind of method to their movements. They were arranging themselves, forming into a shape, and I only dragged my eyes away when Henry appeared in the doorway, looking alarmed. I realised then that I’d screamed, and I tried to play it down – in that moment I wasn’t overly surprised, now I’d had a second to think about it, because yeah, of course there are maggots. They like dead bodies, right? I guessed that after the body was removed there were probably a ton of them in the mattress itself that had wriggled up in search of food, though thinking about it again, I didn’t recall seeing any holes in the cover sheet or anything. I tried to calm down, but something drew my eyes back to the maggots – I think it was the way Henry was just staring at the bed, horrified in a way I’ve never seen before – and I saw that the maggots had… how do I even describe this?

They had sat up. They were sitting, and they were in the vague shape of a person. I could see a head, shoulders, the arms limply by the sides. There was a torso that joined on to the bend of hips and legs stretched out in front, over the bed, the feet disappearing into the covers that were still left. I could see the slight rise in the covers where the feet were. The maggots were still moving around, so the shape was constantly shifting, but I could distinctly see details beginning to emerge. Hair. The sunken pits where eyes should be. A gaping mouth that was opening and closing, a black void behind it, as though the figure was trying to say something. And it was. I could hear this strange voice, like an exhale of air, a voice that was barely there at all – but I knew it was saying my name. Bonnie. Bonnie. I could hear it as clearly as anything. In that moment, it was the loudest thing in the room.

I stumbled backwards, but it was as far as I could go. I was frozen, even as I watched the figure swing itself out of bed and get to unsteady feet. It stumbled towards me like a drunk, wheezing deep in its throat, and I thought it sounded like a laugh. I’m not even saying that with hindsight – it was laughing at me. It was my mother’s laugh, and in that moment I knew she was doing this. I mean, I don’t know if she was, because how could she? But in that moment I thought I knew she was doing it, anyway, and I was so angry at her. I was so damn mad at her, for dying in such a horrible way and leaving me with the mess, for all the stuff she’d pulled on me growing up, for every single thing she had done to me, the big things and the petty things, and now this! She couldn’t even die properly, she had to come back and terrify me and traumatise me and ruin everything! I screamed again, but this time it was just pure, animalistic rage – I’ve never heard myself make such a sound. I looked around and I saw the chair sitting in front of the mirror and I picked it up by the back and chucked it into the air, catching it by the back legs and swinging it at the maggot figure with everything I had. I don’t even know what good I thought it would do, because it was just maggots, but the figure disintegrated around the torso and the maggots scattered to the floor. The figure half-collapsed, just a pair of legs wobbling towards me, and I let out this manic laugh before I saw the maggots were already regrouping. Finally I gathered some of my senses and I turned for the door, yelling at Henry to run. He didn’t need telling twice. We both sprinted down the hall and I think we both jumped clean down the entire set of stairs – or it at least felt like that. We ran out into the street and I pulled my cardigan off and started jumping on it, because I was sure I could feel all those maggots crawling on me. Henry finally grabbed me and pulled me away, and we got into the car and drove off. Left the cardigan right there on the street.

We didn’t really discuss what had happened. I hired a cleaning company that specialised in that kind of clean-up, and they never reported any problems. The house was cleaned up good as new, aired out, all Mum’s stuff either sold or thrown away. Eventually the house sold too, even if it did take a little longer than I’d like. Henry and I got married, managed to buy our first house, and while we’ve mentioned it vaguely a few times we’ve still not really talked about it. I think we both probably mutually agreed that we must have been seeing things, and to be honest I let myself believe that for a while. I mean, there’s no way, right? But recently it’s just been bugging me, and I’ve been dreaming about it. It’s just been on my mind, and I can’t pretend that I didn’t see what I saw any longer. I don’t know if this will be of any use to you, or even if it’s the kind of thing that you go in for, but I thought I would write it down nevertheless. I do feel a little better now, weirdly. I thought reliving it all would make me feel worse, but I’m not going to complain.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

Well. That certainly makes me wish I hadn’t eaten lunch before recording. It all seems mostly standard up until the sentient maggot hivemind, and if it had just been Mrs Jennings present I would say it’s possible she might have been mistaken. It’s a fairly specific thing to see, but given the circumstances and the inherent revulsion most people experience when seeing that many maggots at once, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the stress of the situation resulted in Mrs Jennings believing she saw something unusual. There is, however, one more thing included with this statement – a brief affirmation from Mr Jennings, which, while he chose not to go into detail, does affirm that everything in Mrs Jennings’ statement is true to what he himself witnessed. Of course, he wasn’t present with his wife for the entirety of the time period the statement covers, but he was there at the most important part. One person having such a highly specific hallucination would be a stretch, but two people experiencing the exact same highly specific hallucination is even less likely.

Tim contacted the current residents of the house that used to belong to Mrs Jennings’ mother, but they reported nothing at all unusual in the time they had been living there. They were aware of the fact a death had occurred in the house – just as well, really, as Tim was quite happy to tell them about it – but didn’t seem overly bothered. In fact, Tim reported that they seemed almost disappointed that the house hadn’t come with a resident ghost, though looking at Mrs Jennings’ description of her mother, I’m not entirely sure that’s the kind of ghost they would want to have to house share with.

Tim also managed to get in contact with John Atchieson, owner and operator of Atchieson Cleaning Solutions, a company based in Peterborough that, alongside general domestic and commercial cleaning jobs, also specialises in cleaning up biohazardous materials – crime scenes, accident scenes, natural deaths. The case of Mrs Jennings’ mother was found in their records, and Mr Atchieson could remember nothing unusual about it. In a rare stroke of luck, the employee assigned to oversee the clean up at the house was Mr Atchieson’s son, also named John; Mr Atchieson Senior was able to contact him and ask if he remembered anything specific from the site himself, but apparently there was nothing remarkable about the job at all – just a standard decomposition job, hauling away the hazardous materials and cleaning the room with heavy chemicals to try to get rid of the smell. Mr Atchieson Junior helped remove the mattress himself, and reported no maggots of any kind.

Given the lack of physical evidence I would like to claim that there is no basis to this statement, but considering the fact there are two witnesses and this wouldn’t be the first time that a being apparently made of some kind of larvae or insect has been observed wandering about, I’m more inclined to worry about where Mrs Jennings’ mother may have gone, if she was no longer in her bedroom.

End recording.

#tma #statement prompts #my writing #fakements #long post #anon #asks

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thecipherlegacy · 3 years

Note

Okay, I realize there's nothing in Noiren's tag so maybe you don't play him very much, but I'm a sucker for a SW so hurt-comfort prompt #1- Person A is feeling down and Person B does not like to see them this way, so they start to bring them food, a nice cup of tea and their favourite blanket.- wherein A is Noiren, maybe after a nice lightning session with Baras, and B is a dubiously-worried Vette, possibly doing a terrible job of this comfort thing?

So these are taking me forever and I am so sorry about that x.x my college work takes up so much of my time.

So in the story I've written for him and his siblings, Noiren actually doesn't have Vette(or any of the swtor companions) on his ship. BUT I love Vette and love writing my OCs in all sorts of situations and AUs!

I apologize if this is terrible btw, I have been so tired lately from school, but here's a little Noiren based drabble! Enjoy!

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

Everyone was confused. Noiren had always been stoic and quiet, but today was different. He was fumbling and muttering and trying to hide away from anyone that wanted to talk to him. Something was wrong.

Vette knew that it had to do with the sith's recent visit with his master. Baras was a monster, but honestly what does one do to cheer up a sith lord?

The small twi'lek managed to get her hands on a nice Alderaanian meal on their last trip and was quick to grab it with a nod to assure herself that this should do this trick. Once that was in hand she made her way to his quarters "Hey, ya busy? Or can I barge in?" She asked, though they both knew, no matter his answer, she was going to come in.

Noiren was sitting slumped over on his bed. He looked a little worse for wear. She frowned. Baras had always been tough on the male twi'lek, but he had never hurt him before. "I brought you some food. Knowing how you are, you probably haven't eaten." She continued to speak and sat beside him.

His yellow eyes glanced at her, then went back to the floor. It was hard to tell if he was seething, sad, or just plain frustrated. "Hello? Anybody in there? What happened?" She pressed.

He rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at her. He had burns all along his ruby skin, littering the right side of his face and lekku. "I don't want to talk about it." He muttered. She tried to hide her offensive gasp, but failed.

"That looks… yikes-" was all she managed to get out. He glared and turned away again. "I'm sure we can make sure it doesn't scar! But maybe you should eat first, huh?"

"Not hungry." He replied. She frowned again.

"Come on! Where's the sith i know and fear! You're never like this" Vette tried again. He tensed a little.

"You fear me? Even after I've done all I can to free you? You're not my prisoner or slave" he sighed "Honestly I would rather be in your position than my own…" he muttered.

The woman almost felt bad for saying what she did, but it was true. She was still a little afraid of him, especially after watching him kill people ruthlessly. But seeing him now, he looked as fearful and tired as she had been when they first slapped a slave collar on her neck. "I thought you wanted to be sith" was all she could think of to say.

"No." He frowned "I wanted to grow up on Ryloth with my sister and brothers. I never wanted to be sith. And now I'm tied down by a master and an oath. I have never feared for my life more than I did in that room. He threatened my life because I didn't agree with him right away." Noirens golden eyes narrowed. "I was taken away from my family so long ago by imperials and one day I plan to break free of this. Even if I have to kill baras and one thousand imperial soldiers. I'll do it."

Vettes eyes widened as he opened up to her. They were more alike than she had initially guessed. His slave collar was just a fancy title, and the shocks were just as painful. "Wow…" she mumbled. She had no idea what to say.

"Wow?" He scoffed. "Vette, why did you come in here besides to try and force me to eat a meal that's not even warmed up"

She looked at the plate and her cheeks deepened in colour slightly. "I dunno I just, saw you were all droopy and wanted to help. And don't knock it till you try it. This stuff is great cold!"

Noirens eyes rolled yet again. "Then you eat it." He insisted and suppressed a snicker as her eyes shifted left to right.

"Nah I'm good" came her reply as she moved the food away "I'll get toovee to warm it up for you later." Once the plate was gone she got more comfortable, crossing her legs and looking at her partner expectantly. "Sooooo, sister? Brothers? Gonna share?"

His brow arched and he realized she wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Though this was working as a distraction, so she was succeeding a little in her attempts to cheer him up. "I have no choice do I?" He asked. To this she just scooted closer. He sighed and got as comfortable as he could with his new wounds. "Yes I have three siblings." He started "a twin sister-"

"You have a twin?!" She gasped and interrupted immediately. "Is she all sithy too?"

He scoffed "No. She was separated from us and sold off as a slave. They told me she made them a lot of credits to fuel my hatred." His fists balled angrily. "She was a little pink twi'lek. Skin lighter than mine, and eyes brighter. She had our mothers eyes." He was surprised to see vette actually listening, so continued. "Shes strong, so I'm sure she wasn't a slave for long. But I hope to find her someday."

"What about your brothers?" Vette asked. "Do you know where they are?"

"Yes, more or less" he shrugged. "Only slightly younger than me, Aidesan, is training still on Korriban. Now that I'm a lord I've requested to have him as my apprentice. I want to keep him safe. And the youngest, Orkra… He was imperial military but I heard he was transferred to intelligence. So.. I may never find him with how well they hide their agents." He sighed sadly and looked at his burned hand. He had almost forgotten about his grievances of the day. Talking about his family was always a little bittersweet for him, but it was better than what he was feeling before.

"Thats all really sad.." Vette pouted. "Sorry, sith. I'm not very good at this stuff." She sighed "but uh- I can at least go get Toovee to come patch you up then we can-"

"Thank you" he silenced her with that simple phrase. The blue twi'lek blinked at him for a Moment.

"What?-"

He gave her the smallest of smiles "i'm not repeating myself." He teased. "But I really should get a kolto pack."

She was silent, looking a little surprised that just letting him talk, even about something so personal and sad, helped. Then what he said hit her and she hopped up "oh! Yeah! A kolto pack! Let me go get the droid!" Vette replied quickly, but before she rushed out she bravely gave him a gentle hug. "Baras is a jerk, but you're alright, ya know that?" She said softly before finally leaving to grab 2v-R8 to take care of him.

Noiren felt oddly at peace now. His master may be harsh and untrustworthy, but his crew was filled with people that would do anything for him, and that put his mind at ease and made him feel better about where he was. No matter what Baras had in store for him, he'd at least have good people behind him.

#this is writtten so poorly and im so sorry about that-#but i still had fun writing it and it was a good way to relax #thanks for the ask and for taking an interest in Noiren!!!#he doesnt get as much love as he deserves!#mox writes #oc: noiren #writing ask meme #sunsetofdoom on blog

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cupcakezys · 3 years

Text

The Prince of Camelot.

This fic has been sitting in the back of my mind for months, and I finally found the time to sit down and write it. It turned out slightly different from what I originally planned, but I think it’s all the better for it, so I hope you enjoy! :)

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Arthur knows about Merlin’s magic, BAMF Merlin, Parent Merlin and Parent Arthur.

Summary: Edmond sucked in a panicked breath and looked around them again, the forest suddenly very unfriendly. “Black knights were here? Why?” Melaine didn’t answer, and when Edmond turned to face her she was staring at him oddly. He frowned and unconsciously drew back from her. “Melaine?” She looked away from him, green eyes firmly on the ground. “They asked if any of us had seen Prince Edmond Pendragon of Camelot.” Edmond flinched back and Melaine’s eyes widened. “That’s you, isn’t it? You really are the Prince!"

Read on AO3.

“Edmond!”

Edmond looked up at the shout, the birds around him startling and flying away. Melaine groaned in disappointment, her red hair spilling everywhere as she buried her head in her hands, and Edmond silently groaned with her. It had taken hours for the birds to trust them enough to sit on the forest floor with them, and now all that time had been wasted.

“Is that your dad?” Melaine asked.

Edmond sighed. “Yeah.”

“Edmond!”

He winced as the cry came again, this time with a touch of impatience, and hastily stood.

“I have to go.” He said, grimacing in apology. “Meet you again tomorrow?”

“Of course!” Melaine instantly perked up. “You’ve still got to teach me that new spell of yours.”

Edmond’s eye’s widened as he resisted the urge to smack his hand over his face. “I completely forgot! I’m sorry Melaine.”

“It’s okay.” She said, shrugging. “Meeting the birds was fun anyway.”

“Edmond!”

“I’m coming Dad!” Edmond yelled, not wanting his dad to come looking for him. “Goodbye Melaine!”

“Goodbye Edmond.” Melaine said with a wave, turning in the opposite direction to make her own way home.

Edmond ran through the forest, feet sure despite the roots reaching out to try to trip him up. Sunlight filtered through the trees in tiny patches, little pockets of light that made the fallen leaves look almost like they’d caught alight. A branch hit his shoulder, making him stumble, and a pair of butterflies flew away and into the sun. Edmond allowed himself a moment to watch them before he took off running again.

He burst out of the trees, stumbling to a stop in front of the little garden his dad loved to tend to. He darted around the garden, no wanting to trample any seedlings, and made his way to the front of their hut just as his dad started calling for him again.

“I’m right here Dad!” Edmond huffed, trying to catch his breath.

His dad whirled around, and already Edmond could see the eyebrow raised judgementally at him.

“Where have you been?” His dad asked, eyes checking him for injuries. “You know what today is.”

Edmond winced. That was another thing he had forgotten.

“I’m sorry Dad.” He said, finally able to breathe properly. “I was with Melaine by the fields. We were trying to get the birds to eat out of our hands.”

His dad’s lips twitched up into a smile. “I see. Well, I hope you had fun.”

His dad ushered him inside where a steaming bowl of stew was waiting for him, and Edmond’s mouth began watering. He hadn’t eaten since late morning.

“We did! Some of the birds came really close, and one was absolutely beautiful.” Edmond sat, his dad next to him, and began shovelling stew in his mouth between sentences. ��It was all blue and green, you should have seen it! Melaine even thought it might have been glowing whenever it wasn’t in the sun.”

A brief flicker of worry entered his dad’s eyes, but it was gone so fast Edmond almost believed he had imagined it. “It sounds like an afternoon well spent.”

Edmond nodded exaggeratedly, his brown hair flying loose of its bun and almost ending up in his stew. He huffed and held it out of the way, still devouring his stew with his other hand.

His dad laughed, his own bowl emptied and washed long before he got home. “Alright you. Slow down before you choke. I’ve got to fix your hair anyway.”

Edmond whined. “But dad, it looks fine!”

His dad snorted, and suddenly his hair is in his face, covering his eyes. Edmond can just spot the lighter strands near his skull, his natural blonde colour shining through. Edmond huffed again and continued eating, slower now. His dad did have a point, he conceded. He normally never let it grow this much before fixing it again.

“Fine.” Edmond grumbled, not that he really had a choice.

His dad smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head before he stood to get the things he would need. Truthfully, Edmond wasn’t sure what exactly his dad did to turn his hair as brown as mud. He knew there was a spell involved, and some sort of paste, but he never paid attention to the details. So long as it wasn’t just mud- which his dad had assured him it wasn’t.

His dad sat back down as Edmond finished his stew, and he shifted a bit as his hair was pulled back an into a loose ponytail. It had gotten longer than he realised, well past his shoulders now, but he found that he liked it long. He hadn’t let his dad cut it the last few times they had done this, and his dad didn’t even bother asking now.

“Alright, now hold still.” His dad ordered, and Edmond sat straight and perfectly still as hands gently massaged the paste into the top of his head.

They feel into silence as his dad worked. It was a comfortable silence, but even so Edmond quickly grew bored. His thoughts started jumping from one topic to another, and soon his mind was a confusing mess of thoughts that he had no hope of ignoring. They were too loud, beating around his skull like a drum, and Edmond had been dwelling on them for far too long to have any hope of containing them now.

“Dad?” He asked at last, a tiny whisper of a thing.

“Edmond.”

“Do you think Father is... gone? Like Mother?”

His dad froze, along with what seemed like the air itself. Edmond hadn’t asked before, not in all the months they’d been living here, but the question had been eating away at him, and he needed to know despite how much he dreaded the answer. He remembered what it had been like, years ago, when a horrible sickness had taken his mother, and how much he had wanted to know if she was alright, even as he dreaded the answer.

Finally, after a long pause, his dad’s hands started moving gently through his hair again. “No Edmond. Your father is fine. I know it.”

Edmond tilted his head back, looking his dad in the eyes. “You do?”

His dad smiled thinly at his skepticism. “I do.” His head was pushed back down, and Edmond allowed his chin to drop to his chest. More paste fell onto the hair near his neck. “You know your father. He’s too stubborn to die, especially to a man like Caliban.”

Edmond wasn’t so sure, but he accepted the words anyway. “And Grandfather?”

His dad sucked in a breath, and Edmond tried not to let his panic show. He knew that his dad and grandfather never got along, but he loved them both, and the thought of anything happening to his grandfather made something painful in his chest twist.

“They’re alive Edmond. Both of them.”

His dad sounded so certain. “But how do you know?”

A gentle hand pulled his hair up and back into a bun, and then he was turned around to face his dad properly.

“I know because I can feel it.” He said, his eyes turning gold as he pulled Edmonds hand up to his chest. The thu-thump of his dad’s heart calmed him. “And I know because when Caliban attacked the castle, he swore he would destroy the Pendragon bloodline in a single, swift strike. Do you know what that means?”

Edmond shook his head. “No.”

His dad let go of his hand in order to pull him into a hug. “It means that so long as you are free from his grasp, he will not kill your father or grandfather. Without you, his plans fall to pieces, and Albion will never fall to him. And do you know why Albion will never be his Edmond?”

That, at least, he had heard before. “Because he’s not the Once and Future King.”

“No.” His dad agreed. “No, he is not. Arthur Pendragon is the Once and Future King, and you, Edmond, are his son. One day, Albion will be united under your father, and a Golden Age of prosperity will begin, and when you take the throne I know you will be a king just as great as your father.”

Edmond sniffled, trying and failing to imagine it all. “Really?”

“Really really.” His dad assured, cuddling him closer. “It’s destiny, my little prince.”

///

“Blóstma.”

A tiny flower grew in Edmonds palm as he watched, wide eyed. It was pink, and looked like a star, with a smattering of yellow in the middle where a number of small stems reached up towards him. He’d never seen anything like It.

It was almost worth the month of repeating the spell over and over with no results, much to Melaine’s amusement. She had gotten it on her third try, the same day Edmond had taught it to her. She’s grown a beautiful yellow primrose, and had grown more until there was enough for her to make her own flower crown. She’s made one for him too, but Edmond wasn’t used to being beaten, and he’d refused it, claiming he’d make his own.

He cradled the flower in his hand with a wide grin, waiting for Melaine to arrive so he could show her that he could cast the spell after all.

It felt like it took her forever to arrive – he had been waiting for at least a candle mark before she came crashing through the undergrowth.

“Melaine!” Edmond greeted, standing up and holding his hands out. “Look I-”

Melaine grabbed his hands and pulled him, heedless of his cries or the flower she was crushing, until both of them were hidden, crouched beneath some thick bushes. Edmond fell silent, his heart racing as he finally took in the terrified expression on his friend’s face. Flower forgotten, Edmond crouched low to the ground and listened to the forest around them.

“I wasn’t sure if they’d followed me.” Melaine whispered after a while.

Edmond turned to face her. “Who? Melaine, what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Melaine tugged on the sleeves of her dress, a nervous habit, and leaned closer, voice dropping to almost nothing. “The black knights.”

Edmond sucked in a panicked breath and looked around them again, the forest suddenly very unfriendly. “Black knights were here? Why?”

Melaine didn’t answer, and when Edmond turned to face her she was staring at him oddly. He frowned and unconsciously drew back from her.

“Melaine?”

She looked away from him, green eyes firmly on the ground. “They asked if any of us had seen Prince Edmond Pendragon of Camelot.” Edmond flinched back and Melaine’s eyes widened. “That’s you, isn’t it? You really are the Prince-”

“Melaine!” Edmond hissed, rushing forward to grab her as he glanced wildly around. “Did anyone say anything?” Melaine shook her head, but she still looked terrified, and Edmond felt dread pooling in his gut. “Melaine, please.”

She shook her head again, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “They- they threatened Isolde and her baby. Tristan had to tell them.”

Edmond felt the blood drain from his face. He scrambled out from under the bush, eyes on the path towards home. It looked deserted, no knight in sight, but Edmond knew better than to assume.

“Where are you going?” Melaine said, following him. “Edmond, what are you doing?”

She grabbed his arm, tugging him backwards, and Edmond wrenched his arm free. “I have to go warn my dad.”

Melaine shook her head, reaching for him again. “Edmond, no. It’s you they’re after.”

“And it’s my dad they’ll kill if they don’t find me.” He shook, terror making his heartbeat loud in his ears. “I have to warn him.”

“They’ll be there already!” Melaine cried. “Just come back with me, we’ll hide you in our barn until they leave. Your dad will be fine, he has his magic.”

Edmond stumbled away from her, still shaking. “No, I’m not putting you in danger.” Melaine went to protest but Edmond cut her off. “Go back home Melaine.”

Melaine took one step back before stopping. “Edmond, promise me you’ll be okay.”

Edmond forced himself to give her a shaky smile, and then he turned and ran. Melaine cried out behind him, but he ignored her, focusing on getting to his hut as quickly and as quietly as he could. He wasn’t a fool – he knew the black knights were most likely already there. More than that, he knew about the manacles they had made specifically for his dad, the ones that cut off a person’s magic.

They’d just barely escaped them before, and Edmond had seen how badly his dad had reacted to just being near them before. He’d have no chance fighting against the knights if those manacles were forced on him.

He slowed as he got near to their hut, his steps becoming quieter as he examined his surroundings. He couldn’t hear or see much through the trees, just the very top of their roof.

A twig snapped beside him and suddenly a weight was baring him down into the dirt. He struggled fiercely, hitting and kicking uselessly at charcoal black armour.

“Stop struggling, brat.” The knight hissed.

Edmond glared and spat at him, satisfaction swirling in his chest as the knight jerked back and wiped angrily at his face. Edmond doubled his struggles, managing to get a scratch in near the knight’s ear before he was restrained again. He tried to spit at him again, but the knight raised a hand and slapped him, hard. Edmond’s head jerked to the side, his body going slack as his head rang and the world spun.

Something else hit him hard on his head, making the world immediately go dark.

///

When he came to, it was to his dad yelling.

“If you lay another hand on him I swear-”

“What are you going to do, oh mighty Emrys? You’re nothing without your magic.”

Edmond moaned, his head pounding. “Dad?”

Someone stomped over to him, and his dad started yelling again, and then suddenly he was pulled upwards by his arm. He cried out and opened his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to push the person away.

“So the prince wakes!” The man holding him yelled, and Edmond squeezed his eyes shut as his head protested the loud noise. “How gracious of you to finally bless us with your presence, your highness.”

“Put him down!” His dad yelled, furious, and Edmond blinked his eyes open again just in time to see a knight kick him – hard.

“Dad.” He cried out, voice strangled. “Stop, please.”

“It’s alright princeling, you can drop the act.” The knight holding him cooed. “We know who you really are.”

Edmond kicked at him weakly, causing the rest of the knights to laugh. Edmond tried to glare at them all, but his head was spinning and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

He was thrown suddenly, the ground rushing up to meet him, and he groaned as he landed. His dad reached for him, and Edmond got a good look at the horrible manacles as he was pulled into an embrace. He let himself sink into it, trying to ignore the way the manacles seemed to suck the warmth out of the air around them.

“Lets get going. King Caliban is eager to end this war once and for all, and we’re far enough from Camelot as it is.” The knight that had thrown him ordered.

Several men muttered their assent, and the sound of a camp being broken up filled the air.

“Edmond.” His dad whispered, quiet but harsh. “Edmond, listen to me. You need to escape the instant you get the chance. Don’t worry about me or anything else, just run, you understand me?”

Edmond whimpered, pulling his dad closer. “Not without you.”

“Yes, without me.” His dad insisted. “There’s a spell. Forbearnan. It should cause enough of a distraction for you to slip away. Use it, and run as far north as you possibly can. Find King Olaf. He will give you shelter.”

Edmond shook his head, but then someone was pulling him out of his dad’s arms and he screamed, reaching for his dad and trying not to cry.

“Shut up!” The knight shook him until he stopped, and Edmond recognised him as the man that had captured him in the first place.

Red scratch marks ran from his ear down his cheek, and Edmond allowed himself to feel some pride. He’d not gone down without a fight, certainly, and not without leaving a mark.

The knight sneered at him and shoved his arms into a pair of manacles – ordinary ones, of course, because no one would think that a Pendragon would ever learn magic. He was let go immediately after and fell back onto his dad, careful to keep by his side as they were forced up and moving.

There were no horses as far as Edmond could see. It meant the journey home would be longer – during their year on the run they had managed to travel to the very top of Mercia, a place so barely habited it was basically all just forest. It was perfect for them, or at least, they had thought it was. Clearly, they should have kept moving.

His dad looked at him meaningfully. The extra time would also grant him more time to learn the spell and escape, though he had always taken a long time to learn his spells.

He just hoped a month would be enough.

///

Edmond felt his heart skip a beat as the spires of Camelot castle came into view. A barrage of emotions warred in his chest, homesickness and pure terror rising above the rest to choke him.

He hadn’t managed to cast the spell.

No matter how hard he tried, the most he could manage was a tiny flame – like that of a candle – that fizzed out almost as soon as it formed. It was frustrating, and it was obvious his dad was growing steadily more desperate the closer they got to Camelot, but the black knights were vigilant, and Edmond never even got the chance to try and escape. Not for the first time, Edmond wished that he was better at magic. He had taken to the sword like a fish to water, but a single spell had always taken him months to learn.

A shove pushed him forward, the knight behind him muttering curses. Edmond ducked his head and hurried forward, one step behind his dad, as he had been the whole march home. He reached forward, hand shaking, until he managed to grasp his dad’s elbow. His dad didn’t react, not with the eyes of the knights on them, but Edmond felt comforted, nonetheless.

In a blink they were standing at the gates of Camelot, and Edmond felt tears prickling his eyes as the gates slowly opened. Fear rooted him to the ground. He couldn’t move, not even when a knight yelled at him, and it was only when someone roughly shoved him that he managed to stumble forward.

“Hey!” His dad yelled, pulling him close.

The black knights sneered at him. “Get moving.”

Several swords poked at Edmond’s back, urging him forward, but it was still only when his dad started moving that he was able to follow him. His dad kept him close, an arm around him, as they were marched through the lower town.

At first, Edmond kept his head down and huddled close to his dad, wishing he could just disappear. A pit of dread steadily grew in his stomach the closer they got to the castle. A crowd of people gathered around them as they were marched forwards, each person whispering wildly when they saw him. He shrunk further into his dad’s side and stared hard at his feet.

“Prince Edmond!” A voice called in the crowed, startling him. “Long live the prince!”

Someone else took up the cry, a quiet voice from behind them. “Long live the prince!”

“Shut up!” A black knight yelled, glaring into the crowed. “Or you’ll all be hanged for treason.”

The whispers of the crowd were louder now, and Edmond could hear several murmurs of his name and title. He glanced at the people around him, the people that he was to one day rule and protect, and he felt a small tug on his heart. Now he was looking, he could see how drawn and worn the people were, how starved almost every face was, more than even the harshest of winters had left them before. He wondered how horrible a ruler Caliban was, to neglect his people like this.

A spark of Pendragon rage caught in his chest, and Edmond felt himself straighten. His dad glanced at him as he lifted his head and rolled his shoulders back, his eyes now firmly on the castle. His people still believed in him, and, more importantly, they needed him. Caliban was no king, for all his power, and Edmond refused to be cowed any longer. His father had taught him to be brave, and Edmond would not let him down.

His dad seemed to sense the difference in him. He let Edmond pull away without a fuss, and something like pride shone in his eyes, through all the pain and fear.

They were marched all through the lower town, as if The black knights wanted to show off their prisoners, before they were taken to the courtyard. Edmond felt his dad tense the instant they saw the steps leading into the castle – and the man waiting atop them.

Caliban had not changed in the year that Edmond had been away. He still reminded Edmond of a rat – a long face framed by flat, oily black hair. There was an evil in his eyes as well, an evil that even the royal purple robes could not hide, nor the beautiful and very obviously magical staff he held in his hands.

“Emrys!” He greeted, his voice booming across the courtyard as he smirked. “And little Prince Edmond. Welcome home.”

His dad glared. “Caliban. I wish I could say I was happy to be home.”

Caliban laughed and waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t be like that Emrys, this is a family reunion! You don’t want to spoil the mood, do you? I’m sure Edmond can’t wait to see his father again.”

He turned his smirk on Edmond, and he glared right back, meeting the false kings’ eyes unflinchingly. Caliban’s smirk dropped. He spun on his heel, his cape swirling around him, and gestured to his knights. Edmond was shoved forward, his dad not far behind, and they were marched forward and into the castle.

The throne room look almost unrecognisable to Edmond.

Black banners hung from the walls, Caliban’s snake carved into them in blood red, as if the fabric itself was bleeding. The windows had all been shattered the night of the attack and never fixed – a harsh wind blew through the window, the first hints of the storm Edmond could tell was gathering. He shivered and turned his attention to the throne.

Or at least, to where the throne should be. Where once there was a golden throne for his grandfather and a smaller, plainer throne for his father, there was now chains hanging from the ceiling. Chains, Edmond quickly realised, that were holding his father and grandfather, forcing them to stand in the middle of the cold room, their chests bare and littered with marks.

“Father!” Edmond called before he could help himself, his eyes trained on his father’s face.

His father’s eyes blinked open slowly, and Edmond allowed himself some small relief, that at least his father was alive and not a corpse dangling from a chain. He had almost mistaken him as one – never had he seen a man so thin, all his bones showing beneath his skin, or so pale, at least beneath all the cuts and bruises. He looked nothing like the knight his father had always been proud to be – and Edmond was terrified to look at his grandfather, for he already knew that he had suffered worse than his father, could see it without having to examine him closely.

Edmond had known Caliban was a cruel man. He had known that he wanted his family dead, no matter the cost, and he had known that he would not treat his prisoners kindly while Edmond was free from his grasp.

Still, Edmond could never have imagined that this is what Caliban had been doing in the year that he had ran.

That Pendragon rage was back and burning, and Edmond turned from the horror in his father’s eyes, from the beaten form of his grandfather, and towards the man responsible. He was talking, perhaps gloating, but Edmond wasn’t listening. He wasn’t listening, because his dad was screaming beside him, and the black knights were focused on restraining him, and that left him free to move.

He ran forward, eyes on the knife strapped to Caliban’s belt. A knight called out behind him, and Caliban was turning, but not fast enough. The knife slipped out of its sheath easily and Edmond took a second to grip it properly, his chains making him fumble his grip for a second, before he thrust forward, aiming for the man’s neck.

He was a second away from skin when his whole body froze, magic gripping him tight and not letting go no matter how he struggled. Caliban stared at him in shock, his hand up and eyes a murky yellow. Edmond growled at him as he plucked the knife from his fingers.

The next thing he knew he was kneeling on the ground, a hand in his hair and the very knife he had grabbed at his throat. Silence rang around the room.

“Well.” Caliban said, tightening his grip on Edmonds hair so fast he had to bite his tongue to hold back his cry. “It would seem the little prince has some bite.”

Edmond tried to twist so his hair wasn’t pulled quite so tight, but that only made the knife press closer to his skin, and he forced himself to stop. He could feel the metal against his neck now, cold where the rest of him was still burning with rage.

“You know, I had worried you might not recognise him, what with all his pretty blonde hair turned to mud.” Caliban tugged on his hair, as if the emphasise his point, and Edmond whimpered slightly. “But I think I know the perfect way to fix that.”

The knife was pulled away from him and held in front of his face instead. Edmond could see his reflection in the metal – whoever had cleaned and polished it had done an excellent job – and then his dad was screaming, his father straining against his restraints, and the knife disappeared only to slice just above his head, so close he could almost feel it against his skin.

He crashed to the ground before he realised what had happened, heard Caliban’s laughter rise above his parents yelling.

“There. That’s much better, I think. Now everyone can tell he’s your son again Arthur.”

Edmond whimpered and brought his hands up to his head. His fingers met a short mess of hair, shorter than Edmond could ever remember it being. Short enough that he knew all the brown was gone, nothing but his blonde roots left. He whimpered again, a sudden wave of loss tugging at him.

He’d loved his long hair.

“Get him up.” Caliban ordered, and in seconds Edmond was hauled to his feet, a black knight on either side of him. “Tie them both to the floor and have four guards stationed outside the door at all times.”

He walked from the room, a smirk the last thing Edmond saw on his face.

“I have an execution to plan.”

///

The black knights tied Edmond to a small chain connected to the ground at his father’s feet, his dad beside him. Edmond forced himself not to move as they mocked them, and instead he glared at the ground beneath his hands, hoping that it would make them leave faster. They must have grown bored easily, for they left within a few minutes.

The door slammed closed behind them, and immediately Edmond surged up, the short chain just barely allowing him to cling to his father’s waist. He hid his face in his father’s middle and sobbed, his whole body shaking.

“Edmond.” His father said weakly, voice full of relief and fear, love and sadness.

In that moment, Edmond wished for nothing more than his father’s arms around him. It had been over a year since he’d seen his father – over a year since he had been forced to flee his home, even as his father still fought for it. Edmond just wanted one of his father’s hugs so he could believe everything would be alright, at least for a moment.

“Arthur.” His dad said, sounding broken. “I’m so sorry.”

Edmond turned his head enough to see his dad’s hands hovering over his father’s chest, like he wanted to hug him but wasn’t sure he could. His father grunted, pained, and Edmond loosened his grip. He felt his father move, leaning as far as he could into his dad’s hands.

“Shut up Merlin.” He whispered. “It’s not your fault, idiot.”

His dad laughed before he cut himself off with a sob. “Clotpole.”

Edmond found himself squished between his parents, his dad hugging the both of them. Edmond turned and grabbed his dad’s tunic, knuckles turning white as he held on as tightly as he could.

“Edmond.” A voice wheezed, barely there and full of pain, when Edmond had only ever heard it sound stern and sure.

Edmond turned his head to the other side. “Grandfather.”

He looked worse than his father. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t bruised or cut, and it looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He seemed to be just barely conscious, fighting to stay awake as he dangled from his chains. Edmond wanted to run and hug him as well, but he was too far away, the chains around his wrists too short.

He settled instead for pushing back into his parents and closing his eyes, as if that could make everything horrible disappear.

///

Edmond startled awake to the sound of a door opening, and for just a moment he was confused. Then he tried to rub his eyes, and the sound of chains reached his ears. He stiffened, becoming aware of the arms around him, the feet pressing into the back of his legs. He blinked and followed the legs with his eyes, until he recognised his father standing above him.

He pushed himself out of hid dad’s arms and sat up straight, pressing back against his father, as he turned to where Caliban was stalking into the room.

Caliban glared at them all, silent, and the longer he stood there the more Edmond could feel fear clawing at his chest. His dad slipped in front of him, as if to hide him from Caliban’s eyes, and the man smirked.

“Get them up.”

Edmond struggled as arms grabbed him and pulled him forward. His dad was shoved after him, and a grunt of pain let Edmond know that his father had been released from his chains. He twisted back desperately, and just caught sight of his father being hauled to his feet and his grandfather dropping to the ground with a cry before he was roughly forced forward. A hand at the back of his head made sure he couldn’t turn again, and Edmond strained his ears for the slightest sound as he was lead out into the courtyard.

A large platform had been built in the centre of the courtyard, and a crowd had gathered to watch what was happening. They gasped upon seeing him, recognition lighting up their faces. Edmond did his best to keep his chin up as they forced him up the stairs of the platform. He was shoved onto his knees, his dad to his left and his father to his right. His grandfather collapsed beside his father a moment later, his whole body bowed in exhaustion.

Caliban appeared before them, dressed all in black with his staff glowing faintly in his hand. He smirked down at them before turning to the gathered people.

“People of Camelot!” He called, silencing the crowd instantly. “Before you kneels a man that is responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. Twenty-seven years ago, Uther Pendragon started the Great Purge, and from that moment on, a terrible genocide of magic begun.”

Caliban paused and bowed his head for a moment, as if in mourning, but Edmond wasn’t fooled. He had seen Caliban storm the castle – had seen him cut down his own sorcerers when they refused to fight Emrys. Caliban cared not a bit for the innocents lost to the Great Purge, he only cared for power.

Power, and revenge.

“I swore to avenge all those we lost to the Tyrant King.” Caliban continued. “And so I took the kingdom of Camelot, and toppled the Tyrant from his throne.” He paused, and Edmond could hear the smirk on his face. “But it would not be enough to simply take down the Tyrant. To assure the Purge truly ends, once and for all, we must destroy all traces of the Pendragon line.”

Caliban turned, glaring at them all in turn. Edmond glared back, unflinching. Unexpectedly, Caliban smiled.

“Knelt before you are the last known remnants of that line.” A pause. “However, there is one more Pendragon. A bastard the Tyrant sired and hid from the world.” He stopped and looked directly at Edmond. “I’m sure you’re excited to see your aunt again, little prince.”

Edmond had just enough time to think again? before a black knight appeared from the direction of the dungeons, dragging a person along behind him. Edmond recognised Morgana in an instant. She looked filthy, like she had been in the dungeon for a long time, which made no sense to Edmond. The last he had heard, Morgana had been living with a group of Druids far to the south. She had been there for months before Caliban attacked, and his parents had been so sure no one would ever be able to find her.

Then what Caliban was saying hit him, and Edmond felt his jaw drop. He looked to his father and saw him glaring daggers at Caliban. His grandfather, however, was staring at Morgana with a look of such guilt and grief that Edmond immediately knew what Caliban had said was true.

Morgana was his aunt.

Caliban smirked as Morgana was shoved to her knees at his feet. Morgana glared back at him, chin up and eyes blazing. The people were whispering now, shocked and horrified in equal measure.

Morgana had always been popular with the people of Camelot.

“You’re a madman.” Morgana spat, heedless of rage burning in Caliban’s eyes. “Camelot will never bow to you.”

It made satisfaction burn hot in his gut, and he started to hope that perhaps they would make it out of this alive. Morgana had her magic after all, and she had to have learned something useful from the druids. She could save them.

Then Caliban’s hand shot out, quick as a snake, and pulled Morgana up by her hair. “Camelot will not only bow to me, but thank me for being given the opportunity.” He spat, spittle flying everywhere. “I will do more for this land than any Pendragon ever could.”

He threw Morgana away as he finished speaking, and Edmond cried out when her head slammed into the ground, though Morgana herself didn’t make a sound. She managed to push herself up just as a black knight stepped forward to drag her into the line, between his father and grandfather. Edmond tried to catch her eye, wanted to ask her a million questions, but the knight holding his shoulder jerked him backwards, forcing him to look towards Caliban.

Not fast enough. Edmond had seen the cold iron manacles around Morgana’s wrists – her magic was locked away, just like his dad’s.

The hope that had been building fizzed out in an instant.

“’Gana.” His father whispered, and got a sharp kick to his side in retaliation.

Caliban had to have been speaking, though what he had said Edmond couldn’t say. He had been too focused on Morgana, on his own building despair, that he hardly even noticed when the man stopped in his speech.

He did notice when Caliban turned towards them, a smirk on his face. He tried not to shrink back when his eyes focused on him. He tried to square his shoulders and lift his chin, but he could feel himself trembling, and knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Caliban’s smirk widened, and then his eyes slid to his dad. “We shall start with the traitor.”

“Leave Merlin out of this.” His father pleaded. “He has no Pendragon blood.”

“Perhaps not.” Caliban agreed, circling his dad. “But a Pendragon by marriage is still a Pendragon.”

His father’s face went blank. “We aren’t married.”

“And yet the Druids tell me differently.” He leaned close to his dad’s face, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I hear it was a beautiful ceremony. Iseldir was so very eager to share the details after some… persuasion.”

Anger flared in his dad’s eyes as he suddenly lurched forward, smashing his head into Caliban’s nose with a crack Edmond could hear from where he was kneeling. He had a moment of satisfaction where Caliban stumbled backwards, hands on his nose, before he rightened himself. Blood dripped from his nose, but one harsh word later and it was as if he had never been hurt in the first place.

“Yes.” Caliban growled. “We will start with you.”

Edmond felt true panic grip him as he watched a black knight step forward, axe in hand. Caliban stepped back, smirking once again. His dad struggled as he was brought forward, his head forced forward and neck bared with a spell. Caliban took the axe from the knight’s hand, giving him his staff in return, a murderous look in his eye.

“Edmond.” His father hissed. “Close your eyes.”

But Edmond couldn’t. He felt frozen, his heart pounding desperately in his ears as Caliban lifted the axe.

Edmond didn’t know many spells. His dad had taught him, during their long time on the road, the most basic spells he could. Edmond knew a spell to call any object he wished towards himself, and he knew how to cast a spell that would shove someone backwards, though he had never managed to do more than make someone stumble back a step. His dad had been trying to teach him a shielding spell, so he could protect himself, and then of course he had spent the month long march to Camelot trying and failing to cast the fire spell.

The only spell he could cast to any great effect, he realised, was the flower spell.

And it was probably a stupid, stupid idea, but Edmond had only one shot at this if he wanted to keep his magic free, and he had run out of time. It had to work.

Edmond threw his hand out in front of him, startling the black knight holding him, and focused solely on the axe as it swung downwards.

“Blóstma!”

Edmond watched in desperation as the axe lowered, slowly, towards his dad’s bared neck. He could feel eyes on him, and it would have bothered him, had he not been focusing so intently. As it was, he missed his family beside him staring in open shock, and, in his grandfather’s case, a little bit of horror.

Instead, he saw when green blossomed across the handle of the axe, when the blade turned a pure white, with just the barest of pinks marking the tips as the petals unfurled.

It collided harmlessly with his dad’s neck, the flower breaking off and falling to the floor.

He allowed himself a second of triumphant relief before he focused. He could see a ring of keys on Caliban’s belt, and he recognised instantly the one that had been used on the manacles locking his dad’s magic away. The black knights had teased them with it enough on their march to Camelot.

“Onbregdan!”

The spell, Edmond knew, was supposed to call the object to the caster. His dad had always told him to imagine pulling whenever he cast the spell, but that wasn’t what he wanted right now. The key pulled itself off of the hook on Caliban’s belt, and Edmond’s eyes immediately snapped to his dad. Whatever spell had been keeping him immobile had been broken, and as he caught Edmonds eye he reached out his hands.

Edmond imagined pushing, and the key flew through the air and into his dad’s hands.

“Stop him!” Caliban screeched.

Edmond wasn’t sure if he was talking about him or his dad, but it didn’t matter. The black knight behind him took that as his que to shove his gloved hand in Edmond’s mouth, effectively silencing him. The leather tasted horrible on his tongue, and he struggled uselessly against his hold.

Caliban turned back to his dad, and Edmond’s struggles doubled. He bit down, hard, but the black knight simply grunted. Then he kicked out with his foot, behind and up, and caught the knight in his most sensitive place, right where his armour and chainmail failed to protect him. He cried out and stumbled back, just for a second, and Edmond managed to spit his hand out and focus on Caliban again.

“Ástryce!”

The man had been bending forward, reaching for the key his dad was desperately trying to fit into the second cuff, and the small shove from Edmond’s spell was enough to send him staggering sideways, unbalanced. He fell heavily on his side, and several of the black knights rushed forward to aid him.

Edmond was yanked back, the horrid leather once again shoved in his mouth. He kicked out again, but the knight had learned, and his foot hit empty air. The hand on his arm tightened painfully and Edmond fought against the tears gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t seem to get in enough air- his head felt dizzy, and the sound around him was muffled. He tried desperately to get air in through his nose, but nothing he did seemed to work.

And then Edmond’s dad looked up, and his eyes were glowing a brilliant gold.

“Get your hands off of my son.”

A blast of magic swirled around him, and instantly the hands on him were ripped off. The magic continued to swirl around him, gentle and loving, and for the first time since the black knights had found them he felt safe.

“Emrys!” Caliban yelled, pure venom dripping from his voice.

Edmond tensed, but the magic immediately soothed him, and his dad smiled reassuringly at him.

Eyes still glowing gold, his dad waved a hand in front of him. “Tóspringe.”

Edmond heard several clicks, and then the shackles around his hands fell. He turned away from where his dad was raising his hands at Caliban. He knew his dad – he would not lose, not this time. Every sorcerer that had once been apart of his army had long left him, either dead or disgusted with Caliban’s murder of their kin. That left only the black knights, who all seemed to know nothing about magic, and Caliban himself.

And Caliban alone was no match for his dad.

“Father.” He whimpered, crawling the short distance to where his father was slumped on the ground.

He rested his hand gently on his father’s shoulder, unsure, and sobbed when his father grunted and pushed himself upwards. His father stared at him for a moment, scanning him for injuries, and then he was pulled forward and into his arms.

“Edmond.” His father sighed, relieved.

Edmond clung to his father, face buried in his neck and tears dripping onto his father’s bare chest. His father ran a hand through his hair, soothing, as shouts and the sound of fighting surrounded them. His grandfather’s voice, rough and exhausted, caught his attention as his tears slowed.

“Morgana.” He whispered, and Edmond knew his grandfather well enough to know when he was giving a silent apology.

“Don’t-“ Morgana growled, and Edmond knew she was furious. “We will talk later. Not now.”

And without another word she helped him to stand, his whole weight leaning on her as he groaned. She glanced around wildly and caught Edmond’s eye. Her expression immediately softened.

“Arthur!” She called, and his father startled, turning around with a grunt. “Come on.”

His father turning had left Edmond with a clear view of the rest of the courtyard. The people of the lower town had left the instant Caliban had started throwing magic around, and Edmond was glad. The last thing any of them wanted was innocent people getting caught up in the fighting. The black knights, too, were mostly staying clear of the fighting.

And in the centre of it all was his dad, a golden shield protecting him against a giant fireball.

Edmond gasped as the fireball dissipated with a bang. His dad stumbled backwards, his shield falling, and Edmond squeezed his father tightly. A second later a hand pressed his face down into his father’s neck, effectively blocking his vision from the fighting. He felt his father stand, and tried to struggled out of his grip, aware of the pain he must have been in, but his father simply held him tighter.

So Edmond let himself cling to his father, his eyes squeezed shut.

The rumbled of thunder rolled through him and a second later the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Something flashed, bright enough that he could see it through his eyelids, and someone screamed. He tried to lift his head, but his father pressed him down, unrelenting. He wanted to see, desperately, to check that his dad was okay, but even weakened his father was strong.

Then, suddenly, he was set down. He instinctively reached for his father, despite knowing he was too old to be carried and his father far too hurt, but selfishly wanting to be carried anyway. His father pulled him against his side instead, though it felt more like he was leaning on him rather than hugging him.

“We need to get them somewhere safe.” His father whispered.

“Caliban’s knights are everywhere Arthur.” Morgana shook her head. “Nowhere is safe. Not for us.”

Edmond felt panic claw at his throat at her words and quickly glanced around. They’d made it off of the platform and away from the centre of the courtyard, all the way to the stairs that lead into the castle. They were hiding out of sight of the fighting, but Edmond could still hear spells being flung back and forth, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone found them.

Then Edmond saw the black armoured bodies littering the ground behind them, and the bloody sword in Morgana’s hand, and thought perhaps they already had.

It took a few moments before he realised what his father was saying. He pulled away with a frown.

“I’m not running away again.”

His father grimaced. “Edmond-“

“No!” He whisper-yelled, just barely resisting the urge to stop his foot. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“The safest place is next to dad.” Edmond said, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s what you told me. Dad will protect us.”

“Merlin’s fighting Caliban.” Morgana rebutted gently. “He can’t protect us at the same time Edmond.”

As if to prove her point, thunder rumbled across the sky and several strikes of lightning hit the courtyard. Silence followed, the silence of a battle suddenly over, and Edmond’s heart started racing in his chest. Despite all his earlier confidence, he knew how weakened his dad had become while in the manacles, how strong Caliban was, especially with his staff. His dad could have lost just as easily as he could have won.

He ran back out to the courtyard before anyone could stop him.

He heard several curses behind him, and the call of his name, but he ignored it. The battle was over, and Edmond had to see, he had to. He had to know who had won- if his dad had won.

Heaving for breath and more terrified than ever, he finally stumbled to a stop at the base of the now ruined platform. Charred spots littered the ground, some of them still smoking. Some of them weren’t the ground at all, but the broken remains of pure black armour, the corpses within charred beyond recognition. Edmond tried not to look at those. Instead, he focused on the last place he had seen his dad and Caliban fighting.

And saw his dad standing tall, eyes still a bright gold, an unmoving Caliban at his feet.

Then his dad stumbled, his eyes flickering back to blue, a relieved grin splitting his face. He stepped over Caliban’s body, not even bothering to send him a glance, and surveyed the courtyard. Edmond didn’t wait for him to notice him standing there – he ran forward, scrambling up the stairs and rushing forward as fast as he could. He heard Morgana call his name, but he ignored her and leapt into his dad’s waiting arms.

“You did it.” He sobbed out, surprised at the tears falling down his cheek.

“No Edmond.” His dad murmured, hugging him tightly. “We did it. You saved us.”

Edmond sniffed, trying to reign in his tears. He let his dad hold him as the rest of his family joined them, and then suddenly another pair of arms wrapped around them. His father pressed a kiss to the top of his head and Edmond grabbed his hand in return. He grabbed his dad’s hand too and pulled the both of them to his chest, silently wishing he could just stay here and never let go.

“He’s dead?” He heard his father whisper.

His dad nodded, relieved. “He is. We’re safe.”

Edmond could feel his father shaking. He gripped his hand tighter and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it might help and not sure if it would. He heard someone’s breath hitch, and then his father shifted and a third hand wrapped around where Edmond was gripping his parents. He opened his eyes and saw Morgana, smiling through her tears. He smiled back at her, small and weak, but there.

And then his grandfather was there too, standing back but smiling in relief. It was the gentlest he could ever remember his grandfather looking, no kingly mask in place. It made a hundred emotions rise in his chest, to be surrounded by his family again. He sighed and closed his eyes once more, fully relaxing for the first time in over a year.

///

Edmond shifted impatiently from foot to foot as he waited at the top of the castle stairs. His grandfather would scold him if he were here, but this was hardly an event grand enough for the king. More than that, Edmond had asked that this be a private greeting, just him and his parents.

A small cart pulled into the courtyard, newly restored after the battle four months ago, and Edmond almost yelled in delight. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, gently forcing him to be still. Edmond smiled sheepishly up at him before his eyes snapped back to the courtyard.

Then a girl jumped down from the cart, red hair spilling over her shoulders, green eyes wide with wonder as she looked all around her, and he couldn’t stop himself. He slipped out from his father’s grip, a grin lighting up his face as he ran to his friend.

“Melaine!”

Melaine’s eyes snapped to him, a hesitant smile curving her lips upward.

“Edmond!” Then her eyes flickered to her mother, and over his shoulder, at his parents, and she ducked her head down in a shallow bow. “I mean, Prince Edmond.”

Edmond shook his head immediately, his hands shooting out to grab her shoulders. “You don’t have to do that Melaine. We’re friends.”

Melaine rose her head, eyes impossibly wider. “You’d still be friends with me?”

“Of course!” He yelled, before he turned teasing. “Why else do you think I wrote to you, asking you to come here?”

“I don’t know.” Melaine giggled before looking down at her feet, suddenly nervous. “And the rumours? Has the magic ban truly been lifted?”

Edmond grinned and cupped his palms in front of him.

“Blóstma.”

Magic gathered in his fingertips as his eyes glowed golden. He heard Melaine gasp, along with her mother, and then his parents were there, talking, but that didn’t matter to Edmond. His smile grew as he followed Melaine’s eyes down.

And there, cupped delicately in his palms, was a small rose, its petals dyed a pink so light it was almost white, with just the smallest hint of Pendragon red in the centre.

#merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merlin/arthur #my writing #cakeswriting

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communistkenobi-archive · 4 years

Text

testing the waters

It’s not exactly the way he envisioned his heart-to-heart with Ezra would go, but he wasn’t about to complain.

(cw for drugs. kanan and ezra smoke weed in the backyard and talk about their feelings.)

“Kanan?”

In the process of untangling himself from a speeder bike, he only peripherally caught the hail. The bogan he’d been following, who he’d trusted to keep him from walking into anything, shuffled off as his attention fractured. If he didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn the creature’s little burst of light blushed in amusement.

“Thanks a lot,” he muttered, holding the handlebars of the bike as an anchor point and trying to regain his bearings. The sun was to his right; his shin throbbed. Solid ground beneath him, wind from the east. It could be worse.

“Uh, Kanan?” Another hail, this one much louder. “You okay?”

“Ezra?” He pulled his head up towards the kid’s voice.

“I’m over here,” Ezra said unhelpfully, before remembering to add, “by the crates—uh. Hold on.”

He heard the kid approaching, and felt him, too; much stronger than a bogan. Blooms of colour, complex webs that folded themselves into impossible shapes. Vibrant and full of texture. If he’d been paying attention, he would’ve sensed Ezra a mile away.

Focus.

Ezra’s hand found his wrist, tugging him back a bit. “You okay?”

“Just trying something out,” he said, then wrinkled his nose. “Were you—smoking?”

“Shh! Come here.”

Ezra pulled him forward, towards the sun. Trusting that he wouldn’t be led into a bike this time, he kept pace easily. It allowed him to focus on everything else—namely, the smell. The dusty scent of smoke clung to Ezra’s clothes, and as they approached wherever he’d been camping out, he could smell fresh tendrils of it, too.

“You are smoking—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ezra muttered, and came to a stop. Kanan bumped into his shoulder before he was tugged over to a crate and sat down. “Hold tight.”

“That’s not a cigarra,” he continued, listening to the kid rummage around in something—a toolbox of some sort. “Where did you….”

“I stole them off Hondo,” he said absentmindedly, still rummaging.

“You’re smoking something you stole off a pirate?”

“Don’t worry, I trust it. Hondo’s not gonna poison himself. He’s not that dumb.”

Ezra sounded less sure than he’d like. “Right. What are you searching for?”

“A lighter.”

“What did you use to light it before?”

The rummaging paused. There was a prolonged stretch of sheepish silence that Ezra refused to fill.

It didn’t take him long to figure it out. Kanan sighed explosively. “Ezra—”

“It was just one time,” he said defensively. “I wanted to see if it worked.”

“You’d be expelled from the Order if you got caught lighting a smoke with your lightsaber.”

“Good thing we’re on Atollon then. Do you want some?”

Kanan felt behind him and then leaned back when he was confident there was a solid surface there. “Do I want pirate hash?”

“It’s really good,” Ezra assured him. The rummaging went on for another moment, and then he walked back over to Kanan. “I think, anyway. It feels good. Kinda harsh, though. Kanan?”

With a flick of a lighter, he heard the roll flare up. He could smell the smoke again, a lot closer now. Feeling outwards for it, Ezra caught his hand in the air, slotting the smoke between his index finger and thumb. “Try it,” he said encouragingly.

“This doesn’t mean I’m any less angry at you,” he replied, bringing it to his mouth and inhaling. The kid was right; it was harsh. He held it away from himself and coughed into his arm immediately, feeling it rattle deep in his chest.

“Eugh!”

“I told you.” It slipped from his fingers as Ezra took it, and a moment later he started coughing, too.

Kanan located an open patch of ground with his boot and then spat, wiping at his mouth. “That’s disgusting,” he croaked.

“Have you—” Another cough. “Have you ever had this before?”

“Not—that,” he replied hoarsely, feeling his eyes water. It burned like hell. “Hondo’s got iron lungs—”

“So you’ve smoked before?”

“Yes,” he said with another cough. “Yes, Ezra, I've smoked before.”

The kid hummed in consideration, but it came out like a wheeze. “It was always so expensive on Lothal. I could never afford it. I tried stealing some once, but….”

Ezra didn’t finish his story, and Kanan didn’t press. Instead, he chided.

“Yeah, well. Don’t make it a habit. It dulls your senses.”

“No duh.” Ezra scuffed his boots on the ground, coughing again. “Makes everything slow down. You should connect with the Force while you—”

“Absolutely do not do that,” Kanan interrupted him harshly. He wished Ezra would stop moving around so he could grab the kid and shake him. “I’m serious. Ezra?”

“I heard you,” he said, his tone light. More scuffing.

“Good. Now pass it over.”

They exchanged it wordlessly a few more times, until the both of them were in the throes of a full-blown coughing fit. By then he could feel the telltale heaviness in his head, and Ezra thankfully snuffed it out on the crate.

Kanan felt a brush at his arm and fumbled up for it until the shape of a water bottle formed in his fingers. He nodded thanks and took a drink, coughing anew as the cold water soothed his throat.

“Ugh,” Ezra muttered, grabbing the bottle from him and taking a swig. “Always hate that part.”

Kanan frowned, leaning back again. His whole body felt heavy now. He’d forgotten how pleasant the sensation was. “You’ve done this more than once?”

There was silence for a long moment. “A few times,” Ezra finally admitted. “Once with Sabine.”

“Right.” He coughed into a fist, then sighed. “I should probably yell at you.”

“You’re—coughing too much for that.”

“We’ll schedule a time, then.”

“I’m booked solid,” Ezra muttered, but his heart wasn’t in the back-and-forth. Probably too stoned for that now.

“I mean it about the Force,” Kanan pressed, making sure to strike a serious tone. The air around him wobbled, and it took all his energy to focus on his train of thought. “Opening yourself up to it unguarded is incredibly dangerous.”

“I know,” Ezra murmured, but he didn’t sound petulant. For once. “It’s just little bursts, you know? Connecting with the bogans is really fun. They get kinda loopy.”

Kanan laughed despite himself, and felt a happy bloom of relief from Ezra in front of him. The kid must’ve sat down on the ground. “Just be careful,” he counseled, and knew Ezra was nodding along.

“Feels good though, right?” With a groan he heard the kid stretch out and lay back on the ground, letting out an exhale that ended in a stray cough.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s pretty good.”

“Told you.” Another pause. “How come you aren’t wearing your mask? I thought the light hurt.”

Kanan shrugged his shoulders, relaxing further against the crate and crossing his arms. “It does still, a little. But the mask gets in the way.”

“How so?”

He unfurled an arm, gesturing around. “Sensing everything. It’s... hard to explain.”

“I get it. Is that what you were testing out?”

He nodded. “Tried using a bogan as a guide. Didn’t work out great.”

Ezra laughed from his place on the ground, and they settled into a comfortable silence. As the hash worked its way through his body, he prodded at the air with his mind. The kid was right about that, too; sensing with the Force felt different now, more wobbling, more slow, like the thrum of an ocean current. He’d spent most of his teens far away from any state of sobriety, but by the time he’d allowed himself to open up to the Force again, he’d gotten his life in order. Ezra clearly didn’t have the same good sense about it.

“I didn’t mean it, by the way.”

Kanan shifted his head towards Ezra, frowning. “Mean what?”

Ezra let out a gust of breath, like he was psyching himself up. “About not needing you,” he explained after a moment. “I was just mad about… stuff.”

Kanan scoffed. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really,” Ezra insisted, going uncharacteristically quiet. “It felt bad to say it. Probably felt worse to hear it.”

He exhaled. “Yeah. But we’re all dealing with a lot right now. I get it.”

He needed to say more to the kid. That he was sorry, too, first and foremost. But he should probably deliver that message when they weren’t both high off their ass behind some storage crates.

Ezra absorbed his words silently in the meantime, still laying on the ground. Then he cleared his throat. “Cool,” he said then. “Are you hungry?”

Kanan smiled. Maybe they didn’t need a big, drawn-out talk. A quick check-in to make sure the boundaries were still where they needed to be was all Ezra apparently needed to be reassured, and then it was on to the truly important stuff.

“Yeah, I could eat,” he told the kid.

“Cool. I’ll grab us something. Uh, in a minute,” he added, voice dreamy.

Kanan felt his mouth quirk. “I’m in no rush.”

#rebels #kanan jarrus #ezra bridger #my stuff #my writing #drug mention #this is part of a larger wip i was gonna finish but i hated all the others bits

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rainandhotchocolate · 5 years

Text

Ice Blue - The morning after

A/N YOOOOO WHAT UP my body hates me and I’m so sorry for being flaky in a writing sense. Anyways, here is the morning after for the Teddy fic I did a while ago, requested by a cheeky lil anon. Enjoy lovelies

Y/N found herself dozing in and out of sleep, hangover still pressing dully over her eyes as Teddy dressed himself and went downstairs to grab some food for breakfast. She opened her eyes when she felt a soft press to her forehead, waking up to Teddy smiling above her holding plates dangerously.

“Was it weird that I just did that? I feel like we’ve never done that before.” Teddy grimaced, placing the plates down on the table beside his bed.

“Yeah, look we haven’t but I’m not against it,” Y/N laughed, sitting up in bed, pushing the pillow back so they could sit comfortably together. The top she was wearing sagged across her shoulders given that she was about 5 feet shorter than Teddy.

“I am thoroughly enjoying you wear my clothes, however,” Teddy grinned, placing his hand on the edge of the collar and rubbing his thumb along the edge of her neck and shoulder that was bare. Y/N leaned her neck back so he could lean forwards and kiss softly against her clavicle, breathing out a soft sigh.

Teddy winked at her, sitting on the other side of the bed and grabbing the food to place in front of them. They ate quickly, elbowing each other accidentally every few minutes and smiling self-consciously. Once they were done Teddy grabbed them off Y/N’s lap and cleaning them with a flick of his wand, placing them on the floor. He turned to face her, crooking his head to the side. His hair was lighter this morning, an icier colour that curled across his face.

“So, what were your plans for today then?”

“Is that your move? Ask them about their day?” Y/N laughed and received a scowl from Teddy.

“I actually hate you.”

“I mean based off this morning…” Y/N winked and Teddy shoved her lightly. “Ok, ok, I hadn’t really planned anything, I do need to get an essay done though.”

“So you’d be free to, like hang?”

“Oh man, hang? Did you just saw hang?” Y/N laughed louder, her eyes wide as she shook her head. “I thought you were mister suave! How did you get any girl to go out with you!”

“Well it’s different when it’s your best friend! I happen to like you, a lot!”

A silence fell over them momentarily, Y/N feeling her stomach turn as she took in Teddy’s words.

“A lot huh?”

“Enough to want to hang on my favourite day off of the week,” Teddy winked, composing himself slightly as he had begun to flush lightly across his cheeks.

“Well, I would love to, if you’ll help me with Herbology?” Y/N gave him a pouty look, pleading with him. Teddy had Professor Longbottom wrapped around his finger, and he was very good at Herbology.

“Deal,” Teddy smiled, stretching out his arms, “Did you want to go back to your dorm first?”

“Don’t want me wearing your large t-shirt around all day,” Y/N grinned, pulling at his shirt, “Also yes, might need a shower.”

“Perhaps,” Teddy stood up out of bed, “Meet you downstairs in an hour?”

“Sounds good.”

Y/N had a moment of panic when leaving and gave Teddy a short wave, leaving the room quickly, heart racing. She was hit with a bombardment of loud voices screaming at her when she entered her dorm room and had to take a step back to avoid a pillow being thrown in her direction.

“Excuse me, where were you last night?”

“Did you sleepover in someone’s dorm?”

“WHO DID YOU HOOK UP WITH!”

“No one,” Y/N moved through the room, head down, desperately avoiding the stares from her roommates and heading straight to the bathroom to jump into the shower. Once she was out a few of the girls had trickled out, but Olivia remained, sitting on the bed next to Y/N’s bed, legs swinging.

“If you don’t tell me I will kill you,” Olivia growled jumping over to Y/N’s bed and leaning over the side whilst Y/N picked out some clothes.

“It’s nothing, seriously,” Y/N pulled out a white dress with flowy sleeves and Olivia squealed.

“You’re going on a date,” She said in a sing-song voice placing her hands underneath her chin and grinning wider.

“Shut up,” Y/N groaned, pushing her off the bed so that she could change behind her curtains. Olivia stood right beside the curtains, her feet sticking underneath.

“Who is it! You have to tell me, I’m your best friend.”

“I just, can’t-“

“Oh my god.”

“No, Liv –“

“Oh my GOD,” Olivia slipped under the curtain and back onto Y/N’s bed who had one leg stuck in a pair of tights whilst she’d attempted to hold Olivia back.

“It’s fucking Teddy isn’t it, you stayed over with Teddy!” Olivia was watching her avidly. Y/N fixed her tights and stood up, smoothing out her dress.

“I… well… maybe – “

“Holy shit, and you weren’t going to tell me? Going to be honest, I’m a bit offended, but also congratu-fucking-lations that only took you like five years.”

“I will kill you,” Y/N hissed, pulling on a pair of boots and glaring at her. “You’re making me nervous as hell.”

“Alright, fair enough, but it is a big deal – in a good way,” She corrected herself, hands in the air when Y/N made a move towards her.

“Do I look ok?” Y/N presented herself, smiling awkwardly at Olivia, trying to ignore everything she just said.

“Perfect, as always,” Olivia grinned, “Oh wait!”

She ducked out from the curtains and returned before Y/N could ask what was wrong.

“Here,” Olivia held out golden earrings which had a star and moon hanging down from a chain.

“These are your favourite, I can’t.”

“You damn well can, and I better hear all the details later.” Olivia’s voice was aggressive, as she usually sounded, but she was smiling giddily up at Y/N, as if she was going on a date herself.

“Of course I’ll tell you,” Y/N rolled her eyes and smiled back at her, putting the earrings in. “I have to go, I said I’d meet him in an hour.”

“Well shoo then.”

Olivia pushed her out of the curtains and Y/N stumbled, collecting herself before heading down into the common room. It was sunny outside, a warm change to the heavy rain that had beaten against the castle for the past week, and most students were out of the common room and taking advantage of the turn in weather.

Teddy was waiting on the couches, wearing a denim jacked and black jeans, army boots up on the table before the fire. Y/N sucked in a tight breath, he’s your best friend, you’ve hung out with him plenty of times, what makes this any different?

Y/N tried to push down the other little voice that said, you slept with him you idiot.

“Hey! Ready to go?” Teddy turned as he heard her final footsteps on the staircase behind him, beaming up at her with a toothy smile that seemed to light up his whole face.

“Yep, where are we going?”

“Surprise, of course,” Teddy stood up to meet her, kissing her on the cheek lightly and taking hold of her hand so he could lead her out of the room. It all felt so natural, like they’d been doing it the whole time but this was the first time Y/N had noticed. He lead her towards the grounds but took her around the side of the courtyard instead of towards the lake and pumpkin patch. His hand never left hers, gripping tighter every so often as he led her towards what she realised was the greenhouses.

“We’re doing homework first?” Y/N teased, pouting at Teddy.

“Well actually,” Teddy pushed the door open to the normally locked Herbology greenhouses and pulled Y/N inside, turning to face her. “Neville gave me a copy of the keys so that I could come in here whenever I wanted.”

“Ahh of course, this is your secret date spot huh? How you impress all the ladies.” Y/N hated herself the moment she said it, feeling how obviously she was fishing for information, and cringed, “Sorry, I just am torn between my best friend self and the person who just slept with you.”

“Can assure I have never taken a date here, mainly cause they would be bored to death.”

“So glad I made the cut to be bored to death,” Y/N laughed loudly, echoing around the room.

“Alright, you know what I mean,” Teddy smirked, stepping forwards so that he was looming over her again. Y/N took in a breath and met his eyes. “I was thinking about how you need to do that essay, and I definitely don’t want to be the one who distracts you from your homework and makes you fall off the rails following me around, begging me for sex, you know.”

“I hate you, go on.”

“Well we’ve sort of done all the first date stuff you can do around here accidentally, given that we’ve been friends for like six years, so I thought maybe we could combine writing your essay with a sort of plant date and now that I’m saying it, it sounds super lame, I am so sorry,” Teddy put a hand over his face, groaning. Y/N couldn’t help but feel warm and fuzzy at the idea of Teddy thinking about all of this all morning.

“It sounds perfect,” Y/N leaned forwards and took his hand away from his face. “Take me through these beautiful plants.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You’re not just being nice?”

“I mean I am, but also I really need to get this essay done,” Y/N pretended to weigh up the two options in her hands, “I want to hang out with you, you dork!”

“Ok, ok,” Teddy looked exceedingly happy, taking hold of her hand again. “So, this one over here is my favourite.”

They spent the better part of three hours discussing the properties of his different favourite plants across the greenhouse, namely dittany and wolfsbane. As much as Y/N knew she had to remember a lot of this for her essay on her favourite plant (of which she had none, as she killed almost every plant she’d ever been given care of), but there was something about watching Teddy talk so passionately about the plants he’d been given special care of that made her want to just sit and watch him. Y/N didn’t think she’d ever seen him so himself, not stressed about what he was doing or saying, his hair had become brighter, the blue almost reflecting across the windows.

When they were done, Teddy locked up behind them and they began walking slowly towards the Great Hall for dinner. Teddy wrapped a hand around Y/N’s waist and pulled her towards him. She put her head on his shoulder, her lip curling.

“I know it wasn’t the most exciting first date, but was it ok?” Teddy murmured into her ear as they stepped into the courtyard.

“I love that you’re asking me that,” Y/N snorted, lifting her head to look up at him, “You do realise I was your date right?”

“I know, but you’re also my best friend and I need best friend advice and I want to ask you,” Teddy laughed, moving his arm down to hold her hand instead, swinging it lightly.

“Yes, it was perfect,” Y/N stepped in front of him quickly, facing him so that she could cut him off and kiss him. He kissed her back, caressing a hand across her chin and through her hair. Y/N pulled away first, smiling up at him.

“Honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“I just said honestly, you prat.”

“Jeez alright,” Teddy grabbed her hand again, stepping up towards the door into the castle. “You ready to like awkwardly walk through the hall and hear everyone lowkey talking about us as we hold hands and subtly announce that we are together even though we’ve been friends for years?”

“Sounds perfectly uncomfortable,” Y/N snorted, squeezing tighter on his hand, “Let’s go.”

Taglist: @maraudersandco @gollyderek @hermionie-is-my-queen @siriusly-a-gryffindor-chaser

#rainandhotchocolate #Teddy x reader #teddy lupin x you #teddy lupin x reader #teddy lupin imagine

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ratisnotcrying · 3 years

Text

first words

Summary: should i give a fuck who you are?

Pairing: pre slash sebastian moran & jim moriarty

Warnings: mild violence but otherwise just a soulmate au

Word count: 2.5K

A/N: this is crossposted on AO3

~~~

In a neat, cursive script, running smoothly around Sebastian's left wrist were the words 'Do you know who I am, Tiger?'

He can't remember the first time he was told what it said, or even who told him, though he suspects it was his mother. She had always loved the idea of soulmates and destiny; Sebastian had never understood how she could feel like that when she had been 'destined' to marry his father - her mark read 'who the fuck do you think you are?' The earliest memory he has of his own mark is from when he was seven, two days after his mother died and his father drank so much he still reeked the next morning. He had grabbed Sebastian's tiny arm, leaving thin red marks sitting over small purple bruises, and just stared at the words - obviously they had reminded him of something because, thirty minutes later, Sebastian was left to drag himself to bed and unable to move without feeling a soul-deep pain radiating from each and evey place his father had struck him. From that day on, he covered his mark with plasters, long sleeves and ratty brown leather bracelets.

As he grew up he decided that he really didn't want to think about what kind of situation would warrant someone asking if he 'knew who he was' but then he started to think that his habit of getting into fights is what would be the exact reason for someone saying that. He had honestly been a well behaved child, and then a snotty prick by the name of Cyril - fucking Cyril - had made a snide comment about his mum and it all sort of went tits up from there on out. Four years and three schools later, he got kicked out of school altogether. And kicked out of his house because he got kicked out of school, and because his dad was a bastard. He didn't cover his mark anymore, not overly bothered by who saw it.

Living on the streets turned out to be a lot harder than sixteen year old Sebastian had expeted so he decided that building a reputation for himself was the best way to survive, and he was still a kid so at the time beating the shit out of people seemed like a good idea. Until he got arrested for assult. He's not sure what happened but somehow he ended up leaving the police station the next morning with no charges against him and a not-quite 'discussion' about the pros of him joining the military.

"Listen, mate, I get you've had it rough but I have to make sure that you get fighting isn't the answer. You got lucky this time but next time you won't. You need to take control of your life and make something of it ,yeah? I got you this leaflet and I want you to read it, alright?" The officer was barely older than him and the idea of actually accepting life advice from him was laughable so he just grunted as he walked out.

Four years later, at aged twenty-one, he was one of the most skilled snipers Her Majesty's Armed Forces had ever seen, and one of the luckiest too. It was sort of a running joke in his unit that he could get away with anything because good god did that man know how to push his luck. His superior officers had never met anyone who could talk back like Sebastian could and they had definitely never met anyone who could go from nought to a hundred with his fists so quickly, either. But, if being an asshole and getting away with it wasn't proof enough of his luck, the story behind Sebastian's soon to be nickname is a true testament to it.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun was hammering down and Sebastian was just trying to do some exercise when he heard a quiet noise above the hum of the heat and when he looked around, he saw a tiger making it's way cautiously into the encampment. It's stripes seemed distorted as they hung off of it - it was too skinny, he didn't need to be a genius to know that, but it was still a big fucking animal that was slowly approaching the sleeping form of Benny. If asked, Sebastian would tell you he had no idea why he did what he did next, because he truly does not know what possessed him. Picking up a hefty rock from beside him, he hurled it towards the tiger and, obviously, the tiger turned to him, moving faster now, gathering speed as it pounced.

When he opened his eyes he saw the tiger, limp-running away and Benny coming to drag him to his feet - all the others who had gathered around him still seemed shocked by the fact he had fought off an actual tiger. He didn't stay standing for long though and slumped back to the floor, wiping blood repeatedly out of his left eye and spitting some into the dirt next to him. He went to wipe his face more but a firm hand gripped his wrist, pulling it away before tugging at the open wounds on his face.

"You're lucky - it just missed your eye but you're going to need a lot of stitches. You will have some nasty scars, too," he said, guiding Sebastian over to the medical tent and getting to work.

Over the next few weeks he started to find his nickname very fucking annoying, particularly when his mates chorused 'tigers don't care about the opinions of sheep' every time one of their superior officers gave him a talking to and singing Eye of the Tiger at every opportunity. And the worst part was that he couldn't even get away because he wasn't allowed to do shit. So, really, if you took into account all of this, it was only logical that he would end up breaking his lieutenant's nose and find himself back on the streets with nothing to his name except a dishonourable discharge and three scars running from his left temple to the right side of his jaw.

---

'Should I give a fuck who you are?'

Jim had always worn his soulmark like a badge. No one ever told him what it said, for obvious reasons but he was a clever child, he could read and articulate way beyond his years so when seven year old Jim walked into the dinning room, looked his mother in the eye and stuttered out, 'should I give a f-fuck who you are?' before grinning at her, no one should have been surprised. That had been an interesting and pointless conversation because despite his mother telling him, 'Good boys shouldn't use such bad words,' he still continued to say this well into his early teens.

He was thirteen when he pulled off his first heist. It was in a corner shop, he lead a team of four and they got away with a new box of ready salted pringles, a case of red bull and, of course, a box of own brand chocolate bars because they're way better than the expensive shit. They so very nearly got caught, a brawl in the pub opposite bringing two police cars screeching to a halt in the road, but they somehow managed to slip away and made a fairly good profit on their goods. His second one was a year later and went a lot better. Him and four others again, this time a small shop in the high street from which they successfully took two cases of cigarettes to sell; two boxes of lighters because he was a good businessman and knew how to make a good sale; three cases of wine carefully stacked in a shopping trolley, and a nice new set of knives for himself.

By sixteen he has heard the phrase 'should I give a fuck who you are?' several times - not surprising when you looked at his life. He had the beginnings of a small network, maybe twenty or so people in place around his neighbourhood and it was slowly growing. Whilst those on the outskirts of his web mainly just roughed people up a little or pulled off the robberies that Jim no longer did himself, those higher up dealt with anyone who tried to take over Jim's patch. They would find themselves face down on the concrete, a muddy black boot on their neck until Jim sauntered over and crouched down, saying in a teasing voice, 'do you know who I am?' He started giggling childishly every time they responded with the words inked on his wrist.

Two days after he turned seventeen, his second in command got arrested for being a stupid prick who deserves everything coming to him - who would leave a gun in the front seat of their stolen astra? And who would steal a fucking astra? He almost grassed but somehow the evidence against him got lost so he walked - Jim has no idea how that happened, and when his second was found bloodied and bruised in an alleyway, well, it certainly couldn't be traced back to Jim.

The first time he killed a man was a week after his mother had died - or been murdered during a break in, to be specific. It had been a rough week to say the least. The police had been poking around, working off a tip some fuckwit had decided to bestow upon them. He's sure that if he spoke to the many councillors he was directed to they would say something about having time to grieve or process or 'work through it'. But he didn't speak to them because he had his own way of 'working through it', which was good for Jim, but wasn't quite as good for the imbecile who had not only come into his town, but had hurt his mother. He got a call late on the Thursday.

"We've got 'im, boss." "I'll be five minutes. If he has so much one broken bone, I will make you regret it." "Yes, boss."

When he arrived, two of his men were standing a little too rigidly whilst the third was stood with a foot on the neck of a crying prick.

"Hmm, a broken finger. Too bad. I apologise..." he trailed off, crouching down and looking expectantly into teary eyes.

"David," he choked out.

"David. Do you know who I am, David?" The look of horror, the colour visibly draining from his face and the way he physically gagged caused Jim to laugh sardonically before he continued.

"You might know my mother too - you were acquainted just a few days ago. Do you remember that, David?" he hissed as he used one gloved hand to pull a knife from his inside pocket.

He managed to avoid getting blood on most of his clothes, only a few drops landed on his coat but he would still have to burn it. He threw the knife on the floor and tossed his coat to the man closest to him, the gloves shoved in the pocket.

"Burn this. Do not touch that knife - it's going to get the cretin who snitched arrested. The only reason I'm letting you off today is because you're not worth the trouble it'll take to scrape you off the pavement."

In the following years his business expanded to include blackmail, kidnapping and assassinations. The only problem was there the unfortunately small pool of assassins to choose from - something about not wanting to kill innocent people or kill for money or other equally boring excuses.

And that's when he discovered recently discharged - sorry, dishonoably discarged Sebastian Moran.

---

Sebastian was not having a good week. It was nothing specific, really, it was just that being homeless is fucking shit and all of his stuff was set on fire; now all he wanted was to treat himself to a new pack of fags and maybe a drink. The route was familiar, the shadows, the dripping of the drains, so the two, quiet sets of footsteps he heard on his way back sounded loud and clear as an alert he was being followed, which was not doing anything to elevate his mood. He stopped walking and rolled his shoulders.

"What do you want?"

He spun around, arms raised in defence when he heard them run forwards, blocking the initial attack before launching himself forwards. He managed to knock one bloke on his arse just as he heard two, maybe three more approaching from behind. So, yeah, over all it hadn't been a great week but seeing all five of his attackers unconscious on the ground made it a little better. That was until he heard a sixth person approach, clapping slowly. Sebastian growled and pivoted, grabbing the condescending fuck by his collar and slamming him up against the damp brick work.

"Do you know who I am, Tiger?" the man said, eyeing the scars on his face and the bodies on the floor, and Sebastian very nearly punched him in the jaw because he sounded like he needed it and no one had ever obliged. Sebastian's eyes scanned the body in front of him, taking in his short, almost wiry frame, his vey expensive looking suit, and his shit eating grin. Sebastian put a cigarette between his lips, ignoring the sting of his split lip, and blew the smoke into his face.

"Should I give a fuck who you are?" he said through another exhale.

"The names Moriarty, and you should really show me more respect. You can start by letting go of me." The man - Moriarty - looked pointedly at where Sebastian still had his arm firmly pressed to his chest and Sebastian shrugged, letting go and taking half a step back.

"Much appreciated, I do hate wrinkling my suits. You'd do well to remember that, when you work for me."

"When I work for you?" Sebastian laughed incredulously.

"Naturally. I know all about you, Sebastian Moran. You have a skill set that I can use and, in return, I can offer you the opportunity to not be homeless." Moriarty slid his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels, which seemed to be his equivalent of twiddling his thumbs in boredom.

Sebastian flicked his fag butt away. "Suppose I don't want this job, what then?"

"Seeing as you do want this job I think it best not to waste my time. You'll soon learn that I'm not a very patient man." He turned on his heel, walking back the way he came, only pausing briefly to call out, "Come along now, Tiger. Work to do."

#sebastian moran #jim moriarty #bbc sherlock #soul mates #first meeting

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our-smooty · 4 years

Text

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 10

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags: Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

“All I meant was that maybe we should think about how we’d like to decorate the nursery!” Aziraphale said, wringing his hand as Crowley paced back and forth across their living room. “It’s not meant to be a thing as the kid say nowadays.”

Crowley threw his hands up in the air, frustrated beyond belief. “But it is a thing angle. What colour do we paint the room? How should we lay it all out? Oh Somebody, do you know how hard it is to find baby furniture that’s not on recall?”

He’d been storming around the hour for the better part of an hour, shooting down all the angel’s suggestions. It had all started when Aziraphale asked if Crowley had any ideas for the nursery. Did the angel have any idea how difficult it was to get all the necessary bits and bobs for a newborn? It wasn’t something you just did on a Sunday afternoon!

“Well why don’t we start with something small, like what colour you were thinking for the walls?” Crowley huffed, feeling sufficiently patronized. The fluttering in his lower belly had only gotten stronger these last few weeks, and he hadn’t gotten more than three hours sleep at a time because it felt so strange.

“And I suppose you have ideas?” he snarked, coming to a standstill in front of the angel. “Tartan, or maybe paisley?”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Crowley couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Aziraphale was acting like he was the one being ridiculous. “Do you think--and I mean this is the most loving way possible you must know that--but do you think maybe you might be experiencing a uh, a mood swing? Only you’re so very upset about this when not five minutes ago you were on the verge of falling asleep.”

“Mood swings?” Crowley hissed, resuming his pacing. “Oh that’s rich. Mood swings my arse! You just don’t have any idea how much thought has to go into planning these sorts of things! There’s a reason I was the nanny, angel. Warlock probably wouldn’t have made it to his sixth birthday if you'd’ve had the job!” Crowley whirled around to face Aziraphale again ready to go into the finer details of purchasing baby gear and the nightmare that was car seats when he noticed the distinct wobbling of the angel’s bottom lip. Thinking back to the last thing he’d said, Crowley realized the line he’d crossed.

“I know--” Aziraphale started, having to cut himself off and clear his throat heavily. “I know I’m not very good at this Crowley, but you don’t have to be such a-a-an arse about it!” He was beginning to choke up, most likely from the fact that Crowley had been inadvertently raising his voice louder and louder.

“Angel I didn’t mean--”

“No I think you did.” Crowley stood motionless, all his earlier frustrations bleeding out. Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, he felt his eyes begin to water. Maybe Aziraphale had been onto something with the whole mood swings thing. “I just thought it might be fun, picking things out together, setting things up perfectly. We c-could go to the store and get a crib and t-talk about what it’ll be like when they arrive…”

Crowley unfroze long enough to amble over to the couch where Aziraphale had been reading and sit down. The tea he’d been drinking before they started arguing sat on the coffee table was cold and unpleasant. He miracled it to a better temperature, along with Aziraphale’s own cup, and held it in his hands.

“It’ll probably be pretty hectic. Newborns are pretty needy,” Crowley added, gesturing for the angel to take his cup. “You might have been right. About the uh, the mood swing. S’a thing that happens to pregnant humans yeah?”

Aziraphale bobbed his head. “I only know what dear Anathema has told me, and from a few books over the years but, yes.” His voice was light, lighter than his normal tone which usually indicated something was wrong. “Of course it’s not your fault. Your corporation is causing you to behave in certain ways and you aren’t used to it. I’d be a fool to be insulted by anything so natural, just a minor side effect of one of Her greatest gifts.”

As was usual when he was really upset, Aziraphale began to slip back into old habits. Praising Her, deferring back to how he thought an angel should behave. It always made Crowley’s blood boil that even after ten years of freedom Heaven still have such a hold on his angel. It made him even angrier that it was his own fault for bringing this on again.

“No, no. You should be mad angel. My body might be making things difficult but I’m still me. I should know better than to let it get out of hand. You didn’t do anything wrong, you couldn’t.”

Crowley set aside the tea again and lifted his arm in invitation. Aziraphale ducked forward, his own tea still forgotten, and burrowed into the side of his jacket. “I’m sorry Aziraphale. You’re gonna be--you’ll do fine when they get here. We can work together? Sort of a new Arrangement, I guess.”

“I don’t like sleeping all that much, as you know. I wouldn’t mind taking the night shift, as long as you show me what to do,” Aziraphale answered, his voice muffled by the fabric. Crowley took a deep, settling breath, and then did something he’d been avoiding. It was obvious Aziraphale wanted and needed to talk about what was going to happen when the baby came and as much as thinking about that still made Crowley extremely nervous, it wasn’t fair for him to deny the angel continually.

“Good plan. And I--well we could go out and look at a few things. S’not like we couldn’t miracle it safe if it isn’t already…” It was true and Crowley was kind of embarrassed he hadn’t thought about it before. He could probably make just about anything safe for the kid if he tried hard enough. Just like he had with Annabella and Charlotte (it turns out, having small children running around a house full of historical artifacts, some of which were made with hazardous materials, wasn’t ideal). There had been no reason for him to fly off the handle like that and he’d have to try and be more--uhg--mindful. “You’re really worried about doing a good job when they come, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer right away. He was snuggling even closer and Crowley decided to help him along, getting an arm under the angel’s knees and hosting them over his lap. Then he squeezed tight, giving Aziraphale something to latch on to while he was feeling so discombobulated. It seemed to help, because after five minutes of quiet the angel finally answered.

“I don’t have the experience you do. I'm not good at dealing with the girls like you are, and I never know what to do when I see children crying or lost in the street like you do. It just doesn’t come naturally to me and I’m worried… I’m worried that I won’t be good at it at all and they won’t like me,” he said in a rush. Crowley let him finish because it was obvious that those five minutes of silence had been spent formulating his response and to interrupt would be to derail the angel again. When he was sure Aziraphale wasn’t going to say anymore, Crowley responded.

“S’OK if you’re not great at it at first, happens to humans all the time. You think the first time I had to take care of a baby I knew what I was doing?” Crowley thought back to the very early days, watching over Cain and Abel--attempting to turn humanity to Hell’s side early-on--and nearly weeping with joy when Eve had come back to collect her children. “Besides angel, there’s no way they won’t absolutely adore you. You’re you.”

“I think you might be biased Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, but he didn’t fully deny it. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. I tried using The Web, and it suggested trying to connect by, well, getting excited about the birth. So I thought we could do the nursery.”

Crowley felt like an even bigger arsehole after hearing Aziraphale’s reasoning. Of course, decorating the nursery was supposed to be something fun they could share together. Crowley hadn’t really thought about how Aziraphale might feel like a bit of an outsider, especially since the demon wasn’t big on talking about every little event.

“No you're right. I uh, you know I don’t really know how to talk about this stuff. And now apparently I’m acting like a hormonal human, which is just marvellous,” he drawled the last word in a way that he knew would make Aziraphale roll his eyes. “We can start the nursery if it’s gonna help you. Maybe just a few things though yeah?”

That made Aziraphale’s head pop up, a slight sparkle in his eye. “Would you-could we maybe pick a colour for the walls? I seems like the best way to start, unless you have any other ideas?”

Crowley did in fact have lots of ideas. He may have started bookmarking links on his laptop the day after he broke down and bought that blanket. But he’d also been intending to surprise Aziraphale with a few of his purchases, and he hadn’t picked out paint yet, so Crowley decided it couldn’t hurt. Besides, he owed it to the angel for how much of a complete tosser he’d just been.

“OK, yeah, I think that’s fine. I mean, not much we can screw up with a little paint, right?” Maybe a hundred years ago they might have had to worry, but humans were so much more clever about not putting toxic chemicals in their household conveniences now. Most of the time.

“My thoughts exactly. It’ll be easy. We can just pop off to the hardware store pick out a colour, and paint! Surely you’ve painted a room before?” Aziraphale had begun wiggling again, is fingers winding and unwinding around the thin tie Crowley liked to wear. “I’ve dabbled a few times but you know I’ve never been very good with arts-and-crafts.”

“S’not arts-and-crafts angel, it’s slapping some goop on a wall and letting it dry,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. Aziraphale straightened his back so he could give Crowley a quick peck. Crowley tried to deepen it and follow after the angel’s lips but Aziraphale didn’t let him.

“Oh good, shall we get ready to go then?”

“Now?” Crowley asked. Not ten minutes ago they’d both been on the edge of tears, and Aziraphale wanted to go out?

“Well maybe just a few more minutes here. I do so like being close to you like this. Close to both of you.” Crowley made a slightly disgusted noise. “Don’t be like that, I’m allowed to enjoy your company and the company of our baby, Crowley.”

“You’re such a sap.” But Crowley was enjoying it as well. While they’d been arguing the baby had been kicking up a fuss, fluttering about and making him feel like he was riding a rollercoaster. Now they they’d settled down, almost like Aziraphale’s touch had a calming effect.

Speaking of which, the angel stopped pulling on Crowley’s tie and started rubbing slow circles over his barely-there bump. His skin prickled pleasantly even if it also made him want to hide his face in the sofa cushions. Never in 6000 years had Crowley allowed himself to think he could have something so domestic as sitting around on a Sunday afternoon, discussing paint colours for their nursery. As imaginative as he was, this was completely out of his range, which made it all the better that it was their reality. Whatever he’d done to deserve this, it was worth the millennia of waiting.

Eventually they managed to disengage from their comfortable cuddling and drive to the town hardware store. It was a little family-owned place, the kind where all the sale signs were hand-written and there was a little box with home-made fudge by the till. The little old woman stocking the shelves was thrilled to show them their paint section and to offer all sorts of advice and options. It was sickeningly sweet and by the time she left them to their own devices Crowley’s face was glowing and hot.

“So, do you have any preferences? I was thinking something in the world of green, to match that blanket you picked out? Not that everything has to be matching of course, but having a little bit of a theme couldn’t hurt. And there’s something to be said for the classic blue and pink, even if they are a little overdone--” Crowley grabbed a random paint swatch and began pretending to inspect it closely while Aziraphale babbled on. The paint swatch in his hand was a depressing taupe, completely unsuitable, so he tossed it aside and grabbed another.

“--and it can’t be anything too bright, don’t want the little one to be overstimulated. But I also want it to be homey. Oh there are so many options to choose from, how does anyone decide?” Crowley discarded the second swatch as well--a strangely cool purple--and shrugged.

“Think humans mostly just go for the classics depending on the gender and call it a day,” he answered, possibly the first thine he’d said since they’d entered the shop. “Green sounds nice though.”

Aziraphale beamed at him and then took his arm so they could walk over to the wide variety of green paint options together. “I’m so glad you agree my dear, but just look at this! There must be one-hundred different shades of green!”

“Well,” Crowley said, narrowing his eyes at the display. Some of the darker and brighter shades began to rearrange themselves to the edges of the section, leaving a more appropriate pallet all clustered in the middle. “There, that better angel?”

“Yes thank you,” Aziraphale answered, giving Crowley a quick peck on the cheek. “We should have brought the blanket to compare colours…”

“It’s alright if it doesn’t match,” Crowley assured him, picking three swatches that stood out to him and holding them up. “If we do all sorts of shades of green it’ll kind of be it’s own thing, you know?”

Aziraphale picked three of his own and held them up against Crowley’s choices. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if they had your hair? All this green with the red, very pretty.” It did paint a pretty picture in his mind, though he’d been hoping their child took after Aziraphale more than himself. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they got his eyes, or his other snakey features.

“Ngk.” Crowley snatched the paint chips from the angel and held all six in a row. “Pick three or four, any more than that’s gonna look messy.”

He let Aziraphale hum and haw over the colours, though eventually his arms got tired and he had to set them down on a nearby table. As the angel decided, Crowley scanned the selection for a suitable accent colour. Since the blanket had cream base colour, and they seemed to be using it as inspiration, he picked something similar and brought it back to Aziraphale. There were still six options spread out in front of him and it was obvious Aziraphale was struggling to make a final decision.

“Crowley which do you like? Because I think they’re all perfect and I can’t pick just three!” the angel lamented, wringing his hands and visibly deflating when Crowley added the cream swatch.

“That’s just for an accent colour angel, don’t worry.” He arranged the paint swatches evenly over the table and gave them an appraising once-over. “I don’t like the middle two, they’re too similar. And that one’s too yellow, compared to the others. Do you agree?”

Aziraphale studied the three swatches Crowley removed and the demon let him. As was evident in almost everything Aziraphale did, change was not something to be rushed with the angel. Even something as simple as picking out paint colours could take days if he was left to his own devices. If Crowley wanted to help, he had to do so carefully as to not disrupt whatever system Aziraphale had mentally created for solving the issue.

“I do, very good choices dear. Should we go ask that nice woman to mix these up for us?” Aziraphale gathered up the remaining swatches, shuffling them like cards. “How do we know how much we need of each colour. We should have measured the room!”

Aziraphale constant fretting was starting to give Crowley a headache (or maybe it was just another pregnancy thing because Crowley never got headaches), and he hoped this could be wrapped up fast. “Dunno, let's just get a bunch of each and go from there.”

The women was more than happy to help them, though it turned out her husband was the one who knew how to use the paint mixer. He was a grumpy looking fellow, old and wrinkled and curled forward like a willow tree. Crowley braced himself for a tiring, cranky encounter.

“Harold, these two boys need some paint mixed up,” The woman said loudly enough for her husband to hear at the front of the shop. Slightly quieter, but not so quiet Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t hear she added, “They’re the two who bought that old cottage out on the edge of town!”

“Oh are they now? Tore out all that lilac, replaced it with that tropical-looking shite?” Crowley bristled instinctually--his garden was possibly tied with the Bently for the second-most important thing in his life. But the older gentleman just laughed and clapped a friendly hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Good on you, place was a mess. And I’m all for lilac being good for the bees, but our Lizzie got stung after least ten times walking past to the park a few summers back.”

“Well, uh,” Crowley stammered, completely unprepared in the face of such outright friendliness. People were almost always nice to Aziraphale upon meeting him, probably something to do with his angelic nature and general air of kindness. Conversely, people usually avoided talking to Crowley at all. He gave off some kind of aura that said don’t talk to me, if you do something bads gonna happen and he was usually happy with that. But the older gentleman seemed honestly interested and a little thankful even; it threw him off. “They’d all grown crooked too, so they had to go.”

The older man nodded sagely. “And the yard, the grass was a right travesty since the last owner move out, nobody had been around to trim it for months!” Crowley scowled in agreement and from the corner of his eye he could see Aziraphale and the man’s wife smiling. In the last decade since the Apocalypse, he’d managed to remain rather singular outside of their small circle of acquaintances. Aziraphale was probably going to make a big deal out of this later, telling the demon how happy he was that Crowley was ‘making friends’.

“You’ve been doing good work up there these past few years, strange we haven’t met before!” the woman chimed in, passing their chosen paint samples over to her husband. “Though I’ve seen you around together at most of the local cafes and restaurants.”

“Terribly sorry we haven’t been by before, turns out the cottage was in miraculously good shape and didn’t need any repairs,” Aziraphale explained as they all watched the husband begin to mix together the paint.

“But you’re doing some renovations now?” she asked, plying for more information. Crowley could see the makings of a town gossip in her, though he could sense her prying was more out of interest than malice.

“Yes, we’re, hmm,” Aziraphale trailed off, turning to Crowley. He realized they hadn’t exactly discussed if or how they were going to discuss the baby with strangers. Behind dark glasses he blinked slowly, then gave a subtle nod. Aziraphale took one of his hands and squeezed, his love almost palpable even to the demon. “Well we’re expecting a baby, i-in around five months' time. We thought we’d get a head start on the nursery.”

The old man nodded, more concerned with the paint, but his wife lit up like a Christmas tree. Her eyes flickered over them both, then to Crowley’s stomach where his hand had once again subconsciously come to rest over the small bump. “Oh that’s lovely! Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale answered, practically glowing. Crowley blushed and mumbled something similar. “We only just decided on a colour, you have quite the selection here.” It was an effective way to take the focus off of Crowley, which the demon was extremely thankful for.

“Well you’ve picked a lovely shade of green, whatever inspired you?” Aziraphale began telling her about their newly born nephew and the trip to the baby store. Crowley pretended to listen for a little while before turning to watch the paint being mixed. The old man, Harold his wife had called him, was puttering away and had already finished with one of the four cans. The set up was made so customers could see over the counter and watch the way he swirled the paint before putting it into the mixer.

“This your first?” the man asked. Crowley hadn’t taken him for the nosey type, but he supposed it made sense considering how his wife was. “We had three, but they’re all moved out with their own families. Lizze, the one I mentioned before? She’s the oldest grandchild, gonna be starting middle school next year.”

“Yikes,” Crowley cringed. Middle school had been one of his in the beginning (cliques had been too good to pass up), but the humans had taken it out of control. “And uh, yeah. I mean, yes, it's our first.”

The old man nodded. “She’s a strong kid, lost of friends. And we raised her mum right I like to think, and she comes to visit us on weekends.” He set the second can into the mixing machine as he chattered. “S’a little different than the others, the first one. Hope you two enjoy it while you can.”

He thought back to all the throwing up and the fainting and the general discomfort with a scowl. Then he remembered cuddling with Aziraphale and the girls on their bed, feeling the baby move for the first time, and picking out clothes together and it slipped off his face in seconds. Harold chuckled and once again clapped Crowley on the shoulder good-naturedly. After that, Crowley didn’t feel quite so uncomfortable and began to grill the man on his appreciation of plants.

Soon all the paint was mixed and they began to check out. They both thanked the older couple, and Aziraphale even purchased a quarter of their fudge stock. Promises to stop by next time the two ageless beings were in town were made before they made it back out to the Bentley. Crowley insisted the paint cans go in the boot, where they had zero chance of staining the upholstery.

“D’you wanna grab lunch while we’re here?” he asked the angel as he pulled away from the curb. The paint cans in the back didn’t make a sound, because they knew better than to misbehave. “Could go somewhere new, if we can find anywhere you aren’t already a regular.”

Aziraphale wiggled thoughtfully as he snacked on a square of fudge. “Well, I am a bit peckish, but I think the fudge will do to tide me over. I must admit, I’m a bit exhausted.”

“Fine by me. Could do with a lie-down, my back’s starting to twinge like anything.” That settled, they drove back to the cottage, the ride going rather quickly as Aziraphale chattered about how best to paint the nursery. Crowley made a few points here and there, mostly just to be ornery about the details and watch the angel fluster, but otherwise preoccupied himself with driving home. When they pulled in the sun was just dipping below the roof of the cottage, painting the lawn in a golden glow.

Aziraphale was out of the car first, scurrying to the boot and unloading the paint. Crowley would have done the same except when he’d tried to help load them the first time Aziraphale had refused to let him so much as lift a paint can. ‘Bad for the baby’ he’d said, and though Crowley wanted to get his knickers in a twist about being fussed over, he also really didn’t fancy hauling cans of paint in with how achy his back had been for the past two or three hours.

“I’ll get the tea?” he offered, breezing past Aziraphale to the front door. The angle shook his head and made a shooing motion, coupled with a frown.

“No, no, I’ll get it. You get right into bed, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Again Crowley wanted to be mad, but he thought about how heavy those cans might be, and decided that it’d be fine, just this once, to let Aziraphale be overprotective. With a shrug, the demon made his way inside and trudged up the stairs. HE smirked to himself, already planning how he’d seduce the angle into bed when he brought the tea. It might not even be that hard, though he hoped it took at least a little coaxing.

#fanfic #good omens #gomens #aziraphale/crowley #azirapahel #crowley #crowziraphale #ineffable husbands #tw mpreg

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Beyond The Palace Walls - Part Six

Genre: royal au / fluff / adventure / self-growth

Characters: Jung Jaehyun x reader (feat. Ten, Lucas and Taeyong)

A/N: This story was started as a request but it didn’t suit the idol I was writing it for and it was too good to scrap. Originally, it was going to be a Lucas fiction but then I realised I was writing Jaehyun without realising it and so my bias one of them won it out.

Index: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | Epilogue

The steady rhythm of the horse’s movement had settled some of your anxiety as it thundered along the path ahead. Although you had a lot to consider during the ride, you had to admit you were impressed with Jaehyun’s skills at knowing how to understand and encourage the majestic animal. You had often gone to the royal stables until you fell off one summer and your father put an end to your riding lessons. You enjoyed the rush of being back up in the saddle, in the adept care of Jaehyun as he and the bay horse navigated the twists and turns of the forest. It felt like the trees would go on forever, the greenery encasing you both in an endless world of fauna. After some time, the dense forest started to change. You noticed the trees were not as grouped together, and light filtered in, changing the deep hues of green into lighter shades, some sun-bleached with the way the light directly hit them. It was then that you smelt the difference in the air as well. It had a distinct saltiness that you were certain you could taste whenever you opened your mouth in wonder. It made you scrunch up your face and Jaehyun chuckled for the first time since you departed from the others. It was the first sign of anything towards you; the only sounds coming from the man that firmly kept you in place were to encourage the horse forward until now. His chuckle comforted you and you smiled, relaxing further into his embrace. You had missed him even though he had been behind you this whole time.

“It’s not far now.”

The track twisted once more and you gasped, seeing the vast blue up ahead. Your eyes soaked it in as it grew closer, and soon the trees disappeared as the ground turned to sand. Jaehyun slowed the horse down to a trot and then a walk, the three of you advancing towards the water at a leisured pace. Despite the race to get here, the calmness of your arrival made you forget about everything that had happened today. The waves rolled into the beachfront and then back out again, and you watched as some crashed against the others back further into the sea, yet as they reached the sandy shore it was gentler. The ocean was everything you had imagined it to be and more.

The horse halted and you glanced back at Jaehyun, his focus solely on yours. He smiled. “You’re finally here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed and Jaehyun nodded, letting go of the arm he held around your waist. You realised then how tense your body felt and you glanced down at the ground, noticing Jaehyun shift his foot out of the stirrup at the same time. With help from him and the stirrup you made it down onto the ground and wobbled a little when it moved under you. You shot Jaehyun a grin and then stepped forward. It wasn’t the kind of sand you had ever experienced before. They were firmer, filled with fine gravel. This was soft and you sunk a little into it, watching as the grainy coloured beads encased your steps. It was delightful.

Jaehyun soon dismounted and led the horse to a nearby piece of driftwood, tethering it there before he came back to your side and grabbed your hand. You looked up at him expectantly.

“You need to take off your shoes for this,” he encouraged, allowing you to use him to balance on as you did so. Once his own boots were off, you set off towards the water, surprised when the damp sand changed from what you had been feeling run through your toes. This sand stuck to you as you walked along, and soon the water was right ahead of you. It felt childish, but you glanced up at Jaehyun to gauge his reaction. Would the sea be safe to step into? You had watched it roll in and out over the sand just ahead. Would you float out with it if you stepped in? Part of you wanted to, just so you could feel as free as the water was. You were reminded of Taeyong’s talk the other day about water, and how it moved around its obstacles. You decided, along with Jaehyun’s encouraging nod, that it would be safe to step forward.

Gripping onto his hand you edged forward, placing only the tip of your toes in. You gasped, feeling the gentle flow of the water. Soon, your whole foot was down, and you moved forward a few more steps after hiking up your skirt. A giggle left you as you jumped over a wave rolling in. Jaehyun’s hand left yours as you continued to play, the man watching you from his spot in the water near you, laughing at how innocent your play was. The water’s temperature was refreshing and you enjoyed the chill of it against your legs the longer you splashed around.

And then you got water into your mouth by accident, spluttering with how strong it tasted. Jaehyun genuinely laughed at you and you pouted, splashing water at him and listened to him gasp. You laughed heartily.

“Did you just splash me?” he asked, brushing the water off of his clothes. You smirked and threw another handful of water his way. Jaehyun groaned before skimming a bunch back at you. Your shrieks were noisy and your laughter was louder. You hadn’t played like this before in your life. You had never been allowed in water for long in case you drowned, and the one time Jane had splashed you in the bathtub as children, she was deeply scolded and you never shared again. You were transported to a place where your lost childhood was discovered, playing with Jaehyun until you were exhausted and soaking wet.

As you sat down on the sand in the sun to dry off, you started to wonder of the others. Were they okay? The chase for you both had clearly been led away from here, or else the guards would have stumbled across you both by now. You felt safe on this section of the beach but you worried if the others were. You were desperate to see them when dusk arrived. You wanted to share this magical environment with Jane, to hear her exclamations of such a beautiful place on Earth.

You missed Jane terribly.

“They’ll be okay.” Glancing over at Jaehyun then, he smiled gently and took your hand in his. “They promised they would come here. I believe they will.”

“Shouldn’t they be here by now though?” you asked hesitantly, leaning into his side. Jaehyun sighed. “What if-”

“I don’t think they would want you to worry, little bird.”

You smiled. “I half expected you to call me Princess then. I don’t know why.”

“I thought we agreed on little bird?”

“I feel like a lot has changed,” you admitted softly and Jaehyun didn’t respond. You looked over at his eyes, trying to decipher the expression within his gaze. His jaw was tight, and you reached over to touch him, gently caressing his cheek. “This beach feels like an escape from everything that’s happening.”

“Our own little world,” he agreed with a smile, turning to kiss your hand lightly before grabbing it in his spare hand. You sat for some time like that, feeling the warmth of both his hands around yours and watching the sun leave the sky altogether as the first twinkling stars appeared above. In any other situation, this moment would be the best time to kiss Jaehyun. To get wrapped up in your feelings that you now carried deep within your heart and to utter magical words that you hoped were caught on a shooting star.

But it was growing colder, darker. You couldn’t forget about Jane and the others no matter how much you tried. Even with his warmth, Jaehyun couldn’t keep you from shivering and soon you grew panicked. Any sound that happened around you made you flinch and you were on edge, no longer enjoying the beach.

“Should we search for them?” you asked and Jaehyun shook his head, his eyes wandering the place you were in. There wasn’t a soul in sight apart from you both and the horse he had since tethered near a patch of grass. But his eyes caught something and he let go of one of your hands, getting you both up before pointing.

“Let’s set up camp there. I can’t let you catch a cold with all your shivering.”

There was a cove nearby that blocked out some of the wind, and you helped Jaehyun gather bits of driftwood into a pile near the entrance of it. He set to work at lighting the fire, satisfied when it took. You resumed your seated position again, Jaehyun soon joining you when he was certain the fire would continue growing.

“Tell me something about you,” you asked, resting your head on your knees as you brought them up against yourself. You realised you didn’t know that much about Jaehyun yet. You knew of his character and his love for his friends, but that was it. You craved more knowledge; you wanted to know everything about the man who held onto your heart.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything.”

Jaehyun was thoughtful for a moment and then nodded as an opening. “I have two older brothers and three younger sisters.”

“That’s a big family,” you said and Jaehyun nodded again. “Are you close with them all? I’m an only child so I don’t have any understanding of what it’s like to have siblings.”

“Mine… they live for themselves,” he slowly answered, turning somewhat broody. Had you asked the wrong question? You watched as he internalised over his memories perhaps, and then he looked at you. “My older brothers disliked me because like you, my Father favoured me.”

“He didn’t keep you locked up in a castle though,” you pointed out but instead of laughing as you expected, Jaehyun shrugged.

“It felt suffocating regardless.”

“I see.”

“My sisters didn’t really care for me because I was always off getting training of some sort.” Jaehyun stopped there, rocking in his thoughts for a moment. You bit your lip, wincing at your suggestion to ask about his life. Despite his hesitance, he seemed to want to tell you and you waited until he spoke again. “Eventually, I chose to leave which didn’t go down well with my Father.”

“Is that when you met Taeyong?”

He finally smiled and shook his head. “I’ve known him for many years, he helped me leave.”

“And Ten, Lucas?”

“I knew them as well,” he told you, his smile growing. “They were the only people I felt who cared to know the real me. They weren’t looking for something out of me other than friendship. It’s been, wow, three years now, since I left.”

“Why are you returning?” The question felt greedy to you. Logically, if he was happier away from home, you wanted Jaehyun to continue on that path. But there was a personal aspect to the question. You didn’t want him to return. It would mean that when you finally went home yourself, he would be in an entirely different kingdom. You didn’t like that. You didn’t want any further distance between you than the one you held now.

“My Father is ill,” he started and your eyes widened. “I thought I would see him before I can’t.”

“Oh my, Jaehyun I’m so sorry for-”

“I’m not,” he cut in, smiling again. He took your hand in his and smiled. “I’m glad I met you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be returning home and taking up the role I don’t want to.”

“What role is that?”

Jaehyun paused, his eyes unsure. And then he frowned, tilting his head to the side. He was up in an instant. “Stay here.”

You bit back your protest, watching him head out silently to check if you were still safe here. When he returned, he wasn’t alone.

“Jane!” you cried, leaping up and running to your best friend’s side who cried in relief upon seeing you. Her tears mixed in with your own as you clung to one another.

“I thought I would never see you again!”

“Nonsense, you know you can never get rid of me that easily,” you remarked, smiling widely at your friend. You glanced over at the others. Ten winked as he came to Jane’s side and Lucas covered you in one of his bear-like hugs. You watched Taeyong examine Jaehyun avidly before they both relaxed and brotherly hugged.

You realised it then.

When you woke in the morning, you were nestled beside Jane sleeping peacefully. The cove was quiet apart from the sounds of steady breathing and you eased yourself up slowly, heading out onto the beachfront. You walked for some time, watching as the sun rose up in the sky. You loved this part of the day the most. When you returned to the palace you would be certain to witness many sunrises there.

You gazed at the morning waves crashing into the shore with more force than they had yesterday and grew mesmerised by their beauty. Water truly was something you now held great respect for.

You noticed a person up ahead and you approached him quietly, Taeyong’s eyes shifting from the sea when he noticed you. He didn’t smile but welcomed you at his side. “Good morning.”

“Did you not sleep well?” you asked, your own eyes moving over him. He had limped in last night and you wondered what had happened to cause him to be injured. He became aware of your examination and finally smiled.

“You’re just like him.”

“In more ways than one,” you agreed, and the older man’s gaze snapped to scrutinise you. He sighed heavily in resignation.

“He wouldn’t tell you,” he mentioned and you nodded.

“He didn’t.”

“How did you figure it out then?”

You didn’t know how to answer the question at first. Now that you understood who Jaehyun was, you felt as if you knew it all along. How you had foolishly viewed him in the beginning and how lovingly Marigold had appreciated him at your side. He was your saviour, but you were starting to wonder if you would become his as well.

“I feel like the tail of the secret was exposed to me long ago, but I only caught hold of it last night.”

Taeyong smiled again. “I was harsh with him. And you, too.”

“You are someone who guides people well in life, Taeyong. I don’t see you as harsh at all.”

“I do?”

You nodded. “You helped Jaehyun escape, to live a life he dreamed of, right?”

“Being cooped up never suited him.”

“Did he escape the way I did?” you wondered and Taeyong shook his head.

“No, he told his Father the truth. That he couldn’t stand living there any longer and craved to see more of the world.” Taeyong sat down then, and you followed suit, tucking your legs up under yourself. “His Father told him he had too many responsibilities to be so reckless. Jaehyun refused to believe that his life only meant one thing. He told him to let him go and he would return one day with the knowledge of the land. Eventually, his Father agreed.”

You nodded, smiling at how admirable Jaehyun was. You now wished you had understood your yearning to leave and prepared in a better way.

“He was meant to be only gone for a year. Soon that turned into another as we helped the people of the land. Then when Lucas’ sister was kidnapped, we ended up here.”

“His sister?” you repeated and Taeyong nodded. “Where is she?”

“She married a man in the village you live above. She’s very happy there.”

“Were you happy there too?” you asked hesitantly, watching him for his reaction.

Taeyong smiled sadly. “I never let myself grow fond of a place for too long, knowing my destination is back in our kingdom.”

“I see.”

“Will you return home soon?” He turned to face you, now watching you like you had him. You heaved a deep breath.

“I should.”

“I think he is in love with you,” Taeyong mentioned softly and you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter. “Jaehyun has risked everything for you. I wonder just how far he’ll go.”

“He is destined to sit on the throne though,” you said, finally mentioning the unspoken secret aloud. It felt good to say it, to acknowledge Jaehyun as the missing Prince from the neighbouring kingdom you had heard of at the dinner table once from your Father. You wondered if Jaehyun would feel the burden of your knowledge and wish you had remained oblivious to his own status.

Taeyong nodded sadly. “His brother wants it more than he does.”

“Then perhaps we can let him,” you mused, smiling over at Taeyong. For a moment, he was still and then a smile soon stretched over his lips to match yours.

It was your turn to save Jaehyun.

_________________

Part 7

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lazodiac · 5 years

Text

The Wanderer, The Hunter, and The Painter, P1

The Wanderer

Megumi was already regretting this particular planeswalk. Her initial impression had been something soft and warm, like fallen leaves and honeyed dew-drops. It seemed like things were finally going her way for once.

But, her oh so reliable spark had veered her off just to the left (or what counted as left in a metaphysical place like the Blind Eternities), and she’d landed smack dab in the middle of a dark, shadowy glen in a darker, tangled woods. For the briefest of moments, she’d thought it was her Daddy’s home, Innistrad. But after an hour of concerned wandering, she’d realized that was a mistake. It certainly held the oppressive atmosphere, but the flowers were wildly colourful, and even the darker places held a sort of otherworldly beauty.

It seemed like a place she could relax for a moment, in peace.

Then, they had come.

Elves, but not like she’d seen them. They looked like elongated satyrs with frankly horrible, uncomfortably mask-like faces. She’d felt awful when the thought crossed her mind, she was definitely raised better than that.

Then the closest one had shouted something about ‘imperfection’ and shot an arrow at her. It’d went wide, thudding into a nearby tree—only for dark, thorny vines to grow from the tree and lash out at her. Megumi had barely escaped, running off into black woods.

Now her arms were scraped and bruised, and her legs tired. The tree’s seemed to edge in on her as she ran, closer and closer. Megumi was sure some even had faces. And in the distance, the strange hooved elves beat their way after like it was nothing. Too rattled to planeswalk, it was like between a rock and a hard place. Worse still, she didn’t know which was which.

Another arrow fly by, missing her entirely by digging into the ground in front of her. Megumi skidded to a halt just as a patch of brambles burst out from the ground, swiping at where she would have been had she not slowed herself. The hunting cries and heavy hoof-beats of her pursuers grew nearer and nearer. She focused, tried to escape, but felt an oppressive weight on her, like something keeping her down.

Then the sound stopped. The brambles seemed to freeze, or at the very least return to just being a simple bundle of plant-life. The silence lingered, leaving an eerie chill that felt almost as bad as the chase had. Things had gone so quiet; Megumi could hear her heart pounding in her chest and little else.

“Hello, young madame,” a voice said. Unfamiliar, but an accent she recognized at the very least. Megumi turned on her heels towards the voice, readying herself to run just in case.

It was another Soratami, like her. He looked to be around twenty, though his hair was wispy like someone far older. He wore forest green robes with a blue accent, and the traditional tattoos on his face and floppy ears was strikingly vibrant.

“Oh, h-hello,” Megumi said, still on edge. “Are you …?”

The question faltered and fell back into her throat.

“An enemy?” the Soratami suggested with a soft grin. “Oh no, not at all. I can assure you that.”

He bowed gently, left arm crossing over his chest like a butler. “I am known as Eisi. I … took care of those perfectionist pursuers of yours. You can consider me a friend.”

Megumi still hesitated. Something was off, but she couldn’t be sure if it was the strange plane, the tall elves, or the fact that they had been stopped without a sound. Still, she responded all the same.

“O … okay. It’s um, nice to meet you, Eisi. Where am I?”

“Shadowmoor,” he answered, the word seeming to radiate an intense energy. “A dark plane, but not dangerous if you’re careful. Shall you be needing my assistance?”

So, he’s a planeswalker Megumi thought to herself. Obviously, she added, though she wasn’t quite sure as to why. It felt right.

Megumi nodded, the oppressive atmosphere of the plane—Shadowmoor, she mentally corrected, easing up now that she’d met someone not trying to riddle her with arrows.

“Yes please, mister Eisi. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, young madame,” Eisi said.

Then he snapped his fingers, and a lumbering behemoth lurched out of the woods behind him. A hulking, one headed beast covered in diamond-shaped scales. It was loaded up with saddle bags and cloth sheets, but under it all she could see it looked very much not alive, but not undead either. It looked … strange and shimmering.

“Oh, what’s that?” Megumi asked, fear forgotten as curiosity took hold. It looks like a binox, but it’s only got the one head, and no feathers. Would that make it a mono-ox? And why’s it so shiny, I—

The questions flooding her mind cut off as it trudged further forward, and she saw just what made Eisi’s pack-beast shimmer. It was made of crystal-green paint.

The surprise must have been clear on her face, since Eisi laughed at her. “I see you’re impressive by my … little piece of art. I’m a painter.”

“Cool,” Megumi said. She reached out to pet the thing. “Can I touch it?”

Further laughter from the painter. “Only if you don’t mind paint stains. He’s still fresh.”

The beast grumbled, as though offended at Eisi’s remark.

“Oh hush,” Eisi sighed and patted the beast on its flank. It trudged through the woods in response, leaving a slick crystal-green trail along the flattened ground … and Eisi’s hand. This time it was Megumi’s turn to laugh.

Ears fluttering as though he was quite annoyed, Eisi sighed and rubbed the paint off on his robes. “Well, young madame. Shall we be off?”

Megumi had already started following the painted beast. “Yup! And while we’re walking you can, like, tell me about stuff. Like this plane!”

It wasn’t a request and they both knew it.

“Well,” Eisi started with an exaggerated sigh. “Shadowmoor is an … interesting place, young madame. For one, it’s not truthfully Shadowmoor, at least by half. No, the plane is split in half, twixt light and shadow.”

Megumi nodded, making a small game of avoiding the wet paint-marks the lumbering beast left in its wake. “How’d that happen?”

Eisi shrugged. “I’ve little idea, and asking the locals about it would give away our little secret, so I’ve kept my questions to myself.”

“Makes sense. Those elves were spooky,” Megumi said. “I’m uh, wonder what their deal is.”

“Perfection, mostly. The elves here have a … desire for the perfect. Some take it too far. A shame, I imagine I’d get along with them otherwise.”

He’d get along with them if they were less murdery? I mean, yeah, obviously.

Megumi chuckled to herself at the thought, and it seemed like the darkened woods were already getting lighter.

There was silence for a moment, as the two made their way through the darkened woods. Megumi could feel a connection forming, like a spark of light inside her chest. It wasn’t a new experience in any sense, most planeswalkers she met made that same connection. It made her feel safe, like she could call out and they’d come running.

And with that connection, however, came curiosity.

“So, are you a painter?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What gave it away?”

“Well, I know enough Kamigawan to know Eisi means painter … or something like that. And I mean—” she gestured to the pack-beast, still dutiful tromping through the woods. The paint had dried by now. “There is that.”

“Ah, how observant little madame,” he said. “Would you like to see me paint?”

Megumi nodded so swiftly; her hair ended up obscuring her vision.

He smiled, and without breaking his stride reached out into one of the saddle-bags hanging off the beast, he drew a brush and string of small pots from within. The pots were painted in a rainbow of colours, each as vibrant as the man’s tattoos.

“So, little madame. What should I paint today?”

Megumi wracked her brain, thinking of what to ask for. Then it struck her.

“Oh, I know! Back on Kylem, it’s where I’m from, there was this one lady who fought by throwing this disc around. It was super cool! She had a dog made of water that would catch it and return it if it got stuck or something. Could you draw that?”

Eisi thought a moment, then without a word dipped his brush into one of the pots. In seemingly an instant, paint was flung about, floating and flowing through the air like streams of water. It was like his brush was a signal for where it was to go.

After only a few seconds, a not so living, but still very much breathing, ocean-blue dog had joined their little group, jumping around wildly and leaving splotches of blue in its wake.

Megumi’s eyes were sparkling. It wasn’t exact, but it was adorable.

“Aaah! It’s so cute! You’re very impressive, mister Eisi! I uh, I wanna pet it, but …”

He smiled, and waved a hand at the painted hound, small tendrils of light leaking out between his fingers towards it. The shiny paint seemed to dull, just a little.

“And finished. A little bit of magic to quick-dry. It makes it more fragile of course, but … it’s perfectly safe to touch now.”

Megumi had picked it up before he had even finished speaking. “Thank you, Mister Eisi! You really are a good painter, you know.”

He laughed. “Oh please, little Megumi. Flattery is nice, but it won’t ensure a free commission. More than this, of course.”

Megumi’s stride hitched a moment, as if something was wrong … but it past, the warmth in her core telling her it was fine. The dog licked at her face, but Eisi’s magic had kept that clean as well. She looked into its painted eyes, shimmering like beads.

“So, what brings you here anyway, little madame?”

The question seemed to echo through the woods, and the faint chill returned.

“I … it wasn’t on purpose. I don’t— I can’t, control my planeswalking. I just go. I can kinda … kinda steer it, a bit, but it’s really hard.”

“I see …” Eisi said. He stopped for a moment, as though in thought. The pack-beast continued trudging along. “Is that … frightening, little madame?”

Megumi hesitated before answering. “Yeah, it is.”

She hugged the painted dog a little closer. It didn’t always scare her, but when she ended up in situations like this, in the middle of a spooky forest. Being chased by horrifying elves or … worse, it made her almost wish she wasn’t a planeswalker at all.

Eisi reached out and patted her on the head gently. “Don’t fret, little madame. Though few would care to admit it, all planeswalkers feel that fear. The Blind Eternities is a scary place. Those who do not fear it are fools.”

There was an edge to his voice that sent a chill up Megumi’s neck, but it faded with what he said next.

“I’m sure you’ll get to control it eventually, little madame. A healthy understanding of fear lets you tackle any task, and you know more than most how scary it can be. Be proud of it.”

Megumi let the words sink in, and smiled. As she did, the shape of the forest seemed to change. Or maybe it had been slowly shifting as they talked, she could not be sure. But at one last growl of the pack-beast, light seemed to break through the woods.

The tree’s lost their frightening shape, and the flowers went from darker violets and reds to a softer pink and blue. Ominous overhanging branches seemed more like comforting, sun-dappled boughs. Everything felt warm and sweet, like a spring breeze.

“And welcome to Lorwyn. The other half of this divided plane. A much kinder place, if I do say so myself.”

Megumi couldn’t help but agree. She ran out into the clearing, letting her painted friend drop to the ground so it could chase her. Eventually it caught her, and the two fell to the warm grass. As they played, Eisi drew out a piece of paper and set to work painting.

------

Megumi wasn’t sure how much time had passed. After the painted dog had worn her down, Eisi had set out some tea and cookies and the two of them had a lovely snack break. They chatted of the different planes they’d both been on, and Eisi had shown her wonderful panoramic paintings of different planes.

Then she’d been shown a painting of Innistrad. Megumi had never been there, and a part of her didn’t want to, as scary as it had sounded.

But it was her Daddy’s home and … it made her feel wistful again. It made her miss her parents.

With a somber sigh, Megumi hopped up to her feet.

“I think it’s time for me to get going. It was fun though! It was lovely meeting you, mister Eisi.”

Eisi took a sip from his tea cup, his free hand ruffling the painted fur of the dog in the meanwhile. “That’s quite alright, little madame. I’m afraid I’ll be staying here, however. I’ve still some work to do. And, unfortunately, so shall the little dog. He’d not survive your trip.”

“I understand,” Megumi said, way sadder than she actually let on. “Hopefully we can meet again some day!”

“Hopefully,” he said. Then he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a rolled-up scroll. “But first, a token of our meeting. This, at least, can survive the sojourn between planes.”

Megumi took and unraveled it, and her eyes lit up. It was a beautiful painting of her and the dog, playing in the sun. She rolled it back up and returned it to her pack with a grand smile.

“Oh, thank you so much mister Eisi! I’ll never forget it!”

He smiled back, and that was that. Megumi took a deep breath, and walked away.

======

#Megumi #bace-jeleren #MTG #Fanfiction

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