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h0nkch0c0late · 3 years

Text

Mad Thomas

Fear street 1666 Mad Thomas x Reader

Summary: Mad Thomas, Aka the town drunk. Y/n Miller, Aka Hannah Miller's sister and the Pastor's daughter. What happens when she gets stopped by Thomas on her way to the forest for the fruits of the land thing?

Warnings: smut I guess? Well kind of smut??? It's not really smut???

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"Y/n!" Her mother called to her from the kitchen, slight evidence of annoyance in her voice, causing Y/n to sigh and walk away from her chores in her room.

"Yes, mother? What is it?" She asked somewhat quietly as she approached her mother.

"Can you see why your sister is taking so long with her chore outside?" Her mother clearly looked upset.

Y/n nodded, walking to the door and opening it, seeing Hannah talking to Sarah Fier.

Y/n smiled at Sarah, having no problem with her she didn't see why not, Sarah smiling back at her as Hannah looked to her sister.

"What is it?" Hannah asked timidly.

"Mother wanted to know what has been taking you so long out here-"

Y/n was interrupted by their mother, "and that she has to come back inside!"

Y/n rolled her eyes, "and that you have to come back inside. Don't worry, I won't tell her that you've been talking to Sarah." She said in almost a whisper, careful to not let their mother hear.

Sarah sighed, "I'll see you tonight, Hannah."

Hannah nodded to her, "of course." She then walked past Y/n into the house, their mother starting to say harsh things to her as Y/n started to close the door behind her.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Miller's direction turned towards her other daughter.

Y/n turned her head towards her, "going to check on father, is all." She lied.

Mrs. Miller huffed as a response, letting Y/n go.

Y/n smiled at her mother before closing the door behind her, looking towards Sarah.

"The full moon rises before nightfall." She said with a smile.

"A good night to enjoy the fruits of the land. You're going too?" Sarah raised a brow in surprise.

Y/n chuckled, "why of course. I may be the Pastor's responsible daughter, but that doesn't mean I can't have a little fun once in a while right? And Hannah needs it since our mother has been especially hard on her lately." She sighed as she started walking with Sarah.

Sarah nodded in understanding, "it's because of me, isn't it?"

"Most likely. I wouldn't be too worried though. Just as long as you don't do anything bad, I'm sure you both will be fine." Y/n explained, examining the people around her, waving to Abigail as she dragged Constance off with her.

Y/n looked down to see a bag in Sarah's hand, and that they were headed in the direction of Solomone Goode's home. "What have you got in that bag of yours?" She asked.

"One of the piglets that had gotten stuck. I wanted to give it to Solomone as a gift." Sarah responded, and just as she said that, a small oink came from inside of the bag.

Y/n chuckled, "Ah, alright well I'll leave you to it. I might as well actually check on my father while I'm outside."

"I'll leave you to it, then." But just as Sarah was about to leave, the door to the outhouse burst open, a drunken Thomas stumbled out of it.

Both girls groaned in annoyance at the boy as he stumbled towards them.

"I can see A secret about you, girl." Thomas said as he walked straight towards Sarah.

"And a good day to you too, Thomas." Sarah replied calmly, though slightly annoyed by his presence, trying to step forward away from him but he stopped her.

"Don't you want to hear it?" Thomas questioned.

"Thomas, leave her alone she doesn't want to deal with you right now." Y/n said, grabbing his arm.

Sarah nodded, "please just leave me alone."

But Thomas didn't listen, he just shook Y/n's hand off, contuing to bother Sarah. "I can see everything. I can see all the dark secrets in Union."

Sarah scoffs, "you must be busy." She then pushed Thomas away and started to walk, Y/n gasping as Thomas persisted, grabbing onto Sarah again.

"I see darkness in you, girl!" He said as Sarah struggled in his grip.

Y/n grabbed him, forcing him off of Sarah and pushing him. "Be still, Thomas!" Y/n warned as Sarah glared at the man. Thomas just laughed.

"Sarah, it's best if you go now." Y/n sighed, eyeing Thomas to make sure he doesn't go after Sarah again.

Sarah nodded, then turned around and continued her walk to Solomone's home.

"Beware, Sarah Fier!" Thomas laughed again.

Y/n scoffed, "Thomas, would you please stop being so crude to Sarah? She's done nothing wrong."

Though it seemed that Thomas wasn't exactly listening to her words, only looking at her and grabbing her wrist, leaning in closer to her.

"And you, you hold many secrets." He told, holding her wrist tightly but not too tightly, which is strange for him.

Y/n's cheeks started to turn pink, her face feeling warm as she stuttered, "i-i have no idea what you are talking about. You are completely mad, Thomas."

Thomas smirked, letting go of her wrist, "you hide behind a facade, girl. But I know who you really are." His eyes practically pierced through her own.

Y/n's heart was beating erratically at how close he was, and the lowness of his voice...she knew he was just drunk and had no understanding of his words, but she almost felt like he did in fact know.

But it was something even she didn't want to admit. She didn't want to admit that Y/n Miller, the Pastor's daughter, was in love with the town's famous drunk, Mad Thomas. But she couldn't help it. There was just something about him that made her so strangely attracted to him, but she could never put a finger on it.

He laughed once more, walking away (more like stumbling away).

Y/n sighed, taking a moment to calm her flushed cheeks before spotting her father and heading her way towards him.

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Y/n took a deep breath as she took small, quiet steps down the stairs in her house quiet as to not wake up her parents, and saw her sister at the door.

They nodded at each other, linking arms and walking towards the forest.

Lizzie and Sarah appeared, stealing Hannah away to collect the berries as Y/n chuckled to herself, continuing on her way to the party.

As she entered the woods, she heard ruffling noises behind the trees. Of course she thought nothing of it, the thought of one of the party-goers or an animal only crossing her mind.

But as she walked further, she was suddenly pulled behind a tree, she shrieked, a hand quickly covering her mouth as she was pushed up against it.

She recognized it immediately, looking up to see the face of Thomas. Though she had calmed down a bit, she was still a little freaked out about the sudden actions of him. "T-Thomas what are you doing?"

Thomas had a smirk on his face as he looked at her, "you're mother and father wouldn't like if they found out you were out here at night. I expected this from your sister, but from you? I would have never guessed."

"What I do is none of your business, Thomas. And my parents do not control me." Y/n stood her ground, but Thomas was so close she could feel his warm breath on her face. She was trying her best not to show her blush.

Thomas chuckled darkly, "now now, there's no need to lie. I know you care about what your parents think."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, "you know nothing." Her heart was thumping so loud in her ears she swore everyone could hear it.

But Thomas ignored her, "I also know that you feel something for me. I see it in your eyes every time you look in my direction."

Y/n scoffed, "you really do live up to your name, Mad Thomas. I feel no such things for you. Your drunken mind must be playing tricks on you." Her breaths were becoming sharp as Thomas leaned in closer to her.

Thomas chuckled once again, "there is no need to lie, love. I've got secrets of my own." He lifts one of his hands that were pinning her against the tree, gently pushing away some of her hair away from her face, then stroking her cheek lightly.

The action and nickname caused a shiver to go down her spine, her cheeks getting warmer as she kept her gaze on his own, her breath hitching. "A-and what are t-those secrets, Thomas?"

He leaned in more, his lips close to her ear as he whispered, "why should I tell you mine, if you won't admit your own?"

Y/n went silent for just a moment, then sighed. "If I admit mine, would you tell me yours?" She said in almost a whisper.

He leaned his head back to her face, "I will do better. I'll show you." He moved his body closer to her this time, holding her gaze.

It made her weak at the knees, her trying her best not to fall. "Alright, you want to know?"

Thomas nodded.

"I-Im in love with you. I know I shouldn't be, but i can't get those thoughts out of my head. There's just something about you that irks me so much but at the same time makes my head spin."

His eyes widened in surprise, he was only just teasing her after all. He didn't know she actually felt that way about him. He quickly went back to normal, plastering his famous smirk back onto his face, "and what kind of thoughts are those?"

Y/n gulped, "that is something you do not need to know. Now, it is your turn. What is the secret you so desperately want to show me?"

Thomas kept his eyes on her as he slid his hands down to the strings that held the front opening of her dress closed, "my secret is this."

She gasped as he began to pull at them, loosening the top of her dress and having it come undone.

Her hand instinctively reached out to grab his wrist, stopping him. "What are you doing, Thomas?! We aren't even wed!" She whispered.

Thomas shushed her, putting his hand back onto her now-bare chest. "Don't worry, dear."

A shiver went down her spine again, "for a man who listens to God and tells one of my greatest friends practically the devil, you sure do a lot of sinning yourself." She smirked, suddenly gathering courage.

Thomas' eyes narrowed a little, "that is different." He growled.

"Oh? How so?" She began to tease him, though one of his hands were still on her chest, she thought nothing of it.

Thomas' mouth opened and closed, trying to find words but coming up with none. He then pushed himself away from her, turning around to leave.

Before he could, Y/n grabbed his wrist, making him turn towards him. "Now hold on a minute, Thomas. Who said I wanted you to stop? You cannot leave me here like this without having done anything to me." She snarked.

"Why should I? You did try and use my own words against me." He said as he walked closer to her once again.

"Surely you can take a joke?" She questioned with a smile.

Thomas rolled his eyes, then suddenly pushed her against the tree for the second time, leaning in close to her, their lips noses only a few inches apart.

Y/n didn't wipe the smile off her face as she guided one of his hands back to her chest, the sleeves of her dress slowly falling down causing it to slide off of her shoulders slightly.

Thomas smirked at her, his mood quickly changing before he kissed her deeply, hands gliding into places they normally shouldn't be, his lips traveling down to her neck as she leaned her head back on the tree in pure ecstacy, never having had this experience before, it was a new...amazing feeling.

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Y/n entered the part of the forest where the rest of the teens were, looking around to see Sarah and Hannah missing, while the others were all dancing and hanging around, some even making out with each other.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked to see Lizzie, who looked at her with a disapproving yet concerned look.

"You're late. What took you so long?" Lizzie asked.

Y/n's mind thought back to the previous events, a small smile appearing on her face, "I, uh, got... distracted."

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Aaaaaaa I told you guys I would impulsively write a Mad Thomas fic and here it is! Pls there's just something about Thomas, man. Something about him that I just can't describe it 😩😩😩😩 anyways this turned out longer than I expected it to but its fine qkrhwbebejen3nej

#fear street #imagine #x reader #fear street 1666 #mad thomas #mad thomas x reader

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years

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Meeting and Dating Berko

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Berko when you went to an alternative club with your friend. You were there for a while before your friend went to get a drink and you were left dancing to the band.

- After some time, you realized that your friend; who’d promised they’d be right back, had been gone for longer than a few minutes which was strange considering the bar wasn’t even all that busy. When you went to check it out, you found that your friend wasn’t at the bar and so, you began your search.

- Fast forward thirty minutes and you’re in a bad mood. Your friend keeps weaving in and out of view, somehow evading you every time you spot her and you’re just about ready to tear your hair out. That's when you crash into someone …hard.

- It may be a sort of bitchy thing to do, but you merely say a “shit sorry” before you spot your friend behind the stranger and fly past them without another word or glance.

- But Berko isn’t deterred, especially since he can tell that you’re having some kind of problem. So, when he sees you again, leaning against a more quiet wall of the room and looking miserable, he approaches and asks if you’re alright.

- He’d apparently caught you in a weak moment since you’d relented, sighing and kicking the ground before telling him that you can’t find your friend. He offers to help you and you look at him in reserved surprise before asking “really”. He chuckles and assures you before he grabs your hand, crouches down, and tells you to get on his shoulders.

- You laugh incredulously, telling him that you’re not gonna get on his shoulders before he reminds you that you’ll be able to see above the entire crowd. You think about it, ask if he’s sure and when you get your reassurance, you do your best to shimmy your thighs around his head.

- Soon enough, you’re able to find your friend and you climb off his shoulders to grab her. As you’re beginning to pull her up from her seat and drag her out of the club, he asks if he can have your number and you give him a smile, writing it down on his arm before you leave.

- For your first date, the two of you sort of just spend the night wandering around town, hopping from place to place. You go to thrift stores, music shops, a dingy little Chinese food place. It wasn’t really an eventful night but it was a fun one, though you supposed that he was what made it fun.

- The two of you share your first kiss a few days later. You were hanging out on the street sorta late at night just dicking around and talking. You’d stopped at a street light for a little bit, one he’d grabbed hold of and started swinging towards and away from you on.

- After some swinging, he’d leaned forward just a bit closer and stopped himself right when you were nose to nose. The two of you locked eyes for a long moment before he tilted his head and seized your lips in his own.

- The two of you broke apart slowly and looked at each other in silence for a minute before he took a step forward, cupped your face in his hands and kissed you with more fervor. Soon enough, you were backed against a fence, his lips moving against your own and your hands fisted in his vest.

- You kiss a lot after that and every time, he gets a little …sugar high.

- There isn’t a ton of Pda in your relationship, he prefers to keep it somewhat behind closed doors or when there’s not a lot of people paying attention.

- He likes to keep his hands on you a lot, even if he isn’t particularly fond of Pda. He’ll usually hold your shoulders as he stands behind you or grip your thigh as you’re sitting next to each other.

- He leans against you a lot. If you’re standing in front of or beside him, expect him to have; at least, some part of his body resting on you.

- Hugs from behind.

- Deep kisses.

- Sloppy kisses.

- Making out.

- He likes to sit/lay between your legs; its his favorite way to cuddle.

- He typically just uses a shorter version of your name when he’s talking to you but occasionally he’ll call you sweetheart and pet names like that.

- Sometimes he’ll call you his little groupie after you come to one of his shows, ruffling your hair and pulling you into a kiss. Occasionally, he’ll make some joke about you wanting to “make it with someone in the band” while bringing you onto his lap with a smile.

- He sorta likes when you’re all sarcastic and mean to him. He digs aggressive girls who aren’t afraid to act tough.

- Affectionate name calling and bullying.

- Buying him an actual shirt; in more of a teasing manner more than anything.

- If your look isn’t on the punk side already, he’s the boyfriend that gets turned on when you try it out. He’d think you looked cute if you tried the other side of the spectrum as well.

- Random debates/discussions.

- Wearing each other’s jewelry.

- Visits at work.

- Loving looks.

- Cheap dates. Your both sorta broke.

- Tv dates.

- Concerts.

- Bonfires.

- Going to junkyards and smashing stuff.

- Sneaking out to see him since your parents probably don’t approve of him.

- Getting songs written about you.

- Going to his bands performances.

- Letting him try to teach you guitar.

- The two of you are really comfortable with each other, like you could use the bathroom while he’s in there brushing his teeth and it wouldn’t even phase him; and vice versa.

- Hair mutilation in his tiny apartment bathroom.

- Crashing at his place every once in a while. He won’t tell you but he secretly likes waking up and finding you in bed next to him or seeing you stumble into the kitchen for coffee.

- Matching tattoos

- He’s not the greatest boyfriend. He forgets about things and is focused on himself a lot of the time. Sometimes he’ll hurt you; emotionally, without even meaning to ...so there’s your warning.

- He does his best to comfort you, even when you try to push him away. He makes sure you don’t feel alone and that you know he’s going to stick by you, no matter how “messed up you are”.

- He’s always trying to break you out of your comfort zone, especially if he knows that that's what you really want deep inside you.

- He’s not an extremely jealous person but certain things irk him. If he knows a guy is interested in you or tried something with you, he’ll successfully play it cool and make them nervous with how calm he’s behaving.

“Right. Yeah man, sure.”

- Berko isn’t afraid to insult people straight to their face so if he notices someone giving you a hard time, he’ll speak up and scare them off for you.

- The two of you have more than a few fights but you can usually resolve them pretty easily since they’re never really about anything serious. They’re usually his fault; since he’s the one who usually messes up,

- He gives you space if you tell him to, though he’ll try his best to apologize to you and have the two of you make up as soon as possible. He hates when you’re giving him the silent treatment.

- He has trouble telling you that he loves you, even though he knows that he does. He just cant bring himself to do it so he settles for trying to show you that he does.

- Being delightfully screwed up with each other.

#empire records imagine #empire records headcanons #empire records headcanon #empire records imagines #berko imagine #berko imagines #berko headcanons #berko headcanon #90s movie headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s movie imagines

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feanope · 3 years

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My contribution for @tolkienvillainsweek, Day 1 - Melkor

Nevermore

At the end of the world, two brothers meet again.

Ship: Manwë x Melkor

Rating: Teen and Up

Wordcount: 1.5k

Additional Tags: Canon Divergence (Melkor won the War), C/orruption, D/ark-ish, I/ncest

The sky is dark, with black clouds racing across the horizon.

So is the wind—dark and dreadful. The clouds, once a blinding white have become pitch black—poisonous fumes that waft around Taniquetil, where Manwë stands to gaze out into the ruins of the world. The wind, once gentle and light is no more. It’s black, and it’s grey now and it’s frightening. And yet—at the same time, it isn’t. It’s beautiful, in its very own way.

The stir of the wind intensifies and just moments later, a cloud of black feathers descends from the sky. Its surreal, blackness surrounded by an eerie light, silver and gold; like starlight—but different to it: purer, and more precious, long lost to the world Manwë has been living in.

Manwë gasps for he hadn’t thought he would ever see that light again. The light of the Two Trees, caught in Fëanáro’s wretched creations that now sit high upon Melkor’s brow.

The black fabric Melkor wears is worn and thin, little more than rags. It does nothing to lessen his dreadful appearance.

[read on AO3]

“It has been a while,” Melkor says from the distance. The words are twisted; grandiose and arrogant like Manwë remembers him to be. He wants to turn around; wants to look away, but there’s something about his brother, which makes that impossible. Something that holds Manwë spellbound—dark magic he’s skilled to weave—or maybe it’s just his own spinning thoughts that hold him captive.

Amidst Melkor’s weight the white marble on Taniquetil’s pathway cracks and shatters as he strides towards Manwë with the confidence of a thousand kings. Haughtiness and pride are sins, but Melkor has always been above such petty failings. He is burnt, and bleeding Manwë notices; his face distorted from all the wars he has fought. However, his grin is very wide.

Manwë confirms the obvious at last. “It has been a while, yes,” he says, an answer that takes much effort when at last he’s presented with the greatest nemesis he has ever had.

His eyes are fixed on his brother’s face that is bathed in the eerie light of the Silmarils until something else catches his attention once Melkor is close enough.

A feather. Gold, amidst a sea of blackness, dangling from his brother’s throat.

It isn’t ruffled, isn’t burnt, but well preserved as if his brother had tucked it securely away during all the atrocities he has committed. The observation doesn’t come without sentiment, and deep down in Manwë’s stomach something begins to simmer.

“After all these years…,” Manwë breathes when Melkor comes to halt before him, the shock so tremendously obvious in his voice that even someone deaf would notice it.

Melkor’s smile doesn’t come as a surprise, just the kind of smile it is, does: it’s neither smug nor arrogant. Instead, it’s open. Inviting. Just like the one, which has been hunting Manwë all his life.

The smile his brother had given him back then…

So long ago, at a time when he had actually believed Melkor’s malicious intends could be changed and altered to serve a greater good.

“Of course,” Melkor whispers, with the invitation in form of the smile is still being there.“How could I not cherish such a precious gift?”

In Manwë’s thoughts, the sentence completes itself to, ‘How could I not…, my brother. My kin.’

He loathes himself for it, always has.

For the thoughts, for what he feels, and for the fact that he could never rid himself of it.

Were those thoughts buried? Yes.

Dead? Not a single second of his life, no matter how much he had lied to himself about it.

And now, under the dark sky, with the word lying in ruins and ashes and ultimate victory of those forces Manwë had failed to restrain in the past, all of it is coming back alive: the weakness, the loathing, and the longing for what he should never have longed for in the beginning.

Such feelings sear and grow. They fester and spread, and ensnare Manwë’s mind.

For a fleeting moment, when a sulfurous cloud wraps itself around him like a choking embrace, Manwë wonders why he’s still alive. Left alive when all his kin has been slaughtered and slain – burnt and cast outside the world they once had shaped together in their glorious music. They all are extinguished, never to return.

Manwë keeps wondering still, even if he knows the answer; has known it all his life—even when his brother had succeeded in triumph and Illúvatar’s great halls had shaken in tremor, he had known.

Just…

Melkor’s voice falls into the empty space of Manwë’s thoughts. “Will you ever stop thinking?” he murmurs. And just as the words fill the voids in Manwë’s mind, Melkor’s body closes the distance between them; bridges it until nothing of it remains and his dark wings wrap around Manwë’s shaking form.

It has been long.

Too long.

A lifetime. If such a thing exists for those who never cease to exist.

Not long enough.

Of all of Manwë’s faults, this one perhaps is the greatest.

The weakness for the one whom he couldn’t save. Not from the darkness that had kept whispering to him, nor from the corrupted thoughts that sprang from it.

“How could I kill you, brother mine?” Melkor whispers against the crown of Manwë’s head, kisses the silver hair with his lips, ashen and burnt. There’s tenderness in his voice; a longing so long-suppressed—mutual longing—or maybe just an imagination of how it all could have been?

Fleeting images of the long-forgotten past begin to glow in Manwë’s mind as Melkor keeps holding him: of Melkor sitting in the armchair in the corner, legs crossed until he unwraps them to welcome his brother in his lap; images of idle gestures and whispered words, right there and then, before he had sent uncountable numbers of Elves and Men into their deaths. But even then, the corruption had been there; the rattling thoughts of supremacy and only a fool would have thought otherwise; only a fool had thought that love could prevent such atrocities.

Well, in reflection and in regards to Melkor, Manwë always has been a fool.

His answer, spoken—at last—dissolves in the wind as if it was never said at all. He has no answers, not for Melkor nor for himself—only excuses: laughable ones, of the sort he has been telling all his life.

Those he won’t tell anymore. Not to himself, nor to anyone else.

“Yes,” Manwë’s states.

It’s final.

And it’s ultimate.

It’s what he should have said a lifetime ago.

Melkor tilts his head, confused. Just a little, but enough to provoke one of Manwë’s rare smiles. “Yes to what?” Melkor asks once confusion only remains in his eyes and his face has become a mask again.

With his brother’s curious gaze resting upon his face, Manwë takes his time before he answers. “To what you were about to offer,” he states.

The laugh that falls from Melkor’s lips is wretched. “As you may recall, I take and do not offer,” he sneers.

Manwë’s smile grows, and though he cannot see himself, he is certain it matches his brother’s previously displayed arrogance.

“And yet you have come…,” he says, holding Melkor’s gaze as he lifts his hand to gesture towards the plain below Taniquetil where Melkor’s fires still burn in the darkness of the night. “You didn’t conquer this realm of mine, didn’t lay it to ruin and ash like all the rest.”

Silence descends as Manwë’s words sink into his brother’s mind, and only when he sees disbelief on Melkor’s face, he speaks on. “You could have, we know it, you and I. But you have not conquered nor have you taken anything—you came to offer; to ask,” Manwë says, surprised by the delight saying such words brings him. “So tell me, am I wrong, brother mine?”

The mask Melkor wears to keep others from seeing his distraction and confusion shatters. Well, it long has to Manwë’s gaze, yet never more than in this moment, when all of Melkor’s emotions are laid bare: his confusion, his shame, and his utmost weakness.

After a tremendous pause, Melkor answers. “No, you are not,” he says, eyes cast downwards in a futile attempt to conceal his emotions. “Never were. I haven’t come to conquer; haven’t come to burn you alive as I did with many others. Haven’t come to take.”

Manwë nods, then leans in so that his lips almost touch the scarred shell of Melkor’s ear. “And what if I bade you to?” he whispers, and although his brother cannot see the smile, he makes certain he knows it is there. “To take and conquer? Until nothing else is left?”

#tolkienvillainsweek #melkor #manwe #Silmarillion #Silmarillion fanfic #Morgoth #my writing #melkor x manwe #manwe x melkor #melkor/manwe #Valar

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tealwheelz01 · 3 years

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Popcorn and other Terran secrets

“So you’re telling me, that you Terrans explode these, ‘seeds’ by applying high levels of heat, before smothering them in butter and stuffing your gob with them? I mean, I like exploding things as much as the next guy, but sheesh, humans are next level!” The popping behind you escalates in volume as you spin to face Rocket. “Don’t knock it till you try it, fur-ball! There’s a reason people on my planet are in the midst of an obesity epidemic - this stuff tastes gooood!!” Ding! The microwave punctuates your point, disseminating the delicious salty aroma around the dining quarters. After a tedious (albeit highly necessary) week of ship maintenance - thanks Peter for flying into that meteor shower - the Guardians and yourself were having a well-deserved night off. You and your brother, Peter, had decided that a traditional movie night would be a nice way to end the week, and that obviously meant acquiring popcorn. You shuffled into the living area, plopping yourself down between Mantis on your left, and Gamora on your right. Peter and Drax were sitting on the couch to your right, and Groot and Rocket sat on the recliner to your left. “Oi sis, pass us some, will ya?” You grabbed a large handful, and then passed the bowl to Gamora for her to try. Peter, thinking Gamora would then pass the bowl onto him, eagerly put his hand out for the popcorn. But once Gamora had grabbed her portion, you swiftly snatched the bowl back and offered it to Mantis, who grabbed some with glee. “Oooh! This is strange! It’s like eating a golden salty cloud!” “Haha, yeah, I suppose it is,” you giggle back. Once Mantis has grabbed her second handful, you make the effort of going around to Rocket, Groot, and then across the room to Drax, all the while feeling Peter’s increasingly frustrated eyes on you. “Oh come on, Y/N! You’ve got to be joking!” “Sorry Petey!” You ruffle his hair. “ I just thought it would be nice if our non-Terran friends try some first. Show them some of the best food Earth has to offer.” You shrugged, “We wouldn’t want to be rude.” As you take your seat, Peter mumbles something about it being ‘his ship, his popcorn’, and hits play on the movie. Gamora quietly sniggers at his reaction, making you smirk. About half an hour into the movie, you’re eyes are fully glued to the screen. You’re watching The Breakfast Club, and you’re just starting t to get into the character's backstories, when Mantis pokes a finger into your side, making you gasp. “May I please have the salty clouds back? Y/N - did I startle you?” “Oh, ahh, sure Mantis. Peter, pass us the popcorn please?” You feel heat rising to your cheeks. You’d so far kept your ticklishness a secret from the Guardians, and you intended to keep it that way. Well, except for Peter, of course, but you were hoping he would never bring it up with the team. Begrudgingly, Peter hands you the bowl to give to Mantis, and again, you pass the bowl around, ensuring everyone gets a fair portion. Twenty minutes later, Mantis again pokes your side to get your attention. “Ack! Mantis, quit doing that!” You gasped. These unexpected attacks made it difficult to conceal your reactions. “I just wanted some more clouds. Why do you keep jumping and blushing whenever I poke you?” To prove her point, she poked you again between your ribs, this time making you squirm and bat her hand away. The Guardians had all turned to look at you both, and now you were sure your face was as red as a cherry. “Ahhh, I was just really distracted by the movie, and I… wasn’t expecting you to touch me.” “You’re not distracted now.” Mantis pointed out, again tweaking your side, this time, making you giggle. “Is someone feeling a bit ticklish, Y/N?” Oh no. You turned to look at your older brother, whose face was now smug with glee. He threw some popcorn on his mouth, crunching for dramatic effect. “No! I just -“ “I am Groot?” Peter smirked. “Well, Groot, ticklishness is a condition that effects,” Peter caught himself before he revealed he was subject to this weakness, too, “female Terrans, and it makes them -“ You shot up and placed a hand over mouth. You were NOT about to let Peter divulge your secret to the group. “Oi, Y/N, I wanna hear what Star-Squasch has to say!” “We’ll I don’t,” you growled to Rocket. Unfortunately for you, You suddenly felt two branches wrap around your arms, securing them behind you. “Groooooot!” You whined. “Oh, you are so much trouble!” Peter wiggled his eyebrows, standing up. “As I was saying before I was interrupted,” he began stalking towards you, “female Terrans have a particular weakness, where if you touch them in certain spots, they start laughing and squirming. Allow me to demonstrate.” You were frantic to free yourself, but despite your attempts, baby Groot had a surprisingly strong hold on you. “Peter, if you touch me, I swear I will - ahha!” “Yes?” Peter grinned evilly as he tasered your sides. Being your older brother, Peter had memorised all your worst spots. “PeeehtAAA!!! I’m gooonna, haha kill youuuu!” “Hmm, that’s not very nice, Y/N.” He moves to your tummy, making you fall to your knees and curl up on your side. Peter follows you down, switching between tasering your sides and spidering over your belly. “I seem to remember you keeping the popcorn from me, your loving brother. Plus, I just thought it would be nice if we show our non-Terran friends your sensitivities. Show them games the games Earth has to offer. We wouldn’t want to be rude.” He quoted back to you. “Peeheheter stahhp this isn’t funny!” “Actually Y/N, this is pretty funny,” Gamora laughed at your reactions. The way you were thrashing on the fish was far more entertaining than the movie. “This is both the funniest and stupidest thing I ever learned about Terrans! What kind of a species literally eats exploding food for fun, but can be reduced to a writhing maniac by a few touches?” “Rockehehet plehease help HAHA, HELP MEEE!” Tears had pooled in your eyes from mirth. Peter had moved his hands to your underarms. “Do you want to Rocket? Everyone can have a turn if they like.” “This is haha, this is nohoht whahahahat I meant!” The Guardians all slid to the floor to join you. Groot holding your arms securely above your head, while the others sat around your upper body. After some pointers from Peter, Gamora was wreaking havoc on your underarms, Rocket was brushing his tail all over your stomach, Drax was gently drilling into your hipbones and Mantis was just going wherever she pleased, laughing along with you. “HAHAHAHAHAHA GUYS STOHOHOP!!!!” “Alright, there’s one final place to try.” Peter moved towards your slippered feet, and as soon as you felt a hand gripping your ankle, you screamed. “PEHEHETERRRR NOT THERE, PLEAHEHESE!” “Sorry sis, I guess you should have thought about that before you kept the popcorn away from me.” Peter began scribbling all over your soles, causing your thrashing to become even more desperate, if possible. He took great care to slip between all your toes, switching between feet at random, and occasionally reaching up to get a jerk out of your patella. Finally, when your laughter became silent, Peter signalled to the others that it was time to stop. The others withdrew their hands (and branches) and Gamora helped you sit up. You gasped in lungfuls of air. “Youhou guys, hehe, are so mean!” “Guess you’d better watch yourself around here now we all know your secret.” Peter poked you once you, making you yelp once more. “Not sit down and watch the goddam greatest movie of all time!” You rolled your eyes at Peter’s 80s obsession. Yes, life with the Guardians sure would be interesting now that discovery had been made. You’d just have to make sure that the Guardians made another discovery about Peter. Because female Terrans are not the only ones with a ticklish secret.

#star lord x reader #ticklish!reader #sister!reader #peter quill

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kookie-doughs · 4 years

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 5: COMING TO CAMP

I woke up feeling sore all over, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. A short-cropped blonde haired guy hovered over me, looking down at me. When he saw my eyes open, he asked, "How are you feeling?" I managed to croak, "What?" "Are you feeling better?" "I guess," I mumbled, "I don't... where's Percy?" Somebody knocked on the door, and the guy slowly set the pudding down. "I'll see you when you're better." He smiled. The next time I woke up, the guy was gone.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt. On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry. My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it. "You're awake," a voice said. A blonde girl was leaning against the porch railing, looking tired and done. She was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMPHALF-BLOOD. "I should call the others," she said. "Where's Percy?" "He's talking with Mr. D." "Is he well?" "You've been through worse," She said with her eyebrows knitted(?). "And the first thing you ask is your friend?" "Percy, should—" "I'll tell the others." She looked at me one last time and left. I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight. Without Percy's presence I was reminded of everything I lost. Everyone I care about. "Hey," A voice behind me called. "Annabeth passed by and told me you're awake. Feeling better?" "Oh, hey." I smiled weakly. "Feelin real peachy." "Luke, Luke Castellan." "Y/N L/N..." We stayed quiet for a minute. "I'm sorry for what happened. I don't exactly know what went on but..." Looking at him, I gave him a sad smile, "Thanks... I guess. Even I'm not sure what went on honestly... I don't know what's going on." "Well, I'm not exactly much of an explainer so, we just gotta wait for Chiron." "I... remember everything. From the moment the sea pulled me, to loosing my parents and dog, to bringing us here... I just... don't understand..." I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming. "Don't strain yourself," Luke said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips. I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was (Favorite Food or F/F). Liquid F/F. And not just any F/F—my mom and dad's special F/F. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom and dad had just pet my head, fed me F/F the way they used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay. Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted. "Was it good?" Luke asked. I nodded. "Are you feeling better now? "Yeah," I said. "Thanks." "That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff." "What do you mean?" He took the empty glass from me, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Y/N!" I turned to the voice and saw Grover. "Hey, Luke." "I'll take it they want her?" Grover nodded. "I'll see you later." Luke smiled and ruffled my hair, then left me with Grover. Grover watched Luke leave then turned to me, "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting." The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. I asked him where Percy was and he said he was already there. As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath. We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings. "Y/N!!" I was engulfed and tackled which almost made me fall. Percy looked at me with sad eyes, holding unto the Minotaur horn. He looked tired and sick. "Are you okay Percy?" He nodded and rested his head on my shoulder. Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl that I woke up to was leaning on the porch rail next to them. The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels— what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt. "Hate to break your touching reunion but we were talking." The man said. "That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..." He pointed at the guy whose back was to me. First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard. "Mr. Brunner!" I cried. The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. "Ah, good, Y/N," he said. "You're awake. Percy couldn't focus since he was worried of you. He woke up an hour before you. Care for a game of pinochle?" He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you." "Uh, thanks." I turned to Percy who looked at me confusedly as well. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl. She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady and Luke nursed you back to health, Y/N. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and Y/N's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now." Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron." She was probably my age, maybe same height, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight. She glanced at the minotaur horn in Percy's hands, then back at him. I felt a bit iffy and got closer to Percy. She turned to me and said, "You should thank Luke." Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her. "So," Percy said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?". "Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron." "Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... does that stand for something?" Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young woman, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason." "Oh. Right. Sorry." "I must say, Percy, Y/N," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you both alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time. And I am quite surprise to recruit two." "House call?" "Recruit two?" "My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence. And when the mist hadn't worked on Y/N, Grover and I thought she saw through the mist." "Mist?" "It's... something." "You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asked. Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test. As for Y/N..." He looked at me skeptically then to Mr. D. "You're... still scentless." "Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?" "Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt. "You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously. "I'm afraid not," I said. "I'm afraid not, sir," he said. "Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less. "Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules." "I'm sure the girl can learn," Chiron said. "The other kid was bad, I doubt this one can do better." "Please," Percy said pulling me closer to him, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?" Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question." The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. Chiron smiled at us sympathetically. "Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?' "She said... She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her." "And you?" He turned to me. "Nothing like this ever happened... Everything was normal." "Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young lady, are you bidding or not?" "What?" I asked. He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did. "I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient." "Orientation film?" Percy asked. "No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you and Y/N have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive." I stared at the others around the table. I waited for somebody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points. "Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?" "Eh? Oh, all right." Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. "Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God." "Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical." "Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—" "Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter." "Smaller?" "Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class." "Zeus," Percy said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them." And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day. "Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you." "But they're stories," Percy said. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science." "Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I felt Percy flinched when he was called—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me." I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut. "Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?" "You mean, whether people believed in you or not," Percy said. "Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you and Y/N a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their parents?" My heart pounded. He was trying to make us angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. Gripping on Percy I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods." "Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you." Grover said, "P-please, sir. She's just lost her family. She's in shock." "A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with kids who don't even believe.'" He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine. My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up. "Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions." Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!" More thunder. Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game. Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits." "A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space. "Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha.' Absolutely unfair." Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid. "And ..." Percy stammered, "your father is ..." "Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course." I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master. "You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine." Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?" "Y-yes, Mr. D." "Then, well, duh! Y/N L/N. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?" "You're a god." "Yes, child." "A god. You." He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life. "Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly. "No. No, sir." The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win." "Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me." I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too. "I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment." Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir." Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. And mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably. "Will Grover be okay?" Percy asked Chiron. Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus." "Mount Olympus," Percy said. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?" "Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do." "You mean the Greek gods are here? Like... in America?" "Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West." "The what?" "Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know—or as I hope you know, since you passed my course—the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods." "And then they died." "Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in RockefellerCenter, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here." It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included in Chiron's we, as if I were part of some club. "Who are you, Chiron? Who... who am I? I-Is Y/N?" Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down. "Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. I believe Y/N had met one of them, Luke Castellan. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate." And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.. I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk. "What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. Let's meet the other campers." I took Percy's hand, anxious of what is coming.

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#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #X Reader #Book 1 #pjo #Chapter 5 #Lightning thief

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thecagedsong · 3 years

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Forgotten Light: Chapter 7: Preparations

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 7: Preparation

Agad came in over breakfast.

“Agad, welcome to my home,” Seth said, taking a long drink of milk. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, “Have a seat. What have you got on Kendra?”

Agad looked more tired than Seth had ever seen him, and let Seth’s joke go flat. He sat down and the six-armed woman that worked in the kitchen put a plate of oatmeal out for him. “Thank you, Simrin,” Agad said. “I have some news, not much of it good. I was able to track the goblins that stole the barrel, they were hiding in Goblin town.”

“Sounds like a fun place,” Seth said.

“You would probably enjoy it,” Agad said, bowing his head, “Just make sure not to lose your eye, or your tooth. It’s in Nevada, not a proper preserve, no caretaker. But they keep to themselves and have general distractor spells, so everyone leaves it alone. I found Slaggo there.”

“Long trip for a goblin on the run.”

“The Sphinx probably helped him, and a wizard named Vernaz. I thought she was an ally and gave Mendigo’s materials to her to be reconstructed. She was good at laying enchantments, much better than me. Her other talent is teleportation, and could have easily helped Slaggo leave Fablehaven with the barrel. I’m positive the barrel made it to the Sphinx.”

Seth finished his last bite of oatmeal, “Then we’re sure that the Sphinx and Ronodin are working together. That sucks, one of them is bad enough.”

Agad massaged his forehead, “I fear it was a mistake to make the Sphinx an Eternal. It will certainly keep the new demon prison closed from him, but I underestimated how cunning he is, even with his Shadow Charmer powers diminished.”

“What did you do to him?” Seth asked.

Agad shrugged, “Not enough apparently. He can’t hear the undead anymore, but we couldn’t dampen much else without killing him. He can put out fires, undo locks, shadow walk. That’s apparently enough to strike against us.”

“The Sphinx had this huge rant about refusing to be a captive,” Seth said, “We should have paid more attention to it. There was no way he was ever going to live by someone else’s say so. Remember, you gave all of us the call, we’re all to blame.”

“Yes, the long life seemed the greatest weakness to the mortal locks,” Agad replied, “It made sense at the time to have at least one person who would not feel that burden, but you are right. He firmly believed in his own rhetoric, and not acknowledging that was a mistake. Both the Sphinx and Vernaz have slipped away. Vanessa is going to be insufferable, and I am going to deserve every minute.”

Seth gave a joyless laugh, “Plenty of mistakes to go around. If the Sphinx happens to die, will that open the new prison? Asking for a friend.”

“No, the prison will remain closed,” Agad said, finally a little amused, “I do not think you would be able to let him die, and that’s fine. But if he happens to die, there are enough already constructed locks in place that the demons of Zzyzx will remain sealed. If the Sphinx comes under your power, save him because you are good, or do not save him because he has harmed those you love and will continue to do so for his own benefit. Do not worry about Zzyzx.”

“Noted,” Seth said. Agad finished breakfast and Seth led him to the War Room.

“I also examined the barrel here,” Agad explained as they walked, “The other half appears to be deep underwater.”

“Why would they do that?” Seth asked. “Did anyone touch the letter we left?”

“Your letter remains in place. An interesting response, and I see only advantages in it. The letter remains physically here, my only recommendation is to make it waterproof so when they pull the barrel up and remove the letter, it doesn’t get ruined by surrounding water. Which answers your other question. They didn’t destroy the barrel, which means they likely intend to use it again.”

“Can you find it?” Seth hoped. “Even a general location would help narrow down the search.”

Agad was already shaking his head, “It’s too deep, and somewhere protected. I can’t get a read on it aside from the fact that it is deep enough that the pressure would kill a human.”

“Great,” Seth said, running a hand through his hair. They approached the War Room, and Seth sat down with Agad across from him. Grandma and Grandpa were already there, and rushed to greet Agad. They updated him on Tess running around the preserve with the Cloak of innocence. Agad gave them the same information about Kendra.

“Any other leads?” Seth asked when everyone was caught up.

“Not quite,” Agad said, “I was unable to gain contact with the Fairy Queen, so we are waiting to see if her connection to Kendra remains strong. No further leads on Bracken either. The only good news I have is that Warren and Vanessa managed to help the caretaker regain a foothold of the Crescent Lagoon sanctuary.”

“I have Bracken’s horn,” Seth said, blinking. He was glad that his friends had some success, but they were okay, Bracken was not. He pulled it out of his emergency kit, “Kendra gave it to me before she lost her memory, along with the medallion and a bunch of information she was keeping to herself.”

“Bracken did say that he had re-established full connection with his horn,” Agad said, “May I see it?”

Seth nodded and offered it to the wizard. Everyone was silent as Agad’s brow pinched in concentration.

“The connection is weak, it feels as though he is under water. No, underground and under water,” Agad said, snowy eyebrows rising, “I would not have been able to tell had I not recently examined the barrel, but working around the water, earth and darkness, I can sense that he is not currently in pain. He seems…bored. He can’t sense me on this side of the connection. But…I would venture to say, he’s at approximately the same depth as the barrel. Within a couple hundred feet of each other.”

“Good,” Grandma said, “Ronodin is handling everything from a master base. There is a good chance Kendra is near them as well. Can you tell Bracken anything about Kendra being near him?”

Agad concentrated, then shook his head, letting out a shaky breath and lowering the horn. “At most, I might be able to push his subconscious thoughts in a certain direction. But I’m positive thoughts about Kendra already haunt him. His last prison ended with her after all.”

Uggh, of all the times to be a lovesick dummy. “Ronodin wants the horn,” Seth said, “That’s what Kendra told me, and I think he tried to get her to give it to him at the Dragon feast.”

“I shudder to think of why he wants it,” Agad said, then offered it back to Seth. “If he wants it badly enough, he’ll find whoever has it. He will likely be more willing to deal with you, knowing how much you want Kendra back. He will also suspect that you have it if Kendra does not. If he contacts you, use your judgement, rely on your grandparents and allies, contact me, and do not endanger the world.”

Seth took it and nodded, placing it back in his adventure kit, silently thanking Agad for placing the lead back in his hands. He would have thanked him out loud, but didn’t want Agad to rethink the choice.

There was a knock on the door, and Knox opened it, letting Tess fall through. “Seth! Seth! I saw the nice dragon! It was so huge!”

Nice dragon? Oh, she left with Eve and they went to see Dromadus. That’s okay then.

“Tess made it back,” Knox said, following her. Patton Burgess’s stingbulb shut the door behind them.

“We took turns flying the winged mounts and walking along the road, over all a very short trip,” Patton said, taking a seat next to Seth. “We heard about Kendra losing her memory. I’m so sorry.”

Patton offered his arms for a hug, and Seth took it, squeezing tightly.

Patton smiled and patted Seth on the back, returning the hug. “Don’t get too attached, I only have a day left.”

Seth released him, “I know,” Seth said, “But I’m glad you’re here while you are. Kendra was kidnapped by Ronodin and the Sphinx working together, and we’ll take any help you can give.”

“Hey, I deserve a hug too,” Doren protested, and both he and Newel tackled Seth in hug, ruffling his hair, before settling back like nothing had happened.

They went through yet another round of catch-up, as Tess squeezed herself in between Knox and Seth, fairly bouncing while waiting to tell her story.

“Tess, this is serious,” Knox scolded, “Kendra’s in a lot of trouble.”

“I know,” Tess said, holding still, “But the fairies at Fablehaven told me all about Bracken and Kendra. Bracken is like, this super cool fairy prince who likes Kendra and totally saves her all the time. And Kendra has a bunch of wicked cool powers from the Fairy Queen, they’re going to be okay until you and Seth rescue them, if they don’t rescue themselves.”

Not how Seth would describe them, Kendra spent a lot more time saving Bracken than the other way around, far as he knew. He was surprised that the Fablehaven fairies were that nice about Kendra though. He wasn’t the only one.

“The fairies said that?” Grandpa asked.

“Well, they said Bracken pitied her, not that he liked her,” Tess admitted, “but that’s what girls always say when the cool boy likes someone else. And they said that the Fairy Queen gives Kendra powers to do stuff for her, and the Fairy Queen is the most powerful person ever. So everything is going to be okay. Really, we need to worry about us.”

Attention snapped to Tess like a guitar string.

“The Dragons are planning to attack us. Tonight! Dromadus doesn’t know how, but he heard them acting like they already won,” Tess explained. “I was supposed to tell Seth. Oh! And don’t tell anyone who told us about the dragons, that’s a secret.”

“Tess,” Knox said slowly, “That’s the kind of thing you say right away.”

“But it’s rude to interrupt people,” she said, confused.

Seth stood up, and he saw Grandpa raise his eyebrows in surprise. Why was he surprised? This was Seth’s job, after all, for a little while longer anyway.

“Okay Agad, welcome to the next round,” Seth said, “Did you check the magical defenses? How are they holding?”

Agad shared an amused look with Grandpa, who just nodded. “I did. The protections seem more secure than ever, even more than when I was caretaker here.”

“The Dragons are certain of victory, but will be unable to mount a frontal assault,” Grandma mused.

“Is Celebrant being hasty?” Patton asked, “From what I understand, dragons with losing streaks don’t stay king for long.”

“Perhaps Dromadus is toying with us,” Marat offered, “His help is rather unexpected.”

“I don’t think Dromadus would do that,” Seth said, “When Kendra and I met him, he seemed kind of like the Fair Folk. Didn’t want the sanctuary to fall, but not gonna do anything about it. And if he isn’t right, and the dragons don’t attack, there’s nothing to gain. If he lied, we wont trust him in the future.”

Marat tilted his head, acknowledging Seth’s statement.

“Anything is possible,” Agad said, “It could be that Dromadus is working with Celebrant, and they are hoping to find a weakness as we scramble to cover ourselves.”

“We have to treat it like a real threat,” Seth decided. “Whatever we show, it can’t be worse than them coming after us when we are unprepared. Possible weaknesses?”

“We should go over our magical defenses one more time,” Marat suggested, “Review the treaty and see if there is anything we missed. It is possible we have a traitor in our midst that will grant them access.”

Unfortunate, but true. He hoped they had been careful enough, though he hadn’t been around much to make a good guess himself.

“What about the barrel?” Knox asked. “We know where that is now, right? Could that be the weakness?”

Agad frowned, “It feels out of character for Celebrant to brag of a victory achieved by allies on the other side of the barrel, but we should not discount it. It is currently the greatest hole in our defense.”

Something about what Knox said bothered Seth. They know where it is now. They weren’t dealing with the Sphinx, but they kind of were. What had the Sphinx done in the past while they thought they were safe? And what was it about Knox’s statement that bothered him?

There wasn’t the textbook method: create a problem, send a friend to help, friend is a traitor. This was a different tactic. The Sphinx liked to stay one step ahead, control the board from both sides, and make threats to force you into action when you’d really just like to sit on your winning streak. Seth thought about the stories he had shared with Knox. Sometimes he planted a traitor, and sometimes the Sphinx sent invisible assassins after you because he already knew where you were going to be. Sometimes he let demon dragons out of their prisons when you weren’t looking.

“Guys,” Seth said, a sick feeling in his stomach, “Hey,” he stopped Marat and Agad in the middle of their discussion about magical defenses. “Bad thought. Someone was controlling Mendigo way before when the barrel was first stolen, right? Probably Ronodin, since he’s been hanging around the preserve and making deals with the Dragons. We thought the person left with the barrel, but it was in the basement the whole time.”

He waited for someone to deny what he was hinting at.

“Ah,” Grandpa Sorenson said, “I see. Between the time the barrel was lost and found, both sides of the barrel were out of our control, and Mendigo was available on our side to assist a sleeper agent.”

Grandma, Tanu, and Agad all looked like they were about to throw up.

“What are you saying?” Knox asked.

“Seth is suggesting the possibility that someone is already here, but remaining hidden,” Marat clarified, “An insightful observation and deduction.”

“Celebrant could claim credit for successfully distracting us,” Agad admitted, “Not as good as a frontal assault, but enough for him to claim the win. Especially if he can claim the kill. If the enemy is hiding near the Blackwell, it would be nearly impossible to sense them around the aura of the undead.”

“The question is,” Grandma said, “whether the source of the threat is already here, or will it come through the barrel yet. I am loathe to give up our only connection to Kendra.”

“Any way we can make sure we aren’t being listened to, Agad?” Grandpa asked.

“Not that I can create without knowing our spy and what he is using,” Agad said, shaking his head. “We will have to plan even though we may be spied upon.”

“There can’t be a bunch of them,” Seth decided, “I can see through most hiding spells, and I haven’t seen anyone. I can’t get around distractor spells, that was Kendra’s half…” he looked down at Tess, fairy struck, who was sitting still and paying attention like a good girl. Plans were starting to come together “Let’s not talk about everything here. I want everyone to split into groups. Agad, Marat, where’s the best place to examine the magical defenses?”

They shared a look, “The tower where the Roost used to be,” Agad said at last. “The protections still form a small dent there, where a dragon may come closer than other area.”

“Okay, head to Seth Tower, I’ll meet up with you after.” Seth said. It was energizing, being heard and listened to. And to actually be doing something! The brothers nodded.

“Tanu,” Seth said, “I want your potions ready by dinner, whatever happens, you’re going to need to be stocked and ready to go.” Several people caught his emphasis, but didn’t say anything, just like he wanted. Well Tess asked, but Knox shushed her.

“I would appreciate an assistant,” Tanu said.

“I’ll help,” Patton said, standing up, “Unless you have a job for me elsewhere.”

Seth shook his head, “Helping Tanu is perfect.”

He turned to Grandma and Grandpa, “I need you guys to work with the staff. Let them know we’ve been warned of a threat, organize extra lookouts and patrols, organize a watch over the barrel, that kind of stuff. We don’t know what direction the threat coming from, so we cover as many directions as possible.”

Now it was time for Grandma to look amused, and Grandpa to look proud.

“Understood Seth,” she said. “We will retreat to the Winter Study to plan. Henrick will be back soon, and his help will be invaluable with this. We should wait to inform the staff until after he joins us.”

“Great idea, go for it. Er, where’s the Winter Study?” Seth asked, trying to remember from their tour.

“Directly below Kendra’s bedroom,” Agad said. “On the first floor.”

Seth nodded, he’d knock on doors until he found the right one.

Seth turned to his remaining players, “And finally: Doren, Newel, Tess, and Knox. I have a very special job for you. Wait outside the door while I make sure of something with Agad.”

“That’s our cue to leave,” Grandma said, patting a hand on her husband’s leg.

“The abundance of caution while in command suits you,” Grandpa said, standing up. He put his hand on Seth’s shoulder as he passed, “I’m proud of how you’re handling this situation.”

Considering a little over a week ago, he’d gotten a stern lecture about endangering his cousin and the consequences to trying to trick magic, this was quite the change. Grandpa smiled, and walked past him. There was a small lump in his throat. This feeling was why Kendra always did her best to make people proud of her. It was rarely sent his way.

Tanu and Patton also left, then the satyrs and his cousins went just outside the door.

Seth walked close to Agad and lowered his voice, “Tess is Fairy struck, can she see through distractor spells?”

Agad nodded.

Seth smiled and nodded as well. He whispered. “Can you bring the treaty document to the tower?”

Agad shook his head, “It is locked in a box in the Winter Study. The medallion opens the box. I recommend against moving it.”

Seth looked at Marat.

“I agree, with my brother. We have the contents memorized, we should only consult them upon need.”

Seth nodded, then stepped back.

“See you at Seth Tower soon.”

The two of them left, and Seth took a moment to fling himself on the couch and groan. The energy had left when everyone else did. Leading was such hard work! For the millionth time, he wished Kendra had let him turn the key. Sure he’d be kidnapped and being trained into an evil Shadow Charmer right now, but Kendra was so much smarter than him, she would have figured out about the intruder way before.

Probably because she had better judgement than him and didn’t usually trust terrible people right off the bat. And like she said, people usually had enough confidence in her to just trust her with important stuff.

The door creaked open, “Uh, Seth, did you have a job for us?” Newel asked.

Seth got up and went to the door. Remembering from his first day, he used the medallion to unlock a desk drawer in the corner, and pulled out a key ring, slipping it into his adventure pouch.

“Yeah, follow me, I don’t know how much of the keep Tess and Knox got to see,” Seth said, “And it’s a good time to get an updated map of it, in case we come under siege. It’s possible the Dragons are just going to stare us down until we run out of food. Any of you got any talent at drawing maps?”

There was a pause as Seth led on.

“I’ve dealt with a fair amount of treasure maps in my day,” Doren admitted, “And I’m not a shabby hand with a pen. I can draw.”

“Awesome,” Seth said, “Start with the storerooms in the basement storerooms, where the barrel was before, then the dungeons, then the ground floor. If you can get through those floors by lunch, that’d be great, but make sure to do them all. I want you three to go with him, and look for anything that seems suspicious. Look through the dungeons, but if any of you touch the Blackwell, or the chain next to the Blackwell, I’m throwing all of you inside it,” Seth said.

Seth had led them into the library and started pulling out loose sheets of paper, “Doesn’t matter how small. If it seems out of place, make a note of it.”

“Are you sure this is the best use of our time Seth?” Newel asked dubiously.

Seth grinned, “It’s a very good use of your time.”

Seth started writing on various blank papers, while they all watched him. He turned to his younger cousin when he was finished.

“Right. Tess? I want you looking for pictures and weird things on the walls.”

On this sheet of paper, Seth had written:

Every single time you see a person or creature, point at them, say something nice about them, and ask if you can talk to them. Knox will either say that you’re busy, or that the person isn’t there. Nod and keep walking every single time. Don’t let anyone know what’s written here, keep it a secret. Put a clean sheet on top of this one.

“Here’s a list of the things you should look for. This is an old castle, there might be secret passages that we need to find out about before someone sneaks in,” Seth said, handing her the paper. She immediately started reading.

“Knox, you’re looking up higher, pay attention to cold or warm drafts and the items in the rooms, make note of which ones have weapons, look for places where the intruder could be staying,” Seth said, handing him a piece of paper that read:

Tess is going to ask to speak to everyone she sees. She has magic eyes like Kendra. If you see who she’s pointing to, tell her that you’re too busy to bother them. If you don’t see who she is pointing to, tell her that there’s no one there and you don’t have time for games. Make notes, but don’t engage.

He turned to Newel, “Your job is to make sure no one runs into walls while writing stuff down, and make sure to explore everything. Bring the cool stuff back to me, so that our item troll doesn’t try to keep it for the shelves.” Seth said, spouting nonsense. “Write down where you find it though, in case Agad says we need to return it or unleash another apocalypse.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Newel nodded with a salute. Seth handed him a paper that read:

If someone was listening to our meeting, they are going to be following you. Watch for them. Tess and Knox are going to be acting weird, just ignore them. You’re on protector duty.

And Seth handed fully blank sheets to Doren, “And, of course, you’re on the map. Here’s paper, pens, clipboard, and scotch tape. Everyone know their job?”

The four of them looked excited as they nodded. “Good,” Seth said, “Meet back in the War Room after lunch.”

Doren and Newel slung another salute. Tess tried to copy them and slapped herself in the face. Knox just rolled his eyes.

They left, and Seth debated between going to check up on Grandma and Grandpa, or heading straight to Seth Tower.

His grandparents couldn’t set anything in stone without Hendrick, so he’d head to the Tower. He’d be able to see Henrick coming back, and take him to Grandma and Grandpa when the Alcetaur arrived.

Up at the tower room, Marat and Agad were waiting for him.

“So, magic defenses in place?” Seth asked.

Agad nodded, “Perfect, just like I said twenty minutes ago. Mind explaining more of your plan?”

“Sure,” Seth said, “Grandma and Grandpa are doing exactly what I said they were. Running the past week from Blackwell made them the best people for that, until Hendrick gets back to help. Tanu is also doing exactly what I told him too.

“I sent Tess, Knox, and the satyrs looking for people hiding themselves with distractor spells, but they look like they’re creating a fresh map of the lower floors. Tess is pointing out everyone she sees to Knox, Knox is telling her that they’re too busy to talk to anyone and taking note of the people that Tess sees that he doesn’t. Because they’re the group doing the most suspicious work, I’m hoping any spies here are following them, letting the rest of us get things done. Newel is on the look out for someone following them, and thinks that’s what he thinks they’re doing. Doren is actually creating a map.”

Seth was rather proud of that plan, and feeling pretty ingenious for coming up with it in only ten minutes.

“Once again, not bad,” Agad said.

Seth gave a dry smile, “I learned from the best teacher. The Sphinx betraying me and my friends over and over. After this, I’m going to do my own sweep, trying to see through the shadows while shadow walking.”

“Might I recommend also holding your unsheathed sword at the same time?” Marat said. “That is the sword of Tregain, yes?”

Seth glanced down, “Oh that’s right! This sword helps make people look away from me, especially bigger creatures. I’ll definitely do that.”

“A very pro-active plan,” Agad said, “I will admit to not even considering the idea of someone hiding in the Blackwell. The barrel messes with the traditional rule of only allowing visitors a single night of stay, as that magic is activated upon crossing the boundary.”

“I do not believe that is all to our caretaker’s plan,” Marat said, amused, “I believe he feels he will do more for our mission elsewhere, and intends to return the mantle of caretaker to me.”

Agad gaped, then turned, “Is this true, Seth?”

Seth nodded, “Celebrant is no longer co-caretaker. The issue we came here to solve, the weakening barrier, is fixed. There’s no problem with Marat being caretaker, according to Dromadus, so long as he stays in human form. I’d be a lot more useful helping track down Kendra and Bracken.”

“Before you go any farther,” Agad said, holding up a hand, “There are things I wish to disclose to the caretaker of a dragon sanctuary. The remaining lines of defense after the sanctuaries fall. We can continue to discuss your possible resignation afterwards.”

Seth hopped onto a wide window ledge, “Okay, hit me. What else we got before the next apocalypse?”

“These secrets should not be repeated,” Agad warned, “Except to your most trusted ally at the time of greatest need.”

Seth glanced at Marat, who nodded, “I am already aware of the provisions my brother speaks of. Do not worry.”

“The first is why Dragons from fallen sanctuaries have yet to invade the mortal world,” Agad explained, “There is a magic item, perhaps the most magic item in existence —”

“More then the Wizenstone?” Seth asked, eyebrows raised. He was starting to suspect that there wasn’t an actual standard for how ‘magic’ an item is.

Agad paused, and Marat chuckled. Agad continued, “No, I suppose, not greater than the Wizenstone. Possibly it’s equal. I would not like to test either object against the other. The skull of the first dragon that ever lived, Abraxtus, is more heavily ensorcelled, than any other object I have ever come in contact with. It is called The Sovereign Skull. It takes all the disbelief in magic that all mortals generate, and creates a repulsive barrier against dragons. This is our absolute last line of defense, and must be protected at all costs. Only a few wizards know the location, and that information will never be divulged for its own protection.”

Seth nodded, “Can I have the name of a wizard that does know? Just in case.”

Agad looked him straight in the eye. “No.”

Seth nodded, “That’s fair. Sounds like we’re hoping it doesn’t get that far.” As though they had ever had any luck in that department.

“Another line of defense: the Dragon Slayers,” Agad said.

Seth grinned, “The Somber Knight was so cool. A bit of a downer, but a real life-saver. He’s still a bit…messy, after rescuing Kendra from being dinner. You’re talking about the ones at the other six sanctuaries, right?”

Agad nodded, “In addition to the other six at sanctuaries, there are five others that have been living in the world, waiting to be called upon again. It will take a while to wake them up, but Celebrant declaring war was the key.”

Seth nodded, “You did the same thing with the dragon preserves that you did with the demon prisons. How are these guys at handling immortality? We sure they didn’t try to off themselves?”

Agad said, “They all already had experiences with extended lifespans, so hopefully we are rousing them from a pleasurable retirement. And then there is a line of defense you are slightly more familiar with: the three treasures in the secret dragon temples.”

“Right, gauntlets that control dragons. Every dragon in a hundred miles comes by to kill you if you look at them funny,” Seth recited, remembering Thronis’s warning.

Agad nodded, “There are two other items, and two other sacred temples guarding these items at dragon sanctuaries. The harp that can send any dragon to sleep, and the shield that can defend against any dragon’s attack. These items were necessary to winning the war against the dragons the first time, and now that we’re facing war again, we need them back.”

Seth tilted his head, “Did they already get new guardians for the temple here at Wyrmroost? Cause we killed them, and its not like those were your ordinary, everyday dragons, and no one besides Gavin and Thronis knew we went there for the obsidian waste key.”

“It would be foolish to assume they aren’t guarded,” Agad said, considering carefully, “Though it is also strange that Celebrant has never ranted against your party for that affront. The answer is that I do not know.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone thought about the predicament.

“Well,” Seth said, “How buried is the translocator? Me and Kendra have been in the temple treasure room, we, er, I, for the moment, could grab the gloves and come back in a snap.”

Marat spoke up, “Bringing the translocator back into play at this time would be a dangerous move. That item is really too powerful. Dragons in human form could use it to escape the sanctuaries without a fight.”

Agad nodded, “All the artifacts are currently inaccessible. We used the Chronometer to hide the translocator, the sands of sanctity, and the occulous six more years in the future, waiting for us to finish designing the vaults. The Font needed to remain in the present, to support our first immortal, but that is the only artifact accessible. At least, until the Sphinx made off with it during his escape. Good thinking, but unfortunately untenable.”

A horn sounded from the parapet over the gate.

“That means a dragon is coming, right?” Seth asked, turning around in the window. “Raxtus maybe?”

“It means official visitors,” Marat clarified, “It certainly has been seeing its use this week. It also announced the arrival of the carriage from Stormguard.”

“Got it,” Seth said, standing up, “Anything else you need to tell the current caretaker of wyrmroost about the grand scheme of defenses?”

“No, those are our three lines: talismans, dragon slayers, and The Sovereign Skull,” Agad counted.

“Okay, I’ll keep those in mind, and never tell anyone, unless I absolutely have to,” Seth said, drawing a cross over his heart for good measure. “My plan is simple. Celebrant is a great big ego, right? He hates Kendra for insulting him, and it’s embarrassing that he keeps losing to a couple of kids. He’s getting help, he’s getting desperate, no matter what his plan is, right?”

Agad nodded.

“So, I’m going to offer him one last insult as caretaker,” Seth said with a grin, “His little rebellion isn’t even worth my time. After we deal with our guests at the gate, I’m going to do my sweep of everywhere while walking through shadows. Then I’m going to give being caretaker over to Marat, and we’re going to leave, with the barrel. That’s Blackwell’s biggest weakness, and it doesn’t need to be here for us to use it. I’ll leave Marat with a parting note to read to Celebrant, letting him know that we have better things to do.”

Agad started chuckling, moving his hand to cover his mouth when it didn’t stop.

“Boom,” Seth said with relish, “Biggest weakness removed, whoever is in the castle has to figure out how to kill Marat, who’s going to be a lot harder to kill than me, I get to go after Kendra, and we throw one last insult over our shoulder.”

Agad continued to laugh, but the most Marat gave was an amused look.

“And how exactly do you intend to leave?” Marat asked, “The walkway between the typical entrance and the Keep will not be guarded for this trip.”

“We have some pretty cool rides,” Seth said, “Not sure you saw them when Patton came in, but Kendra met up with a fairy godmother and boom, the luvians we were riding all have wings. We’ll need to make it so they can leave the sanctuary with us, but if they can make it through the sky on a festival night, they can probably get us past the barrier. We’ll have to ask them of course, but I think we’ll be in pretty good shape. They strike me as adventurous.”

“I would like to make one suggestion,” Agad said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Leave in peace, no one attacks at all, and leave before night falls. I’m sure they intend to strike in the dark. You leave two hours before sunset, and Celebrant likely wont have time to demand to know what you’re doing. Use Tess’s cloak of innocence to see you safely past the barrier.”

“Oh, that is wicked,” Marat chuckled. “But we have dawdled enough. The horn summons the caretaker to official business.”

Seth took one last look out the window and down the road, and paused. He pulled out his eyeglass from his adventure pouch. “Is that…Henrick leading a bunch dryads?”

#Forgotten Light #Fablehaven #Dragon watch #Seth Sorenson #Longer chapter #Look at my little boy #All grown up and leading people

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themadauthorshatter · 4 years

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Never!Tedros Headcanons Part 3!

There will be more Tagatha and Tophie in this one, though more Tagatha than Tophie because come on

So, like I said before, Tedros got suspicious of his supposed true love has more evils following her than before, which leads to him wanting to train away from her for a little bit.

He promised to be her prince, and a solid MAYBE on the ball; he's had bad experiences with ballroom get togethers. She accepted the maybe as a yes anyway.

He gets so damn annoyed when she starts failing the pre-Trial challenges.

When he asks why she keeps failing, another lie is born at Sophie's side when she says that she did learn everything and will get better.

She lies more and creates more evils, which really starts rubbing Tedros the wrong way because they start aggressively rubbing against his legs and arms and are slightly louder than Sophie because they purr and sort of talk-meow to him.

When she panics when Hester threatens her and Tedros, but Tedros is more concerned about the evils.

He follows Agatha more, despite Sophie's warning that she's still a little sick, and even asks if he can hold her, because he's about to snap.

She asks if he's okay and why he's so scared. He doesn't answer.

Sophie tries to get a kiss out of him before the Trial like before, but he asks her if she really loves him. Sophie's obviously confused, but Tedros asks again if Sophie is telling the truth about loving him, that if she's honest with him, he'll finally explain why he goes to both schools. She says yes and goes in for a kiss. Even with Agatha as a cockroach on her shoulder, Tedros backs away when a new evil is born. She tries to get him to come back, but he tells her that they'll talk again just before the Trial.

Agatha goes to class to turn in her work to see Tedros being, verbally, calmed by Dovey. Just as she nears Dovey's desk, Tedros quickly walks out if the room.

"What was that about?"

"Just some stress before the Trial. I've never seen the poor boy so flustered."

"If he's that scared, why can't you take him out so he doesn't have to compete?"

"He made his friends a promise, Agatha. And I offered to, but he told me he needed to be in the woods tonight, no matter what."

"But what if he gets hurt? Didn't you see him? He CAN'T compete in the Trial!"

Cue Dovey looked at Agatha with serious "Hold up" eyes. "He... He really didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Well... He spoke so fondly of you, I thought he'd told you."

Agatha admits she had no clue what Dovey's talking about, and Dovey excuses her.

Before the Trial, Tedros is a trembling mess and almost misses when Sophie talks to him. He begs her to stay with him during the Trial, to promise she'll be waiting for him when he goes in the woods. She does very hastily because she's immediately pulled into the forest.

When it's his turn, before Hester, he charges in and attacks anything and anyone that moves in the woods, Evers, Nevers, and woodland creatures alike, consequences be damned.

Even when Chaddick tries to calm him down, Tedros sees Anadil's, Ravan's, and Vex's evils, and yells for Chaddick to get away from him and runs to look for Sophie.

When Tedros and Hester clash, he's lost his sword and instead fights with a branch, which he uses to beat the demon and Hester to Hell and high water. THIS IS AN UGLY FIGHT, BTW, AND HE ONLY GETS THE UPPER HAND WHEN SHE GETS CARELESS. He collapses from the exhaustion and despair sorrow that he lost control of himself and is too busy having a mental and emotional meltdown about it to see a weak demon arm go in for a stab.

Agatha knocks it away and saves him before comforting him, even though he tells her she shouldn't be in the woods or near him because he could hurt her.

He sees hot pink evils(the evils to him have the same color as people's fingerglows) and un-disguises Sophie.

He yells at her for lying and breaking her promise, especially after he trusted her, which he kicks himself for because he admits he knew he shouldn't have because what everyone said was true, that she was a witch and a liar, and, as the two final blows, with his hands grasping his hair and his body curling inward as he struggles to stand, he screams that he was right, that the School Master didn't make a miatake, that Agatha and Sophie are in the right schools, and that Sophie belongs in both the School for Evil's Doom Room and, more extremely, the bottomless pit of Hell, just like he does, because he knows she killed the Beast.

After this he passes out and the two girls stare at each other before Agatha leaves, just as the students see what's happened, Tristan keeping Tedros calm with hair ruffles as the prince hyperventilates on the grass.

He's not really allowed to attend the School for Evil for a little while, just in case he snaps again.

He's back to silence and staring, but he now has to write on a notepad provided by Chaddick and Tristan.

They are the only ones he WANTS to see. Neither know his talent.

Beatrix tries to pay a visit, but decides it's best to leave him be after she slipped him a note and then heard him screaming.

Agatha just doesn't ask to visit him because everything he said still has her shaken and stirred.

Chaddick and Tristan deliver him his homework, until he asks for Agatha to do it, so they can catch up on their work.

Lie. He just wants to see her.

She visits anyway, and asks if everything he said was true. He nods.

She then tells him Dovey brought up how close she thought they were, considering how he 'slept' in her room for a couple nights and was found asleep outside her door after sleepwalking, and asks why he goes to both schools, even though he's supppsed to be a Never. Tedros writes that he can SEE the evil in others, describing them as monsters that follow people and coax them into doing worse evils. He didn't see any surrounding Agatha during orientation, though does note the small evils she has are lies she told in oreder to help Sophie, which explains why they're so small compared to Sophie, who has larger evils like pride and murder; Agatha's evils are the size of medium sized rats while Sophie's are about the size of tigers or bears. He even explains that he's snapped before and it led to him killing a maid.

The whole "going to both schools" is an accommodation made for him for that reason; Evers just don't have that much evil in them, none that's really noticeable for him.

Agatha realizes that his talent is the reason for his silence and staring, and why he follows her and other Evers around.

Tedros tries to hold her hand, but falters and instead holds his knees to his chest, saying without looking at her, "Sorry I can't get you two home, wherever it is. If you do find a way, though, just go and take that witch with you. Nobody wants either of you now. I can make do with my mates."

Agatha only hugs him and tells him that she's not going anywhere because she knows HE DOES want her around; it's either she stays or he's stuck following Evergirls to cool his head.

Tedros laughs bitterly that he's in the right school, considering he's not much of a prince or doing much to help either of the girls. Agatha just tells him, "Shut up, you creep." Only it's said in a really sweet way.

He gets a real Ever uniform, but still wears his black coat and pants because, again, who's stopping him?

The Nevers call him a traitor, but he unsheathes his sword and scares them away.

Hopes that Hort, Ravan, and Vex are okay.

It ABSOLUTELY has to do with the snake he originally put in Sophie's bed that moved to Hester's.

It may also have to do with the uniforms and dead birds he stapled to ceiling of his room in Evil.

It's not that he hates his roommates and fellow Nevers in general, he just targets people who get on his back and won't get off.

Dot has never been one of these people. After putting cockroaches in Hester's, Anadil's, and Sophie's uniforms, he left Dot a few books, one detailing the history of Nottingham, one with really good chocolate recipes, and one titled, 'Cruelty and Kindness: How To Be Evil Without Being Evil.' He also left a note reading, 'Sorry for the noise. I couldn't help myself!😈' and a bar of chocolate that had candy embedded in it, aome being peanut butter, and a jelly center.

Has pranked Chaddick and Tristan by not walking behind them when they think he's following them and by simply smiling as he walks in between them. He doesn't do anything, he just smiles amd they think he's about to do something; it's the thought that counts.

He's thought about pranking Agatha, but instead let her witness his greatest prank yet:

He took all the Evers' and Nevers' shoes and tied them or placed them in high up places, even his own and Agatha's so no one could get blamed for it. Well, everyone's shoes except Sophie's. He spent an hour laughing his ass off in the boy's Groom Room when he remembered the glares students from both schools gave Sophie; he just put Dot's under her bed next to her snack stash.

He can be an asshole when he wants to be.

Chaddick tried getting him back with a bucket of water held up by a cracked open door, but Tedros stared at him all day, trying to figure out why Chaddick kept making sure he was infront of him.

Hates Beatrix's pet rabbit. He literally got caught glaring by Chaddick and admitted the wanted to boil the damn thing.

His animal companion/henchman was a mountain lion

"The son of a lion was a true lone wolf, one a heart that never forgave and a mind that never forgot. Good in his looks and kindness through distance, but Evil in his eyes and silence, in the footsteps that no one seened to hear, even when he was close enough to strike like death in the night."

#school for good and evil #school for good and evil tedros #sge tedros #sge agatha #sge sophie #mind break tw #harsh words tw #tagatha #tedros of camelot #agatha of woods beyond #sophie of woods beyond

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plumoh · 3 years

Text

[NatsuYuu] along the seams of shadows

Rating: G

Word count: 2079

Summary: Natsume Reiko is a pitiful and lonely human.

Note: AO3 link. A look at Reiko through Madara’s eyes.

Madara’s ears twitch when the tree branch starts creaking and the leaves fall down in a whirlwind of irritating pests. He’s two seconds away from threatening whoever is disturbing his nap when laughter reaches him—a plain, boisterous laughter that leans towards mockery instead of pure joy.

“You really are just a cat, Madara!” the voice says, as close to his face as ever. “Napping on a nice patch of grass, under the sunlight?”

Madara cracks one eye open. The sun is still high in the sky and the breeze that ruffles his fur is a pleasant addition, accompanying his solitary nap far away from noisy and ridiculous small fry. But he can never escape the unpredictability of an annoying, weak human.

“If you say another word you will become my afternoon snack,” Madara warns.

The laughter becomes louder, and in the sunlight that makes shadows bigger, pale hair shines brightly while unnatural eyes glimmer with an even more vivid color.

“I’d like to see you try, you big lump of fluff.”

Natsume Reiko smells like mischief, power and loneliness.

***

This forest isn’t big enough to swallow all the rumors that float around. There is no god protecting it and spreading rules to abide by, which means that everyone is free to do as they like, much to Madara’s displeasure. He’s a magnificent beast with strength that rivals that of a god, capable of destroying entire areas of nature and banishing youkais, but people here treat him like he’s the latest entertainment, to be jeered at by everyone and nobody.

He is not a simple creature that lazes around, and he definitely is not a human child’s pet.

“You should have eaten her long ago if you’re so irritated by these rumors,” Hinoe tells him, looking far too too smug for someone who is, without a doubt, clinging the most to that girl.

“It requires too much effort,” Madara growls, flicking his tail impatiently. “Reiko probably doesn’t taste good anyway. I don’t like my prey jumping and running around, it’s exhausting to look at.”

“You are the most boring beast I know.”

Madara rolls his eyes, turning his head away. “That’s a bold accusation when Misuzu is right here.”

“Misuzu is funny, at least. You, on the other hand, are boring.”

Hinoe draws from her pipe and exhales noisily, chuckling when some of the smoke gets into Madara’s eyes. Madara groans and rises on his paws, lifting a cloud of dust and dirt along with him, and a few little plant youkais scamper off deeper into the forest with squeaks. Madara watches them flee for their lives, feeling vindicated.

“I am a respected and intimidating beast, that’s what I am,” he huffs.

“Yeah, a beast that still refuses to play a game with me because he’s scared.”

Hinoe bursts out laughing while Madara tries his hardest not to simply snap and leave. Reiko jumps down from a tree (why is she always climbing trees?) and lands onto Madara’s back, her lips curled into a grin that could have been fueled by the sun’s spite, bold but burning.

Sometimes, Madara finds himself unable to make sense out of this girl appearing and disappearing from his life like a tornado.

“I told you I don’t have time to waste on your ridiculous games,” Madara says.

Reiko tilts her head, never ceasing to be the arrogant and confident person she poses as whenever she makes her words sharp and cutting.

“Hinoe is right, you are boring,” she snickers.

Madara’s tail hits the ground in annoyance, and he shows the barest hint of his teeth.

“Don’t you have human things to do, instead of bothering me during my peaceful rest?”

Reiko shrugs, sliding off Madara. She smooths over her skirt and passes a hand through her hair, as if they’ve never seen her in a dishevelled state or covered in mud after an encounter with rambunctious youkais. She stays silent, her smile frozen, but her eyes are blazing with a quiet, raging fire that sends chills down Madara’s spine. She’s only a young girl, inexperienced and foolish, running around and upsetting the natural order of things in this forest—but behind all this brashness, Madara senses something deeply unsettling.

“Human things aren’t as interesting as coming here and hearing you grouch like an old man,” Reiko answers. “Hinoe, you said you wanted to show me a new curse.”

Madara ignores the way Hinoe coos at Reiko like she is the most precious creature she’s ever seen, and observes. Reiko is someone they shouldn’t mess with, that is for certain; Madara doesn’t quite know yet why he cannot shake off the feeling she’s wrapping them around her finger.

***

Madara being Reiko’s pet becomes more of a joke than a real fact believed by everyone, and ultimately it doesn’t change anything in the way Madara’s strength is perceived. The others make fun of him for letting her live in spite of the influence she has on his image as the greatest beast of the forest, but for the time being he’s one of the very few who didn’t get his name down in the stupid book, so there.

There has been some turmoil and unrest in the neighborhood, lately. A vicious youkai destroying everything standing in its way, threatening small fry for information and leaving behind trails of blood that scare the weakest of them. Madara doesn’t feel particularly concerned about this kind of rampage, which happens a lot more often than people would believe. It’s best to let it pass and not get involved in this youkai’s affairs.

That is what he would have done, were he alone. In times like these, Madara remembers why he chose to live in solitude and not surrounded by other beings who have the survival instincts of insignificant bugs.

“The destroyed trees fall down and block some roads in the forest,” Reiko grumbles, tapping her foot. “People can’t circulate anymore, and cleaning that mess up will take many weeks.”

Madara sighs, glancing at the area of destruction. The claw marks on the trunks indicate that whoever they’re going to go up against might rival Madara in size, while the pace at which the forest is being attacked tells them it’s also nimble on its feet. Not an ideal situation, then.

“Why do you care about that?” Madara asks, turning back his head to look at her. “You don’t like the people of this town, and they don’t wander in the forest as frequently as you do.”

Sometimes, imperceptibly, Madara catches a flicker of pain in Reiko’s eyes at the mere mention of her own desires. It’s not a physical pain, nor is it a pain associated with the events she’s currently dealing with—it comes from within, deep from her soul and emerging in her gaze for one second. She hides it well. She carries this pain everywhere she goes, but she hides it well.

Madara never comments on it. He watches her school the features of her face back into ones she’s crafted over the years, all mischieviousness and no nonsense. Reiko grins and acts like the royal princess she has become in this tiny pocket of otherworldly space she is the only one to trespass into.

“I don’t like seeing people do whatever they want, like they’re owning this place,” she declares, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “The smaller youkais have been pestering me to do something about it. And it’s destroying my napping spots, too. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to have your favorite tree cut down either.”

She’s an odd girl and a mystery Madara doesn’t pretend to understand. She’s confidence and contradiction and selfishness all at once, making it impossible to untangle the knots of her emotions—she uses words and rash actions to cover it up, like a nice tapestry concealing the damage done by a kid’s tantrum.

There is kindness in her selfishness, Madara thinks. Reiko obeys no one’s rules, and she makes up her own for her silly games, but her heart isn’t as corrupted as it may seem. And for this lost human shunned by everyone, doing small services unseen by her peers, Madara only feels pity.

He huffs, and takes off to find the troublesome youkai, whose name will end up tied to a piece of paper.

***

“That book of yours is useless if you’re not using its intended purpose.”

“Its intended purpose is to show off and to instill fear in my enemies.”

“You don’t have natural enemies, foolish girl, you’re creating them yourself.”

Reiko tips her head backwards and laughs, a sound carrying over the wind and echoing against the stone walls. She looks at Madara like he’s the one who has said idiotic things.

“It’s preemptive,” she says. “I’ve never felt that powerful before inventing the book.”

“The words that come out of your mouth are incomprehensible to me,” Madara grunts. “Humans are so unnecessarily complicated and confusing.”

“Don’t talk like you know how humans behave. You’ve barely had any contact with them.”

“And this is exactly why I find them annoying.”

Reiko smiles. She has her legs plunged into the cold but clear water of the lake, on this summer day that feels both too hot and too humid. Madara himself is lying down, head pillowed on his front legs and enjoying the slow pace of his day. He warned Reiko that playful and impish youkais would steal her shoes, that she had carelessly thrown in the grass, but she shrugged and didn’t find it particularly upsetting.

How strange, and how perplexing, to encounter someone who doesn’t adhere to any of the world concepts Madara knows. Reiko doesn’t belong to the realm of ordinary humans, and she has no knowledge of the exorcist community; she is an entity dancing on the blurred hinge of these worlds.

“I don’t need to use the power of their names, since I’ll never see them again,” Reiko finally says. “It’s only awkward if I happen to meet one of them and can’t remember who they are.”

“So you admit this book is useless to you,” Madara snorts. “Give it to me, then.”

Reiko scoops up water between her hands, and flicks it at Madara’s eyes. Madara wrinkles his nose and staggers back, glaring at Reiko’s self-satisfied expression.

“You’re a nuisance,” he tells her.

“And you’re not fun,” Reiko replies. “It’s my Book of Friends, so you don’t get to steal it from me. Attaching a name to a face makes it easier to call them friends.”

A pitiful human, truly.

“...They’re not your friends,” Madara says.

Reiko’s shrug feels measured. She gets out of the water, doesn’t bother drying her feet before retrieving her shoes (that are still where she left them) and putting them on. Madara’s eyes follow her movements, choosing to remain where he is.

“Maybe not,” Reiko concedes, her back turned on Madara. “I wouldn’t want to, anyway. But they gave me their names. Names are important, right?”

Natsume Reiko barges into their life without prompting and wrecks havoc on everything they know. She rips away their routine and replaces it with unpredictable events, summoned by her presence alone in these lands. She moves like nothing ties her down anywhere, but she’s restless. The tightness around her shoulders makes her small and fragile, when her entire attitude seems to prove she is none of that.

Madara doesn’t understand her. Her words and her actions are hard to parse, and he’s not sure she understands herself sometimes. She is simply grander than life itself.

“I hope you’ll play a game with me one day, Madara.” Reiko doesn’t fully face him but a small smile pulls up her lips. “You can’t run away from me forever!”

“Hmpf. I’m not interested in these childish games.”

“You’ll change your mind eventually!”

Reiko waves her hand and disappears in the forest, probably heading back to the home of her caretakers. Madara actually doesn’t know if she does live with them—she could have taken up residence in one of the old shrines with how often she visits them, for all he knows.

Madara curls up and closes his eyes. The Book of Friends, she’s called it. Such an innocent name for what is probably the most dangerous weapon against youkais—and it is simply used by a sentimental girl as a personal reassurance she is not alone.

Natsume Reiko already has friends. She just chooses not to see it.

#natsuyuu #natsume yuujinchou #natsume reiko #nyanko sensei #madara #rattles the bars of my cage i want to know what their relationship was like!!#i love the idea of sensei finding reiko interesting but also feeling sad for her #please @ midorikawa i need answers

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

A Cottage by the Sea: Part Three

Hello there, lovely shipmates and readers! I truly never meant to keep you waiting so long for this next installment, but there we are. I went back to school, and then somewhat over-committed myself in other fic events and ideas as well, and time just flew by before I could get this update to you! I hope that you will still enjoy all the same. I’ll stop making excuses and just let you read. This may seem like a bit of a “talky”, slower chapter, but I needed to let Killian learn and work through some things, and to set Emma on her course...

** So many thanks as always to @cssns for the opportunity to participate in such a fun and amazing event, and to @searchingwardrobes for the gorgeous and stunning cover art I simply adore. And a special shout out in this chapter to @winterbythesea for the suggestion of a name for Emma’s horse that sounded just right as soon as I heard it! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half. But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…

Read it from the beginning HERE or on AO3

Part Three

“My mother?” he questioned, voice hesitant and perplexed as he scrambled to stand and face the ethereal being who had stepped gracefully from the pool, and after just a moment appeared miraculously dry with not a hair out of place - as if she had never been underwater at all.

Killian blinked, half expecting her to disappear when his eyes reopened. When the beautiful nymph - for that was what she must be - still stood before him, watching curiously, he shook his head and wondered vaguely if he had hit it after all, either in the wreck or once washed to shore. “My mother died… long ago… when I was a mere babe, according to my father. It cannot be possible for you… that you… I mean…” Gesturing helplessly with awkward hands, Killian finally let his words trail off, beseeching her with a look to understand.

The mysterious lady’s eyes seemed to darken their blue shade with the sadness glistening in their depths. Shaking her head, she stepped closer, practically gliding over the ground between them. “Killian, my dear,” she crooned, her cool, soothing hand caressing his cheek with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. “There is so much you do not know…” she shook her head sadly, beckoning him to follow her to a spot in the shade of the trees around the clearing. “Come, let me explain. It has been kept from you long enough. And…” she swallowed some deep emotion. “I’ve waited so long to talk to you.”

Biting his tongue against more indignant and disbelieving outbursts, Killian found he was greatly comforted by the soft press of her fingers on his own, and followed her dutifully to a large, flat rock at the clearing’s edge and took a seat. He had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue and nearly as many rebuttals to her claim. Yet, he found he also wanted her to stay there - whoever or whatever she might be. He needed to know what she had to say.

When the woman’s large eyes turned to meet his again, she asked, “What do you remember of the time before you came to Misthaven?”

Running a hand back through his damp hair - dark like hers, in almost the same shade, he realized then - ruffling it up off his forehead and making it stand wildly on end, Killian shook his head at a loss. His hand fell back to his thigh with a slap as he shrugged and answered her with sheepish honesty. “I’m afraid you won’t gain much from my memory; it’s frighteningly blank beyond boarding a tall ship for some long journey with my father and my brother Liam. Then, somehow…” he shrugged again, knowing there should be more, but instead he had only ever found a mystifying blank. “Then my father is just… gone. Liam and I were alone on that vessel, little better than slaves.” His eyes fell to studying his rough-calloused hands, as if he felt abruptly unworthy to meet her eyes. “We were trapped there for years, Captain said we had a debt to pay and we weren’t getting free until we did so. Never let us out of his sight when we docked, so we couldn’t run. It was too far to swim for freedom on some shore, even though we could both swim like seal pups.” A bitter and raw half-smile pulled up one side of his mouth in a crooked smile before he continued.

As if she could sense his hurt and the hesitation that plagued him, the lovely being reached out once more to take his hand in hers, rubbing cool, soft fingers over the back of it in comfort. She did not speak, nor try to press or hurry him, merely waited patiently for Killian to find his words and purge the rest of his story.

“Truth be told,” he finally sighed in resignation, “I would still be a servant to that wretched captain… if not for the storm…”

That serene face only stared back at him, listening kindly and conveying the sense that she understood - more than he could remember being understood before. Eyes as blue as his own looked deep beyond his outer appearance, the sadness at his suffering as clear as if she had spoken it aloud. Instead, she gave a gentle nod, and once more waited patiently.

“There was a storm at sea, some years ago now,” he finally pressed on, reaching the part of his tale that both lead to his greatest loss and his truest joy. “It blew up suddenly and many were washed overboard - Liam and I among them. I do not know if they left us purposefully, not worth the risk and effort, or if they genuinely couldn’t see us in the rough waters. At any rate, I do not know how I survived. Through what twist of fate I washed ashore in the kingdom of Misthaven when Liam did not, but that was where I woke. I was found by the princess, who was just about my age, taken in and nursed back to health by the royal family - unbelievable as it seems - and eventually I joined their navy. Only, it would appear, to be shipwrecked once again on my first mission as a lieutenant.”

Here the woman returned his rueful smile at the course that had shaped his life thus far. There were many details he had omitted - his love for Emma, and her for him, chief among them - but it seemed needless to prattle on. In fact, it was clear his mysterious companion was at last ready to speak.

Remorse was clear in the face entirely too beautiful and flawless to be fully human as she reached the hand not still holding his up to trace the scar on his cheek - made long ago by a sadistic bosun before a nine-year-old Liam had jumped between and taken the brunt of the punishment. Tenderness and wistful longing filled her gaze as she did so. Her voice was still mellifluous when she spoke, though soft and slightly broken with her emotion. “My son, what you’ve been through… it pains me more than I can say. The hardship you endured, the abandonment and mistreatment you suffered, none of it was anything like the life I wished for you and your brother when you were born. Such dreams I had for you both as we sat outside our little cottage, watching the tides roll in and little sandpipers running over the sand. Liam was so sweet, so attentive, bringing me seashells as I held you and sang lullabies, anxious to help you learn to swim and build sandcastles…”

She trailed off for a moment, her pearly white teeth pressing into her lower lip as she struggled to suppress a new swell of emotion before continuing. It was just as well. Killian’s mind was racing, hardly able to make sense of such idyllic, wonderful scenes of which he had not even the slightest recall.

Her other hand fell to her lap and her fingers were pulled free of his as he lurched to his feet and began to pace with the unsettled agitation overtaking him. “Why do I remember none of this?!” he implored, his every breath bringing an emotional swing from anger to stark devastation and back. It was as though he had been robbed anew of the loving family and carefree childhood he had grown up missing - this time by the assertion that he had possessed such treasure once and could not even picture it. “If you truly are who you say,” he finally demanded, returning to the lovely, dark-haired woman and crouching to peer into her face once more. His fist tightened and then opened reflexively, his adamance on gaining some answers, some understanding, clear. “If you really are my mother… What happened all those years ago? Why did you leave us? Where were you when Liam and I were taken into servitude? Where have you been for all this time in between? … Why… why were we all alone in the world?”

He blinked rapidly, unwilling to show more weakness than his ragged question had already revealed. For the lost little boy who had never known his mother, who had never understood why he and his brother were surrendered to such a cruel fate, was still inside the grown lieutenant, but Killian could not let that broken child surface now, not when he might finally gain answers. His mouth was a firm line as he stared down this mysterious nymph; his eyes hard as he refused to let her look away.

A tear escaped her eye and ran down her porcelain cheek, a luminescent drop of liquid glowing brightly on its way. She was clearly suffering at the admission of his hurt, whatever else he might think of her. And when she spoke again, her voice was flinty and resolved; he could doubt her sincerity no longer. “Killian, I am your mother. Whether you accept it or not, that is as much truth as the waves coming in to meet the shore. But your father - he beguiled me. He had more power - and more darkness - than I knew. He stole you boys, my dearest loves, from me. By the time I had located you once more, and made preparations to bring you both here to Ogygia for safety, it was too late. Liam had been lost to the depths - stolen forever where your father could keep him for himself eternally. And you had been taken in by the royals of Misthaven. I watched that evening as they found you, and I came back unseen to watch you many other times with your crewmates, your golden-headed princess… any glimpse I could steal of you as you grew up hearty, strong and brave - just as I always knew you would. It seemed unfair to make myself known then, to uproot you once more… not when you appeared so happy…” She searched his face as her words came together in dawning realization. “What that - Was I wrong?”

Overcome, Killian shook his head, not sure how to address his reply. Finally, he managed to murmur, “No, no you were not mistaken. They treated me as if I were their own. I was as happy as I have ever been…” His eyes seemed to be attempting to focus on something far back within his memory, long ago and leagues away. “But - “ he tried again, wetting his lips and plunging forward with his unbelievable question. “If all that is true, does that make… Is my father…?” He found he could not speak the ridiculous question his mind was urging him to ask.

She nodded instead, relieving him of it. “Yes, he is Davy Jones. And I am Calypso, daughter of Atlas.”

Killian knew his mouth must have fallen open, gaping at the woman before him, returning his gobsmacked look with nothing but open honesty. “Son, please believe me,” she urged, reaching for his hand once more. She nearly beamed with fragile-seeming hope when he dumbly allowed her to twine their fingers again. “I know it must seem like a lot to take in… a monstrous amount to believe on good faith, but I am telling you the truth. Never did I wish to be parted from you or your brother. I would never have left either of you by choice. That Liam is lost to us…” here she solemnly shook her head, bowing it over their joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles, “For that, I can only apologize that I was unable to save him. You must know that I tried, Killian.”

Slowly but surely the rushing sound that had taken over in his head, the pounding of his heart and the strange sense of hysteria which had very nearly enveloped him, began to ebb away. The hurt and doubt did not vanish - and he had so many questions for her that he hardly knew where to start - but the hardest knot of bitterness and anger in his chest eased, loosened enough that he could catch his breath and study this woman before him - his mother! - with a focus that brought acceptance, and even a sort of thrill. He had a mother, who loved him and wanted to know him. How could he in good conscience turn away? And if all she said was true, of which he felt all but certain, then she had already suffered just as he had. Why should he force either of them to bear anything more?

Leaning in, an uncertain, almost eager look transformed his face as he spoke in an awed whisper. “You searched for us?” he repeated, letting the comfort of it sink into his soul. “You tried to get us back? To save Liam?”

Tears were pouring down the sea nymph’s face now, to the point that she didn’t even speak, merely nodded vigorously and opened her arms wide to him in welcome.

“Mother,” he exhaled, and gave in. He could hold back no longer. Resting his head on her shoulder, Killian leaned into a maternal embrace of the sort he had been missing all his life. His shoulders hitched with silent weeping, letting out much that had been buried so deeply he had not even known it still pained him.

Gentle, soothing fingers ran through his hair, rubbed his back as she rocked back and forth gently, at last feeling completed to have her child back in her arms, grown though he might be. She let him purge the torrent of grief and fear, lightly humming a melody that eased him and that Killian felt vaguely he had heard somewhere before.

His mother! His mind could hardly grasp the revelation, and yet, she was there. He might still be shipwrecked and stranded - lost - but he was no longer alone.

~~***~~

Under cover of dark, the very night after they had received news that Killian’s ship was lost, Princess Emma was using the filtered light of the full moon to sneak from her apartments and down to the stables. She had listened all day as her mother and father spoke to their trusted inner circle, debating and considering if there were any possibility of even some of the ship’s crew having survived - and how they would go about seeking them in a rescue mission if the chance existed. Was it even possible to look for a ship that was by now shattered in pieces and likely sunk to the depths, invisible to their eyes? And yet, Queen Snow had interjected more than once, her boundless well of hope apparent, could they truly do otherwise when their adopted son and dozens of other loyal sailors might still live?

Her husband and their advisors agreed, and yet, there was the other practical concern that any search voyage might only be sending more innocent lives into a trap - a snare set by a supernatural foe they did not understand well enough to combat and survive. Eventually, all left the council chambers but the King and Queen, and Emma herself. It was then that they used a mirror - a magic one enchanted to allow them to communicate, which had been gifted to Snow by Ariel as a wedding present when she married her ‘Charming’. Using it, they contacted the maritime kingdom’s rulers for more information.

The news had been dire. Emma shivered even then, hours later, under her heavy riding cloak as she gingerly gripped the vine-covered trellis next to her balcony and swung out onto it, needing to climb down and cross the lawn to the stables undetected. The memory still haunted her, of Ariel explaining how legend had it that Davy Jones took any prisoners left alive aboard his phantom ship, eternally pressed into his cursed crew.

What it had boiled down to in the end was that they could not send more men out on a fruitless mission; not knowing where to send them, or even where they should begin, and especially not when most likely the only result would be their capture or death as well. All the same, Emma had felt hurt and betrayed on Killian’s behalf - despite the decision making logical sense. It was maddening that they would do nothing when Killian would have left no stone unturned, no island or inlet unsearched, if the roles were reversed and any of those who sat debating whether to search for him or not were lost. She had just barely managed to bite back such recriminations, knowing they were unfair, but she could not help storming from the meeting, unable to helplessly stand by any longer. She had heard her father gently urging her mother to let her go, to give her some time, and she had been in her rooms ever since. Not crying or grieving as most probably believed, but plotting her next move.

Though she had no evidence to back it up, Emma knew - simply knew it in her marrow, as sure as she felt her heart beat and her blood pound in her veins - that her lieutenant was out there somewhere alive. Just as she had since the first shock of the shipwreck’s announcement had worn off, she still believed that, were her sailor no longer in the world, she would be aware of the loss, the lacking in all that he left behind. There had been a link between she and Killian since he washed ashore and she found him all those years ago; in her deepest being, Emma felt it was because they were meant to be together, always destined, two halves of the same whole, just like her parents. She might not profess such girlish dreams aloud, but she harbored the belief nonetheless. And, since she had not felt the agony she would fully expect if he had been ripped from life, no inkling of the void she knew would split open her chest if he ceased to be, then he could still be found. It was as simple - and as much a challenge - as that.

It mattered not that she didn’t yet know where to go, she would be on her way before any could stop her or hold her back. She could chart a course from there. That afternoon as she had prepared and packed, the messenger bird she had sent out returned with her letter for Killian unopened on its leg. Yet, even that could not deter Emma. He could be somewhere the creature simply had not found. It didn’t mean… but she shook her head abruptly and refused to contemplate that possibility.

Alighting on the ground with a little hop, Emma glanced back up the ivy-trellised wall she had just descended, allowing a moment’s pride that no alarm had been rasied and none seemed the wiser. There was a fair dose of irony in the fact that she was now trying to steal away under cover of night to escape her parent’s watchful concern and protection, when it had been her mother, the Queen herself, who had first shown her how to make that scale down the outer walls in case they were ever under attack and Emma found herself in need of an alternate means of escape. Regardless of its original intention, the lesson had stuck, and the princess put her skills to good use. The cool wetness through her thin slippers brought a delicious sort of shiver up from her toes through her legs and the rest of her as she dashed across the already dew-kissed grass.

Upon entering the royal stables in a state of warm and cozily quiet peace - as if all inside were bedded down and drowsing for the night - Emma blew out a breath of relief. Her returning calm was encompassing enough that she gave a startled jump of surprise when her mare, Lady, whickered and bobbed her head to her in greeting.

“Hey there, Sweet,” Emma crooned, offering an apple to her beloved pet, her favorite mount since she first learned to ride as a little girl. Her father had given Lady to her when the mare was still a young colt, and they had been fast friends ever since. The horse playfully bowed her head to her mistress, nudging Princess Emma’s shoulder with her long velvety nose and munching the treat contentedly. As Emma’s fingers continued to scratch along the gentle creature’s forelock, she murmured soothing words and the horse seemed to almost nod in delight, bobbing her head and huffing approval with short snorts of air.

“Ready to go for a ride?” Emma continued, making quick work of saddle and bridle before leading Lady out of her stall and back towards the entry of the large main stable. It was as if the animal could indeed pick up the nervous excitement radiating from her rider; the sharp clopping of her hooves made quick staccato taps along the solid floor and seemed to mimic Emma’s ever-quickening pulse in her ears.

With one last glance around, making sure they were still undetected, the princess stepped into Lady’s stirrup, swung herself up onto the animal’s back, and gathered the reins in hand as she quickly doused the lantern she had lit in the hanging sconce just inside the large enclosure. Stealth was imperative, but now that she was in the clear, she would never risk a fire that could endanger the other horses, grooms and trainers. She would see well enough by moonlight once outdoors again.

A slight shudder ran through her as she glanced back at the castle over her shoulder once more. Lady trotted easily into the forest once Emma had found the gate watched by her uncle who was known for his habit of falling asleep at the most inopportune times. Slipping past him while he snored unawares, the going was easy and the path familiar from there.

Horse and rider made swift time, passing through the trees and down toward the harbor in nighttime shadows unmolested. When at last they neared the more rickety end of the docks where local fishermen and merchants kept their smaller sailboats and personal water crafts, Emma dismounted and moved toward one particular skiff, alone and completely abandoned, bobbing quietly on the gentle waves. At first glance, it appeared forgotten there without owner, but as Emma drew even with the small yet sturdy vessel, she could see it was just as she remembered - simple and unassuming certainly, but well-cared-for and more than adequate for her needs.

With little time to waste, knowing it would not be long before her absence was discovered back at the palace, and she needed to be far enough out to sea by then so she would not be spotted or returned home by well-meaning rescuers who wished to see her safe even before having Killian found. She simply couldn’t agree with that logic - royal duty or no - and in the end it was her life. She stroked lovingly over her horse’s withers again, one last scruff at the velvet muzzle in affection, before murmuring, “Head on home now, girl. You know the way,” before removing bit and bridle and watching as the little mare nodded her head as if in understanding of the command, turned and trotted back the way they had come, hooves clipping first against the wooden planks of the pier, then the cobblestones of the street beyond, tail swishing as she moved further into the distance.

Puffing out a short breath, Princess Emma consoled herself with the fact that her horse did know the path back to the castle well, and that nothing untoward would befall her - especially not so early in the pre-dawn hours when the streets and forests were almost completely deserted. Urging herself back into motion, she loosed the ties holding the small craft to its place along the pier and hopped fron the docks onto the boat deck without lingering any further. She allowed barely a moment of anxiety for the rush of concerns flooding her mind - tasks to bring the boat ‘round, set her on course, and guide her safely from the harbor and the proximity of other ships, pier and shore into open waters. She had no time to be timid; she knew what had to be done, had practiced and rehearsed it in her mind numerous times in the last few hours as she put her plan in motion. Now she simply had to follow through.

Luckily, the water was smooth and still, the wind with her, and the others vessels nearby safely anchored out of her path. With her mind on her route, eyes clear and hands steady, Emma was soon leaving the mouth of the harbor and gaining speed as the wind truly caught in the sails overhead. Her sailor had taught her well, and she was on her way to find him.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @capswantrue @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @tornadoamy @xhookswenchx @bubblegum1425 @jarienn972 @courtorderedcake @gingerchangeling @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @mariakov81�� @ineffablecolors @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @carpedzem @let-it-raines @stahlop @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @nikkiemms

#cssns20 #cs au ff #cs au mc #a cottage by the sea #part three #lieutenant duckling au

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missramu · 4 years

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Johnny Joestar Headcanons

So, I was really bored and decided to write about my favorite Jojo, 𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷𝓷𝔂! This is a mix of headcanons with some canon stuff.

So, here we go!

✰ Johnny was that typical doll-like perfect baby: curly blond hair, pale skin, pink cheeks, little freckles and big blue eyes that followed everything with curiosity. The clothes he used to wear also helped to mantain that look: in the Victorian era, babies from wealthy families used to wear dresses with plenty of ruffles, laces, ribbons, buttons and frills -no matter their sex- and bonnets. Nowadays he still has freckles; although not that many. They’re mostly on his cheeks and arms.

✰As we know, Johnny is the youngest of two brothers (being Nicholas 5 years older tan him). This, plus the fact that he also looked really fragile, made his mother really over-protective of him. This was usually seen as Johnny’s being Anne’s favorite, but she only wanted to protect his youngest son. The way his mom treated him made Johnny a shy, yet kind, child. That kindness made him adopt Danny, as well as taking care of Slow Dancer even if he knew that she was old and almost ruthless.

✰ His hair gets wavy in humid weather. When he was a child his hair was a curly mess after taking baths, but now it simply curls in soft waves, which he tries to straighten as much as possible.

✰He was born in Danville, Kentucky; so he has a heavy Southern accent. But since the Joestar family used to constantly travel to Britain -and actually lived there for some years-, Johnny added some British idioms to his vocabulary, thus resulting in a funny combo of British slang said in heavy Southern accent.

✰He grew up in a wealthy family -his father was tied to aristocracy, and also was a famous racer and breeder, having won the Triple Crown seven times and owning farms to breed racing horses-, so he’s a little bit of a spoiled brat sometimes. This status also made him picky over certain things, like food or baths.

✰Johnny was educated to be a “British gentleman” and, even if his own personality sometimes makes him fail at it, he still tries to behave as polite as possible. One habit that stayed with him was the one to note everything down, showing off his fine calligraphy and his accountant skills. The Joestar kid also knows Latin and Greek, as he was schooled. He even went to Oxford for a short period of time.

✰Johnny has never been fond of dark colours; he has always preferred to dress up in light ones. Luckily, they suit him.

✰Since he was a child, he has proved to be very perceptive of his surroundings, as well as being able to read the mood quite easily. Johnny is also good at focusing, what makes him a really good shooter -probably hunting would have been one of his hobbies, if he wasn’t kind and compassionate-. He has proved to being able to shoot at little and/or moving targets, even if firing from odd angles and perspectives.

✰Johnny loved his mother, and would try to follow her everywhere like a duckling would follow its mother. It wasn't surprising that his first words were "mama". His next word was "horsie", and would enthusiastically say it as he pointed to the horses in the fields when the family decided to take a walk around the farm.

✰In the Victorian era, it was common for toddlers to rarely be in contact with their parents; as they were mostly raised by a nanny. He did have a nanny -whom he loved deeply-, but his mother was still around at all times; she was always there for him. Despite breaking this usual thing, he was indeed raised to be like the stereotypical Victorian child: proper, polite and quiet.

✰The youngest Joestar loved to visit the horses in the family farms, enjoying their company. His fondness for these animals evolved into his skills as a jockey; as he also is well-versed in equine science.

✰Johnny was five when he first rode a horse, and his father quickly considered him a genius. The young boy quickly started to believe this as an irrefutable truth, his ego beginning to grow. Although he indeed is a genius with plenty of skills that allow him to ride across many types of terrain, or even challenge fellow genius jockey -ahem, Diego Brando-; having such a big ego ended up wounding him.

✰Even if George did praise his early horse-riding skills, the rest of Johnny’s childhood was marked by a strained relationship with him. His father was unnecessarily severe, to the point of physically punishing Johnny. He also favored Nicholas immensely, belittling the younger one with constant comparisons. After Nicholas’ death, George was convinced that “God had taken the wrong son” and took out his sadness and rage on Johnny. This cruel behaviour caused Johnny great pain, and an enormous feeling of inferiority.

✰Anne's death was a big shock for the youngest Joestar. He felt like he had lost the only support he had in the family; his mother would comfort him after his father scolds and punishments. She also happened to die a short time before Nick's accident. Johnny was 9 when his brother died; and around 7-8 when Anne died. His father cruel behaviour towards Johnny hurt him, and the little boy was upset because he didn't entirely comprehend why his mom wasn't coming back.

✰The only one who calls him by his full name -Jonathan- is his father, and he despises it. Nowadays, hearing his full name triggers something on him, reacting with some kind of fear. He was used to listen to his father call him only to point out his mistakes and scold him; so hearing “Jonathan” makes him have that kind of reaction.

✰He is a magnificent horse tamer, as seen with Slow Dancer: the horse was introduced as wild and ruthless, but she warmed up to Johnny, to the point of helping him get on her by hoisting him and rolling him down his neck and into the saddle.

✰After his father disowned him and threw him out of the Joestar household, Johnny, in shock, decided to shut himself off. With this, he also created a vain and narcissistic facade in order to hide the sadness this rejection caused him.

✰He tried to take Black Rose -Nicholas’ horse- with him when he was disowned.

✰After he was disowned, when Father’s Day arrived, Johnny used to spend the day in a sour mood, secluded and probably drinking, trying to forget his lame childhood.

✰With his pride harmed, he decided to prepare for the Kentucky Derby, winning it at the age of 16. He made it out of spite, trying to prove his father wrong and growing his own ego; maybe he couldn’t defeat Diego back in the UK, but he won the Derby. He still believes that winning the Derby was his greatest accomplisment.

✰When he was shot and paralyzed, Johnny felt his own pride crushing him: everything he showed off suddeny vanished. Unable to ride again, the horse-riding promise fell into oblivion; he lost all the friends and respect he had earned as a jockey. No one came to visit, leaving him behind; even his own father disappeared from his life, not even visiting him in the hospital. For that, Johnny is used to being abandoned: he forces himself to not get attached to anyone, since he believes that they’ll probably leave him.

✰During his stay in the hospital, the nurses used to dose him with morphine. They did it in order to shut him up –the poor boy was in terrible pain-, but for that, he got addicted to morphine. Luckily, it was only for a short time, since he managed to get clean several months after leaving the hospital.

✰Due to having such a big ego, now his past glory crushes him. He hates how he lost everything in such a pathetic way; but also believes he deserves it.

✰Surprisingly, his arms and chest are really strong; because he is always using them to crawl around and to lift himself.

✰Due to his light complex and weight, he is terribly ticklish.

✰He is a Christian, and believes in Fate and karma, but in a kind of wretched way. Johnny believes that, throughout the years, Fate itself was taking revenge on him for his misdeeds; and that he deserved every misfortune he received. His obsession with the Corpse showed his obsession with karma too, and how he wanted to reset it to a neutral state, paying off his negative debt. His beliefs in Fate explains his lack of confidence and constant panic of losing everything, since he firmly believes that Fate could at any moment take away his hopes.

✰Johnny has depression and, for this, a lack of confidence. He considers himself a useless person, a burden, and unworthy of love. This gloomy perspective of life came from his youth, making him a pessimistic man.

✰TW//suicide. He has considered -and tried- to commit suicide; but he couldn’t. He claims that it’s because he’s a “coward that hates pain, and doesn’t have the balls to finish everything”; but, deep down, it’s because he holds on to even the smallest hope.

✰TW//self harm. He has several scars: the ones on his arms are smaller, and were self-inflicted -self-harm and suicide attempts-. He also has some scars on his legs, caused by wounds he got by trying to stand up, walk and ride; but the biggest scar is the one covering half his back, as a memento from the accident. The bullet left a mark, surgery made it ugly, and the abuse he endured during his stay in the hospital made it worse. Therefore, he now is ashamed and self-concious of his back.

✰Seeing his legs makes him feel weak, and he hates that. He also despises feeling as defenceless as when someone picks him up to carry him without his consent. He truly hates feeling powerless, and it also makes him incredibly angry -and lowkey sad-. He can only tolerate this if it’s someone who he deeply trusts and knows, and only if he has asked for it.

✰At first, he wouldn’t let anyone touch neither his legs nor his back; but after warming up a little, he would tolerate caresses and gentle pats.

✰He also hates when people look at him with sorrow or as if they were pitying him. He may be disabled, but he’s still perfectly capable of plenty of things. Usually, he will reject any kind of help as politely as possible, but his anger will show.

✰Meeting Gyro made him throw away his harsh facade. At first, he was uncaring of everyone else save himself, only maintaining a polite but cold demeanour towards people he met; but Gyro’s influence made Johnny slightly more friendly.

✰ Gyro also made a great impact in Johnny’s perspective of life; not all of a sudden, but in gradual steps. The Italian man gave him hope, helped him to knock out his lack of confidence, gave him some assurance and optimism and also was genuinely nice to him, making Johnny grateful for meeting him. He treasures their relationship deeply.

✰Johnny doesn’t belittles Slow Dancer for being old, as he knows that she has plenty of experience as a Racing horse, and plenty of stamina. He truly knows his mare, possessing great knowledge of her: he knows and perceives her abilities and limits, and is able to predict what Slow Dancer will be capable of. They have grown quite close to each other, and she ocasionally nudges and licks him gently. Johnny loves this.

✰Sometimes, to kill some time, he and Gyro will exchange curses and slang in their respective languages. Gyro finds American sayings strange.

✰Gyro and Johnny had a hard time understanding each other in the beginning of their relationship: the older man had a thick Italian accent, and Johnny had to decipher what the hell was he trying to say. After a while, they grew used to each other's accents, but Gyro still made fun of Johnny's.

✰ His determination doesn’t waver, despite having failed several times. Johnny focuses on his goals, and puts them above anything else. He is also willing to endure severe wounds in order to reach them. And if you also add his stuborness…

✰The man is REALLY stubborn. If he wants to get something, he WILL, no matter what. If he has to, he will be violent or kill his opponents. This is called as “dark determination flickering in his eyes”, indicating a ruthlessness which would make Johnny able to kill in cold-blood. For this, he may seem amoral and selfish, even extending this to the interest of his loved ones. Yet he isn’t truly amoral, protecting defenceless people and taking damage to protect the ones he cares about.

✰He’s rather impulsive and hot-headed, which makes him take action as soon as possible. Sometimes, he might end up regretting not thinking BEFORE acting.

✰ Johnny would do anything for his loved ones:

Even if he’s afraid of his father, he has always tried his hardest to live up to his expectations.

He loved Nicholas deeply and looked up to him as an idol, and blames himself for his death. After he died, he became guilt-ridden, believing that his brother’s death was his own fault and that he should have died instead.

He was willing to abandon the Corpse Parts he had to save Gyro.

(JOJOLION SPOILERS!) When Rina was struck with the Rock Disease, Johnny stole the Corpse to make it transfer the disease away from her, not caring who would receive it and suffer in her place. But when the disease transfered to his son, he healed him by transfering it to himself, dying in order to save his wife and son.

✰He’s the CEO of being done with everyone’s bullshit. He’s angry 85% of the time, and usually cries out of anger.

✰ He’s also a sarcastic little shit. Any stupid questions you make him will be answered with his fine sarcasm.

✰He’s HORNY! This is shown with his bug bite fetish and the fact that he has been involved in at least one threesome. He doesn’t mind empty sex either -as he slept with several girls who came to him only for his fame-. He’s also bisexual.

✰When it comes to affection, he prefers to show his emotions through actions. For him, they speak louder.

✰Regarding to affection, Johnny will deny it; but he is touch-starved. The man really loves hugs and physical contact. He likes to hold on tight and get as close as posible. Since he doesn’t usually speak out loud his emotions, he will show them physically. However, he would rather be held, feeling loved and protected.

✰He feels guilty when someone falls in love with him, since he believes he’s not worthy of happiness nor love. He tends to think that he’s making them waste their time on him, when they could be with someone who could provide them with what they deserve. He can’t help but compare himself to others, belittling himself.

✰When he has a crush, he will do anything to deny it. He doesn’t want to admit how someone began to be so important to him, and is afraid that “Fate” might take them away from him. If he has to avoid them, he will; just to get away and not face his feelings.

✰George does reconcile with Johnny, and feels ashamed of how he treated his own son. He claims to be proud of him now, and even gives Johnny Nicholas’ boots. At first Johnny was resentful and wasn’t planning on forgiving him, since he believed that his father was only coming back for his recovered fame. After a couple weeks he decided against that, forgiving George and honouring him by naming his only son after him.

✰Nicholas’ boots were one of his most beloved possessions, and were passed down as a family relic.

✰If Rina had allowed him to name their daughter, he would have called her Anne, in honour to his mother.

✰In Japan, the Joestar-Higashikata family lived in a farm. Although the place is designed in the Japanese traditional way, Johnny couldn't help but give it some Western touches, specifically to the barns. These ones were designed to be as similar as the ones his father had in Britain and Danville. It made Johnny nostalgic, but in a gentle and warm way; he purposefully made them like that, so he could remember his roots.

✰They were quite wealthy: not only for the Higashikata's fruit business, but also for Johnny's connection with the Japanese government.

✰As a horse-riding teacher, his pupils loved and respected him deeply. Johnny liked discipline -as he took his profession seriously-, but was also very kind to them, treating them with the respect he never received.

✰Obviously, he taught his children to ride as early as possible.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #johnny joestar #steel ball run

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heedra · 4 years

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Exalted Secret Santa Journal: 2020

Apologies for the slight delay! My journal this year is going to be pretty much the same one as last year; I was working on an additional reference but it absolutely got away from me, so I’ll give it more time and save it for next year. Without further ado:

Daia Shan- Serenity Caste Sidereal

Once just a troublesome junior bureaucrat in the halls of Yu-Shan, Daia truly gained infamy upon her selection to accompany a strike team of Exalted heroes on a mission into the depths of the worldbody of the Yozi Oramus, and her subsequent escape and return from that impossible prison, nearly a thousand years later. The experience left her profoundly changed; even now, the spite of Oramus hangs like a mantle around Daia, ensuring that the waking world she fought so hard to return to will never feel like anything more than a dream. And then, of course, there is the matter of the power she took from the Sevenfold Peacock willingly… and how that power might be changing her still.

Daia is a somewhat petite woman, belying an athletic build. She is ethnically from the Blessed Isle, with dark grey hair that she prefers to wear up, usually in a bun or a knot. Her face, which she tries but fails to keep free of stress and worry lines, is usually found bearing a smirk or an expression of dangerous faux-politeness. Her eyes bear the iconic starry blue of the Serenities caste, but are also shot through with bands of a strange prismatic iridescence. She bears a large pair of bull horns atop her head, a mutation received during her time inside the Worldbody. The nature of the power bequeathed to her by Oramus is such, though, that her very nature is beginning to blur around the edges, and it is not unusual for her day-to-day appearance to fluctuate strangely as mutations come and go like glitches. She is a bit of a fashionista, favoring blues, dramatic and sharp femme looks (she avoids ruffles and prefers sleeker outfits), and jewelry of all sorts (a lot of it). She rarely wears the same exact outfit twice, so do not feel obligated to stick to the reference- you can get creative! She wears makeup, but prefers cool colors and an understated application.

Daia’s most important accessory is her longfang, the Sevenfold Peacock’s Tailfeather. Forged from starmetal, orichalcum, and a crystalline shard of Oramic essence, the weapon contains knowledge of every martial arts technique known by every user to have ever wielded it, and seems to hunger for more to the point where its obsession has bled over into Daia herself. Even more potently, it bears deep within its core the secret to a martial art concocted by the Dragon of Not himself, whose charms grant the power to ignore the limits of impossibility at the cost of making the wielder more and more alien to the waking world. It is a temptation that Daia has drunk deep of, despite all signs pointing to that being a very bad idea. Daia sees the spear as a trophy stolen from her greatest nemesis, but it’s very possible the Yozi himself sees it as a clever snare for hubristic Sidereals. The blade of the weapon is prismatic crystal that resembles a jagged bird’s beak, the pole is jet black starmetal shot through with an orichalcum starmap of constellations, and the orichalcum pommel is fashioned to look like seven golden peacock feathers woven together into a sphere.

While her exaltation may brand Daia a chosen of the Maidens, the elder Sid is a loose cannon, an agent of Heaven in only the most general of terms. She is mercurial, theatrical, fond of causing petty chaos, and utterly disinterested in the politics of the Bureau, unless there is way for her to stir up drama. She has tendency to get ahead of herself with her schemes, and the vast majority of her ‘downfalls’ can be traced back to her own hubris. Beneath all that, she is a lonely woman who feels adrift in a world that no longer feels real to her. She’s a terrible flirt, a huge showoff (especially where martial arts are involved) and has a weak spot for dangerous women. She’s Creation’s wildest and worst gay aunt.

Side Note: Daia is partially deaf, due to an old and potent supernatural injury. She employs the use of what magic/technology she can to aid her, but relies as well on sign language and interpreters. She’s very used to it at this point.

here’s the link to a better-resolution version of this image bc tumblr kinda fuckt it

and here’s the link to her toyhouse page, which has further images and info!

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Avenging Phoenix- Dawn Caste Solar (Formerly Ravenous Vulture Picks Clean the Bones of Creation, Dusk Caste Abyssal)

Orphaned at an early age, Phoenix was adopted by a Guild mercenary and raised as such. He spent his later mortal life as a city guard captain in Thorns, where he exalted during the fateful siege itself, disillusionment and rage at the circumstances of his death making him an easy recruit for the Mask. His path has weaved far and wide since then, a slow painful crawl from rebellion to eventual redemption; a journey that ultimately gave him a place among the saviors of Creation. Along the way, he played a role in liberating a group of orphaned children from the clutches of the Dowager, and now finds himself settling into the role of an adoptive dad to them, hanging up his metaphorical (and literal) axe and trying to live a gentler life. It’s not always easy. Violence and trauma etched in that deep doesn’t just smooth out perfectly over time. On top of that, he has impostor’s syndrome when it comes to his redemption by the Sun, and still feels uncomfortable thinking of himself as a peer to the other members of the Solar Host. Still, as long as his soul is on this side of Lethe, he is determined to fight against the Void- not because he considers himself antithesis to it, but because he has known it and survived it. And while some days it’s hard, other days it feels like, maybe, fighting against the void can be planting sunflowers for your children on a sunny spring afternoon.

Phoenix is of Western descent, very short, fat, and beefy, with warm brown skin and a round, open face. He keeps his burgundy hair closely shaved, not fond of dealing with the mess of wavy curls it becomes when allowed to grow out. His eyes are dark brown, almost black, the outside of the iris rimmed with the faintest edge of golden yellow. His nose looks like it has been broken multiple times in the past, and never properly healed. Due to unfortunate wyld misadventures his tongue has been mutated to resemble and function like that of a frog’s, though this is only really apparent when he opens his mouth to use the damn thing. Frogs and toads are a definite motif for him in general- small, grumpy-looking, and round as they are.

Phoenix’s casual clothes tend to be simple, comfortable, loose, and in sharp contrast to his prickly combat garb. He enjoys floral patterns, and the color pink. He’s got a very ‘open hawaiian shirt and flip flops dad’ vibe, basically. He does not dress fancily unless pressed to for big occasions, and in those cases usually grudgingly follows the fashion direction of the one twisting his arm. When he’s on actual exalt business, he’s most frequently found wearing his armor; black jade full plate embellished with cruel-looking spikes, and occasionally a shaggy grey fur cloak made from the pelt of some hunting trophy. A horned skull helm, made from the skull of a nephwrack’s war-body, often completes this ensemble. The helmet is a minor artifact: when worn, it causes his eyes to glow balefully behind its sockets and makes his voice gravelly with deathly menace. He is reluctant to take it off unless he feels at ease in a situation.

Phoenix is somewhat bumbling and gruffly soft-spoken, with tendency to look more tired than he feels. Beneath this is a talent for strategic leadership and a determination that gets fiercer as the going gets tougher. On the battlefield, he is utterly terrifying when he needs to be, but would much prefer to be at home in his garden than on a battlefield these days.

His anima banner starts as burst of gold-and crimson fire that solidifies into the form of a fierce and predatory-looking phoenix, with aspects of a garda bird and a lammergeier both. It moves as he does across the battlefield, swooping and rising with each swing of his axe, its fierce eyes focused on his opponent. Additional refs:

link to his toyhouse page, which has a TON more reference images

what he looked like as an abyssal | his grand grimcleaver looks like this except made outta fiery golden light | rough sketch of his skull helmet

#exalted secret santa #exalted secret santa 2020 #tabletoppin #yeah this is pretty much the same exact journal from last year ghdghsdgsdh #i was gonna add bite but i got very caught up in trying to draw her warform correctly so i wanna give that more time #plus i love these two #my characters

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acearchivist359 · 5 years

Text

Sword in the Stone (But with Magic and Merthur)

I had a conversation with @smolfighttol (literally months ago but uk how writing is) as to what would have happened if Merlin revealed his magic to Arthur during Sword in the Stone, then of course I had to write it.

I also posted it on ao3 if people prefer that

Arthur awoke surrounded by trees and utterly confused. Looking down at himself, he found he no longer wore his armour but tattered and ill-fitting clothes. He thought back, his memories jumbled, and found he couldn’t remember how he had arrived in this position. He remembered Morgana attacking Camelot and stood in a panic. He grabbed his sword from where it was stuck in the ground next to him. His fighters instincts were reeling as he looked around, recognizing no one, until his eyes finally settled on Merlin’s sleeping form. He rushed over and kicked Merlin awake anxiously.

Merlin awoke to the feeling of someone kicking him. “You’d better have a damn good explanation for this, Merlin.” Arthur said lowly, attempting to be discreet. Merlin stared at him blankly, assuming the spell shouldn’t have worn off yet. Arthur began kicking him again, “Fine. Then I'll just carry on kicking you.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said scrambling to his feet. He inspected Arthur’s face and found no traces of the simpleton that had accompanied him the last few days. He breathed a sigh of relief, “You're back!”

“What do you mean “I’m back”?” Arthur looked at Merlin incredulously, but he found as usual that he was vaguely concerned as he teased Merlin, “You’re talking gibberish again.”

“Listen to me, please,” Merlin pleaded, exasperated. Arthur looked at him with concern as he continued, but Merlin was too caught up in his explanation to notice. “Camelot is lost. You were injured in an attack, you passed out. I had to get you out of there.”

“Where are we now?” Arthur asked, calmly taking in his surroundings more.

“We’re heading north,” Merlin explained, “To a safe haven, to Ealdor. Hopefully the knights will meet us there.” Merlin's voice softened a touch at the mention of his former home and Arthur almost smiled before realizing he had no idea of the situation they were in.

“Who are these people?” He asked, finally.

“They’re, er… smugglers,” Merlin said, sheepishly.

“Smugglers?!” Arthur exclaimed. Merlin shushed him quickly, looking around anxiously. “Alright, let's assume for one moment, you actually know what you’re doing,” Arthur said, quieter this time. “It doesn't explain why I look like the village idiot.”

“It’s the perfect disguise,” Merlin smiled, proudly, “No one would ever suspect you of being, you know… who you are.” He shrugged, innocently.

Arthur looked down at his clothes again, “I’m sorry, Merlin. I’m not going around looking like this.”

“You have to,” Merlin insisted, “You've got to stay in character.”

“You!” Someone called. Arthur stiffened again, his posture having relaxed as he spoke to Merlin. Merlin seemed to remain impassive as the smuggler spoke to him. “We leave as soon as the horses are watered.” The smuggler looked at Arthur, who was standing at Merlin’s side, “Explain it to the simpleton, would you?” The smuggler turned away and Arthur looked at Merlin, who smiled sheepishly before picking up Arthur’s sword. They started toward the smuggler's wagon and Arthur grabbed his sword back, defensively. There was no way he was going to unarmed and surrounded by smugglers. “Simpleton,” the smuggler, Tristan, called.

“He’s talking to you,” Merlin whispered, knowing Arthur was about to put up a fight.

“I don’t answer to that name.” Arthur argued, sharply. How disrespectful, he thought.

“In character,” Merlin reminded him. Arthur huffed. “Remember?”

The smuggler approached them looking at Arthur’s sword. “Impressive piece.”

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who looked at him pointedly. “Thank you, sir,” Arthur said putting on a stupid voice.

“May I?” Tristan asked. Arthur handed over his sword, reluctantly. He hoped Merlin knew what he was doing with these smugglers. “Magnificent. The only place you find workmanship of this quality is in the royal forge of Camelot,” Tristan levelled the blade at Arthur’s throat. “Tell me, how did you come by it?”

“I won it in a card game.” Merlin interjected, “Gave it to him as a present. He won't be parted from it,” Arthur was almost impressed at how smoothly Merlin lied to the smugglers . “Makes him feel safe.”

“I hope for your sake that’s true,” Tristan handed Arthur his sword back. Arthur took it dumbly, grumbling inwardly, pretending he didn’t know how to hold a sword. “I’d hate to think I was riding with a knight of Camelot.”

Arthur hugged his sword to his chest and put on a stupid voice again, “Aye.”

The blond woman at Tristan’s side giggled, “Knight of Camelot?” She scoffed, “Look at him.” Arthur was fuming on the inside, he was the King, their King!

“You’re right,” Tristan remarked, “The knights may be stupid, but they’re not that stupid.” Arthur wanted to protest but reminded himself of what would most likely happen to him and Merlin if they knew who he was, so he put on a stupid grin. Merlin ruffled Arthur’s hair, laughing along with Tristan and Isolde. He knew how hard it must be for Arthur to hear how people spoke of him and the knights.

“Pack your things, simpleton!” Merlin exclaimed loudly as they walked away.

“Call me that again and I’ll run you through.” Arthur muttered quietly to Merlin, fake smile plastered to his face. They both knew how empty the threat was, but neither commented on it.

“Don’t worry, sire,” Merlin said sympathetically. He knew Arthur well enough to know Arthur would be upset by what the smugglers said. “I’m sure you won’t have to keep it up for too much longer.”

“How long?!” Arthur exclaimed, exasperated. As he said that a smuggler walking by them collapsed, an arrow lodged in his back. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shirt, instinctively, pulling him away from where the smuggler had stood. Another arrow landed in the tree next to Arthur’s head and he ducked, moving Merlin with him. Merlin didn’t have time to dwell on how he himself touched by the gesture as they ran to hide behind the smugglers wagon. Arthur started calling out orders. ‘Finally,’ he thought, ‘Now this I can handle.’

That night, Merlin and Arthur sat by the fire as Tristan and Isolde slept nearby. “You knew,” Arthur said finally, “You knew Agravaine was betraying me.” He thought back to the times Merlin had tried to warn him and felt guilty for not believing him. He had wanted to trust his uncle so badly. He was his only remaining family that, he thought, didn’t want to kill him for the throne, but Merlin had been right. He should have known there was no one he could trust more than Merlin.

“I couldn’t be sure,” Merlin said softly. He hated that he had been right. “But then, I did have my suspicions.”

“I feel like such a fool.” Arthur sighed, “I put such trust in him. All this time I was as blind to his treachery as Morgana.”

“You were deceived Arthur,” he knew as he spoke that statement wouldn’t make Arthur feel any better but he didn’t know what else to do. “That could happen to anyone.”

“Yet it keeps happening to me.” Arthur argued defeatedly, “I cared about these people. I… I don’t understand. What have I done wrong? Why do they hate me?”

Merlin knew Arthur wasn’t just talking about Morgana and Agravaine as he spoke and felt a twinge of pain at that fact. He thought back to watching Arthur and Gwen’s relationship grow and while he had tried to help them in the beginning, he had grown to be rather confusingly jealous and hurt by the end. He knew he no longer had feelings for Guinevere, that small crush had ended long before she had begun a relationship with Arthur. However he thought he couldn’t possibly have feelings for Arthur.

“No they don’t hate you.” Merlin said reassuringly, “They just… crave your power for themselves.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur shrugged, “Would they still want that power if I was the king my people deserve? Maybe Tristan is right-“

Merlin cut Arthur off swiftly, “Tristan was angry...” Merlin hesitated, glancing at Tristan and Isolde. He felt a pang of longing watching the two of them, “and afraid. He needed someone to blame, but it’s not you that’s to blame.” He shook his head, certainly.

Arthur felt uncertain but Merlin’s assurance eased him slightly. “You seem very sure about all this.” He worried he may seem weak for questioning this, his father certainly wouldn’t have, but in that moment Arthur simply wanted his friend’s advice. He knew, no matter what, that Merlin would tell him what he needed to do.

“All I know is that, for your many faults, you are honest and brave and true hearted,” Merlin paused slightly, weighing the idea of letting Arthur in on the destiny they shared, but ultimately deciding, “and one day you will be the greatest king this land has ever known.”

What felt like the weight of the world lifted from Arthur’s shoulders. He smiled softly, “Well… good to know I have the support of my servant at least.”

“I’m not alone,” Merlin said firmly, “Believe me.” He was glad to see Arthur smiling again, he felt as though it had been ages.

Merlin could not have been more relieved to finally arrive in Ealdor the next day. He had left Arthur, reluctantly, in bed inside his house to reunite privately with Guinevere. He had pointedly ignored the pang of jealousy that he felt while shutting the door.

“How’s she been?” Merlin asked his mother finally. For all his confusing jealousy, Merlin had spent a lot of time worrying about Gwen since she left Camelot. Though their friendship was not what it had once been, Merlin still cared for her very much.

“As well as can be expected,” Hunith answered softly, she too had grown fond of Gwen in the time she had spent in Ealdor. “But… a broken heart takes time to mend.” And if Hunith took note of the sad, knowing look on her son’s face, she didn’t say a word.

Merlin feels as though he’d been doused in cold water when he hears screams from within the village. “Agravaine.” He tells Hunith, rushing inside, “He’s found us.”

“Any suggestions?” Tristan asks, once Arthur has his chainmail back on (possibly the fastest Merlin has ever been).

“Round the back.” Merlin instructs them hurriedly, rushing them to the back door of his small house. He lets them leave before turning back towards where Agravaine is and casting a spell, which sends a cart rolling towards him.

“There!” Agravaine shouts, “Get them!”

The group of them ran through the woods, Tristan supporting Isolde, as fast as they could. They approach the cave tunnels and Merlin shouted, “I’ll cover our tracks, you keep going!” He turned away from then, running again. He shouted for Kilgharrah in dragon speak until he spotted the Southrons. He headed back towards the caves with no sign of Kilgharrah. He heard the beginnings of a dragon’s roar as he ran into the caves, smiling to himself.

“Did you lose them?” Arthur asked as soon as Merlin caught up to them. Merlin thought it was vaguely inconsiderate, in a usual Arthur sort of way, but Arthur was mentally scanning Merlin over for injuries from the moment he could see him.

“It’s safe.” Merlin replied, imagining Kilgharrah swooping down over the Southrons.

“You sure?”

“Do I look like an idiot?”

“Yes.” Arthur shrugged, finally concluding that Merlin was in fact perfectly fine.

“Doesn’t change does it?”

“Which way now?” Merlin looked around confusedly before shrugging to himself. “I thought you said you grew up in these tunnels?” Arthur pressed.

“I did,” Merlin protested, “Just-- it could be that way…”

“Or it could be that way.” Arthur finished exasperatedly.

“Yes.”

“That’s very reassuring.”

They eventually decided which path to take and it wasn’t long before they stopped again, hearing movement behind them. “I thought you said we’d lost them.” Arthur said quietly, there was a small comfort in poking fun at Merlin, like falling into a familiar routine.

“I thought I had.” Merlin replied, which just made Arthur feel uneasy again.

“It won’t take long for them to catch us,” Tristan interjected.

Merlin nodded his head decidedly. He knew he was the only one who could take on the following army of Southrons and survive it. “I’ll go back.”

Arthur’s.

Heart.

Stopped.

“What are you gonna do?” He forced out, trying to make Merlin stop and stay with the group.

“Create a diversion.” Merlin shrugged, almost casually, and Arthur reached out to stop him. The move was completely instinctual, his whole being screaming for Merlin to stay with him.

“It’s too risky.”

“I know these tunnels and Agravaine doesn’t. You keep going.” And with that Merlin handed Arthur his torch and made his decision. He may not have known what it was that he felt for Arthur but he knew that if he was going to risk his life for something, Arthur would be it. Every time.

“Merlin…” Arthur wanted to say something more, something heartfelt but settled for, “Don’t do anything stupid.” And hoped it was enough.

“Me?” Merlin laughed in an impossibly bright, ever so Merlin-like way, before taking off into the tunnels. Arthur stood there for a moment, conflicted as he’d ever been, before following after the others.

Merlin found the Southrons easily, with only a little magical help, and stopped to take a breath before turning the corner to face them. “Oh hello!” He exclaimed brightly, causing them all to look at him, before taking off down one of the other tunnels. Merlin ran until he felt like his lungs would collapse before hitting a dead end. Swearing internally at himself, he stopped to catch his breath before Agravaine and the Southrons approach from behind him.

“Merlin. Merlin?” Agravaine repeated when Merlin doesn’t turn to face him. Merlin turned, a pit in his stomach. He knew now that either they made it out of these tunnels or he did and if they made it out, they’d make it to Arthur. Merlin couldn’t risk that. “Where’s Arthur?”

Merlin shook his head sadly. “Be careful.” He warned.

Agravaine looked confused. “What are you talking about?” He asked impatiently, “Where’s Arthur?” Merlin shifted his feet, he knew what he needed to do but that didn’t mean he wanted to. “Tell me. Now.” Agravaine ordered, “Or I’ll have to kill you.”

Merlin shook his head sadly. He was out of options. “I don’t think so,” Merlin said, decidedly. Agravaine took a step towards him and Merlin’s eyes flashed, sending them all flying backwards. He stepped forward to inspect them and Agravaine woke, gasping. He sat up, looking at Merlin. Merlin lowered his head, then changed his mind and looked Agravaine in the eyes. He fixed him with a noble look he’d seen Arthur give his enemies many times.

“You have magic.” He stated obviously.

“I was born with it.” Merlin said the words with so much force that the cave seemed to fill with it. He found a small sense of relief in saying it out loud finally after so long.

Agravaine stood, watching Merlin, and all of the sudden his face seemed to light up. “So it’s you,” he said quietly, “You’re Emrys.”

“That is what the druids call me.” Merlin ground out.

“And you’ve been at court all this time? At Arthur’s side.” He started laughing, almost hysterically, “How you’ve managed to deceive him. I am impressed Merlin.” Merlin shuffled again. “Perhaps we’re more alike than you think.”

Agravaine reached a hand out to Merlin, but Merlin raised his hand as though to strike him with magic. Agravaine’s smile faded, he gestured submission and Merlin lowered his hand. Agravaine whipped a knife out with his other hand to attack Merlin, but Merlin was faster. His hands shot out, his eyes flashed and Agravaine was blasted backwards. He landed, eyes open, and lay there motionless. Merlin knew it was over. He drew a deep breath before turning and walking away, feeling like his heart had turned to stone.

Arthur stopped and turned to look down the tunnel behind him, feeling as though his whole being is being pulled in that direction.

“What are you doing?” Tristan asked him impatiently.

Arthur shushed him, listening for what caused what he assumed was just his battle instincts. The rocks around him shook and a cold hand began to claw at his racing heart. “Merlin.” Arthur blurted, without even meaning to.

“He knows the tunnels,” Tristan said reasonably, trying to urge Arthur forward, “He’ll find his way.”

But Arthur didn’t hear him. He couldn’t shake the hollow feeling growing in his chest. He couldn’t lose Merlin. “I’m going back,” He said, walking past the others before they could say a word.

“For a servant?” Tristan exclaimed confusedly.

Gwen watched Arthur go with a knowing look, “You’re wrong about him.”

Arthur heard someone coming down the tunnel and readied his sword. “Merlin!” A rush of air seemed to fill his lungs, as though he could finally breathe. “Where have you been?”

Merlin hadn’t even realized Arthur was coming, everything seemed blocked. His blood was boiling and his chest felt hollow, though his heart was heavy and hardened. Upon seeing Arthur, almost running into him in fact, his senses began to come back to him. “Were you worried about me?” He asked, softening.

“No,” Arthur lied dumbly. He knew he had never felt more relieved in his life, but he’d never admit that to Merlin. The age old practices Uther had ingrained in him held true; he always told him that an emotional king was not a good king. “I was making sure we weren’t followed.”

“You came back to look for me,” Merlin pressed, teasing. He felt human again. His senses were coming back, and he slipped into the familiarity of Arthur’s friendship

“All right, it’s true,” Arthur sighed. The relief had overtaken him and his walls came tumbling down. This is Merlin, he thought, he could be real with Merlin. “I came back cause you’re the only friend I have and I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Arthur almost regretting saying it at all, but Merlin’s face softened and he knew he was okay.

Merlin felt as though he was on fire, his feelings coming back to him all at once. Arthur, he had done this for Arthur. He’d do it again if that’s what it took to protect him. “Really?” He questioned, pressing on further.

Arthur smiled softly before turning back down the tunnel. “Don’t be stupid,” he called over his shoulder. Their smiles could have lit the whole cave as Merlin followed Arthur, both of them filled with their own relief. Merlin stopped suddenly, stumbling, and Arthur laughed. He was unaware that Merlin had finally come to the most important realization of his life. The realization that would change his life forever, should it ever get out.

He loved Arthur Pendragon.

What was worse, in Merlin’s opinion, was the other realizations that accompanied the fact that he loved Arthur. The feeling he had felt seeing Gwen and Arthur had been jealousy, that he wanted nothing more than to tell Arthur how he felt, and even worse yet that if he told Arthur how he felt he would have to tell him about his magic.

“So, where now?” Tristan asked as they finally reached the other side of the mountain. They were a mess of various injuries, Arthur was holding his wounded ribs and Isolde was being almost entirely supported by Tristan.

“To the plains beyond the mountains.” Arthur said decisively.

“You sure?” Tristan questioned, “That’s Lot’s kingdom. He’s no friend of the Pendragons.” He looked at Arthur, quizzically.

“Well, maybe we could find somewhere here. A house where we could rest,” Gwen spoke up. She was clearly trying to take the blame off of Arthur and defend him subtly. It was so unsubtle, and such a terrible idea, that Merlin almost rolled his eyes.

“We’re fugitives,” Tristan stated, “A danger to anyone who harbours us.”

“He’s right,” Merlin spoke up, “We must travel back towards Camelot.” He glanced at Arthur, who had been avoiding his gaze for that exact reason.

“No,” he argued, “We need to keep going.”

“If we hold up in the Forest of Essetir, we’ll be safe,” Merlin reasoned, “At least for a while.”

Arthur knew Merlin was right, as always unfortunately, but he was afraid. Though he’d never have admitted it he couldn’t help but feel as though he had failed his people, he had let Morgana take the throne. He had trusted Agravaine even when Merlin, Merlin of all people, had told him not to. “No.”

“If anyone has survived this battle,” Merlin persisted, “That’s where they’ll be hiding.” Arthur finally caught his eye and Merlin looked at him reassuringly, but determinedly.

“I know which I’d do,” Tristan interjected, “You’re the king, Arthur. You’re our leader…”

“All right,”Arthur sighed, breaking his eye contact with Merlin, “Forest of Essetir it is.” Merlin stared after Arthur as he walked away.

When they had finally settled into the Forest of Essetir, Arthur set about helping Tristan to collect firewood. “Well well well, look at you.” Tristan spoke snidely after a moment of awkward silence, “First you go back to rescue your servant,” Arthur’s head was still spinning a little with the image that had rushed into his head when he had heard the noises in the cave. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Now you’re getting your hands dirty. But then again, why shouldn’t you? You’re just like everyone else. There’s nothing special about you, is there?” Tristan continued, landing on all the right buttons to push.

“Well, maybe you’re right.” Arthur conceded softly, “Maybe I don’t deserve to be king.”

“Well, that’s alright, cause you’re not.” Tristan said bluntly. Arthur almost dropped the wood he was carrying. “Not anymore.” Then he strutted off without another word. Arthur was really, truly reeling with it all. He tossed the wood aside, frustratedly, running his hands through his hair. He started walking, determined to clear his head. He barely heard Gwen calling after him until she grabbed his arm. He stopped abruptly and spun around to face her.

“Don’t.” Arthur exclaimed, and Gwen pulled back. “What happened in Ealdor was a moment’s weakness.” Gwen flinched back, “What you did to me… Everything I cherished between us, everything we had, it’s gone. That’ll never change.” On top of everything else, he couldn’t shake the feeling that had clung to him since that moment, that things with Gwen just didn't feel right anymore. He thought it was just betrayal, that he was still angry with her, but he slowly realized it was something deeper than that. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Merlin and Arthur were lounging by the fire that night and Arthur still couldn’t quiet the whirlwind happening in his mind. He crossed his arms as he sat, puzzled and saddened.

“Come on, I’ll take watch.” Merlin said, but it went unnoticed by Arthur. “Arthur, what’s the matter?” Merlin asked, and Arthur finally looked towards him. “Don’t listen to Tristan, he doesn’t know you.”

“I trusted the wrong people.” Arthur said, quietly.

Merlin shook his head, “They betrayed you. That wasn’t your fault.”

“No. I was a fool.” Arthur argued, “I misjudged everyone… my uncle… Morgana. Every decision I’ve made has been wrong.”

“You’re not.” Merlin argued softly, “You’re a worthy king.” Merlin knew this, of course, because he knew Arthur was really the “Once and Future King who will unite the lands of Albion” though he couldn’t tell Arthur why he knew that.

“I’m good with a sword,” Arthur lamented, “That’s all.”

Merlin felt so immensely sad for Arthur in that moment. Being Arthur’s manservant had given Merlin an exclusive look into the life of a crowned prince, a knight, and finally a king. He had always known there was an enormous weight on Arthur’s shoulders, and though he tried to ease it and help Arthur where he could it would never be enough. “Your people love you.” Merlin said, finally. As do I, he almost continued, before stopping himself.

“Most of them are dead,” Arthur replied, missing the almost startled look on Merlin’s face as he continued to brood. “Thanks to me.”

“No, most of them escaped,” Merlin said declared, “They’ll be here in the forest, I’m sure of that.”

Arthur didn’t want Merlin to be right though. Because if they were in the forest, Arthur would have to face them. “Well, if they are, they’ll have to find themselves a new king.” Arthur couldn’t bare to see disappointment in Merlin’s eyes too, so he got up and walked away. He could hear Merlin calling after him but he couldn’t face it.

When Merlin woke Arthur he had a solid plan formulated in his mind. Arthur would believe in himself again, Merlin was determined of that if nothing else. Talking to Kilgharrah the night before had given him an idea, for once, of what he needed to do.

“What?” Arthur asked, grumpily, at being woken up.

“There’s something I need to show you.” Merlin said. He turned and walked away and Arthur sat confused for a second before grabbing his sword and following him.

“This had better be good because this really isn't the time for one of your ridiculous games.” Arthur grumbled, following Merlin through the forest anyway.

“I was thinking about last night and how you were saying how you'd given up all hope, how you were a poor leader and a shoddy king,” Merlin replied, slipping once again into the familiar routine of teasing Arthur.

"Shoddy?” Arthur repeated, doubtfully

“All right, shabby."

“Thanks”.

“Well, it reminded me of a tale Gaius once told me,” Merlin started.

“Merlin, I'm really not interested in your favourite bedtime stories.” Arthur was tired, and grumpy, and he didn’t want to hear what he thought was going to be more of Merlin teasing him.

“For once in your life, just...listen.” Merlin sighed. Arthur held his hands up in surrender. Merlin continued “Many years ago, before the birth of the five kingdoms, this land was in an endless cycle of bloodshed and war, but one man was determined to end all that. He gathered together the elders of each tribe and drew up plans for the lands to be divided. Each would respect the others' boundaries, and drew it over the land as they saw fit. That man was Camelot's first king, ancestor to all that followed, including you, Arthur.”

“Bruta,” Arthur interjected.

“You know the story.”

“Yes, every child in Camelot does. Can I go back to bed now?” Arthur was growing impatient, though part of him knew that Merlin didn’t usually go on like this for no reason. He almost turned back to the camp, but Merlin kept walking and he kept following on instinct, if anything.

“No,” Merlin sighed again, “Because there's another part of the story that you haven't heard.

“Really?”

“When Bruta was on his deathbed,” Merlin continued, “he asked to be taken deep into the forest. There, with the last of his strength, he thrust his sword into a rock. If his lineage was ever questioned, this would form a test. Only a true king of Camelot could pull the weapon free.” Arthur stopped walking and stared at Merlin curiously.

“Are you making this up?” He asked abruptly.

“Of course not.” Merlin chuckled. He continued walking, leaving Arthur to try and figure out if he was lying or not. Arthur kept following him.

“All right. If it's true, why haven't I heard this story?” He asked, doubtfully.

“Well, history isn't really your strong point, is it?” Merlin chuckled again, teasing once again.

“And where is this rock?”

“Oh, it was lost many years ago during the Great Purge, but,” Merlin paused to look at Arthur, “I've managed to find it.”

“I've never heard so much rubbish in my entire life,” Arthur laughed, finally.

“Are you calling Gaius a liar?” Merlin laughed too, just a little.

“No, I'm calling you an idiot,” Arthur countered, finally sinking into the familiar as well.

“What's that then?” Merlin smirked Arthur followed Merlin's gaze and settled on the sword, stuck in the stone as Merlin had described. They walked closer to it and a crowd of Camelot knights and people came from the trees, surprising Arthur. Merlin smiled, his plan had worked. Arthur glanced back at him and caught sight of Merlin’s beaming proud expression. He wanted to keep that expression on Merlin’s face forever

“What the hell are you playing at?” Arthur questioned.

“I'm proving that you are their leader and their king,” Merlin said proudly.

“That sword is stuck fast in solid stone,” Arthur argued doubtfully, realizing Merlin’s plan.

“And you're going to pull it out.” Merlin said firmly.

“Merlin, it's impossible.”

“Arthur, you're the true king of Camelot.”

Arthur glanced back at the crowd of people watching them before looking back at Merlin. He knew from the look in Merlin’s eye that he wouldn’t back down. “Do you want me to look like a fool?”

Merlin bit back a retort of well yes, before continuing, “No, I'm going to make you see that Tristan's wrong; you aren't just anyone, you are special. You and you alone can draw out that sword.” Merlin, of course, believed in Arthur above anything,

Arthur drew his own sword and stuck it in the ground before glancing at Merlin. “You better be right about this.” He approached the stone slowly. He looked up at the crowd hesitantly, not wanting to disappoint them again, then placed both hands on the hilt. He tried to pull it up, but the sword wouldn’t move, just as he suspected.

“You have to believe, Arthur,” Merlin interjected. Arthur pulled at the sword again, arms shaking with effort, but still nothing happened. Merlin glanced at the crowd and saw them all watching Arthur intently. “You're destined to be Albion's greatest king.” Arthur let go of the sword, ready to give up, but Merlin spoke from behind him. “Nothing, not even this stone can stand in your way.” Arthur remembered the look on Merlin’s face when they had entered the clearing, he looked at the faces of his people, and he wanted to earn their pride. He positioned himself, placing one hand on the swords hilt and closing his eyes. “Have faith.” Merlin murmured.

Arthur lifted his chin, picturing their faces, Merlin’s face, and willed himself to believe. Unbeknown to him, Merlin’s eyes finally glowed and the sword was released from the stone. Arthur pulled it out and stared at it in awe.

The people watched, shocked, until Leon spoke up. “Long live the king!” He exclaimed. Suddenly the chant echoed through the clearing as Arthur thrust the sword into the air triumphantly. He glanced at Merlin, who smiled at him, and Arthur came to his own startling realization. He loved Merlin. He was a complete dollophead but he couldn’t do it without him and he loved him.

“What about the drawbridge?” Arthur asked, standing around with his knights.

“Well manned.” Leon replied.

“As are the northern gates.” Percival added, as though he had foreseen Arthur’s next question. Arthur almost swore in desperation.

“The battlements on the south side?” Arthur knew the castle better than anyone, he had lived there all his life, he played there, fought there, trained there. It was his home all his life, he knew it like the back of his hand. Unfortunately so did Morgana.

“Arthur, even if we can get inside, she has an army.”

“And we have what? A few hundred?” Arthur almost swore again but he steeled himself. This had to work. He would save Camelot. It was his home, they were his people.

“And they still outnumber us,”

“Yeah but only three to one.” Arthur argued stubbornly. Leon chuckled in the background. He had known Arthur the longest, he had seen that one coming from a mile away.

“And you think they’ll fight?” Isolde interjected, sceptically.”

“Well they’ll fight for Arthur.” Leon defended.

“It’s not me they fight for. It’s Camelot.” Merlin almost scoffed in the background.

“No Arthur,” Leon voiced the argument Merlin didn’t, “It is you that people love, and you that they will lay down their lives for. I know that I would ride into the mouth of hell for you.”

“And I.” Percival agreed. Tristan and Isolde exchanged surprised looks.

“And I.” Merlin voiced, causing Arthur to catch his eye.

A thousand words seemed to pass between them in that moment. It steeled Arthur’s resolve and strengthened everything he believed. He drew his sword, hardly breaking eye contact, “Into the mouth of hell it is.” He could do it, he hoped. He had his knights, and somehow more importantly he had Merlin. He wanted to believe that could be enough, so it would be.

Planning had taken its toll on Arthur. He was exhausted by the time nightfall hit, wandering around the camp almost aimlessly. His mind was a little fuzzy until Merlin jogged up behind him. “You all right?” Merlin's voice cut through the fog and cleared Arthur’s head.

“Yes.”

“Do you think there are too many of them?” Merlin questioned. Arthur was stubborn, Merlin knew better than anyone. He’d never admit his concerns to the knights, especially in front of Tristan, but Merlin knew they were there. He could see it in Arthur’s eyes as they planned.

“Southrons are men like you and me. Men we can fight. But Morgana…” Arthur shook his head, sighing, “Her power is so great and we’ve got nothing to answer it with.”

“I never finished Gaius’s story,” Merlin piped up. He wouldn’t let Arthur doubt himself, he’d make up a thousand old stories.

“Not now, Merlin, please.”

“Will you just listen?” Merlin put his hand on his hips, sighing. Arthur was too tired to argue with him in that moment. He knew Merlin wouldn’t be telling him this if it weren’t for a reason. Merlin believed in him, Arthur knew it but in that moment his need to hear it was crushing.

“When the sword was thrust into the stone, the ancient king foretold that one day it would be freed again at a time when Camelot needed it most. The man who freed it would unite the land of Albion and rule over the greatest kingdom the world has ever known. That man is you, Arthur.” Arthur’s brow furrowed and Merlin smiled softly. Gods how he loved him.

“You’re making this up.”

“Why would I do that? Your heads already as big as your waist.” Merlin chuckled. There was something in Arthur’s eye that made him continue, “I believe it though. And I believe in you. I always have.” Arthur's chest felt lighter and he revelled in it for a moment. Taking in the proud look in Merlin’s eye. He glanced at his sword, considering it before letting out a sigh.

“That may be true,” He took a shuddering breath, “But we’re still no match for her magic. We have only a few hundred men and no way to protect against her power. My father always taught me that magic was evil, and so were all those who practised it, and yet now it seems to be our only hope.” Suddenly it was all just pouring out of him. He was so tired. “Maybe magic isn’t evil, I’ve seen it be good, it’s the reason I’m even here at all. But then it also killed my mother. Maybe it’s just corruptive, who knows, but we stand no chance at defeating Morgana alone.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Merlin interjected softly. He had to tell Arthur, he knew it in that moment, and it broke his heart.

“Merlin-” Arthur started to argue.

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupted. He took a deep breath, “You don’t have to worry about that, I will take care of it.”

“What are you going to do, Merlin?” Arthur asked incredulously. He had no idea what had gotten into Merlin in that moment.

Merlin took a great shuddering breath and stepped closer to Arthur. There was a humoured glint in his eye and Merlin was lost in it. He studied Arthur’s face, trying to commit to memory the way he was looking at him now. Tired but at the same time awake and so impossibly full of life. There was trust in his eyes and Merlin clung to it, the thought of never seeing it again crushed him. But Arthur needed to know, he couldn’t doubt himself or they really would fail. Merlin steeled his resolve and, with a last look at Arthur’s smiling face, lowered his voice, bowed his head and spoke his truth. “I have magic.” Arthur froze, his smile slipping. “I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you.”

“Merlin…” Arthur breathed, almost unconsciously. He wanted to believe it was a trick, but he looked in Merlin’s eyes and he knew it wasn’t. “Why did you never tell me?”

“You would have chopped my head off,” Merlin tried to joke, but his heart was heavy. Arthur would never look at him the same way again, he’d never trust him. He knew, he’d always known, that this day would come but he had never expected to love Arthur so much when it did.

“That’s what worried you?” Arthur asked quietly. His mouth was hardly moving, he was hardly even aware he was speaking at all. Merlin having magic went against everything he had ever been taught about magic. He had always been taught that sorcerers were evil and yet here stood Merlin. Clumsy, stupid, brilliant Merlin. Suddenly he was overwhelmingly tired, his mind was spinning and the ground seemed to sway.

“Arthur, I can sneak into Camelot and disable Morgana’s magic. It may be only temporary but it might be enough to let us defeat her.”

“You can’t just go sneaking into Camelot, we wouldn’t be here if you could, Merlin. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll use magic,” Merlin argued in a loud whisper, “She’ll never even know it was me.”

“Merlin-”

“It could be our only chance Arthur. I’m going to do it. You can put me on trial for it when we get back to Camelot if you wish. I’ll be arrested for sorcery anyway.” And with that Merlin stormed off, leaving Arthur reeling in his wake.

That night, as he’d planned, Merlin snuck into Camelot and planted an effigy under Morgana’s bed that would take her magic. He’d disguised himself as the Old Man, the face Morgana associated with the name Emrys. With Agravaine dead there had been no one to correct Morgana’s theory. Morgana had seen him and panicked and Merlin knew the sight of him would cause her more paranoia than he could imagine. When he’d returned to the camp he was exhausted. He’d collapsed into sleep under a tree only to be woken up a short while later by Arthur.

“Wakey wakey,” Arthur snapped his fingers in Merlin’s face as he stared off into space. “You look as though you’ve been up half the night.” He seemed determined to pretend that Merlin hadn’t said anything last night, and Merlin didn’t know what to make of it. The fact of the matter was that, from what Arthur could tell, Merlin didn’t have an evil bone in his body.

“I was,” Merlin gave Arthur a look before adding, “Couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought you said you had faith in me?” Arthur joked. He couldn’t hate him, he’d realized after hours of tossing and turning. He needed Merlin. Merlin had been by his side for so long Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how to function without him anymore. And yet, there was a distance between them now. Arthur couldn’t help but think back to everything his father had ever told him about sorcerers. But then he’d look at Merlin, who’d been beside him since the beginning, and found he could scarcely believe any of it. But he had to be careful. He loved Merlin, he knew that now, but he couldn’t let that cloud his judgement. Not again.

Merlin was confused, for once he didn’t know what Arthur was thinking. But he had spent all night dreading the look in Arthur’s eyes that morning and found it had been much the same as the night before. There was a glimmer of apprehension in Arthur’s eyes, but there was trust there too. So much trust. He wouldn’t let that opportunity go to waste. “Whatever gave you that idea” He answered back. Arthur shrugged and smiled at him and Merlin felt like his chest could have burst from relief. Arthur went off to talk to Tristan and Isolde, presumably to say goodbye, but it seemed they planned on staying around. Merlin watched proudly as Arthur left them with a nod, he knew they’d see Arthur for who he really was.

Arthur had stepped away for a moment to escape the commotion of the camp and the battle planning. He needed to clear his head. He drew his new sword, admiring the inscription and feeling the balance. He thought of the moment he’d pulled it from the stone, seeing his people look on him with admiration and pride. Even thought he’d managed to let Morgana take Camelot in the first place. He heard a rustling in the bushes behind him before he heard someone speak.

“Arthur,” He registered it as Guinevere’s voice and turned, half in shock. He wasn’t sure who he’d expected. “If anything happens to us, I want you to know…”

“Guinevere--”

“I understand why you can’t forgive me. I don’t know why I did what I did. But I am sorry for the hurt it caused you.” Gwen walked away, leaving Arthur to consider what she had said.

When the time came, Arthur and his men armed themselves and took place outside the borders of Camelot. Arthur swung his sword forward, signalling for them to move out. The knights split off into groups and the fighting started. Arthur fought his way through the Southrons fiercely, holding his still injured ribs in the moments between. Merlin was never far from him, following through the wreckage. He made sure the Southrons were down for good.

Outside the council room, Arthur and his party took out the last of the guards. “Whatever happened to the idea of finding a bit of land and settling down?” Isolde quipped to Tristan as Arthur walked past.

Arthur stood next to Merlin and looked at his new sword. “You know this thing’s not half bad.”

“Thought you might like it.” Arthur chuckled as everyone regained their breath and composure. They stood ready to enter the council chambers, where the worst of Morgana’s guards would be.

“Ready?” Arthur asked.. Everyone nodded and took a breath.

“For the love of Camelot!” They shouted and charged in, only to skid to a stop when they saw that the room was only occupied by Morgana, who was lounging on the throne, and one man.

“Welcome, dear brother,” Morgana said airily, “It’s been far too long.” She stood and walked toward them, continuing. “I apologise if you had a difficult reception. It’s hard to know who to trust these days.” She stopped in the middle of the room, looking at Arthur expectantly. Arthur approached slowly, holding his sword in an open hand. She watched his hand closely and he slid the sword back into his belt for the first time since they arrived. He met her in the middle, studying her closely.

“What happened to you Morgana?” Arthur asked softly. The look in Morgana’s eye was almost regretful as she studied him in return. Hurt was plain on both their faces. “I thought we were friends.”

“As did I.” Morgana’s voice was soft, but then it hardened like steel, “But alas we were both wrong.”

“You can’t blame me for my father’s sins.” Arthur argued.

“It's a little late for that. You’ve made it perfectly clear how you feel about me and my kind.” Arthur’s thoughts shifted to Merlin and the look of fear in his eyes the night before. He could almost feel Merlin shift on his feet behind him, he fought the urge to look at him. “You're not as different from Uther as you'd like to think.”

“Nor are you.”

“I’m going to enjoy killing you, Arthur Pendragon.” Morgana sneered, “Not even Emrys can save you now.” Arthur drew his sword and Morgana smirked. “Your blades cannot stop me.” Merlin braced himself silently, unnoticed by Morgana as she exclaimed, “Hleap on bæc!”

The room stood still, but nothing happened. Arthur stood, still ready for an attack, as Morgana looked confused. Morgana tried again, raising her hand for strength. There was a quiver of fear in her voice as nothing happened once again. Arthur realised Merlin’s plan had worked with a slight rush of pride but he was overcome by sadness as Morgana’s state.

“Not so powerful now, my lady.” Arthur said sadly. Morgana’s guard, who’d been standing off to the side until now, pulled her behind him and she took off running. “After her!” Arthur exclaimed, and Merlin and Gwen took off in the same direction. Arthur struggled to fight Morgana’s guard. His ribs were screaming in pain with every movement. The guard knocked him down, disarming him, and raised his sword for the final blow. Arthur thought of Merlin. Before the guard could make his move, Isolde stabbed him in the back. He spun around, slicing Isolde as he dropped dead. Arthur realized what had happened when he saw the look in Isolde’s eyes. He rushed forward to help her, Tristan at his heels.

Merlin and Gwen returned to the council room to see Tristan holding Isolde to him with Arthur crouched in front of them.

“Our dreams…” Isolde trailed off.

“Isolde, don’t.” Tristan said softly.

“I wish…”

“I wish too.”

“Hold me.” Isolde’s voice quivered with fear. Tristan held her closer and her eyes drifted shut. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her before burying his face in her hair, sobbing quietly. Arthur’s gaze drifted up to look at Merlin who looked up to meet his gaze slowly. Merlin could see the guilt in Arthur’s eyes. They held each other’s gaze silently. Gwen looked between the two of them and nodded to herself, understanding.

Later that day, Merlin set to work cleaning Arthur’s chambers, which had been completely ransacked. He set a chair upright at the table as Arthur entered. Merlin watched him inspect the room sadly. “It will take some time.” He said quietly.

“Well you’ll take care of it,” Arthur chuckled. Merlin smiled at him, once again trying to memorise the look on Arthur’s face, here, before the inevitable.

Merlin sighed, “Arthur, if you want to put me on trial for sorcery… I can leave. I’ll go back to Ealdor. You don’t have to see me again.” Merlin’s heart ached at the idea as he watched Arthur’s face expectantly.

“Merlin, I don’t want to do that. Quite the opposite actually. I want you to stay.” Merlin looked at him confusedly and Arthur took an involuntary step towards him. “Merlin…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Merlin interrupted, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket nervously.

“Everything that’s happened between us…”

“Arthur please, I know I lied to you.”

“I don’t care.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hands to stop his twitching. Merlin met his eye cautiously. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Arthur said heavily. Merlin smiled a little, but Arthur could see the apprehension in his eyes. “For god’s sake Merlin,” he chuckled, squeezing Merlin’s hand softly. He took a step closer to Merlin. “I’m not going to banish you or put you on trial, I couldn’t.” Standing this close, he could see the different shades of blue in Merlin’s eyes, the hints of gold. He could see the dirt smudged on Merlin’s brow and cheek and the faint splatter of blood on his face.

Merlin was confused, to say the least. When he had told Arthur of his magic, he had half expected him to kill him on the spot or banish him right then and there. He certainly never expected Arthur to speak to him again, let alone look him in the eye as he did now. He felt as through the rug would be pulled out from under him at any moment, that Arthur would reveal it was a trick. But then, he could have killed Merlin right there and Merlin would have been okay. Arthur’s hands were warm on his and his gaze was gentle. Merlin could have died happy there.

Arthur lifted his hand and wiped the dirt from Merlin’s cheek softly. He saw the confusion in Merlin’s eyes and laughed. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you Merlin?”

“Must be from all the time I’ve spent with you,” Merlin quipped, instinctively.

Arthur’s hands cradled Merlin’s face softly as he threw his head back laughing. “I could have you thrown in the stocks for that.”

“You could try but what’s to say I stay there this time, I could just magic my way out, what’s the harm now?” Merlin chuckled, “Besides given the state of the castle they probably aren’t even there.”

“I’ll have them make new ones.”

“I’ll break them.”

“Sometimes I think you forget who I am.”

“You’re a prat. And a royal one.”

Arthur shook his head laughing. “What am I going to do with you, Merlin?” Merlin shrugged, smiling. Arthur’s hands were still resting on his face and Merlin’s had found a place on Arthur’s waist, almost involuntarily. “You’re lucky I love you, you clotpole.”

“That’s my w--” Arthur cut off Merlin’s indignant muttering as he surged forward to press his lips to Merlin’s. Merlin smiled into the kiss, deciding he was quite happy Arthur didn’t kill him. He’d much rather be doing this for eternity.

“I love you too, dollophead,” Merlin murmured as they pulled apart. Arthur scoffed and kissed him again.

#this too me forever to write but whatever #quite proud of it actually #merthur #merthur fic #merthur headcanon #sword in the stone #merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #i tried #this is definitely better than the last one I did

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geekofmanyforms · 5 years

Text

New Beginning

Chapter Ten

***Hello ya'all, I wasn't planning on updating again today, but when I went to write the next chapter this came out. Its a filler with a small view of one of Ellie's past lives. So please make sure you tell me what you think of it, if ya like it, I may add more scenes from her past. I know this is chapter is a lot smaller than what I usually post, but as I said, it's a bit of a filler. Review, review, review. Thanks, guys, enjoy! This chapter has been edited by my Beta Casey***

The sun shone brightly as I laid in the soft grass. I shielded my eyes with my hands and looked up at the blue sky. The only clouds in sight were thin wisps of fluff, proof that it would remain a beautiful day. The heaviness of my thick purple dress the only thing stopping me from climbing the plush trees surrounding me. I've always thought it so unfair that women were limited by such outrageous attire, especially in the stifling heat that accompanied this time of year. I removed my hand from my face when a rustling met my ears. I sat up slowly, once again hating the ridiculous corsets I was required to wear and looked past the trees. I prayed the intruder was just an animal, and not one of my prankster little brothers.

"Joseph, Gerald?" I called.

When I wasn't met with an answer, I used the nearest tree to gain an aerial view. I brushed the grass and dirt from my gown and climbed into the trees and casually glanced around me. I was still unsure of what, or who, had made the noise, and I was starting to worry. It was only last year that I turned 16 and remembered the many lives I lived before this one. It had been a wake-up call to finally know what dangers lie in the shadows. From that point on, I made sure to stay aware of my surroundings. I stopped in my tracks when a stick broke behind me. My heart sped up, and I placed my shaking hands at my side.

"Hello?" I called out.

I turned in a circle, my newfound magic crackling quietly in my palm. I was untrained in the art of magic and tried to keep myself under control. I was afraid someone would find out and hunt me down, so I pulled my hands against my chest and took a deep breath. I struggled to control my emotions, it wouldn't be smart to lash out and reveal myself.

I turned around and stared into the empty woods. I couldn't see anyone or anything, but that didn't mean I wasn't being followed. I started to back up until I hit something hard and warm. I let out a startled scream and spun around, causing myself to trip and fall back. I threw my hands out in an attempt to catch myself, and a warm, sweaty hand grabbed mine. I was pulled back against the chest of whomever I had run into. I pushed away and stomped my heeled shoe against their foot. I grasped the bottom of my dress and started to run towards the manor, hoping I would find a servant near the entrance of our property. I could hear the person I hit, a male by the sound of their voice, crying out in pain.

"Elandra, wait! Please, I'm sorry!"

I slowed my retreat and turned towards the familiar voice. Damon was leaning against a tree, his dark suit splattered with mud and dirt. He had one leg lifted from the ground and a pained expression on his face. I dropped my gown with a small nervous giggle.

"Damon?" I asked.

I ran towards him, grabbing my fan from the pocket of my gown. I smacked his arm with it repeatedly,

"You- nearly- scared- me- to- death," I growled, enunciating each word with a hard smack to his upper arm.

He attempted to shield himself with his hands and step backward away from me but failed miserably.

"Ah, Elandra! I apologize — I didn't mean to frighten you,"

I huffed in a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion, my restrictive gown making the physical exertion of lashing out at Damon extremely difficult. I placed my hands on my hips and stared him down. His raven black hair was wet with perspiration and sticking to his forehead. His eyes were as blue as the sky as he stared at me pleadingly. This silly man was impossible to stay angry with. I bit my lip, trying to keep an annoyed expression on my face instead of the smile that threatened to escape. I obviously wasn't fairing very well, because his pleading appearance lifted into a bright and cheerful smile. He knew all too well that he was my greatest weakness, and he could get away with almost anything.

I stomped my foot in a very unladylike manner and sighed, "You're forgiven, Mr. Salvatore," I said.

He pushed himself from the tree and took my hands in his.

"Well, that is an excellent thing, Ms. Miller, because I don't think my poor heart could handle knowing you were angry with me,"

The smirk on his lips was all too enticing. This man would surely be the death of me.

He kissed my cheek gently and with great care. I ran my hands through his hair and nuzzled against his broad chest. He felt safe.

Being with him was something I would never tire of. He kissed my head and slowly pulled away from me. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against my lips — he tasted like heaven. I moved my lips with his in well-practiced unison. After what felt like only seconds, he pulled away and took in a few deep breaths. I smirked at his disheveled appearance. His face was red, his eyes dilated and dark. I gave him a moment to collect himself and adjusted my gown. I loved these stolen moments with Damon, but for some reason, I was feeling a bit strange all of a sudden. A frown marred my features when a peculiar image crossed my mind. Where Damon had once stood, another appeared in his place. The man was of similar height and build as Damon, but his shoulder-length hair was a dirty blonde instead of Damon's black. I looked up into his eyes which were a beautiful blue-green that left me with a strange feeling of awe. The handsome, dimpled smile that graced his lips made his entire face light up. His eyes looked down at me warmly, and I couldn't help the feeling of adoration that gripped my heart tightly. I've seen this man many times in dreams and memories, but why had he crossed my mind now? It felt like I was betraying Damon and I hated it, yet even so, when I shook the thought from my head, and Damon was once again the man in front of me, I felt a sharp stab of pain in my chest. Niklaus, his name had been Niklaus. I felt fingers on my chin, and my face was pulled up to meet the worried eyes of my future husband.

"Are you feeling well?" he asked in concern.

I pushed the memories of Niklaus back into the recesses of my mind and smiled.

"Yes, I am well. Just tired and a bit overheated," I said softly.

He removed his hand from my face and guided me from the woods, towards my father's property.

"Let's get you indoors. Stefan is waiting with Joseph and Gerald. I'm sure they will want to go riding later,"

In the distance, I could finally see the manor and was relieved. The strange memory that plagued me left me exhausted and ashamed. I held Damon's hand tightly within my own and looked up to him. His eyes were bright as he spoke of going riding with Stefan and my brothers. It was their favorite past time, and I loved to see them so carefree. I nodded at the appropriate moments so that he would think I was listening to him — which I was, just not as aptly as I usually did. I just couldn't shake off the memory of Niklaus.

"Elandra, Damon!" Stefan called from the garden.

I looked up and waved. To my amusement, Stefan was carrying a large bundle of red roses. My mother would be angry with him. She hated it when he messed with her roses, which I'm sure is why he continued to do so. He, like my brothers, loved working my mother into a frenzy. Damon guided me up the stone steps and into the brilliantly colorful garden.

"Hello, Stefan. My mother will be very put out with you. You know her roses are off-limits," I said, taking the proffered roses.

His face lit up in a dazzling smile as he leaned in to kiss my cheek in greeting. His bronze hair was ruffled and windswept. I brushed it from his forehead with a light chuckle.

"I see you have already been roughhousing with my darling brothers," I said.

He patted Damon on the shoulder and smirked at me, "You have to watch out for this one brother. You can't get anything past her," he jokingly said.

Damon leaned down and kissed my hand, his eyes full of love, "Oh, I know, brother. I quite enjoy the way she keeps me on my toes,"

I grinned at their banter and shook my head. Lifting my skirt as I continued past them, "I best put these into some water. Please, don't wait for me, enjoy yourselves. I'm sure Jo has already prepared the horses,"

I looked back at them, using the roses to point towards the stables. Stefan took Damon's elbow and made a scene of guiding him away from me.

"You will see her again! I know the separation is painful, but you must go on! I'm sure the beautiful Elandra could use some peace and quiet for a change," he hollered in a mocking tone.

Damon pulled Stefan under his arm and ground his knuckles into his head. I could still hear Stefan's protests as I closed the door. I watched them from the kitchen window wrestling with one another all the way down the hill that led to the stables. Once they were out of sight, I put the roses in a vase on the table next to me. I sat down on the wooden stool near the window and looked up at the sky, which no longer reminded me of Damon's eyes, but that of another.

I woke up with a start. The dream, or memory, was one I hadn't thought of in some time. What had brought that on? Was it my recent time with Damon, or the fact that for the first time in centuries, I would soon be seeing Niklaus again?

I pulled my red hair from my face and rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palm. Ugh, this was not what I needed right now. It was as if the past was trying to come back and bite me in the ass. I rolled over and screeched lightly when I noticed someone in bed with me. I started swatting at whoever it was and moved away. I had not seen how close I was to the edge of my bed until it was too late. I fell onto the floor with a loud thud, my blanket tangled around my ankles. On the bed above me, I could hear someone gasping.

"What the hell, Ellie?" Elena hollered.

Her head appeared over the edge of the bed, a disgruntled look on her face. Her brown hair was wild and matted. "Why did you attack me like that?" she snapped.

I pulled my feet from the confines of my blanket and snorted in laughter. I should have known it was Elena. Sneaking into my bed used to be one of her favorite past times.

"I'm so sorry, Lena! I had a crazy dream, and I think I was still half asleep," I explained through my laughter.

She reached over the bed and helped me back up. Grabbing the cover from the floor, I laid back down and tossed it over our legs. She snuggled close to me and put her head on my shoulder. I turned my head and looked at the clock on my bedside table. 3:25 AM; why the hell was I awake so early?

"You ok, Lena? It's been a while since I found you in bed with me," I whispered.

She sighed and burrowed her face deeper into my shoulder. "Yeah, just a weird dream. I came in here around one," she mumbled.

I rested my chin on her head and played with her hair.

"What was the dream about Lena?"

I found it odd that we both had been woken up by bizarre dreams. Something wet hit my skin, and I knew she was crying.

"It was about you," she sniffed.

My brows furrowed and I continued to play with her hair. I knew she needed a minute to collect herself.

"It was your birthday, and we were driving along Wickery Bridge, and suddenly I lost control of the car. It was like it deliberately steered us over the edge. I could hear you screaming for me to get out, but I couldn't find you. I swam out and caught my breath, but when I went back down no matter what I did, I couldn't find you," she sobbed.

I was shocked into silence. It was like she knew about my curse — but that was impossible.

"I couldn't find you, Ellie," she gasped.

I held her close and rocked her in my arms, just the way our mother used to anytime we cried.

"Shh, it's ok, Lena. I'm right here. You don't have to find me because I'll always find you, always, I promise."

I hated that this promise was one I would have to break. Someday soon a version of her dream would come true. That night, I rocked her until we both fell asleep.

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etherian-affairs · 5 years

Text

Appetites

What? double Hera fic day? What’s going on? I’m mulling on Entrapdak ideas and writing this in the meantime is what.

“honey you need some icecream not this“ -A literal actual quote from Crimson about this.

The Pleasure Mistress hears the chime of her door. Now who is bothering her at this hour? It must be important, or at least interesting.

"Come in dearie!~" she coos out. Her glowing yellow eyes remaining fixed on the full body mirror before her. Oh what to wear what to wear. The Mistress currently stands naked in her living space, holding different outfits up to her well pampered body with one hand, a smoke stick in her other, taking the occasional puff of her favorite addiction.

Well, second favorite. Her true favorite is a tad more carnal.

The door slides open and a young red humanoid lizard steps in. He bows his head but does not seem phased at her undressed state. As well he shouldn't! He has been graced by it often enough after all. "Mistress Hedone. We have a new visitor that I believe you will be interested in seeing?"

A smile plays across Hedone's face, golden teeth glinting like sunshine. She watches her favorite little lizard in the mirror. "Oh? Well do tell Marcelo~"

…

Hera had never actually visited the station of Cythera. She had never felt much of a need too. As of late that had changed, at least enough to pique her curiosity of the location. Cythera was known as the Pleasure Palace by many within the Horde. It was the domain of Mistress Hedone, and where many chose to celebrate victories. It was not the only one of its kind, it was not even the only one under the control of Mistress Hedone. It was however her greatest one, and perhaps the greatest one in the Horde Empire.

There was very little one could not acquire or indulge in within the decks of Cythera. From the mundane to the distasteful the Mistress will cater to any appetite. Sexual or otherwise. Madame Hera had long seen such a place as below her. Now however, submerged in loss and loneliness, she finds she has appetites that need catering to.

Security is actually quite impressive. Their check for weapons is thorough to say the least. They won’t even let you into the station proper if you are not of notable rank within the Horde machine. This is a place only for those who have earned the right to be here. Hera is, of course, among those who can claim that right. Navigating the station actually requires a map, it is as if someone decided to try and create the greatest red-light district within the Horde. Hera notes quietly to herself soon after making that observation that that is exactly what Hedone set out to do here.

The moment she gives her identity over to the stations systems she can sense an air around the greeting staff. She’s new, and of note, they all know it. Madame Hera is accomplished, and has never before ventured into the decks of Cythera.

A twinge of discomfort enters the Madame. She considers turning and making her leave. She does not need to be scrutinized, judged. Then suddenly a human type woman is standing beside her, looking up at her. She’s wearing the uniform of the greeting staff and smiling kindly. “Madame Hera?” she asks.

“...Yes? Do you require something?” The Madame quirks a brow.

“Oh I only require your enjoyment Madame. However I have been asked to tell you that Mistress Hedone would love to get to meet you.” The smile remains, the kind tone never wavering. It’s very welcoming, almost too welcoming.

Hera’s eyes widen ever so slightly. Hedone had heard of her arrival this quickly? She must keep fantastically close tabs on everything that goes on here. “I see.”

“Would you be interested in that, Madame?” the woman asks.

It takes Hera a moment to respond. Thinking it over. She could keep to herself, or just leave. It may be a mistake to even be here. A show of weakness. Yet now there is also curiosity, atop the aching need in her core. “Yes.”

“Brilliant, Madame. Follow me if you would please.” The woman bows before turning to walk through the corridors with complete comfort and familiarity. Madame Hera sighs, and follows behind her.

The Madame’s eyes glance to and fro as they move, taking in every corridor and every entry way. It is rather amazing that of all that is here every ‘establishment’ within the halls of Cythera manages to have its niche. To manage it all must take quite a bit of work. The requirements for each having to be met. The safety and health inspections alone must be arduous. Hera can appreciate the sheer scale of the logistical work that must go into managing a station such as this.

Soon the young woman stops, spinning on her heel and standing beside an ornate looking door. It appears to be for a transit lift. She bows and gestures to it for Hera, the doors sliding open. It is indeed a transit lift. “This will take you directly to Mistress Hedone’s VIP Lounge, Madame.”

Hearing the words like that makes Hera smirk slightly. VIP Lounge, that does indeed sound proper. Perhaps it was indeed the right decision to accept this invitation. “Thank you. You serve your Mistress well.”

"Thank you Madame. You're too kind." The woman replies as Hera steps into the lift and closes the door.

There’s music in the lift. That is something Hera has not encountered in decades. Elevator music. It actually does lighten the mood of the journey, it’s almost funny really. Hera’s ears twitch and twist, trying to pick up the noises of the lift. It’s moving at a diagonal, there’s a single shift in direction. Not uncommon for transit lifts in larger ships and stations, they move along rails within the structure to get the occupants wherever they need to go.

Madame Hera steps out of the lift once it is stopped, and finds herself in a rather large and opulent room. Warm wood panelled walls. The smell of smoke and the sounds of music. Paintings hang in the entry room here, the Mistress and others portrayed it would seem. It feels like she has stepped from a large space station into someone’s old planetside mansion. As Hera eyes the place for a moment she hears the voice.

“Ah you accepted my invitation!” The voice is pleasant, slightly husky yet smooth. It draws Hera’s attention. The woman walking toward her is as opulent as the room. One of Hera’s own species, presumably the Mistress. She’s in a dress of gold and white, the skirt reaches just to her mid thighs in the front, yet almost down to the floor behind her, it is layered and frilled. There is an interesting hybrid of corset and vest on her torso. It works as a full top though it is open at the chest to draw the eyes to the swell of the wearers chest. Over the shoulders and around the back of the head is a ruffled halo of white fabric. Shoulders bare, arms clad in white gloves up past her elbows. A long smoke stick is in one. Terrible habit.

It is all rather bright and gaudy, especially considering the Mistress’ own coloration is best described as… cream soda. Yellow eyes and bronzy cream skin. Similar yet darker hair. Cream soda.

Hera keeps that thought to herself.

“Mistress Hedone, a pleasure.” she nods her head respectfully.

“Oh I assure you the pleasure is mine dear.” Hedone flashes Hera an inviting smile. “Come come, join me.” she takes a puff of her smoke stick as she turns around to stride back into the lounge. “Tell Mistress Hedone what your desires are~”

Hera is slightly taken aback by the forwardness but retains her composure and follows, looking over the Mistress again. Hedone is a rather… thicker set woman than most of their species. Hera herself is no front line soldier of course but Hedone seems perhaps a tad on the zaftig side of things.

“Ah. Well. I suppose what anyone comes here for.” Hera nods with a dismissive wave of the hand. Not quite wanting to give herself away quite so quickly.

“Oh ho dearie. That is no answer though is it? People come here for many, many reasons. Many, many desires.” Hedone says with a happy tone. “I cannot help you find your pleasure without more specifics of what you seek than that my dear.” Hera is led into an equally opulent sitting room, and offered a seat on a large sofa covered in perhaps too many pillows. It would seem Mistress Hedone enjoys having a bit too much of everything. Hedone takes a seat in a large high backed chair, crossing a leg over the other and smiling at Hera. It would seem they are alone.

“I suppose…” Hera notes. “Am I the only other person here?” she asks.

“The only visitor. Of course there are servants of all kinds in the area.” The smile does not falter. The yellow eyes seem to be examining Hera. The Madame feels exposed, as if she is being disected, looked in to. As if every wall and mask Hera wears is being peeled away by obnoxiously yellow eyes. “I bet… you enjoy the fae, don’t you?” Hedone adds as she takes her smoke stick into her mouth once again.

The Pleasure Mistress is not wrong, Hera has enjoyed the faeform species a fair bit in the past. That is not her desire though. She knows that is not her desire. With a deep breath Hera speaks. “I actually… would like to know if you employed any of our kind?”

Mistress Hedone’s smile grows perhaps predatory for a brief moment. “Ah, a woman of finer tastes. I should have expected no less.” she compliments. “I do, of course, would you like me to fetch a selection?”

There is a moment of hesitation before Hera nods silently.

“Brilliant.” she stands. “Men? Women? Specific colors, or characteristics? Or just bring the catalog?”

Women, Greys and purples, strong. These are what Hera wants to say. Instead she hides her desires. “I would like a selection.”

“Of course. It is your first time here, best to sample the wares.” Hedone walks over to the small bar in the lounge, stepping behind it to tap at a hidden terminal.

“I trust you are as discreet as they say?” Hera suddenly asks. “I do have a reputation and I would prefer no specifics about me escape.”

“Oh dear, do not worry. Everyone comes to Mistress Hedone in time, thus, no one comes to Mistress Hedone.” she winks. “You need not worry about such things, only about letting us take care of you.”

Madame Hera gives a nod. “Excellent. That is what I wanted to hear.”

It is not long before the catalog, as Hedone put it, is brought out. Numerous members of their own species. Scantily clad. Of differing physiques and colors. Hera is actually surprised that there are even this many, and there are likely more in other portions of the station.

Hedone seems to pick up on Hera’s surprise, standing beside the Madame. “Not all of our people wish to conquer, some simply want to see others… smile. You can have more than one if you like.” She gestures over them all.

“No.” Hera speaks too quickly. Then tries to recover herself. “I would prefer only one.” she notes. “For now.” Dammit Hera now that sounds like you’re embarrassed or self conscious or something.

“Of course! Many prefer only one at a time.” Hedone assures her.

That actually helps calm Hera a bit. Then she nods to one of the assembled choices. “Her.” she gestures to a taller, but somewhat lanky, woman of purple shades. Different enough from what she really wants. Yet still.... reminiscent.

The woman seems happy enough to be chosen, and with only a minimum of speaking Hera is led off to a private room. The Madame is tense as she walks but really what does it matter? No one speaks of what they do in this place after all.

…

Hedone pours herself a drink, her smoke stick resting in an ashtray on the bar counter. She’s smiling to herself as she takes a sip. This has been an interesting evening so far.

“A good transaction Mistress?” Her favorite little lizard asks as he enters the room from a side hall.

“Madame Hera is searching for something she will not find here.” she states plainly. “The poor girl. We’ve seen it so many times.”

“That can lead to problems.” Marcelo notes as he steps behind the bar with the mistress to wipe it down.

“Indeed it can.” She picks her smoke stick back up, sliding past Marcelo and brushing against him. “I believe I will suggest she instead get a pet.” Mistress Hedone notes, then glances at Marcelo and sees his raised brow. “An actual animal companion, not one of the pets we can provide.”

“Ah.” He chuckles. “I was not sure.”

“Though she may also like one of ours~” Hedone grins.

#h e r a #mistress hedone #t h e m #my writing #my OCs #crimson's OCs

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