#if well trained thoughtful children under his protection can just die | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

visd3stele · 1 year

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Fish out of water

tw: mentions of drugs and alcohol, underage, mentions of canon violence, death, killing ("off screen"), minors, sexual themes: forced prostitution, children forced into prostitution

summary: y/n is thrown into the Hunger Games, but life after her victory promises to be more bitter than she expected

District Four was packed with people trying to find a good spot to watch the Reaping from. Mothers, fathers, older siblings and grandparents crammed together in a sea of worry, hoping to see their kids in the mob of Tributes.

A couple of years ago, y/n y/l/n would have searched the crowd for her own family. But President Snow made sure to lift that burden off her shoulders after her first Reaping. Her parents were rebels. Or at least engaging in rebelious acts.

Y/n remembers when her father used to take her with him on his boat. Under the guise of fishing, he'd test the limits of the electric field that surrounds Panem.

Everyone knows there's nothing left of the world anymore. But a select few believed it to be a lie. If they survived, someone else must've as well. Her parents were of these sort. Hopeful. Confident in a better life. If not for them, then for their daughter.

Y/n's mother wasn't a simple supporter either. She'd bake pastries and goods with hidden messages inside and deliver them to the right people. Secret meetings were held, their participants growing in number by the year.

With that many people, one ought to turn to be a mole. Of course, not a spy. Because y/n's parents were too smart, too careful, to allow it. But a scared individul who cost Mister and Mrs y/l/n their lives.

"May the odds be forever in your favor." Y/n smiled bitterly as the ceremony begin. Odds were never in their favor, no matter who stepped inside that Arena.

Sometimes, y/n hoped her name would be called. She always thought of herself as a Victor. Not out of a false sense of superiority amongst the other Tributes, but because her life felt like an Arena after her parents were killed.

She was evicted from her house and left on the streets, a continued fight for survival. She had to snatch food and water, clothes and blankets and first aid kits from other poor people. It was either them or her and as horrible as she felt, y/n wanted to live. She bet this must be how the Hunger Games felt as well. A play designed by President Snow where one can either dance along misserably or die.

At least if she was chosen, maybe tbe guilt would wash away. In the Games she has no choice. If there are no more people dear to her heart, then her District would be punished. The entirety of it. Inside the Games y/n could lie to herself that she's looking after more than her own self. She's protecting hundreds of souls in District Four.

Or, her guilt would just increase. New feelings adding on the pile y/n carefully avoids. Maybe she'll just die, then. Allowing herself to be reunited with her parents.

But then again, a sick, hateful part of her wanted to spite Snow. To live, to take her parents' legacy further and find other survivors outside Panem. Build the world they died for. It's this part that keeps her going.

"Starr ...." The escort's voice chirped through a microphone, snatching the fifteen years old out of her thoughts. Y/n looked over to where the twelve years olds hearded together, searching for the petite girl u fortunate enough to own the name. Her parents used to be ones of y/n's parents' closest friends.

No shock, nor surprise glued her to the spot. Much less fear. Y/n didn't move because District Four trains Careers: highly athletic Tributes with a real chance to win the Hunger Games that volunteer at the Reaping. With each new Victor, the District gains more. More food, more suplies, more supporters in the Capitol so they children could receive whatever they might need inside the Arena.

But no one spoke up. No one raised their hand, bravely, for the twelve years old. Sometimes the kids that train aren't good enough by the time of Reaping to volunteer. Or don't want to risk their lives for strangers, or just freeze.

"I volunteer!" Y/n shouted. Step by step she made her way through the parted crowd, cowering under the pressure of all the gazes locked on her. As she climbed the stairs, though, she straighten her posture and raised her hand, waving and smiling at the people, her people, that now started to cheer. She made sure to spot some of her parents' friends, their kids, anyone who could ground her in a feeling of confidence and safety, as fake as it might be.

In the corner of her right eye, she caught a smile blooming on the young man who stood next to Mags, the oldest Mentor District Four produced. He seemed proud, hopeful. The smile of a dying man on a ship having spotted land.

Finnick Odair, the Capitol's Golden Boy, the darling puppet. Y/n saw him on tv in the Grand Market when she was running from an angry merchant, having stolen something. A traitor, she thought.

After his victory at only fourteen, the youngest in the whole history of the Games, Finnick Odair practically moved to the Capitol. His family don't see much of him anymore. And y/n imagines they barely want to. Finnick could always be seen with someone at his arm in the Capitol. Sometimes multiple people, bathing in their extravagance, swimming in their luxury. Slowly losing his soul and becoming a pretty shell just like them.

Y/n learned soon enough she couldn't have been more wrong about him.

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"Ready for your chance to shine?" Finnick Odair, the male Mentor of District Four asked the two silent Tributes. He was only seventeen himself, younger than the male Tribute ellected that year. Y/n's partner was older than her by three year. He almost managed to make it out of the Reaping age alive and well. But fate is a sore mistress and Sylus was elected in his last year as a Tribute.

Sylus scoffed loudly, turning his back on the blonde teenage boy while y/n kept stuffing her mouth with food. She may share his sentiments, but the sense of manners her parents taught her won't leave, even agter years on the streets.

"I think we're looking at the whole situation a bit differently."

Finnick chuckled and nodded. Y/n haven't watched much tv, lacking the means to do so, but she caught enough of the seventeen years old's antics to not be surprised at his lightness. How easy he'd slip into a conversation with a stranger, his disarming charm, the ability to joke off any serious matter.

Y/n used to think it was the Capitol's lasting effects on him. Now, looking Finnick in the eyes – two pearls of deep, baby-blue colored with a hint of powerful green – eyes that can't lie, no matter how hard their owner tries, y/n found herself questioning that line of thoughts. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism or...

"So what's your name? Didn't catch it back home. Too much noise, everyone seems to love that little girl."

Home. Many things surprised y/n in Finnick's short speech: how it seemed to have escaped him that that little girl was only twelve and she didn't need to be known or loved among District Four for good people to cheer her salvation; how he spoke so matter-of-factly, as if making a simple conversation about the weather, when, in fact, they were talking about the Hunger Games, a situation of literal life and death. But the fact he still called District Four home came first.

"Y/n," she said, not even bothering to hide the smile that crept on her lips, muscle reflex from a time long since gone.

"Sweet," Finnick whispered, sizing the girl up and down. He took in her appearance – shaggy, thin framed, but not weak. Lean muscles slithered over her bones. He evaluated her smile – inviting in iys warmth, yet mysterious in its curve of cold detachment. Her eyes shone with witt and intelligence and Finnick plastered that winning smile on his face all over again.

"You've got manners as well," he kept mumbling, half to himself, half for y/n as well. "That'll help at the interviews."

Before y/n could do anything more than nodding along, half following his train of thoughts, Finnick spoke again. "How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?" He said, leaning back in his chair, rasing a glass of water at his lips.

"Fifteen."

And Finnick almost choked on the sip he took. "Fifteen?" There were people who looked younger than they were, he knew that all too well – either naturally or with some surgeons' help, he thought with a shudder. Volunteers, Careers, are usually from the older kids. Very few dare to jump inside the Arena at sixteen, but seventeen and eighteen is the normal pool the trained kids select themselves.

"Why did you volunteer, then?"

"I'm not as helpless as I look."

You don't look helpess, Finnick wanted to retort. Just young. Instead, he asked "What about your family? Why in Panem's name would you ditch them for... what? Glory?"

It was y/n's turn to chuckle. A maniac, high pitched sound, nothing like the breathy, sensual one characteristic to the boy in front of her. "Glory?" She rasped. "I did it for a little girl who has yet so much to live for. No one will mourn me if I die!"

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In the days nearing the Games, the Tributes were supposed to learn everything they could from their Mentors: atrategies, interviews tricks, whom to try and ally with, how to wield certain weapons and so on, so forth.

However, Finnick Odair, male Mentor of Four, cpuld barely be seen at the Training Tower. He was always gone somewhere in the city. Day, night, party or aftermath, Finnick barely had a chance to close his eyes, much less relax in the busy schedule President Snow had planned. After the first couple of days, he stopped bothering to even ask Mags about their kids. Images blurred between his eyes, poisoning his mind: either a result of the drinks they poured down his throat, the drugs they forced him to sniff, the lack of sleep or a combination of all three.

All Finnick could see, smell and hear was the deafening music played in Capitol's clubs throbbing in his ears, the sweet perfumes glittering the sweaty skin of his clients, their faces on the brink of pleasure stolen from his torment.

"Fucking whore," Sylus muttered one day. "You'd think he could wait to party and sleep around until at least we're dead, but no, the Capitol's Golden Boy can't do that."

"He said something about meeting sponsors this time," y/n whispered weakly. She didn't really believed it, but part of her that clung to others' humanity still hoped Finnick would show some interest in his mentoring duties.

"You don't actually buy that, do you?" At y/n's sounding silence, he added "Look, I know that's what you want to believe. It'd mean we might have a chance to survive in there. But that's just Finnick Odair for you: going out, screwing some people on television, you know, the usual."

The boy cut himself short, shaking his head and heading to bed. There was nothing more to the conversation, after all. Their Mentor is a slut and they'd be dead in a couple of days because of it if not for Mags' hard work with them.

Y/n headed to bed as well, but couldn't get an hour of sleep. Her body sunk in the soft mattresses with ease, heavy as a pieve of wood, but her mind was too active to let it rest. Questions swam through her head, too tired to untangle them at the moment, too worked up to stop trying. She couldn't decide what she resented the most about the seventeen years old that was her Mentor. Was it his way to occupie his time? Was it the fact that he forced an old lady to carry the whole burden of the Hunger Games?

The kids saw even less of Finnick in the last hours counting down to the beginning of the 68th Hunger Games. He made a short appearance the night before to wish them luck, but that was it. Both y/n and Sylus pretended to be asleep and didn't say anything back to him. In the morning, they found him still sleeping on the couch. Sylus sneered his way and y/n rolled her eyes, but neither tried to wake him.

"It'd make no difference," Sylus whispered, mostly to himself, but y/n nodded her agreement. The girl lost every single trace of respect she might have had for the youngest Victor the night before, when so many questions that refused to produce answers tired her enough eventually and she slept 'til noon.

They left Finnick sleeping and followed Mags to get some more training in. When the seventeen years old woke up, a note from President Snow awaited him on the coffee table. His interview with Ceasar about his Tributes, something all Mentors have to go through, was moved earlier so he can have time to meet with a couple that paid good money to have a night with him.

Closing his eyes tight and holding in a breath to muffle the groan threatening to escape his mouth, Finnick forced his face to morph that fake smile he manufactured for the Capitol and got up to ready himself for a full day.

He knew he didn't spent enough time with his kids. He barely knew their strengths and the strategy they agreed to follow in the arena. He didn't know how loved they were, if they managed to attract the Capitol's attention or not or how they did in their interviews. Because any time Finnick tried to talk with one of his clients about District Four Tributes, trying to use his nightly torture to his advantage for once and earn those kids some sponsors, they'd shush him down. Too much of a reminder for them that Finnick wasn't a shiny toy, but rather a person, a human being with a life outside their beds and responsibility for two lives in the arena.

So, he prepared himself to do what he learned to do best in the past three years. Charm his way around. It turned out, he didn't have to. Ceasar asked him trivial questions about how it feels to be a Mentor for the first time before briefing in on Sylus. The main point of their talk, though, was y/n.

"Yes, Sylus is an amazing boy. We all saw how talented he is. But let me ask you about y/n. That girl is a mystery."

"Oh?"

"A young beauty she is, the Capitol was dearly reminded of you. The smile of a winner on her lips, but is she as lethal as you were?" Ceasar's eyebrows wiggled sugestively on his face and Finnick broke into a sweat, gulping down the knot tightening in his throat.

Ceasar was known to be among the firsts to buy the service of available Victors. Not once did he booked a whole weekend with Finnick himself. Behind closed cuttains, in that dim light of lovers the seventeen years old learned to dread, the host's easy demeanor, kind smiles and encouraging comments shifted to something else. Something new and dark.

Finnick's smile started quivering. He heard from Four's escort that y/n was quite evasive at her interview. She didn't spoke about her family - or how she didn't have one, she proved to be a smooth talker, answering back with another question, directing the interview in ways she'd feel comfortable. All the while being polite and keeping a beautiful smile plastered on her face. All the while winning the audience's interest. Winning Ceasar's interest.

"Wouldn't you want to know, Ceasar, dear?" Finnick winked at the man in front of him, leading him to believe he knew more than he did, but that small remark was all he was willing to give away.

Ceasar laughed. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, we shouldn't be surprise at dear y/n's antics. It's quite clear whom she got it from."

The audience laughed along their most adored celebrity, clapping their hands like thunders. If he wasn't frozen in his spot, Finnick would have flinched and trembled. The way Ceasar spoke of the fifteen years old he was to keep safe was the same he spoke of him once upon a time when he won the cruel Games only to be thrown in crueler ones. And he didn't want to think much of it, of what it meant for y/n if she won - what if he'll jinx it? - but this was the Capitol, the city that brings his worst fears to life day after night.

So Finnick regained his posture, shook Ceasar's hand and stepped in the car waiting to bring him to his clients. There was nothing to do but to hope the girl will die, but as soon as he received calls from sponsors, fighting to pay for a new raining coat for y/n, a new weapon, water and food, the boy knew there was no hope left. So he braced himself to train y/n for one last game when she'll step out of that Arena.

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Y/n and Finnick were both standing in front of a fine wooden desk. The room they were confined into seemed to swallow them, as large as it seemed to be due to the lack of furniture and the white walls, ceiling and floor.

They haven't dared to move at all, not even to glance at each other. But, still, the two Victors mirrored one another regardless. Hands clasped together in front of them, fidgeting chaotically, plucking skin from around their nails until blood spilled and dried on their fingers. It was all the movement present in their bodies. Their legs were still, not even the slightest bump, their heads were locked looking forward, glued to the chair Snow will seat on. Even their blood barely moved, turned to ice despite the frantic beating of their hearts.

Y/n was scared of the unknown, too panicked to find sense in this meeting, yet still seething with burning anger. She imagined she'll jump on President Snow, claeing at his throat, ripping it to shreds with her bare hands as she did to some innocent kid during the Games.

All the while Finnick was slowly descending into madness, knowing what Snow will tell the girl at his side, knowing there's nothing he can do to save her, wondering if he should warn her, all while reliving the time he himself got the news the President will pimp him to the hightes bidder.

"Ah, mister Odair, miss y/n, take a seat." Snow said after he walked in silence over them to sit at his desk.

Both Victors did so mechanically.

"Congratulations are in order," Snow smiled, but it was more sinister than the bland expression he worn so far. Like a predator playing with its trapped prey. "Dear y/n here not only won, but she managed to have quite a lot of people fussing over her victory. Mister Odair, you trained her well."

The seventeen years old gulped. He hated that he could read behind the President's words so well, that he could properly hint on what he meant. He missed the days when Snow would say something like this and he'd have the same confused frown as y/n did.

"In fact, I have a couple of friends that expressed their interest in meeting the two of you. Finnick, I trust your training goes further that the arena." And there was something in his voice that made Finnick's skin crawl. For it wasn't the Games Snow talked about, but what was to come next.

"Well, Finnick, my beautiful boy, don't be rude. You are her mentor, after all. Explain to dear y/n here the etiquette she must follow."

His tongue dried, mouth opening and closing in again and again as futile attempts to for words dragged on the insufferable minutes. Eventually, he managed to break the news to her. And y/n shot back to her feet, shock, fear, disgust and, as understatement settled in, pity, playing on her face as she locked her eyes on Finnick, not daring to watch the President in these moments.

"And if I won't do it?" She lowered her voice in her chest, arms crossed in feigned bravery. She was still looking at Finnick, talking to him. Clinging to the hope that he wasn't just as much of a puppet on Snow's strings as she was, despite her knowing better now.

"Accidents happen, miss y/l/n." Snow answered. "It would be a shame if one of your loved ones fall victim to one."

"The only person I have left is myself. Are you going to kill me if I don't sleep my way around your city?"

Finnick draw in a shaky breath. He has forgotten y/n had no loved ones to be held above her head for obedience. Snow must know that, though. He knows everything. Which only means he wasn't talking to her, he was talking to him. They were bought together after all. Her refusal to deliver meant his own inability to do so.

Snow's head turned to him slowly, hypnotizing, like a snake seizing up its next victim. "If miss y/l/n refuses to comply, you will have to, my boy. But I'm afraid that is only halfway a good job. And the storms are getting worse and worse in District Four. Perhaps not enough to kill, not yet, but missing limbs and brain injuries are not that uncommon, I heard. Lack of oxygen and such, no?"

A weak "please" escaped Finnick then. "I'll do whatever you want, More clients, kinkier, anything." He'll work more, "I'll make sure the clients are so pleased they'll forget y/n wasn't there," he found himself saying outloud.

But Snow ignored him, his whole attention trained on y/n.

"Mister Odair, as your mentor and requested partner, is not only responsible, but also dependent of you, miss y/l/n."

Finnick turned his head away from y/n. He knew how pleading his gaze must be, begging the girl to understand and save his family. But he couldn't ask that of her. It was his responsibility to keep them safe, he won't make a fifteen years old girl into a Capitol's toy for his sake.

"You're gonna... you'll... but I'm the one disobeying you! Finnick did nothing wrong."

Tears welded up in Finnick's eyes as he clenched his jaws to keep the sobs at bay. He dropped to his knees, face hot with desperation, ready to beg for his family. But y/n beat him to it.

"Where are we to meet this lovely people?' She asked after a long silence. Finncik's head snapped up at her, not bothering to hide the cheeks wet with tears and the glistening upper lip from a runny nose.

"Excellent choice, dear y/n. I'm sure Finnick will answer all of your questions on your way out. Have a wonderful stay in the Capitol."

And with that, her fate was sealed, twinned as it was with Finnick's.

#finnick odair #hunger games finnick #hunger games fanfiction #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair concept #the hunger games concept #my words #my fic

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heavensbeehall · 8 months

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"Catching Fire", Chapter 13

Part 2: The Quell

Chapter 13: Katniss has un pocito mental breakdown after the announcement of the Quarter Quell. She rouses herself when she remembers about Peeta and Haymitch, one of whom will be going into the Arena with her. She goes to Haymitch... to drink. Gale suggests they run again but Katniss has made up her mind to protect Peeta. She tries to "be strong" for her mother and Prim but ultimately allows them to comfort her instead. Peeta also has a mission. He's gotten rid of all of the liquour and wants Haymitch, Katniss and him to train like Careers. The Reaping comes quickly and Katniss is not allowed to say goodbye to Gale, Prim or her Mother like she had planned.

Thoughts

-- Katniss seems to feel really bad for allowing herself to feel her emotions (when she runs and hides in the other house, and also when she cries in front of Prim and her mother). You don't always have to be selfless, baby.

-- But then later she is actually defending Haymitch's coping mechanism of drinking to Peeta, which is an interesting turn.

-- It's interesting how short the Reaping ceremony is in this book. The one in the previous book took like two chapters. Here, it's like two paragraphs. I suppose it's because there was no question as to what would happen. I do wonder if the drawings were rigged to get rid of "troublesome" or possibly "uppity" or maybe just victors Snow doesn't like. And if that is the case, people like Peeta and Mags is the only thing they can do to thwart the Capitol's will. (At least until we can Rebel for real!)

Quotes:

"You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know," says Haymitch.

Katniss readily agrees with this, but it's kind of a mean thing to say to someone who just found out they are probably going to die soon. And I feel like Haymitch is saying it to himself as much as he is saying it to her.

Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I've got Peeta to protect.

I appreciate that Gale puts Katniss's life above everything here, by suggesting they could still run. But Katniss operates best when she is protecting someone (Prim, Rue, and Peeta were all her reasons to keep going in the previous Arena). So now she's got her mission, I guess.

But after a few days, we agree to act like Careers, because this is the best way to get Peeta ready as well.

Though Katniss detested the Careers in the previous games, I feel like this is an admission that training for the games does actually make sense. But it means treating children like soldiers, and training them for combat.

Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances? But there would still always be the reaping looming over us, over our children. No matter what I wanted …

Even with the financial security of being a Victor, Katniss would not have allowed herself to be with Gale romantically, because it might lead to children. So they would just be hunting, as friends.

#thg reread #quarter quell #i volunteer as tribute

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heaven-s-black-box · 10 months

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A little longer- Mikayuu

Return to File

Recovery date: April 24th, 2020

Description: Royal AU

Notes: This is an entry from the Mikayuu 2020 bingo records. Click here for the next entry.

Word count: 1 364

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There was once a kingdom ruled by a beautiful queen and her son. Many people believed that because the queen could not have her own child, she did not deserve to rule. However her brother went missing before he could take her place. So, she adopted a young boy. No one had any reason to question her anymore, there was an heir. Although people still weren’t happy that the heir was not of royal blood.

She’d found the boy alone in the forest around the kingdom. He’d been unconscious. So, she took him back to the castle with her. She wouldn't leave him to the animals. The boy's name was Mikaela, and he was only ten. But that wasn’t what caught her interest, not at all. Normally, she’d be interested in what happened. But instead, she was interested in who “Yuu-chan” was. You see when he’d woken up, his first question was “Where’s Yuu-chan?” Not, “Where am I?” or “Who are you?”

After she told him she'd found him alone, he got very quiet. So, she made him an offer.

“How about, I send some people to go check the forest? While they do that, you can answer some questions for me,” she smiled softly. He nodded hesitantly.

“Alright, but first my name is Kruel. It’s nice to meet you.”

Mika answered all her questions. Firstly, he’d come from the Ichinose kingdom. The king's right hand, Noya, had talked him into turning the kingdom into being military run. Anyone who stood in their way would be cut down. This led to a massive purge in the kingdom,and anyone who could fight was forced to train. But the prince, who was Mika’s age, thought that was cruel. That brought up question two, who was Yuu-chan?

It turned out that Yuu-chan was the prince. Him and Mika had met when they were younger. The prince had a habit of running out of the castle to explore on his own. This was never a problem for the king as long as Yuu was back by sundown. Yuu couldn’t stand to see his father turning into a tyrant, so he asked Mika to help him save king Guren. The Ichinose kingdom was rather far, and they must have passed out from exhaustion. After all, Mika had said they left almost two days ago.

When Kruel’s men returned, they had found no one. Mika looked worried, after all his best friend was missing. That’s when Kruel had an idea. You see, she's only been acting queen as of right now. She had no husband and no children, so in the eyes of the kingdom she was still a child. And yes, your maturity was decided by if you had children or a husband. She intended to change that as soon as possible. But anyway, her idea was simple.

“Let’s make a deal,” she said, turning to Mika once the search party left. “I can’t be officially recognized as queen without at least a child. So, how about I adopt you. And in return, I’ll help you find your friend. He’s probably still in the forest somewhere, after all it is quite big. And it doesn’t sound like he can return to his kingdom.”

“Bu-but, what if they enter the forest? He could die in there!”

“Do not worry about that. The forest is under the protection of a wizard. I’m sure he’ll find and take care of your friend.”

“Then can’t we just go see the wizard?” Mika asked, he looked so hopeful.

“Ah- well you see… I don’t actually know where he is.”

To explain. The queen's brother, Ashera, had run away when the kingdom tried to make him king. This was the reason Kruel, the younger of the two, became queen. Ashera had never liked the idea of being king, and found comfort in nature and magic. So after his disappearance, when the rumors of a witch surfaced, she knew exactly who she was. Especially when she’d found a bird perched on her window with a letter. Unfortunately, the letter’s stopped some time ago.

Years later, Yuu was chasing a bunny through the same forest he’d been separated from Mika in. It’d been seven years, he’d met the wizard of the forest. The wizard, after hearing Yuu’s story, agreed to teach him magic.That way, he could try taking back his kingdom. Of course two wizards wouldn’t be able to do much, but the wizard said he knew someone who could help. Ashera had become an almost parental figure to Yuu. Although both of them have a habit of acting before thinking, this had led to many almost forest fires.

The reason Yuu was chasing a bunny, was because Ashera had said they were going to meet someone today. Jokingly, he’d said they should bring them a pet. Of course Yuu being as dense as usual, took it literally. Ashera found this terribly amusing and did nothing to stop him. He had decided it was finally time to ask his sister for help. Yuu was strong enough now that if they got Kruel’s help they could take back the kingdom. So once Yuu returned, and took a shower because he failed to catch the bunny but caught a shit ton of dirt, they set off.

“You called, Kruel?” Mika asked. He stepped into the throne room. They’d taken to each other quite well, she had become like a mother to him. Although, he still called her by her name.

“We have some people coming over. They’re looking for our help, I’d like you to help me make the decision.”

“Why?”

Kruel smiled, “You’ll rule eventually. So, the practice will be good.” Of course that wasn’t the full reason. She knew Ashera was bringing his precious Yuu. Her end of their deal had been that she'd help him find Yuu, and she was going to hold up her end.

They arrived soon after, and Ashera took him to the throne room. Just before they could knock, the door opened. A girl with long pink hair stuck her head out. She smiled and closed the door. They could hear her yell something, then she stepped out. She shut the door behind her so they couldn’t see in. “You’re just in time,” she said. “Ashera, let’s go talk for a second.” She grabbed Ashera’s hand and ran off. Before they got too far, she turned back. “You can head in. He’s missed you.”

This confused Yuu, who had missed him? He’d heard rumors she’d adopted a son, but it couldn’t be him. Then his heart sunk, maybe his father had found another way around the forest. Maybe he was here for him.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and stepped in. He kept his eyes down as he walked forward. Then he looked up, and he was met with someone he hadn’t seen in a long time. And he was just as surprised to see Yuu. Mika stood up and met Yuu at the bottom of the small set of stairs. One thing crossed both their minds, He’s beautiful.

“Hey,” Yuu said. He sounded so unsure.

“Hey.” Mika sounded breathless. Like he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

Yuu practically lunged at him, catching him off guard in a hug. “Where did you go?”

“I should ask you the same thing… I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

“Ya, well. Long story.”

They stood there for a bit in silence. Mika buried his face in Yuu’s neck. He smelt like the forest, and it was nice.

“Hey… remember when we were little? I asked you to marry me?” He pulled away to look at Yuu.

“Noya said we couldn’t, because you weren’t royalty.”

“Ya, well I’m a prince now. So, will you marry me?”

Before Yuu could answer, the door opened.

“Yay! But, we’re here to talk about taking back a kingdom.” Kruel cheered, entering with Ashera behind her.

“Ya, the wedding can happen later.”

“What do you say?” Mika turned to Yuu. “Think we can wait awhile longer?”

Yuu smiled and gave him a peck on the lips. “Sure. A little longer can’t hurt.”

#researcher s's recovery #seraph of the end #owari no seraph #mikayuu bingo 2020 #mikayuu #mikaela hyakuya #yuichiro hyakuya #ons asuramaru #kruel tepes #ashera tepes #fluff #oneshot #ons oneshot

0 notes

wh-da-backup · 10 months

Text

Lyric Dump posted sept 2010

bits of paper:

she walks like hell down the hallway, naked she wonders why they stare but doesn't care, she'd rather die than be repaired -----

he likes gore and she likes sugar they make the perfect dying team

I liked his words so I learned his side I like her words now I wanna learn her side

kiss me sugar breath breathe me candy death

the new Mr. Popular and his gangrene bride ---

the twisted phoenix of her mental ashes

you ask me why I feel so down, I finally tell you now look what I've done I've made both of us frown

but things are always better in our minds ---

you need her like a hole in your head watch out man it's a package deal

see the names she'll give you both yeah it's all in your head ----

I'd spend my evenings and stare at that shiny dumb failure of a child who never says a word and thinks she's a poet. how cute. ----

play their subtle obsession

lady love is out to get me

surgery under Anastasia ---

I don't care how you see it- these are my children

and I live for them and I comfort them I would kill for them I would die for them ----

love, could you be human oh could I? we're shiny silver trash machines

we've been programmed by airwaves

we've been programmed by wires spoken by liars

we've been designed, we've been designed is this alright? ----

they're lovers made of glass and lovers made of sound

catching a butterfly is not quite the same as catching a train --- Drive Me, Crazy

5th wheel's for you break the 4th wall and your bones and everything else

drive me, crazy, i wanna crash ---

i want my life back gonna have to take it ---

I was named after you but we're not the same I just can't take it just can't take the blame

the children are always afraid ---

she can have my blood I don't mind go infect the human race with mine

I'll scratch all night ----

gaping pores in teenage skin it's true i let a lot of stuff in ok ok ok

I'm fine I'm great I grin but it's true I keep my anger held in ok ok

and I fear it's a sin the state of mind that I'm in can I forgive my disaster created in turn I hope I won't have to burn in something clearer than blame like the face I've inflamed in the mirror ok --- Stupid Hair

I want you out of my face I want you lying on the floor instead I want you out of my life get away from me get off my head

I'd like to cut you up you're gonna die die die I wanna change you up dye dye dye ---

chosen one, I chose myself ---

can I borrow your self cause I don't like mine anytime anyplace anymore anyway

overreact like I do when you yell

I hang out with burners, maybe I'm one too we all got a price to pay ---

I need some brain bleach keep on thinking those razor blade thoughts ---

the man who likes to visit winter flashing lights and bubble eyes always draws his psychic lines ----

he lives his life in contempt for heaven

I have chosen to be undecided

once you've got it all figured out it's too late

setting fire to a world where nothing burns ---- Walking

coop us up all day we sweat and we stink

waiting for summer no cold to protect us from

at least we come in pairs sorrow to those who lose that friend

walk on me all day never hear your thanks hey man just set us free

just want to walk on the earth God made feel it on our soles ----

well I've got an identity and if you want to know then pay attention to the lyrics when i play these songs for you

well I've got a personality and if you'd like to know then pay attention to the lyrics when i play these songs for you

well I've got your reality and if you think you know then pay attention to the lyrics when i play a song for you ----

I think too much try to suppress it back I'm obsessed and ashamed and my confidence lacks ----

takes one to know one you are what you eat ----

a few hurtful words and we argued in bitter doesn't take much for a fire to start well she burned down the house and everything in it I told Heaven and Hell take good care of my guitars and write helpful critiques of my art ---

we'd stargaze at the empty ceiling ----

I'm thinking I'd like to be haunted tonight no need to thank me I'm frightened in return I'm thinking I'd like to be haunted tonight setting fire to a world where nothing burns. ---

that hour of your life that you gave repeatedly

you're my favorite plastic but you're not one bit of help

I know how I'm yours that my teeth absorb stains

I'm making up my list and so I guess I'll throw you in

reclining in a clean and quiet room ---

it's not damage it's this damn age we're living in blocked the flow of everything ---

and even if I had a gun I doubt I would shoot anyone I like /I'm fine

a fellow asked if i'm on drugs I don't need that to pull this off I'm fine

I've made myself disposable as a friend I've made myself unattractive so who am I to complain about it? my social capacity consists of a one-sided conversation between myself and a unanimous awkward silence (ding dong ding the witch is dead at 27) and so the universe gets its comeuppance ---- (cleverbot responses)

it's not funny your smile

so that's where his brain went

he was hard to read

I think you dislike cheese ---

facial constellations from scars I read the future in my stars I thought, I could be so pretty by pretending to be beautiful but I choose not to ---

It's been a few weeks since I've seen her as I've been away

wore a dress like an eyeris so blue like her eyes

she would blink to me in skies and I'd read them and sigh

I would read them and cry

painting stripes on my shirt

does it hurt to be from here

I do

in a car to be so far away far away

painting stripe on my shirt and I'm drowning in acidic paint I am blatantly lost to be so far away far away ---

stop touching your face

stain me with absence

turn the knives to forgiveness

peel myself from the floor ----

I'm not dirt

I get hurt

I don't bleed oil ---

another sunrise I'm already on my way nature's dying because now we start first

I'm sorry that I hit your head ---

we dug this grave to keep us alive for a little bit longer now hell seeps in through the walls along with the groundwater

wrote a letter home to you so a part of my can leave this place my love

breathing is bleeding nowhere to go but down breathing is bleeding nowhere to go but blind

together as parts of this great war machine but as souls we're alone ---

I wish this day had never been born wish i'd stabbed a knife in the womb of sunrise when I couldn't quite sleep from the dark in my eyes and now hours later the knife is meant for me

I don't wanna tell you you'll worry, you'll hurt I don't think I'm in danger and you'd think it's a joke a nauseating plea for attention you'd gag til you choke

nothing went down but a whole lot of staring i stared at the knives, the liquor, the pills, it all seemed so easy it all seemed so easy ----

songbook:

you're a wannabe wannabe and famous for that you know there's gotta be a catch catch catch hack don't look down on me just cause i'm a wreck you know there always gotta be a catch catch catch retch ---

girls in the schoolyard blabbing secrets they were told not to repeat by their parents ten years later walking around in the cold less cloth than skin they don't even have the dignity to be embarrassed

a girl died back in '93 and was buried are you really that gullible? paranoid about viruses you could be carrying are you that irresponsible? ---

mind. scent. way to pass your judgement interesting prop, hence why i'm still alive...

and you smell like chemicals you smell like chemicals you smell like chemicals ---

I never suffered teenage angst til now be careful what you wish for I never thought my heart would break be careful what you wish for I'm always eager for an eye be careful what you wish for I'm always dreaming half-deranged be careful what you wish for

sleep comes on four screeching wheels eyes are closed by dull iron lies sleep appears long-awaited ghost hello my friend where would you like to go? --- We Are

I think you lied to me before you left them lying on the floor there's now a key that locks the door built by the lies that tie the score they scar me more

and there's a way that we talk and there's a way that we breathe and there's a way that we are

you say that nobody will you say that nobody can just look outside where we are ---

there's a hole a mile wide it's in my soul it's in my pride from lies... rusted scalpels that they are

all that needles to is stitch frail threads on an open wound

you fill it all ----

drive me drive me i just want you to derive me round and round again until i am renowned state it state it just shut your mouth and stay sedated overrated don't overreact like they did

you're handling eyes now so set your pins and needles down (your sole important everything) ----

my arm laid out my gaze is wistful blood is gold i've got a bottomless wrist full what's it doing keeping me alive? we're such a waste together wish i could give it all away and that way i'd be good for something ---- Sharks

be careful when you find the one whose eyes could be your 2-inch ocean

look out look out look out seeing sharks

be the dagger of my eye ----

walk through the market avoiding the stares trying to plug up the hole in a china doll's chest

they threw us all in a prison cell we gathered our wax limbs and sat up the best we could

I on my side and you lying next to me our faces met close enough

we fell in love in a prison cell I'll lie here beside you and hold you until we die and our wax limbs will fall to the floor

holding you close only time will tell the others talk nervously don't say a word

our wax heads rolled off and I knew that the dream it had gone

0 notes

cynettic · 3 years

Note

I just read Kitsune reader x yan Scaramouche's fic, may I have gotten hooked on it? and of course, it's just perfect and that's why I'm here to lose a part two with nsfw, thank you in advance and understand if you refuse:3

Link to Part 1

Summary - Taking you captive, Scaramouche continues to see you as a pillar of support. Coming back home to have you there, always. Even if it meant chaining you up.

Pairings - F!Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Smut, slight noncon ( I tried to make it as consensual as possible but its difficult with yandere themes ), fingering, electricity play

Rating - NSFW

Penpal - Ahhh I'm actually beginning to get attached to this series, might end up writing a couple more posts with different hc and stuff. I hope you liked the post though, have a great day <3

A/N - The literal definition of the ‘stoic cruel boy who’s mean to everyone but you.’ Oh well, Scaramouche is ooc af, but I did change a few things in his backstory so its supposed to make sense for this story ;) Also- since we dont know Scaramouche’s actual name, I have the reader still… yknow, call him Scaramouche. Which is kinda weird cause its his harbinger name but oh well. Also, credit to @cycletr4in for proofreading it ;3

Taglist - @cursedraiden

Stay with Me pt.2

Scaramouche was a gentle captor.

In contrast to piercing eyes and harsh stares when it came to others, he had a soft spot for you. Like the ice that encased him whole melted at your touch, craving for the warmth only you could give him. For your arms around him, to play pretend and imagine he were a child, free, fearless, unbound. A child in your arms, safe and protected.

But you were held hostage, which meant that the chains around your wrists and legs held you down and secured you. Like you were bound to one spot like you’d always been, except this time you didn't have a choice.

You weren't waiting for the Kitsune Saiguu.

Hell, you didn't even have your vision.

This brought on resentment for the dark haired boy. You hated him, you despised him for holding you down under his own judgment. But at the same time, all you saw in him was a child, a little kid who hadn't had the time to grow up. The one who refused to do so because it was his only way to survive in the type of world he lived in. Hide behind that same facade he developed as a kid, snide remarks and unrelenting cruelty.

Just to come back to your arms, sobbing because he was still that child. Sobbing because he was still hurt. Sobbing because you were still his beacon of light, of hope.

He depended on you.

And as much as you built up harsh words to use against him, they dissolved in your mouth when you saw him. His vulnerability that he saved for you and you only. A deep part of you cared for him, a little too much.

Gentle fingers brushed through the locks of Scaramouche’s hair, twirling it around and playing with the strands. It was smooth, a small detail no one would have the chance to notice from the distance he put around himself and others. A quiet hum left his lips as he leaned against your chest, eyes fluttering closed against the soothing feeling of you against him.

The lavish silk sheets were soft against your skin, pillow pushing your form to sit up. Just enough to have Scaramouche in your arms, knees on either side of his body as his head rested under your chin. His chest rose and descended, almost on beat with yours, if not just a tad slower.

You hoped he wouldn't hear the way your heart thrummed against your chest.

Warmth, his body flushed against yours, the luxury of a bed and the small candlelight on your bedside. Different from what you’d grown into just on the side of the trail, sitting for decades. Or with your time with the Kitsune Saiguu, it was never this warm, never this gentle.

But this warmth ended at your beating heart, furiously blazing. Sending an urge of adrenaline through your body, whispering ‘run’ through your veins. A primal urge that would've had your hands around Scaramouche’s neck, till he was wrangling and dead.

Till you could escape.

Hand slowly sliding down his jawline, you let your gentle fingers ghost along the soft skin of his neck. Claws outstretched and ready, sharp and pointed with a deadly intent to kill. You could end him so quickly, overturn his trust and make an escape. You deserved it, you deserved freedom. Not a delusional boy who thought himself protector against someone who’s lived decades more than him.

Jolting at the sensation of a soft grip on your wrist, you watched with idle fascination as he simply cupped your wrist in his hold. Not stopping you, not restraining you, he simply brought your hand to his face. To his lips where he pressed the softest of kisses into your palm. So heartfelt and genuine that all you could do was freeze, not even considering clawing his face.

“I love you.”

You both stayed in that position for a few moments more, silence cradling the tension that slowly dissipated from your body. Forlorn eyes watching as he shift the angle of your wrist to kiss your fingertips. He wasn't waiting for an answer, basking in these soft moments where he could hide in your hold. Like a child, forced to grow up too quickly, yearning back for his foolish naivety, yearning for the childhood he missed.

You were that childhood.

Which is why he clung to you so dearly, showed expressions he didnt know he could make, hold you captive under the impression that it was ‘right.’ What he was doing was okay.

Claws retracted, you pursued your lips, holding back the tears of frustration that burned at your eyes. You hated him, hated him for the chains on your wrists, for the disappearance of your vision that you’d given so much value to. Hated him for the warmth he still made you feel.

You hated him.

You felt like a housewife in some respects. Not with the cleaning and cooking part, and of course no children were part of the equation. But in terms of support, you stayed rooted to that room, loose chains too strong for you to break or tug holding you down. Window was too far, and you were stuck moving around the bed and the desk that sat just a little farther away.

Attempts at having your vision back or more freedom in movement had been discussed with Scaramouche, but as childlike and free as he acted with you, he was not an idiot.

“I don’t plan on underestimating you,” was his answer, head resting on the plush of your chest. “You’re strong, always were. But I have to take extremes to make sure you don’t get hurt, some people out there are stronger than you.”

You wanted to point out that there were a ton of people stronger than him as well, but you kept your mouth shut. “Can I at least see the house? I’ve been cooped up here for so long…”

And he cant say no to such an innocent request as that right?

So he unlocks the chains, the vision at his side reminding you that he was strong. You solely knew that he’d been tough as a kid, and under the intensive training he’d seemed to endure, he was much much stronger. You werent willing to give it a go and lose his trust just yet.

Not like he really trusted you anyways-

At the very least, you’d hoped to get some sort of blueprint of the house, and all you’d received was confusion and your mind making up that the house itself was a maze.

“Didnt we… just pass through here?”

Glancing at the obvious frustration on your face, Scaramouche chuckled, pulling your arm through the hallways you swear you’d seen three times prior. “Nope, most of the hallways look pretty similar. The house wasn't built for dumbasses.”

You flashed him a look and were about to make some snideish rebuttal before you saw the smirk. You knew what he was doing, trying to comfort you with casual arguments you both used to have. Consisting of you telling him to work on his people skills, and him calling you a lazy ass. Of course you missed it, but you also knew you couldn't go back to it.

And then there was the issue when you learned that he was a harbinger.

A scene you didnt want to replay in your head, when a maid burst into your room, Scaramouche acting a tad more intimate. He had an awful tendency to do that, hug your waist and press his face against the crook of your neck. Press gentle kisses down the length of your shoulder that had you shuddering. You weren't used to intimacy, and considering you’d watched him grow up, it was just weird.

Stuttering, the maid had demanded that he was requested by the Tsarista. You’d seen the fear in her eyes when Scaramouche slowly turned to her, seen the unshakable immobility of standing under his gaze.

“Do not enter.” He said, “It’s on the door.”

That was the first time you’d seen Scaramouche kill.

You hoped it’d be the last.

But you’d seen death before, so much death in the time of the Kitsune Saiguu. And for a few seconds, you found yourself fearless as you yanked against the chains, yelling at his figure at the doorway.

“Tsarista?” You snarled, standing just a few feet away from him. His hand on the girls neck, clenching around the pretty skin of hers. Disgusted, the chains that held you back from closing the gap and throwing the girl away from him were impossible to overcome. “Why the hell does she need you?!”

‘Let go,’ you wanted to say. ‘Let her go, she’s going to die.’

It worked, because the ironclad grip was gone, the maid tumbling to the ground lifelessly. You’d been too late, and now her blood was on his hands, your hands. This was your fault and you had half the self control not to thrash against the chains with sharp claws, hands on his neck.

The hard steel gaze vanished in an instant, and like he’d regained his senses, he took a few steps to you. Hands clenching to fists before loosening to fingertips brushing against his palms. Confusion, regret and guilt clouded his features like a child waiting to be reprimanded. You didn't back away, stood firm and fierce when standing and keeping a tough front.

You wanted to cry.

“Its… its a long story.” He finally stated to your question, and when you didnt budge, he took a deep breath. In control again, he closed the distance between the two of you, “I’m sorry.” And that same thrum of electricity jolted through your body, sending you into a spiral of the girls lifeless eyes and Scaramouche’s childlike eyes. Till everything went black.

You woke up with the body gone. Scaramouche was gone as well.

You learned that Scaramouche liked to have things his way. Which meant that he was always in control, always had control of every situation.

Even in those short stretches of vulnerability when he rested in your arms, he still held something over you. And you had to adapt, shift for his wishes, coddle him and stay as his beacon. Because he was stronger, and even if you’d find some way to escape, he would find you.

It was odd, and you slowly let go of the image of him as a child, you knew he was a lot older. He’d probably reached the age your body was stuck in, and with every sweet kiss he pressed to your lips, you knew he saw you as some sort of lover. But as someone who wasn't in control, you simply had to play along, just until you found some way to make your escape.

Without killing him.

_-_-_-_-_

“Strip.”

Laying on one side of the bed, your eyes jolted open at the commanding voice. Slowly, you sat up, eyeing the dim figure at the doorway. Without the help of a candle or the moonlight at the window, you could distinguish Scaramouche at the doorway, taking off the large headpiece as he flung it to the ground.

“Excuse me…?” Your voice was soft, rusty after an evening nap.

“I’ll make you feel good,” was his only answer. Slowly making his way to the bedside till he could properly face you. His eyes were soft, but there was an odd sort of determination that you hadnt seen before. You held back his stare, confusion lacing your features when he suddenly started pulling off loose decorations that hung on his clothes. Just till he unlaced the vest and slid off his shirt. “Don’t worry.” But you didnt know quite what he meant until he leaned further to you, catching you off guard.

So you yelped when his hands suddenly slammed down on your shoulders, shifting you to have access to the buttons of your top layer. He was quick when undoing them, simply swatting away at your hands when you protested and tried to pull him away. Throwing it to the edge of the room when he was done, you could only thrash in horror when he undid your trousers just as quickly, pulling them down before you could grab them back up.

“Scaramouche? Hey-”

And then he threw you down on the bed, exposing you in your undergarments in the cool air of the room. Shivers crept up your spine and bristled across your skin, and before you could curl up to at the very least hide away, you felt a tug at your chains. Fear finally settled in when you saw Scaramouche attach the chain to the bedpost, until your hand was lifted up and he began to do the same to the other.

“Wait wait wait, stop and explain what you’re-”

Only then did he pause from what he was doing, slowly looking down to properly face you. His eyes slid up and down your body, and he took a step towards you. “I’ll make you feel good,” were his only words, and you were forced to take them as all he was planning on giving you. Only when he sat on the bed next to you did you realize what he meant, hand settling on your shoulder, waiting.

“Alright,” you said slowly. Painfully, the words bit your tongue, but you were merciless against someone who had control against the situation. You could say no and you knew Scaramouche would stop, he was gentle to you and you only. And even if he’d been firm just before, you knew that he’d still stop if you asked him to.

A part of you felt thrilled to have that power over him.

Another part of you just wanted to escape.

But you didnt have any hope to do so unless you were willing too give him everything. Because he expected everything and would do anything in his power to obtain it. You’d let him fiddle around with this delusion, thinking that he had control. Until he didnt.

Which is why you didnt flinch when his hand gently slid up your stomach, cold against the warmth you’d had under the blankets. Rubbing gingerly against your skin and drawing smooth shapes over before he slowly slid over your body. His eyes seemed to glint under the darkness of the room, lust filled and wanting.

You didnt shift uncomfortably, you pretended to be that doll he expected you to be.

Just staring up at him as he slowly leaned down to kiss you. His lips felt like snowflakes on a winters day, idly swaying side to side to catch one in your mouth. Jolting like electricity when they melted into your touch, red and swollen when he pulled back. You now vividly felt every touch, as if a current flowed and static jittered in the places he briefly brushed his fingertips.

“You always take such good care of me,” he breathed, lips slowly drifting down your chin. Just past your jawline and right on your neck. The space between your head and shoulder, a soft vulnerable spot that had your lips humming at the affectionate pressure. “Its my turn to take care of you.”

And then his lips were everywhere, collarbone, shoulders, cleavage. Just until his teeth were tugging off your bra, face nuzzled in between both breasts. Both of his hands now resided on your hips, grabbing both thighs to hold them up and against him. You could feel him hard, pressing so close to your heated core.

You managed to keep your reactions in check.

Just until he slowly grinded against you, mouth on your breasts as he again pecked the soft mounds, molding his lips against them as if he could remember the texture, memorize the feel. It was just to that point that mindless sounds slipped past your lips, turning to gasps when his hands on your thighs suddenly buzzed, and static rushed in. Your legs felt weak, entire body thrumming in response to the electricity he sent jolting.

He was using his vision.

The realization was numb against his lips on your breasts, hands slowly stroking the skin of your sides, travelling up. He hovered over you for mere seconds before mashing his lips against you once more, different. He was no longer gentle, and it was with the contact on your tail that you lost all control. When he gently moved it out of the way, backing up.

You were a mess.

Not that you tried to be, you’d been doing your best not to enjoy his touch. But it was hard when your core heated up so fast, mashing both legs together in hopes he wouldn't notice. You knew he would, any action beyond that was just you trying to save your dignity.

He sat there like he was enjoying the sight, the first time you’d seen him actually portray any visual confirmation of satisfaction towards the chains. He’d drink dry any ounce of control you gave him, and it was impossible not to give him it all when you were visionless and vulnerable.

But the dignity you struggled so hard to keep shattered when his hands brushed against your inner thigh.

Fingers slowly made their way to the padded fabric of your undergarments, two digits rubbing the area slowly with expertise. You bit your lip, muffling any groan of anticipation, hiding the way your hips tried to rock back into the gesture. Desperate, oh so desperate. Hiding back the whimpers as he slowly quickened the pace of his fingers against your garments. “Archons Y/n,” he murmured. “I haven't even put anything in and you’re already a squirming mess.”

“Shut u-up,” was all you managed, trying to shift away from the pressure against your clit. But his other hand was on your hip, holding in place. You could only watch and press your thighs tightly together as he slowly slid down your panties, resuming hovering over you. Distracting you with kisses, his fingers gently stroked your core, two fingers slowly sliding into your cunt using your juices.

He was gentle when pumping both fingers in and out, too slow when you thrust your hips to meet his fingers, pleading for him to go faster. But he liked hearing your cries, slowing down when you begged, quickening when you whined and just lay there, taking it.

You shuddered the first time electricity jolted from his digits.

It was when he had three fingers that he sent the static up your body, back arching with such intensity that it even had him chuckling. “Oh? You like it that much?” And then it is like something buzzed against your body, fingers vibrating against your clit as your thighs tightened around his hand. So much that you thought you’d crush it, but it didn't matter, not with the electrifying feeling against your body. It felt so odd, so overwhelmingly good that it had your legs sliding up and down the bedside, toes curling as the static grew and you fell paralyzed to his touch.

It didn't take long with his fingers thrusting in and out of you to cum. Moaning mess when he gave you the time to breathe, teeth biting your bottom lip and then mashing against yours. Your eyes grew fuzzy and most happened in a haze, and all you knew the entire time was that you’d given yourself to him, and that it felt good. You couldn't see the childlike wonder in his eyes anymore, not the need of a beacon or of support. No, the look he shared was feral, the smile tinting his lips almost scary. But it felt too good to care, and you let yourself enjoy his ministrations.

He pulled out and suddenly his own shorts were undone, boxers thrown to the side of the room just like all your other clothing. You didn't see how big he was, just felt his hard shaft against your throbbing cunt, pussy dripping and legs open wide and tired after your first go at it.

You expected him to be gentle like he’d been with his fingers. But he pressed the tip against your core, and in one full motion he was in. Teeth grinding against each other, you held back a scream, shock coursing through your body, overwhelmed with pain and discomfort. It hurt. But it was quickly overshadowed by his movements as he slid in and out of you, slow when pulling his hips back, and rocking himself completely inside you each time. A pattern that let you catch your breath and lose it all the same. Like he was continuously having a go at hitting the deepest parts of you, pulling back before fully thrusting into you and sending waves of pleasure and pain alike.

It was expected, but you couldnt hear yourself.

Not with your mind trapped in a haze of how he felt, body still buzzing after how he’d pulsed his vision through you. And now you were at the mercy of his member, hips swaying along with his, no energy for you to rock with him and try to push him deeper.

Archons, you didn't even think he could go deeper.

But you were proven wrong again and again as he kept the steady pace, hands clawing at your ass and hips. Stabilizing himself and trying to press himself against you, as far as he could go. Slowly, his hands drifted up to your hair, playing with the soft sensation of your furry ears. Pinching and rubbing, fingers coaxing the back of them like a massage. So gentle, but it paled in comparison to the harsh treatment of his dick.

You came first, gripping the chain with your hands in an attempt to stay stable. Walls clenching around him one last time before you got your release, your moans turning into cries when he continued to thrust into you. Your body felt numb, all nerves centred on the way he pounded into you, chasing his own release.

When he did, he pressed his head into your chest, his own breaths heavy with pleasure. Not pulling out, you could only lay there helplessly as his seed filled you, warm in contrast to the electricity he’d shot up your body just earlier. He didnt pull out, and laying in your chest, your heavy breathing didnt stop until he was asleep, collapsing on you and using you as support yet again.

Taking only a minute later to regain control of your senses, you shifted uncontrollably at his member inside of you, sending waves of pleasure every time you moved. Your wrists were restrained and you were stuck in this position till morning.

Achingly, you looked down at the boy, wondering how you would ever manage to escape.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact hc #genshin impact oneshots #genshin headcanons #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #genshin fluff #smut #writing

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

In Which Palpatine Leaves the Door Open

So, @purronronner suggested this on discord:

au where anakin finds out about palpatine during clone wars era like, coming in for a visit and overhears a conversation with Dooku about war planning he’s been pulled between palpatine and the Jedi/obi-wan/various things but I want to see him pulled between palpatine and his men could go either way on the sith part of the reveal even

palpatine is not aware! unless anakin’s course of action is to go “hey palpatine I must have misunderstood something right? :(“

(This was a group effort but there's a thing I wrote that requires this context so please bear with me.)

I'm just imagining Anakin backing out, closing the door, and turning to the Corrie Guard by the door to say a thing... and not finding words.

Eventually "Did you guys know he was evil?" "He's a politician, sir." "But like the evil ranting..." "He's a politician. Sir."

He's willing to use his men to save R2, but that's because R2 was part of the team and helping, not arranging battles to make things worse.

Anakin: Normally, I'd go to Palpatine to talk about my problems, but right now he is the problem... Obi-Wan and Yoda are off-planet.... Anakin, phoning up Padme: Help?

Per @atagotiak we also have some Intense Thoughts

Oh hey. The deception arc. And the subsequent argument that we don't see and stuff. Like there's all the ways you could justify it especially from an opsec standpoint (If Anakin acts like that around Padme why would anyone assume he can keep a secret about anything?) And it was a pretty tactically important thing for the war as far as anyone knew. But just. I've heard some people say that perhaps also Obi-Wan reasoned that hurting Anakin is an ok price to pay to make sure someone Anakin cares for doesn't die for real which seems plausible enough.

Anyways. My point is. Anakin gets a front row seat to sheevception when he actually sorta knows whats going on. Gets sidetracked halfway through yelling and stuff to think about how convoluted this whole mess is.

For more clone-centric things all the times Palpatine's like "I wish I could do more, it's truly regrettable, but..." Would just seem awfully fake now.

Anakin, belatedly: Wait, does this mean that, behind all the layers of bullshit, Palpatine was the one trying to kill Padme at the start of the war???

WHICH IS WHAT LEADS TO A WHOLE LOT OF FUN and yes this is the part I'm sort of proud of.

Okay so: Anakin's a shit liar, yes?

After he meanders over to Padme and has a breakdown, he then goes off to tell the Council about all this. I imagine she goes with him as moral support, and also because she wants to protect him from them calling him out on his legitimately terrible decisions. They're trying to come up with a plan to take Palpatine down without tipping their hands too early, because they need to investigate; for the sake of this plot point, we'll say that Palpatine mentioned a contingency plan while talking to Dooku, even if he didn't directly name the chips.

Someone mentions that Palpatine is going to ask to see Anakin, because he does regularly. And, as experience has shown, there is very little that will stop Palpatine from insisting that Anakin come see him. They can stall for a bit, maybe, but not for long.

"You could send me to the other side of the galaxy," Anakin suggests. "Short notice, so sorry, won't be around for a bit."

They point out that won't work forever.

"So... arrest me, or put me on a mental health hold?" Anakin tries. "Say I got violent at civilians or the clones for no reason and you need to make sure I won't hurt him, and then even if he visits me in the cell, I don't have to act normal 'cause he'll EXPECT me to be upset."

Palpatine presumably has spies all over, so he'd know that hadn't actually happened. Also, Anakin's too important to the war effort for anything short of a cold-blooded murder of an innocent, and they can't just take him off the field without an absolutely massive violation of the Code or his orders.

"Tell him I Fell," Anakin offers.

A Sith Lord would be able to feel that from across the galaxy, if it had happened, especially with the amount of time that he's put into grooming Anakin.

"Oh," Anakin says, and his stomach drops out as he realizes that he can either keep his secrets, or keep people alive.

He thinks about how Palpatine had targeted Padme already, and how if Palpatine thinks Anakin's betrayed him, then he'll probably do that again.

He thinks about 'a Sith Lord would know' and realizes... well.

Anakin values his freedom, but he also values his men, his padawan, his master, his wife... the wife that's in danger if Palpatine knows that Anakin caught him out.

The Order has to keep Anakin away from Palpatine. They need an excuse to arrest him. They need an excuse to hide him away, one that Palpatine won't question too hard.

A Sith Lord would know if Anakin fell. Even if he came back afterwards.

"So... so tell him you found out about the Tusken Massacre."

The what.

"...tell him you found out about the time I actually did Fall," Anakin says, squeezing Padme's hand. She knows. She's the only one who knows, on Coruscant, other than the Sith they're hunting. "On... on Tatooine. You can claim it was an anonymous tip. He already knows about that one. He's one of the only two people outside Tatooine that do. He might not question it."

(He won't question it.)

What did you do, Skywalker.

"I killed... a lot of people. A Tusken tribe. Including the children. Right before the war hit."

----

It's a hell of a way to fall on his figurative sword.

(Mace is... both impressed that Anakin would take the hit to make sure they can handle the Palpatine problem, and horrified about the Massacre, because... who wouldn't be.)

(Mace is unfortunately Anakin's main handler on this project.)

Anakin puts in so much effort, all the time, into not Falling, so it’s surprisingly (terrifyingly!) easy for him to fake a 'near miss' with the Dark just by thinking really hard about things that make him angry. Nobody wants him actually Falling for the ploy if they can help it, but they need to sell the bit, and Anakin's... well. He's Anakin. It's easy to think about his own emotional volatility until any control goes out the window.

He's sacrificing a lot for this mission! It's fine! He's fine!

(Padme, the council is judging you so hard right now.)

Palpatine comes to visit Anakin in prison, and it is very easy for Anakin to disguise his anger as... a different anger. I have a very intense mental image of Anakin working himself up into a frenzy when Palpatine comes to visit, and then at some point in the following conversation he just snaps something about how "you said they were animals who deserved to die."

The Council can even eke it out a bit, make it so they don't want to admit why Anakin's in prison or under a psychiatric hold or whatever they claim it is, so their "I'm hiding something vibes" look like "I'm hiding the fact that one of our most recognizable war heroes just came clean as a mass murderer and we have no idea how to handle it" instead of "I'm hiding that we know you're a Sith Lord and are working to take you down."

Obi-Wan comes back from an off-world mission to find out that Mace arrested his former padawan and Ahsoka hasn't stopped crying for three days because nobody will tell her what's going on.

(The Council decided this couldn't be risked on even an encrypted comm.)

(They maybe tell him soon enough? But also they might treat it like the Hardeen thing and use his reaction as fuel to keep Palpatine convinced.)

SKYGUY GOT ARRESTED AND NOBODY'S EXPLAINING WHY.

Rex is overwhelmed because it's been his job to keep her calm.

Anyway, padawanship has been temporarily transferred to the grandmaster. You were half-training her anyway.

Insert a subplot about Obi-Wan being horrified and betrayed and aiming the feeling at Padme because she knew about the Tuskens and never told.

#Anakin Skywalker #Sheev Palpatine #Obi Wan Kenobi #Padme Amidala #Mace Windu #star wars #the clone wars #Tusken Massacre #Ahsoka Tano #Captain Rex #Phoenix Posts

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wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns.

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”

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thewritingstar · 2 years

Text

Tranquility (TwiYor)

Pairing: TwiYor (Twilight x Thorn Princess, Loid x Yor, which ever you prefer)

Fandom: Spy x Family

Note: Im super excited for this one. Ive been in a writing slump for a while and after diving through spy x family, I knew I needed to write something for it. Of course no fandom that im in can escape the angst so that is what this is.

Big shout out to my lovely friend and amazing beta @smolmexicanita shes the best!!

TW: Character Death, blood, wounds, angst but like this is a love fic so dont be scared please

Since this is a new fandom pls lmk if you would like to be tagged in any upcoming fics. This will also be posted on Ao3 soon.

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

He always knew deep down that one of these missions would kill him. It was never a surprise or something he could avoid. Especially when you put your life on the line constantly. Death might come naturally to others, but his was always lurking over his shoulder.

Even a mission as simple as delivering a letter could cost him his life. It was important to make it all count and more important to not leave anything behind. You don’t get to have friends and family in this line of work. That way when your blood is splattered on the wall, there are no words left unsaid or any resentment. You can die with the peace of saving the world even if you didn't know anyone in it.

Guns, poison and even bombs were used against him and although he was trained to handle them with grace and swiftness, he never thought that it would come to this.

His back was against the ground, eyes looking up at the night sky in all its glory. He wished that maybe in another life he could have gotten more out of it. To walk outside and see the stars twinkling in the fortress of the sky. To know that the world didn’t rest on his shoulders. If he had a choice, he might have been an astronomer. Hell, he might have been a lot of things.

He had always loved the night sky. Hence, Twilight.

But instead the grass poked his back. His suit was becoming damp from the nightly watered grass and possibly blood. Most definitely blood. Maybe this is what a corpse felt like six feet under. Oddly enough, it felt peaceful.

He should be panicking right now, but laying down like this felt good. A chance to relax. When was the last time he relaxed? Maybe when he gets home he can lay on the couch while Anya tells him about the newest episode of her spy show. That would be relaxing.

What wasn’t relaxing was the state of his suit. He would have to get this suit dry cleaned. Well maybe he would just toss it, there was too much blood.

He coughed and almost choked on the blood coming from his dried lips. Everything around him was spinning. Even if it weren't night time, he would probably still be seeing stars.

The only thing keeping him centered was the weight on his stomach and the fist that clenched his tie.

He never thought his death would drag on like this. He assumed it would be quick and in a sacrificial way that saved thousands. His death would mean something. It would be the end of war and children would never cry from the cruel world. If Twilight's name was erased from the WISE association then it meant he did his job.

Instead he was on the lawn of a garden in some place he couldn’t remember.

He heard a voice mumble something. It was soothing and sweet. Maybe he should close his eyes.

“No, stay awake.” The voice called to him.

By command, he forced his eyes to stay open. He also noticed the slowing of his pulse.

The voice trembled again. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He knew that voice. It was one he had grown accustomed to. Her voice was a haven, one that he vowed to protect. He needed to get up and finish his mission. Why wasn’t he moving?

“Stop trying to move Loid.” She pleaded.

A water droplet fell onto his face. The stars were still glowing without a cloud to cover them. Another drop fell and this time he forced his eyes to the source.

But the clouds were not clouds, but in fact eyes that were red and raw. Eyes of crimson that he had come to know so inexplicably well that his own eyes began to water.

“Y-Yor.” He whispered her name and that was all it took for him to realize what was happening.

She let out a sob as her fist tightened on the fabric. The fabric that she would straighten in the morning when he was “running late”. The fabric that she washed and ignored the blood stains. The fabric that she would pull to make his head turn to her and kiss her softly. The tie that he wore when he asked her to marry him.

And now it would be the tie that would signal his death.

“Loid, please. Please forgive me. I didn’t know it was you.” Yor’s voice grew with worry and now he could see it.

A gold dagger sticking out from his stomach. He had been stabbed in close combat and hadn’t sensed the presence of her. He never had been able to. It was one of the many things that intrigued him. Now he understood why. It was all falling into place.

That black dress and gold details flooded his mind begging for information. So this was the infamous Thorn Princess. The deadly assassin that left no trace and killed with the grace and sophistication of a god.

He remembered when he joined WISE and they had said if he was ever in the unfortunate situation of meeting her, that he was as good as dead. He was naive to think of that as an empty threat. In the end, they had been right.

Twilight remembered spending months trying to research about her. Her victims vanished from the face of the earth without a trace and no one had ever seen her.

Everything he knew about her was true. But also so wrong at the same time.

“You weren’t supposed to be Twilight.”

The lore of her was how she was heartless and took no prisoners, yet he had watched the same woman warm up to a child who wasn’t even hers and loved her as if she was her very own. He knew that her blades were deadly and her strength was unmatched, but her smile and contagious laugh outshined those truths.

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed.

For everything that he had known about the Thorn Princess began to unravel as Yor looked down at him. This was not a deadly assassin, but a woman who was given a bad hand of cards. Just like him.

But the only thing they forgot to mention about her was how kind and caring she was. No amount of blood on her hands could diminish the way his heart fluttered when she walked through a door. It didn’t matter how deep her blade was in his skin.

“Please Loid, it can’t be you.”

He didn’t know it was possible, but he loved her with every fiber of his being.

“It's okay.” He soothed her.

“Loid just hold on, I am going to get you help.” But as Yor began to move off of him, he grabbed her hand.

“Don’t.” He coughed.

Her eyes went wide. “Loid.” More tears surfaced. “If we don’t get you to a hospital-”

“I know.” He spoke calmly. She had a tendency to get lost in her mind and throw around the most obscure scenarios.

He could feel his head growing heavier by the second. The grass was feeling more comfortable and the pain wasn’t as bad as he had thought. He never held resentment for the world he protected. He never felt hatred for the life he never had. But he would be damned if his words would go to his grave.

“Loid.” Yor panicked. “I don’t know what to do.”

His hand reached up and his thumb brushed away the tears falling down her face. He wished he met her sooner. He wished that there was an alternate timeline where they had met.

One as childhood friends. Coworkers. Neighbors. Anything. Hell, even enemies.

He prayed that those universes existed so that he could still be with her, even if he didn’t know it.

In every single one, he wanted to love her.

He wanted her smile that reached her eyes when he came through the door. The way her cheeks would dust with the slightest of pink when their hands would brush and the way her voice would catch in her throat when he pressed his lips to her cheek.

He wanted it all. The smiles, the stares they shared, he even wanted the tears and the arguments. He never wanted to lose the feelings he had for her.

Although he wasn’t sure that those universes existed, he was beyond grateful that in this present one, he got to know her.

“You were always so beautiful.” He said. “From the moment I saw you, I wasn’t able to shake the feeling that we were destined to meet.”

She shook her head. “Please, don’t. Loid…I’m sorry.” She cried.

And instead of trying to push her off or fight back, he just smiled. A genuine smile that he found was just for his family.

“I never thought that my life would be like this.” His voice, soft.

“Being a spy?” She asked.

“No.” He said. “You gave me a life I wasn’t allowed to want and even though it was meant to be a facade, I always forgot that it was. I was meant to get a family. A wife and child. Send that child to a school and have her get me close to my target. World peace was the goal.”

“They told me that this would be the hardest mission of my life.” He grunted. “But they were wrong. It was easy because I was in love with you and after all this time, I had forgotten that it was supposed to be fake. I was selfish to think that it could last.”

Yor cupped his face with her hand. “You gave everything to everyone.”

“And you gave me everything. You are the most selfless person I have ever met Yor. The way that you rearranged your life and fell into a role with so much ease, it's beyond amazing. I hope you know that I am forever in your debt.”

There was so much blood that her anxiety started to worsen. “Then please, let me be selfish for once. Let me save you.”

A big part of him wanted that. He wanted to wake up the next day perfectly fine with minimum wounds. He wanted to walk out into the kitchen where he would spend a quiet and peaceful hour making breakfast before a mop of pink hair would stumble into her chair and complain about the morning sun being too bright.

He wanted to hear the footsteps of Yor coming out of their room, hers was turned into a study, and she would greet him with a kiss on the cheek and Anya would mutter something about them being in love.

But then there was the realist in him. The part of him that held the truths even if it hurt to bear them. The part of him that was small told him that he only had a few more breaths left before it would become painful to breath. The blood seeping from his wounds and coating her hands would be the last feeling they would share.

Loid wanted nothing more to get up. But his legs wouldn’t move. He heard Yor mutter something into a phone but his mind was betraying him.

“It's going to be okay.” She cried. “I love you too much to let you die like this. You don’t get to save the world and then not be here for it.”

He brought Yor’s hand to his mouth and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

“You gave me my own sense of peace a long time ago. Looking into your eyes is pure bliss in itself.” He smiled.

The pink on her cheeks that he adored so much surfaced. “Loid, I love you so much. You are going to be okay. Our family is going to be okay. Just save your energy.”

Yor wasn’t sure who she was trying to reassure. She knew by the state of his body that there wasn’t much time left. The doctor she called said they would be there soon but she wasn’t sure how long this would last. She was so used to taking lives that trying to save them was not really in her wheelhouse.

She looked down at Twilight, not Loid. He will always be Loid. His blonde hair damp against his forehead and his shallow breathing still made him look as gorgeous as ever. She never knew what being in love was like. She had watched movies and read the books but they could never truly encapsulate everything she felt for the man.

Whatever they deemed love to be, that was the perfect label for him. Her love. Her Loid.

She had lifted her body off of him a while ago and was applying pressure to his wound. Everything was happening too fast. How was he the one losing his life and yet she felt like death was creeping on her as well? She once read that a swan could die of heartbreak. She now understood why.

“Yor, please. The silence is too much.” Loid whispers and she could see it now.

She could see the tears in his eyes. The weight of the situation is hitting them both but she has to be strong. She inhales and tries her best to stop the tears and instead smiles down at him. Her fingers brush over his bangs.

“I once read about Twilight. I was told about the best spy in the world. He was quick and a master of disguise. You should see the way people talk about you. You were like a god among men. No one knew you and yet, everywhere you went, you left traces of yourself. I was told that maybe one day I would meet you. They said to be careful and to prepare for the very worst.”

Loid made no sound but he stared at her, waiting for the rest.

“I thought that if someone could be that good at their job then I would need to be the very best. I trained harder than I ever had once I read what little file we had on you. I became better at my job because of you. But you wanna know the funny thing?” She asked.

Loid nodded.

“Twilight did not make me into the woman I am today.” She leaned and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You did.”

She watched as a tear slipped down his cheek and his lips that had been straight for a while, turned up into a small smile.

“Being your wife made me want to be a better person. Kind and caring. Someone who knows what family means entirely. You made me want to be a mother for Anya. To be a good wife for you. But mostly importantly, you taught me how to love. The messy mornings and the days where my job took a toll on me were all washed away and forgotten when you looked at me as if I was the most important thing in the world. How could I ever repay you for making me feel loved but learning to love myself too? That is what made me.” Her own tears surfaced. “Falling love with you was the greatest pleasure of my life. One I never thought I would ever experience. So thank you Loid. For loving me for all that I am.”

This time the pink blooming on the skin came from Loid. Yor let out a small laugh as she rubbed his cheek.

Loid choked out. “What's-so funny?”

“You. You being Twilight makes so much sense but also none at all. Had anyone else been given your assignment, it would have been different.”

“How so?” He said and his eyes winced from the pain.

Yor almost scoffed. “A wife and a child? You could have been cruel and forced us to perform out of fear. You could have treated Anya harshly and given her no option but to be the best. Instead you did what no other spy would have done. You offered compassion and safety. You gave that little girl a home instead of a roof on her head. You gave her toys and did everything in your power to make her smile. I mean who rents out a theme park just to fulfill a little girl's dream? The way that you cherished everything she did and not only acted as her father but became her dad. Sometimes we lose ourselves in our missions but I know now that you would do anything for her, even if it ruined your plans.”

It was true. He had never once faltered with his plans until Anya came into his life. At first it was difficult to balance it all but to know that someone cared enough that he was alive at the end of the mission was something he grew used to. He was determined more than ever to be better. For the sake of the little girl who was giving the world its greatest chance at world peace.

His body was growing tired but all he could think about was Anya. Her graduation from elementary school, middle school and high school. How if she ever found out that he was a spy, she would beg to become one herself. He wanted those moments of her growing up and to be happy when he came home. He wanted his little girl to be his forever. The mission gave him new life.

“You love our daughter Loid, so you can’t die. I won’t allow it.” Yor said firmly. “We need you.”

“I don’t want to die.” He uttered truthfully and the stars above weren’t as bright anymore.

He must have heard a helicopter or something but it was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep his eyes open. He heard Yor’s voice calling to someone and he felt cold. His body began to tremble and fear took over.

Just when he thought that he could have it all. He was ready to be done. This was his punishment. He was going to resign from spy work and dedicate his life to something normal, something he wanted.

He could go on vacations and show the world to Yor and Anya. He could give her the childhood she needed and the normalcy that Yor deserved.

He felt her hand in his and she pulled him so that he was now leaning up. If he had thought the sky was spinning then, it was going a million miles an hour now.

Yor leveled herself with him. “Your mission now, Loid, is to return to your family.”

His hand reached out to her cheek and pulled her close to him. “I love you more than you could ever imagine.” Slowly he closed the gap and pressed his lips to hers.

They had kissed many times before, but this was different. He pressed against her as much as he could, taking in her all as if it was his dying wish.

She pulled away all too quickly and her eyes flashed wide. Beautiful crimson. Rubies of her own design. He had a custom ring made for her to match, but that will have to wait for another time.

“Yor, tell Anya. To forgive me. And that-I love her.” He begged.

“Loid just wait-”

“I know I gave the world peace, but you and our daughter gave me mine.” He said as his hand fell from her cheek and he felt himself fall back onto the grass and into a black abyss.

He heard a scream rip through the air but all he could think about was how happy he was.

There was a time when he would close his eyes and his dreams would be plagued with horrors. He could clearly hear the screams of his mother and the pain he felt when he was left all alone in the world. He could remember each bullet he shot in the early stages of his spy work and slowly over time became numb to it all.

But recently when his eyes would flutter close as the tv hummed softly, he would only imagine his family. Rest was just that and he could finally relax even if raising a child was pretty demanding.

The grass was soft against his back and the stars weren’t there but he knew deep down that he did all he could. They were right when they say you don’t get to see the harvest of your planting. Deep down he fell into the darkness, his mind offering him one last image.

Yor holding Anya. The biggest smiles graced their faces and he walked into the door, planting a kiss on his daughter's forehead and then one of his wife's life. Happiness. That is what he was given.

Once upon a time, a spy and an assassin fell in love and raised a child. All for the sake of world peace. What a funny thought.

---

Thank you so much for reading!!! Hope you didn't suffer too much!

I would love to hear any thoughts you had and if you would like to see more spy x family content, pls lmk! my inbox is always open for anything from requests to asks!!

If you wanna chat or wanna follow me on other platforms, Ao3 and instagram are where to find me, same name.

Thanks again

<3 Star

#spy x family #spy x family fanfic #twiyor #twilight #thorn princess #loid x yor #thewritingstar

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electronicdelusionstarlight · 2 years

Text

Thinking about it, did anyone ever write, like, a story about Lux and the Mage Refugees trying to escape the persecution eastward and ending up in Boleham in their flight?

Like, imagine...

A gaggle of mages in various states of trauma and malnutrition shows up at the doorstep of Runeterra greatest mage of all time (citation needed?).

Veigar obviously thinks instantly about a frontal attack, maybe a party of heroes who all min maxed into magic classes, maybe a rival sorceress and her cult there to take him on, maybe it's Noxus' tax collectors finally trying to get him to pay tribute to them, be as it may, Veigar marches down his castle to the hamlet only to find the exhausted Damacian mages being fed almost in tears by the slightly perplexed population under his dark reign.

Veigar is perplexed, since why would an hostile cult or heroic party look so emaciated or so unafraid of him, as if he'd be the least of their worries, until his Yordle eyes are instantly blinded by the appearance of a Star in Human form standing between him and his would be victims, ancient, almost forgotten knowledge from a Yordle that doesn't exist anymore, one who learned the movements of the stars and their power, helpfully whispering in his brain about exactly who and what this potential opponent might be to him, the blinding light to his overpowering darkness.

The would be old fools in Ionia absolutely salivating at the sight of such poetic "Ballance," light and dark, good and evil, villain and hero...

But Veigar isn't some monk hidden away in a monastery as the world around him dies due to his inaction, he is a Supervillain, and while a Supervillain can some times be indeed Cruel and Villainous, he can also recognize an opportunity when it presents itself.

Lux doesn't even have the time to say anything to the new comer, even as she stands between it and the people she has sworn to protect, that she's already been declared his new "Dark Apprentice."

She has no say on it he claims.

And, well, she really doesn't now, does she? She's offering them shelter and food, as long as they were to serve him, and while Lux really blisters at the thought, to trade a Tyrant or a Demagogue for another, her people can't go on much longer, they need to stop, they need to recuperate their strength, they need to accept the offer from the diminutive devil in front of her...

Of course, the other mages shall also receive ample training by Veigar, the greatest mage of all time. He did hear Noxus was doing magic academies for a while, and who were they to think they could teach children to set buildings on fire better than him? Honestly, this was a long time coming.

And Lux does learn something from him, more than she could ever imagine, for for all of his cackling megalomania Viegar does indeed hold the knowledge to shatter stars with his power.

Better than her last magic teacher at least.

When she does tell him why they are there, Veigar just scoffs.

"Honestly Luxana, you disappoint me," He begins with barely disguised scorn, "Not for fleeing, no, that's not something even I, the great and majestic Lord Veigar, destroyer of worlds, would ever fault a weak and pathetic human like you for. No, you disappoint me because you didn't even try."

She is furious of course, because she did try her hardest to keep her people alive, to survive as Mageseekers and Vanguard alike were hunting them down like animals, but the villain interrupts her anger with a cold glare.

"You don't approve of that second date stage magician, what was his name again, Solas? Anyway, you disapprove of his violence, of his thirst for powers, but what are you supposed to do then? Wait for this boy king leading the mage hunt to, what? Die of old age? Be replaced by his son once he's old and senile hoping he won't be as much of a bastard as his father?"

Lux wants to protest, because she's been knowing Jarvan all her life and she knows there is some good in him, that he's just blinded by grief, that surely she or her brother or even her aunt, the one who considered her magic a blight to the good name of the family, who tried to "cure" her, "fix" her, as if she was wrong or something, she's sure any of them would have him see reason one day...

"Then you are even more of a fool that I took you for," Veigar cuts back, his tone cold, his verve, his cartoonish villainy gone for a moment, replaced with the clarity of someone who has seen some pretty nasty shit in his life, who's survived far worse than some petty boy king and his senseless genocide...

"Tyrants and Oppressors, those who see you as nothing more than a tool, or a plaything, or a vermin to suffer for their amusement, they will never see reason, not as long as they are up there, and you are down here."

Veigar grabs Lux's robe and yanks her down, getting her eye level with him.

"Monsters like those... They will only see reason, once you bring them down to your level, the level they forced you in..."

"Or you've raised far above them, you've become so powerful, so grandiose, so Tall, they will never manage to reach you again."

"What will you chose, Luxana?"

#veigar #legends of runeterra #league of legends lore #league of legends au #league of legends #lol lore #ideally Annie then also moves Eastward and she becomes Veigar second apprentice #Veigar instantly recognizes Tibaulk from the days under Mordekaiser so of course he tries to recruit the kid under his dark banner #what better revenge on him than stealing one of his Pet Demons?#no it's not because he likes the kid and didn't like how emaciated she looked why do you ask?

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ckjbun · 4 years

Text

What kind of ability would Higuchi have and its potential name?

Hi to whoever is reading this! This is my first self-written post so I’m still figuring out how all this works and I’m sorry, if it gets a bit chaotic. Anyways, recently, I came across a question regarding Higuchi from Bungou Stray Dogs. It was about what Higuchi’s ability would be called and what type it would be. So I won’t go into details whether she has an ability or not. I believe she has since she is named after an author (and Asagiri himself kinda confirmed it via Twitter). Thus, I just want to write my thoughts on the potential names and kind of ability.

Since abilities in the BSD world are always named after rather well-known works of the authors, I compared some of the famous works of Higuchi Ichiyo. Now mind you, I haven’t read her works myself. I mostly relied on comparing summaries and analyses of them. Since there are not a lot of summaries, I read two lesser-known stories myself. I will add the links of the summaries/analyses of the works down below. However, while comparing I found two works that would fit Higuchi. Now, first what do I mean by “fit”? Well, it might be best to start explaining what I think about the type of Higuchi’s ability.

I believe Higuchi has not an offensive type of ability. Nothing like Atsushi’s, Akutagawa’s, Kyouka’s etc. If she had, I’m sure she would have used it already, since she’s fighting a lot with her guns, why wouldn’t she use her ability as an addition, why would she hide it? There are two possibilities why we haven’t seen her ability yet. First possibility would be that her ability is not visible like Odasaku’s or Ango’s, maybe it’s even an ability that she hasn’t even discovered, just like Fukuzawa hasn’t realized he has one before the ADA. Second would be that she can use her ability only under stringent conditions. And I believe it’s the latter, hear me out.

Remember this scene from Chapter 14? Higuchi reaches out to hold Akutagawa’s hand but then pulls back because she remembered him saying that he doesn’t need her help. Now, you could argue that holding the hands of injured loved ones is a gesture of closeness, a way to show them your support, a way to tell them that you’re staying by their side. And Aku doesn’t want this support, so that’s why she retracted her hand. But something bothers me here. In this scene it looks like Aku slapped Higuchi’s hand away, doesn’t it? And then he says, he doesn’t need her help, instead of support. I know, you could say support and help are almost the same. But to me, help is something that you do more “actively”, while support can be something passive. What if Higuchi’s hand represents this “active” help? And what would actively help Akutagawa in this very moment? A healing ability for example. Coincidentally, in the panel before, Hirotsu asks Higuchi what power she posses to make them [the black lizard] obey. Is this a hint that there is a hint about Higuchi’s ability in the next panel? Maybe. But let’s look at the next panel. It’s the title page of this chapter.

As you can see, Higuchi has a bandage wrapped around her leg and they seem connected to Akutagawa. In this chapter, it is revealed that Higuchi contemplated about leaving the Port Mafia but her reason for staying is implied to be Akutagawa. This is perfectly symbolized by the bandages in this title page. The bandages coming from Akutagawa are holding her leg back, stopping her from walking away from the PM. But maybe there is a second interpretation? If you’re looking at Akutagawa’s left hand, the bandages are starting to come off. What if this means Akutagawa is healing and doesn’t need the bandages anymore? Instead it wraps around Higuchi’s leg, restricting her movement. What if Higuchi’s ability allows her to help someone else (doesn’t have to be necessarily a healing ability) but in exchange she needs to sacrifice something? Anyways, I think she has an ability which allows her to help other people in a non-combat way. With this in mind, I was looking through several works of Higuchi Ichiyo, searching for something that “fits”. Meaning that I was looking for parallels and themes in irl Higuchi’s stories that could be “converted” into an ability. Just like the coat that the protagonist of Rashomon stole in order to now die of hunger was used as Akutagawa’s ability which seems to be able to eat everything, or like the wish that one’s brother does not die in war in Thou Shalt Not Die became Yosano’s ability and serving as a basis of her background story. Anyways, I’d like to present the works that could be used for Higuchi’s ability and draw some parallels.

1. The Thirteen’s Night

The story revolves around a poor woman, called Oseki. Thanks to her marriage to a rich man, her family was able to live a better life and her brother found a job. But on the thirteenth night of the ninth month of the lunar calendar (one of two special nights for moon viewing), Oseki visited her parents with the intention on asking her parents for approval for divorcing her husband. Before entering, she overhears her parents talking about how lucky they are that they have such good children who don’t cause trouble and that they are very thankful for this marriage. Hesitating at first, she finally goes in and admits that she wants to divorce her husband because he abuses her mentally. He insults her constantly and tells her that she's worthless, stupid, and uneducated. Her mother is outraged. But her father, even though he acknowledges her suffering, reminds her what her husband has done for this family and that she would lose her son since women couldn’t get custody of their children after a divorce at that time. Agreeing with her father, Oseki decides to go back to her husband:

“It was selfish of me to think of a divorce. You're right. If I couldn't see Tarō, there'd be no point in living. I might flee my present sorrows, but what kind of future would I have? If I could think of myself as already dead, that would solve everything… Then Tarō would have both his parents with him. It was a foolish idea I had, and I've troubled you with the whole unpleasant business. From tonight I will consider myself dead — a spirit who watches over Tarō. That way I can bear Isamu's cruelty for a hundred years to come.”

– In The Shade of Spring Leaves, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

Just like BSD Higuchi contemplates leaving the PM, the protagonist here wants to leave her husband. The PM is like the husband. It allows her to support herself and probably her family (at least we saw that she has a sister). But there is constant abuse. Akutagawa is clearly the biggest source of abuse that we can see. But it’s not only him. In Chapter 14, Mori asks her if she is really suited for this job. Telling her indirectly that she is useless or that she is too weak for the PM. Later, you can see the Black Lizard doubting her capabilities, even threatening her. But just like Oseki she stays because of a loved one. What really concerns me is Oseki saying that she will consider herself as a dead spirit watching over Tarō. What if Higuchi, in order to use her ability, has to sacrifice part of her lifespan? Or maybe she loses a feeling? Like e.g. she loses the ability to feel happiness, making her a bit more dead inside? If you draw this parallel, you could also say that when ‘consider myself dead’ is the condition of the ability, then ‘watching over Tarō’ is a hint to Higuchi’s ability. An ability that allows her to watch over and protect her loved ones? This theme fits Higuchi perfectly, since a big topic in Higuchi’s story line is how she wants to help and protect Akutagawa. So it makes sense that her ability might be something that would help him (**intensely squinting at the recent events in the manga, especially chapter 88**). Moving on to the second possibility before the pain starts to set in.

2. Takekurabe (literally: "Comparing heights", "Child's Play" in the Robert Lyons Danly translation, "Growing Up" in the Edward Seidensticker translation)

Now this is considered as Higuchi Ichiyo’s masterpiece. So the chances are high that the ability is based on this story. The story accompanies a group of children who live next to the Yoshiwara quarter. There are two rival gangs: the main street gang (’omote-machi’), lead by Shōtarō, a cultivated young boy who is the grandson of the owner of a pawnshop, and the back street gang (’yoko-chō’), lead by Chōkichi, the impulsive firefighter’s son. (Maybe a parallel to the ADA with (cultivated) Fukuzawa and the PM with Mori who’s a doctor which belongs into the same category of occupation as firefighters?). Among the main street gang, there was Midori, popular and pretty, who lives in the brothel where her sister works. Shōtarō probably has a crush on her. But Midori probably has feelings for the other main character, Nobu, the son of a Buddhist priest. Even though he returns her feelings, he distances himself from her out of his self-consciousness. Later he joins the rival gang after repeated request by Chōkichi. Anyways, they spend their days very care-free, attending school, playing with each other after school. One day, some conflict arises between the gangs and Midori, while protecting someone else, gets slapped by Chōkichi with a sandal. He then proceeds to tell her that their gang is backed by no other than Nobu. Midori feels humiliated and stops going to school. Soon she also stops playing with the other children. After some time passed, Midori is seen with her hair all done up. She has become a distant, lady-like young woman. This probably means that she got her first period and is old enough to become a prostitute or that she just had her first client as a courtesan. Little by little, the children grow up. Nobu is sent off to be trained as a priest and Shōtarō has come to accept the responsibilities of his family’s shop.

There are several themes in this story that I’d like to point out, namely unrequited love, Midori’s transformation and underlying unchangeable fates. The first one is obviously a big theme in Higuchi’s story. Midori and Nobu are unable to express their love for each other because of their positions in life. Just like Higuchi is unable to express her feelings for Akutagawa. If you want some hope, AkuHigu shippers, maybe Aku has also feelings for Higuchi but is still very confused and self-conscious about it just like Nobu. Anyways, because of their positions in the PM, it would make everything very complicated if Higuchi confessed. Additionally, Midori feels like she was humiliated by her love when she got slapped by that sandal. I’m sure that Higuchi gets humiliated by Akutagawa a lot. The next theme is Midori’s transformation from a tomboyish to a lady-like, distant woman. We all know Higuchi looks really badass in her suits. But again, look at the title page of chapter 14. Higuchi is dressed up all prettily and lady-like in a dress, and her hair is done all up. Just like Midori after her transformation. Midori’s transformation stands for Midori accepting her occupation as a prostitute even though she doesn’t want to. In this chapter, we see that Higuchi has accepted her job in the PM, even though she doesn’t want to do this job. At the end Shōtarō sings the following:

"Growing up,

she plays among the butterflies

and flowers.

But she turns sixteen,

and all she knows

is work and sorrow."

– In The Shade of Spring Leaves, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

I don’t know about you guys, but to me that necklace that Higuchi is wearing in that title page looks like a butterfly to me. This is really farfetched but maybe this could be a hint about when Higuchi joined the Port Mafia? However, the biggest theme in Takekurabe is the underlying unchangeable fate of the children. Shōtarō was destined to become the next owner of the pawnshop, Nabu was destined to become a Buddhist monk and Midori would become a prostitute. Maybe this gives us some insight into why Higuchi joined the PM? Maybe one of her parents was a PM member? I also like to think that since Aku is in the PM, since she wants to be with him, she can’t but stay in the PM, and this is her fate. Nevertheless, fate is a central theme in Takekurabe. This is the reason why I think, if the ability is based on this story, Higuchi’s ability would be something like changing fates. Changing fate of someone else but in return she must sacrifice something.

Okay, so this post has become quite long. But I still wanted to mention two other stories Yamizakura (Flowers at Dusk) and The Sound of the Koto where I saw a lot of parallels. I just want to briefly tell you the story of The Sound of the Koto. In this story a woman abandons her son in order to leave her husband who has a bad reputation. The husband then turns into an alcoholic and dies later at a party because of alcohol intoxication. The boy becomes hardened to the world, despises his mother for leaving them, and even contemplates suicide. The story shifts then to a woman playing the koto. I want to give you an excerpt for the end of this story:

“On this night the sound of the woman’s playing helped another to be reborn. Through fourteen springs and fourteen autumns, the boy had been buffeted by the rains. His heart had gradually toughened until it had become as hard as stone. No arrow could penetrate it. He seemed destined to follow the example of his father, to die among the fields or in the mountains, where his remains would be bleached by the elements. Some were convinced the boy’s life would end in prison chains, while his bad name spread to every roadside.

But now, at once, the tenderness buried in his heart was freed by the midnight strains of the koto. For the first time in many years, he felt tears come to his eyes. Or were they jewelled drops of dew? He would not exchange them for anything.

He, who had known neither love nor compassion, and who had no idea what the player of these refrains could even look like, felt a moment of happiness as the music drifted over the garden wall. […]

[…] How could a stormy wind blow now? The clouds in his heart had disappeared. Once more the woman began to play. The sound of the koto would be his friend for a hundred years, the seed for a hundred years of yearning. He had entered a world where a hundred different flowers wer in bloom.

– In The Shade of Spring Leaves, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

This boy somehow just reminds me so much of Akutagawa. Just like this boy, without any parents and home, wandering around in this world, Akutagawa has become hardened to the world. I’d like to think that Higuchi’s ability could free Akutagawa from his pain, just like the sound of koto does for this boy.

So, now I said everything I wanted to say, I guess. If there is really anyone reading this and reading this until here, thank you so much! I appreciate it very much that you kept reading even though my thoughts are probably quite chaotic. I’m sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or weird sentence structures or anything like this. English is not my first language. I’m very happy, if you could point out any mistakes or have any suggestion for improvement. Lastly, I just want to remind you that these are my thoughts, I love discussing so feel free to comment your thoughts but I’d like you to keep in mind that there is not necessarily a wrong or right, theories are theories, interpretations are interpretations. Everyone has another interpretation. They can only be proven wrong by Asagiri sensei himself. Until then just keep the discussions friendly and tolerant towards other people’s thoughts and opinions.

Sources:

All manga panels used in this post are from easygoingscans

Higuchi Ichiyo (樋口一葉)

Higuchi Ichiyo: "In the Shade of Spring Leaves"

In The Shade Of Spring Leaves: The Life Of Higuchi Ichiyo, With Nine Of Her Best Stories, translated by Robert Lyons Danly

In the Shade of Spring Leaves – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 1

“Flowers at Dusk” and Other Notes – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 2

“Encounters on a Dark Night” and Other Notes – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 3

“Child’s Play” and Other Notes – Ichiyō Higuchi, Part 4

HIGUCHI ICHIYŌ: BADASS WOMEN IN JAPANESE HISTORY

The Thirteenth Night (Wikipedia)

Female Subject, Interrupted in Higuchi Ichiyō's "The Thirteenth Night"

GAME OF TRADITIONS: TRADITION IN THE THIRTEENTH NIGHT AND DIARY OF A MAD MAN

HIGUCHI ICHIYŌ IN MODERN JAPANESE AND EUROPEAN DRESS: Modern Japanese versions (gendaigoyaku) of Higuchi Ichiyō’s Takekurabe and their Relationship with English, Castilian Spanish and Catalan Translations

Separate Ways Summary

Literary Analysis of “Separate Ways”

Flowers at Dusk

Nigorie (Wikipedia)

From the Margins of Meiji Society: Space and Gender in Higuchi Ichiyō's "Troubled Waters"

444 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Soulmate AU Part 4 (final part):

Uther continues to be very OOC and Merlin is presented to the Kingdom; luckily enough, everyone already loves him. The Future starts to come together...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The summer passed in much the same way the previous year had; awkwardly polite conversation between Merlin and Uther, Leon panicking at everything, Gwen being exasperated, Morgana and Merlin pissing about, and Arthur watching it all with exponentially growing fondness.

Eventually, it was Yuletide again. Yuletide meant Arthur’s 18th birthday. Arthur’s 18th birthday meant revealing Merlin to the Kingdom; announcing him as The Crown Prince’s Soulmate.

There was an odd mix of feelings surrounding the upcoming event. Both Arthur and Merlin were ecstatic at the idea of not having to hide and sneak around anymore, but Merlin was a foreign peasant boy. The common people would love him, Nobles and Foreign dignitaries? Not so much. Granted, Arthur had a powerfully intimidating presence, when he chose to display it, Morgana could glare anyone into submission, and even Leon was known to be passive aggressively threatening when it concerned Merlin’s safety and respect, but not all could be daunted into compliance. Merlin would surely face discrimination.

That, and the growing spotlight meant that it would become much harder to keep his magic a secret. With Uther’s insistence that Merlin be... part of the family, they’d already had a few close calls.

Thankfully, not much else had changed, or it had changed for the better. Arthur and Merlin still scared everyone else shitless when they popped up to each other, but Morgana’s visions seemed a lot less terrifying now. Leon still had heart palpitations when Merlin and The King were in the same room, but Gwen, Gaius, and Hunith relaxed more; the Physician especially could see the pride glowing in Uther’s eyes, and the awkward fondness he held for Merlin (even if that wouldn't protect him if Uther discovered his magic).

Nevertheless, no ones’ fears or aspirations stopped the passage of time (though Merlin, in his increasing power, had put it on his “List of Things to Try Before I Die”), and Arthur’s crowning ceremony crept closer, day by day.

Hunith, Merlin, Leon, Gwen, and Gaius were gifted front row seats to the event, and as annoyed as Uther was at having the front row taking by commoners, a servant, and a young knight, he didn’t dare argue; he’d learnt that it was pointless now. Morgana was stood behind Uther’s throne at her own seat, giving Arthur a rare smile, not a hint of teasing in her expression, and Arthur returned it easily, comforted by the dream she told him she had the previous night (of adoring crowds and a grinning Merlin) despite his nerves.

The ceremony of course went of without a hitch, a rare smile on Uther’s face, and tears on all the faces of Arthur’s front row.

After an uproarious round of applause and chants of “Long Live The King, Long Live The Prince!”, the room cleared, leaving only Uther, Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, and a few faceless guards.

(Gaius, Hunith, Gwen, and Leon rushed off, wanting to be at the front of the crowds in the courtyard when Arthur and Merlin were presented to the Kingdom.)

Merlin didn’t hesitate in rushing up the steps to Arthur, wrapping his soulmate in a tight hug and whispering his pride into his blushing ear. For once, Morgana didn’t roll her eyes at the display of affection; Arthur may have occasional spurts of arrogance, and the two of them still acted like immature children occasionally, but she loved them both dearly. Uther did roll his eyes, though he could not hide his fondness from Morgana, who raised (yet another) teasing eyebrow at him. He glared at her half-heartedly before clearing his throat, and the boys jumped apart with a start.

He wordlessly nodded towards the door of the Throne Room, and walked out regally, his steps fast and heavy and his cloak billowing behind him. Merlin and Arthur followed quickly, hand in hand, and Morgana walked closely behind them, the guards bringing up the rear. The group finally made it to the large double doors that opened out onto the balcony above the courtyard, though it was two corridors previously that they began to hear the cheering and festivities below.

Arthur could feel Merlin’s hand shaking in his own, and squeezes it comfortingly, giving him a reassuringly soft smile as he murmurs, so Uther can’t hear them:

“Don’t worry, it’ll only be a few minutes, then we’ll come back in. You’ll be introduced to nobles and such during the feast,-”

When Merlin begins to look even more distressed, Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly and continues before his Warlock can interrupt him:

“-yes, I know, we’ll have to mingle, but this evening, it’s just us and the others. We’ll take some food and wine back to yours, and we can have some fun and all fall asleep in front of the fire together. Alright?”

Merlin takes a deep breath and nods, but before he can say anything, Uther stops his conversation with one of the guards and abruptly turns around, his face tersely concerned.

He takes one look at the boys before tutting and stepping towards them. Arthur freezes in shock as Uther begins to run a gloved hand through his hair, neatening it out and flattening it properly under the newly placed crown before stepping back again with a satisfied nod of the head. Arthur’s wide eyes stare straight ahead, and Morgana (having snuck in front of them to watch the whole ordeal) has to stop herself from snorting at his face. If she thought that was funny... well.

Next, Uther’s eyes move to Merlin, where he gives an even more disapproving tut and steps forward once more. He removes one of his gloves quickly, wetting his thumb with his tongue before wiping it just a little too harshly along Merlin’s nose, muttering-

“How the hell are you always so Godamn grubby?”

-to himself. Morgana doesn’t manage to hold in her giggles at that, clamping a hand over her mouth as she dedicates this whole scene to memory forever. Arthur is staring at his father with not even an attempt to hide his bafflement, but at this point, Uther is too busy brushing invisible lint off of Merlin’s shoulders to notice the incredulous stares from the three teenagers (and all the guards).

He finally steps back, huffing out a sigh, and muttering-

“That will have to do, I suppose.”

-before turning back to the doors and gesturing to the guards. Morgana, and Arthur have only a moment to regain their composure before they are ushered out on the balcony; Merlin staying back as he had been informed to do that morning, though he can hear the cheers get impossibly louder as the three royals greet their people.

Arthur glances back, just quickly, giving him one last smile before facing his people and standing in support of his father’s kingly speech:

“My people! Today, on this year’s Winter Solstice, my son has come of age!-”

The crowds had quietened significantly when Uther began, but another cheer went up at his words, and he paused, holding a silencing hand up:

“-I now present him to you, as Crown Prince Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, my successor!”

His hand moves to gesture at Arthur, and the Prince steps forward as The King steps back, a wide smile on the blonde's face as his people cheer for him. He waves back, eyes searching the crowd for Hunith, Gaius, Gwen, and Leon; they meet gazes just as Uther steps forward once more, holding his hand up again:

“There is other news! It is...-”

He looks to Arthur, settling a hand on his shoulder and giving him a small smile. His voice quietens a little, but it can still be heard by the crowd:

“-it is with great pride, that I announce-”

The moment ended as quickly as it had started as Uther turns back to the crowds below, raising his voice again:

“-that my son has found his soulmate!!-”

Arthur had been expecting loud cheers, but their audience grows quiet and still at the announcement, as if frozen in suspense. As he peers over the stone barrier, he can see almost everyone in the crowd pairing off slightly, pulling their soulmates closer as they wait with baited breath to see their Prince’s partner.

Inside, Merlin takes a deep breath, but relaxes slightly when he sees Arthur unclench his own nervous fist, holding it behind him in preparation, invitation, for Merlin to take it in just a few moments:

“-I present to you, a close family friend of the royals,-”

(Morgana scoffs and rolls her eyes, but thankfully no one is paying her any attention.)

“-a skilled physician in training, and a trusted citizen of this Great Kingdom,-”

He gestures towards the door behind him, and Merlin takes his first shaky step forward, coming into line with Arthur as Uther finishes:

“Merlin, of Ealdor!”

Arthur and Merlin walk to the front of the balcony, hand in hand, as the loudest cheers Merlin has ever heard explode from the crowd. Despite the thunderous noise, Merlin can still pick out the cheers of his mother, uncle, friend, and older brother, and the leisurely applause from Morgana behind him, and he smiles in spite of his nerves. Arthur squeezes his hand once more, and they raise their joined fists to the crowds as they grin, struggling to hold in their laughter at the sheer amount of joy on the faces of everyone (bar Uther, of course, he just looked marginally happy) present.

Merlin has become even more recognised around the kingdom; normally seen trailing Gaius (who is also well-known, and well-loved) or, as inappropriate as it might be (at least according to Uther’s council), hanging around with Morgana and Gwen during the day. The castle’s servants and the majority of the knights had guessed that Merlin was the soulmate of either Prince Arthur or the Lady Morgana, what with how often he was with them and the way King Uther was apparently ok with that, and gossip spread like wildfire. But the loud cheers just drive home how well-loved Merlin is, and he tears up in response.

Merlin and Arthur finally step away from the edge of the balcony, and Uther continues his address of the people, though it passes by in a bit of a blur for Merlin, and he tunes out fairly quickly. He’s vaguely aware of Arthur running a soft thumb over his knuckles, and Morgana stepping towards him to clutch the edge of his tunic (loud crowds had never been her thing), but the speech and the cheering are drowned out by his racing thoughts.

Uther’s speech finally came to an end and the crowd dissipated. The King rushed off immediately, after sending what could almost be described as a respectfully fond nod in Merlin’s direction, but Morgana, Arthur, and Merlin luckily had nothing pressing to attend to before the feast, and had around an hour of time to waste (read: relax).

Despite Leon escorting the three of them to Merlin and Hunith’s home dressed in full armour, sword strapped to his hip, the journey took twice as long as it normally did, with various nobles and citizens alike wanting to stop them in the street and congratulate them. Arthur and Merlin were endlessly polite and extremely grateful for the support of their (now shared) people, but Leon’s forceful insistence that they “have somewhere important to be, My Lords, My Lady” went quietly thanked.

Hunith, Gaius, and Gwen met them at the house, and a round of tight hugs was shared; all staring fondly when Hunith wouldn’t let Merlin go for love nor money, whispering tearful exclamations of pride in his ear.

The hour felt like it passed in mere minutes, but it was enough time at least for Merlin to relax a little. Morgana and Gwen helped Hunith get ready, and Merlin definitely did NOT tear up when she came out of her room dressed like royalty, a string of Morgana’s pearls around her neck. Arthur and Morgana had deliberately stored a spare set of clothes here so they didn’t have to go back to the castle to change, and the Prince just about managed to force Merlin into a new jacket and cloak (”Why?!” “Because you have to, it’s protocol, you have to be dressed differently.” “That’s fucking stu-” “Merlin, I love you, but shut up and get changed.” “...Prat.” ) .

The seating arrangements weren’t too terrible. As per normal, Uther sat at the head of the table, with Arthur around the corner on the King’s right and Morgana to his left. Merlin sat in between Arthur and his mother; Leon was, unfortunately, on guard duty, though thankfully he was being assigned to Prince Duty (training, hunts, patrols, bodyguard, etc) more and more, meaning he was stood at the wall behind the two boys.

Thankfully, the only stranger anywhere near Merlin was a respected Camelot noble seated opposite him, and he seemed far more interested in boasting about his son to the King in the hopes of winning him a knighthood than he was in Merlin, and payed barely any attention to him other than the occasional distasteful glare (they did not go unnoticed by Arthur, and simply guaranteed that his prick of a son wasn’t going to end up anywhere near a sword).

So all in all, the feast wasn’t too bad. Merlin’s stomach was turning a little, but Arthur’s hand on his thigh under the table and his mother’s shoulder occasionally brushing against his own calmed him right down, though he still kept well away from any alcohol or too-rich foods, worried about making a fool of himself or turning his stomach even more.

The Gang also had Gwen serving them. Morgana had given up on her pleas to have her join them at the table fairly quickly; she could argue with Uther endlessly on many things, but she knew she was never going to win this one. At Guinevere’s insistence that today wasn’t about her, and Morgana shouldn’t ruin Uther’s tenuous good mood on Arthur’s birthday AND coronation AND soulmate-reveal-day, she gave in. But Merlin appreciated the feeling of friendly eyes, both Leon’s and Gwen’s, on his back for the course of the feast.

Just like during the celebrations of Arthur’s knighting ceremony, the tables were cleared from the room to make way for music and dancing, though this time Arthur and Merlin didn’t have to hide their partnership.

Merlin’s stomach turned more at the mingling he was forced to do, answering awkward questions about the purity of his blood and where he came from and his education and his understanding of social etiquette, almost all of which were phrased in condescending and/or downright spiteful ways. But the way Arthur’s arm, looped through his, tensed, and the scowl the Prince sported when Merlin couldn’t bring himself to, partnered with Leon’s comforting shadow (and even Uther’s, when the question’s strayed into cruelty) made him feel at least justified in his discomfort.

Morgana, at the quiet request of Merlin, spent the entire night by Hunith’s side, shielding her from the malicious glaring of nobles who felt cheated by her accidental winning of a position in the royal family. She was granted at least a little respect due to her being a relation of Gaius, who was highly respected and close to the King, but that was about as far as her favour went, and she was eternally grateful for Morgana’s steadfast presence and silent-but-deadly brand of defence.

The night passed slowly, but not so unpleasantly that Merlin was too desperate for it to end, though that changed rather jarringly when he found himself without Arthur for the first time. The Prince and Merlin had been stood next to each other, though involved in different conversations; thankfully for Merlin, he had been having a rather lovely chat about country-life with the wife of a knight. It was when she was pulled away by her husband to converse with another that Merlin realised that Arthur had also been pulled away by whoever it was he had been talking to.

Merlin tensed when he couldn’t immediately spot his soulmate through the crowd, but took a calming breath when he did spot Leon stood dutifully against the opposite wall, Guinevere next to him. That was fine, it wasn’t Arthur, but it was better than nothing, and he allowed his anxiety to swirl in his lungs for only a moment before he began his soft-stepped journey across the hall.

He caught Leon’s eye, thankfully, and the knight frowned slightly at the empty space next to him before sending a reassuring smile his way, nodding in encouragement and understanding.

Alas, he only made it halfway when he was stopped by a rather harsh hand on his shoulder.

He turns around, barely swallowing a gasp and a flinch, only to come face to face with the noble he had been sat opposite during the feast. The hand was uncomfortably tight on his shoulder, and Merlin wanted more than anything to push it away, but instead he forced a smile on his face and bowed his head respectfully, hoping beyond hope that Arthur would make a reappearance or Leon would see his discomfort and be able to come up with an excuse to abandon his post:

“Lord Otto, a pleasure to see you again.”

The drunken Lord let out a huff of sarcastic laughter, pressing his thumb even more severely into Merlin’s collarbone:

“Hmm, a pleasure indeed. Tell me boy, how is it that you, a peasant, think yourself worthy of such a magnificent soulmate?”

Merlin’s eyes widen in shock. No one had been so obviously disdainful, but the over-indulgence in alcohol, the Lord’s privileged seat at the table, and Merlin's lack of any sort of protector had evidently given him a boost in confidence. Merlin stuttered for a few moments, not quite sure what to say, before quietly coming out with:

“Well... I... don’t really know, I-”

He’s interrupted by a far softer hand on his other shoulder, but is even more shocked when, instead of Leon or Arthur, he found The King stood by his side, flicking an incredibly scornful gaze between Lord Otto’s hand and face. It does nothing to dissuade the Lord, and Merlin can’t disguise his wince this time when the hand once again tightens it’s grip.

Merlin had hoped he’d been subtle, but the clenching of Uther’s jaw tells him he had not been; before he can worry about what social rule he had broken and how Uther was going to punish him for it, The King finally settled his glare on Otto’s face:

“I must insist that you remove your hand from my boy’s person, and refrain from making such improper inquiries.”

His cold tone almost sends a shiver down Merlin’s spine, but the confusion of having Uther being in defence of him (a Warlock) stops the reaction before it even starts. The Lord glances up at the crown sitting strongly on Uther’s head, seemingly reminding himself of his company, before dropping his hand from Merlin’s shoulder as if he’d been burned.

He bows his head shallowly, making himself look as subservient as his pride could manage, and Uther gives him a barely restrained look of disgust when he looks up again, interrupting any quivering apologies he might have made:

“It’s getting rather late, and you’ve indulged enough for one night, do you not think? I suggest you end your evening here, Lord Otto.”

All three knew that it was not a suggestion, and Otto bows once more before muttering a humiliated, red-faced “Right you are, Your Majesty” and waddling out of the hall, towards the guest chambers.

Merlin let out a breath, his face just a little flushed as Uther spares him a quick, concerned glance before pushing him gently towards an on-going conversation between Arthur and a group of knights on the other side of the band. Merlin lets out a relieved breath when he sees his partner, but quickly frowns in concern when he then sees the tense line of Arthur’s shoulders and the way his eyes were darting around the room. He’s obviously paying only the shallowest of attention to the conversation at hand; but then they meet gazes, and the tension drains out of him as he sends a relieved smile Merlin’s way.

Arthur politely excuses himself from the conversation, using the blinding smile that only made an appearance when he was manipulating courtiers and nobles, before making his way through the crowd towards Merlin, evidently trying to disguise his desperation. Merlin was absent-mindedly aware of Uther keeping pace with him, the supportive hand on his shoulder-blade not leaving even when Merlin sped up slightly.

(If Merlin had been thinking about anything other than just being at Arthur’s side again, he would’ve found the odd mix of disgust and gratitude for Uther’s presence very confusing.)

They finally reach each other and Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand gently, pulling him to his side and landing a soft kiss to his cheek. Uther finally removes his hand from Merlin’s back, and it’s the absence of touch that reminds Merlin of The King’s presence. He turns quickly, hand safely in Arthur’s grip, to give Uther a flushed, timid smile:

“I... uh... thank you, My Lord.”

Uther gives him a tight smile, though you’d have to be blind to miss the slight fondness in his expression as he shakes his head:

“Hmm, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get Otto out of here for at least an hour, the man is intolerable, his incessant rambling about his unremarkable son even more so.”

Merlin nodded awkwardly and tightened his hold on Arthur’s hand, but before either boy can say anything, Uther lets out a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders and settling hesitant hands on one of their shoulders each:

“I... am proud of you both, and I wish you all the happiness in the world. One day, this Kingdom shall be yours, and it will be golden under your rule.”

Merlin almost manages to forget the whole... unforgivable genocide thing, and gives The King a weak, though grateful smile, running his thumb over Arthur’s knuckles when he feels the blonde shake slightly. Arthur tears up at Uther’s words, but thankfully manages to keep his voice steady as he quietly replies:

“Thank you, father, we will do everything in our power to live up to your legacy.”

(An utter lie, considering they plan on undoing pretty much everything he’s known for the moment they come into power, but Uther doesn’t need to know that, and the sentiment remains.)

Uther gives Arthur one last gentle smile, before lowering his hands and straightening his posture, going from awkwardly doting father to detached mighty King within a second. He nods at each of them before turning and walking regally away, his cloak billowing behind him and his golden crown shining atop his head.

Arthur tilts his head in question and tugs Merlin’s hand slightly when he sees the small frown on the younger’s face:

“Merls? What did Otto do? He didn't hurt you, did he?!”

Merlin looked up at him in shock before blinking away the surprise and chuckling:

“Ah, no, nothing like that, just asked how a peasant ended up with such a magnificent soulmate.-”

Arthur looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended on Merlin’s behalf, so he settled for an odd mix of the two:

“-That didn’t bother me though, it was... Uther called me his boy.”

Arthur dropped his chin slightly in shock:

“He what?”

Merlin shrugged:

“He said “I must insist that you remove your hand from my boy”. It was very... disconcerting, and oddly endearing considering what he’d do if he knew what I was.”

He whispered the last part quietly, and Arthur raised his eyebrows in surprise before chuckling quietly:

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day. My father being protective of a commoner and telling me how proud he is all in one evening, perhaps the world is ending.”

Merlin snorts, rolling his eyes and softly responding:

“Hmm. He may be a bit of a prat, but he does love you, and he has his moments.”

Arthur narrows his eyes at Merlin good-naturedly, a smirk dangerously close to breaking out on his face:

“You know Merlin, you may be right, but you’re still the only person I allow to say it aloud without sanction.”

Merlin just smirks and raises an eyebrow; Arthur laughs, and the world feels right.

It was late by the time Arthur and Merlin finally decided to call it quits. Morgana, Gaius, and Hunith had left around an hour ago, Gwen following them the moment her shift ended. Technically, someone had come to take over from Leon about halfway through the night, but he stuck around, patrolling the shadows of the room with one eye on Merlin always.

(The boys had insisted that he should go home and relax, but were quietly grateful when he stayed.)

They had been wanting to leave for hours, and normally they could easily get away with such an absence, but this particular celebration was in their honour, it wouldn't do to leave too early, so they finally made their way out of the hall when the crowds had halved and it was approaching midnight.

Uther gave them one last pat on the back when they said goodbye, and the tension practically melted off them when they stepped foot outside, despite the freezing temperatures of winter in the dead of night.

Leon stepped out just a moment after them, and the three of them make quick work of the journey to the house, not wanting to dally in the frigid air and just a little desperate to find themselves in the comforting presence on the family they had built.

They arrive just in time to find Hunith pouring out mugs of hot chocolate (a luxury that Merlin and Hunith never had in Ealdor), and Gwen adding another log to the fire. The next round of hugs was quicker than the last; everyone was tired and eager to settle down, to push the insensitive questions to the back of their minds and revel in the positive feeling of things moving forward.

Arthur had removed his cloak immediately upon entry, folding it precisely and leaving it on the table in the hall, his golden circlet following shortly after, cushioned by the soft fabric, but Merlin excused himself to their bedroom, changing into comfier clothes and washing his face. He had been looking forward to leaving all night, but now that he was home, he found all he wanted to do was collapse in bed and sleep, Arthur securely in his arms.

A knock at the door broke him out of his slow moving thoughts, and he frowned slightly, Arthur wouldn’t knock:

“Come in.”

It was Leon that opened the door, having rid himself of his sword and most of his armour (a pain in the arse, considering he’ll have to wake up early to put it all on again, but oh well), and he stepped into the room, quietly shutting the door again behind him. Merlin sent him a tired smile, but Leon saw through it and raised an eyebrow:

“You alright, Birdy? Anyone in particular you’d like me to embarrass during training or council meetings?”

Merlin laughed and shook his head:

“No, that definitely won’t endear me to people. Honestly, it was a lot better than I was expecting, and having Arthur scowling at people and Uther defending me was rather entertaining in the end.”

Leon snorted, muttering a quietly amused “yeah, I bet” before stepping forward and enveloping Merlin in a tight hug, one hand on his back, one in his hair, holding him close. Merlin melted into the embrace, clutching the back of Leon’s tunic tightly as the older man swayed on his feet slightly, murmuring:

“I’m proud of you, little brother. You handled everything just fine, the kingdom loves you; you’re doing great.”

Merlin lets out a deep breath and steps back, though was grateful to feel Leon’s hands still on his shoulders as he replies:

“Thank you. Honestly, I’m just exhausted, I don’t know how I’m going to deal with this for the rest of my life, and I... I don’t want to disappoint Arthur.”

Leon rolled his eyes good-naturedly and ruffled Merlin’s hair:

“You could never. He loves you more than anything in this world, Birdy, you’re made for each other, after all. He would abandon all of this in a heartbeat if he thought it would make you happy.”

Merlin frowns slightly, clenching his jaw:

“Yeah, I know, that’s what worries me. We’re meant to... bring about a golden age or whatever, and we can’t do that if we leave, but I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at the... politics, or the court manipulation or anything that comes with... with running a Kingdom. I know it’s a long way off but...-”

Leon nods in understanding and squeezes Merlin’s shoulder softly:

“You’ve got plenty of time to learn. And hey, if you want to stay away from the politics? Fine, Arthur and Morgana have plenty of expertise in that area. You’re a physician, Merls, not a courtier, and the kingdom already loves you, not because you’re a good politician or anything like that, but because you’re a good person, and you’re worth loving. Just keep being yourself and you’ll be absolutely fine. And besides, you’ll always have us lot to fall back on when you’re unsure; you’ll never be alone, little brother, I’ll make sure of it.”

Merlin nods and sniffles slightly at Leon’s words, giving him another tight hug. They step back into the hall, and Leon gives Merlin’s hand a gentle squeeze:

“Ready? I can tell them you headed to bed, if you just want some sleep?”

Merlin smiles and shakes his head, pulling Leon to the living room, where everyone is undoubtedly crowded around the fire surrounded by blankets and pillows.

From that day forth, Merlin’s life becomes a lot more... official.

He was officially given sword-fighting lessons by a few of the older knights, though thanks to the lessons Leon, Arthur, and Morgana had given him already, he held his own pretty well, and they were more than impressed with the skill level of someone they had assumed was a complete beginner.

He was officially invited to the occasional council meeting (at least the boring, everyday ones). He was always a silent spectator, his participation discouraged, though his presence expected; Arthur always made a point to ask his opinions afterwards though.

His new duties and lessons, on top of his pre-existing duties as the Physician’s Apprentice, AND having to keep his magic hidden and his reputation intact, was all somewhat overwhelming for Merlin, but the steadfast support of Arthur and Morgana when it concerns politics, and Gaius talking Uther down when The King wants Merlin to be more involved in court life, definitely help him in everyday life. Gwen’s hugs and Leon’s hair ruffling are certainly God-sends as well.

The oddest thing was the way people addressed Merlin now. He wasn’t even of age yet, but people were calling him Lord, and servants bowed at him in the corridor. There wasn’t much he could do about the nobles without making some incredible social faux pas, but he always flushed at the servants and insisted they stop bowing and just call him Merlin, at least when no one else is around.

Thankfully, both visitors to the Kingdom and local nobles tone down the snootiness, especially when Uther publicly shows Merlin respect and rumours (correct rumours) spread of Arthur and Morgana’s protectiveness.

Merlin’s birthday was celebrated minimally, though there was, once again, a mix of feelings upon the realisation that he was now only one year away from being of age, and things would surely get even more intense when that happened. But they all tried to push it from their minds, at least for the time being.

As winter broke and the sun came up on what was undoubtedly a Spring day, Merlin felt the most refreshed he had in a long time, though his mood dropped instantly when he, Arthur, and Morgana were summoned to Uther’s private study... only to be given another mini, awkward “I’m proud of you” speech, and given a week off.

Of course, Arthur was still somewhat expected to keep up with his training at least a little, but really, there was nothing forcing him to.

They exited the study flushed with pride and excitement at the prospect of doing whatever the hell they wanted for a week, and met Gwen in the hall. She was worrying her lip between her teeth when they saw her, but she instantly relaxed and raised a questioning eyebrow when she saw the grins on their faces, and Morgana explained what had happened.

It was that evening, whilst relaxing in Arthur’s chambers, that Merlin heard the dreaded echo of “Emrys...” in his head.

He groaned, dropping his head in his hands, out of both frustration and the pain of another’s voice unexpectedly materializing on the inside of one’s skull.

It was just Arthur and Merlin in the room, and the Prince immediately moved from his own chair to kneel in front of his soulmate, running his hands up and down Merlin’s arms as he shakily asks:

“Merls? What’s wrong?”

Merlin just looks up at him blearily, one hand taking Arthur’s and the other rubbing his temple:

“Fucking... scaly arsehole.”

Arthur tenses and frowns as he answers:

“I thought he had given up months ago? Why is he calling you now?”

Merlin shrugs, slumping back in his seat:

“Who knows, he didn’t say, he just-”

“It’s important, bring your little... friends, if it makes you feel any better.”

“-never mind. He just said it’s important, and I can bring my “little friends” if I want.-”

He snorted in dry amusement before continuing:

“-as if I would’ve listened if he told me to go alone anyway. I really thought that me thinking “Fuck Off” as loud as I could helped him get the hint. Apparently not.”

Arthur rolled his eyes before looking to Merlin in concern:

“Well... do you want to go? Or do you want to just hope he goes away again?”

Merlin sighs, but before he can answer, the voice echoes once again:

“I will not go away this time, young Warlock. This is important, and I have very little else to entertain myself with, other than being an annoyance to you. Come.”

He huffs in frustration, standing abruptly and taking Arthur’s hand, dragging him to where their swords are kept as he grumbles:

“He’s not going away this time. Let’s fetch Leon and head down.”

Arthur dutifully follows, strapping his sword to his hip and locking the chamber doors behind them, not speaking until they were approaching Leon’s door:

“No Morgana or Gwen?”

Merlin halts, clenching his hands tightly as he thinks for a moment:

“Hmm. No, I don’t want to freak them out. We can tell them what happens later, but I don’t want Morgana to have to face him again.”

Arthur nods, and knocks quietly on Leon’s door. He opens quickly, and Arthur and Merlin are thankful that they didn’t wake him, though quickly notice his panic when he sees their grave faces and swords.

The explanation is quick, and within a few minutes the trio are making a stealthy journey down to the Dragon’s Lair. There are no dramatic appearances this time, the great lizard is already perched regally on the edge of the platform, waiting for them.

He tilts his head when he sees their tense forms at the gate:

“I’m grateful that you did not bring the Witch.”

Arthur and Leon look to Merlin in confusion as he bristles, tightening his grip on the sword at his hip as he speaks:

“Yeah, well, I didn’t fancy you trying to kill my best friend again. What do you want?”

The dragon does what the trio guesses is the closest to an eye roll and dramatic sigh that his great form can manage, before lowering his head and speaking in English:

“If you won’t listen to me, I suggest you use your new found, though temporary freedom to meet with the Druids. They have all relevant information on the prophecies, you can learn of your destinies from them. The closest camp is a day’s ride from the Eastern border of Camelot.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, but Arthur beats him to it:

“And how would you know that? How did you know we had time off?”

The dragon tilts his head and huffs out a dry laugh, the hot air making the trio sweat under their thick cloaks (it may have been Spring, but it was still cold) :

“I know a great many things, young King.”

Merlin and Arthur can practically feel the way Leon tenses, even from a few paces away. The man, ever the knight, was obviously incredibly uncomfortable with the idea that this dragon knew the goings on of the world, could listen in on conversations, all while being chained in the basement. Before either knight can say anything, Merlin tilts his head, a challenging look on his face as he regards the dragon:

“You... you keep saying destiny, but destiny is pre-written, the whole point is that it’s going to happen no matter what anyone involved does, no matter the interference. So why are you so desperate to have us know it, and work towards it? Us knowing or not knowing won’t alter things either way, unless it’s all a pile of shit and you’re manipulating us.”

Arthur smirks at Merlin’s quick mind and Leon looks impressed, the two of them turning their own challenging gazes on the rather thoughtful looking reptile. He mutters something along the lines of “you weren’t so bloody clever last time,” before lowering himself even closer to the ground, closer to Merlin:

“If I were manipulating you, then I wouldn’t send you to a third party known for being pacifist and unbiased, would I? Destiny isn’t completely certain, it is simply one of many likelihoods, the most... benefitting likelihood, is the destiny of you and your soulmate.”

Merlin scowls:

“Benefitting for who? Something tells me that one day you’re going to ask us for something, and we’ll be powerless to say no, thanks to all this... help you’re giving us, and it’ll be a mistake. So, benefitting who?”

The dragon shifts his jaw in such a way that resembles a smirk, speaking once again in the rasping language that Leon and Arthur don’t understand:

“Do you not want magic, yourself, your people, to be free, Emrys?”

He raises himself to his full height, stalking towards the ledge and stretching his leathery wings out. The trio manage to hold their ground in his dauntingly large presence, but their hands do tighten around their weapons:

“Go to the Druids, tell them Kilgharrah sent you.”

With that, he tips himself over the edge, falling for a second before snapping his wings out once again and shooting upwards towards the shadow-bathed ceiling, thick chain clanging loudly with the sudden movement.

Merlin huffs and turns to ascend the steps without another word, grumbling to himself about “stupid fucking dragons” and “my one week off and I have to deal with this shit” . Leon and Arthur look to each other with a shrug and a mix of genuine concern and mild amusement on their faces, before hurriedly following Merlin back through the castle.

Thankfully, it took almost no effort for Arthur and Morgana to get Uther to allow them to leave the Kingdom on their little vacation. It being under the guise of “visiting Ealdor” meant that it was perfectly within the realm of reasonable requests to have Leon tag along as “protection” as well. Guinevere was coming because they of course would need a servant whilst they were out and about (though Uther was definitely beginning to suspect that something more was at play between Morgana and the serving girl).

Unfortunately, Hunith was unable to get the week off work at such short notice (mother of the Prince’s soulmate or not), and there was no way they’d be able to justify asking The King for Gaius to tag along, so they didn’t even try. But they set out the next afternoon, having filled Gwen and Morgana in on Kilgharrah’s rather vague and annoying directions.

Neither of them were particularly happy that they had gone to see the Dragon without them or that they were just... doing what he said, but destiny or no, consulting the Druids on Morgana’s visions and Merlin’s magic was still a good idea, and they’d never get a better chance.

Just like Kilgharrah said, they found the Druid camp two days into their journey from the city, almost a day’s ride beyond Camelot’s border. They had to be careful, wear disguises, but they were travelling through virtually untouched wood so they didn’t run into anyone, not even a pesky group of bandits made an appearance.

When the first tents came into sight through the trees, the group stopped to take a breath and prepare themselves, giving each other one last round of dubious looks before beginning to walk again.

They barely make it to their third step when Merlin pauses and takes a stuttering breath, clenching his fingers around Arthur’s sleeve in a white-knuckled grip. The others crowd around him worriedly, but relax (only slightly) when he looks more confused than anything else. Before they can ask what’s wrong, he peers between them towards the tents:

“Uh... how are you- are you Druid? Is this one of you?”

Arthur’s eyes widen as he realises:

“Someone’s in your head again?”

Merlin nods distractedly but doesn’t move his gaze, speaking louder:

“Hello??”

Finally, a middle-aged man steps out from the camp; he wears floor length, dark green robes, and his silver hair almost falls to his shoulders. He gives the group a kind smile before finally focusing in on Arthur and Merlin, bowing his head slightly:

“My Lords. Our seers saw you coming some days ago, and we felt your presence the moment you entered our wood, Emrys.”

Merlin clenches his jaw slightly:

“Please don’t call me that, my name is Merlin... and... Kilgharrah sent us?”

He says it as if it’s a question and the Druid gives Merlin an assessing gaze, before nodding slightly. Before he can verbally respond, Leon steps subtly in front of the others. Morgana rolls her eyes at his protectiveness and Arthur huffs, but before they can challenge him, he asks:

“What do you mean, you felt his presence?”

He tilts his head again and smiles slightly, as though amused:

“Em- Merlin is rather powerful; we can sense him from miles away, his magic is incredibly... distinctive.”

Merlin frowns, holding Arthur’s hand protectively in his own as he side-steps Leon:

“What does that even mean? I’m not that powerful.”

The man shakes his head slightly and gestures behind him:

“Come. I imagine you have many questions about many things. The camp awaits your presence, My Lord.”

Merlin frowns at the title, but the Druid turns his back and begins walking back into the centre of the camp before he can challenge it. He gives a small shrug and a quiet “well, here we go” to the others before following his trail, Arthur’s hand still clutched tightly in his.

They all receive peculiar looks as they walk through the camp. Life seems to stop as everyone pauses what they’re doing to stare at the intruding teenagers (and Leon), but they keep their heads down, all letting out a relieved sigh when the man leads them to a tent, gesturing for them to sit around a table, and closing the fabric gently behind him.

He turns around with relaxed shoulders and an easy smile, not acknowledging that none of them are sat down and are instead gathered in a huddle by the table:

“My name is Iseldir. Druids don’t have strict hierarchies, but I’m considered the chieftain here, welcome.”

He looks at Merlin as he speaks, and the young Warlock nods slightly. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it again with furrowed brows; Iseldir raises an eyebrow and Merlin hums thoughtfully before trying again:

“I was going to introduce everyone, but something tells me that you already know who we are.”

Iseldir smiles again and nods, the expression on his face looking something similar to pride:

“Yes, I know who you all are. I see that you are learning to trust your instincts, My Lord.”

Merlin grimaces:

“It’s just Merlin, please. It’s bad enough that everyone at the castle calls me Lord now, I’m not even of age yet.”

The Chieftain’s smile widens in amusement as he nods, and Morgana is the next to speak up, her hand clutched tightly in Gwen’s as her voice shakes only slightly:

“We were sent here to learn about our... destinies?”

Iseldir nods, politely ignoring the way Merlin reaches behind him to grab Morgana’s wrist comfortingly, and how Leon and Arthur rest their hands near their swords:

“I have everything we need laid out here; it isn’t too complicated and we should get through all of it by this evening.”

The teenagers finally move to the seats, but make no effort to hide the way they shuffle the furniture to be sat closer together. Morgana and Merlin are sat in the middle, Arthur and Gwen flanking them protectively; Leon remains standing, a hand on each of his magical kid’s shoulders and a blank, though slightly challenging look on his face. Iseldir raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment, moving to sit on the opposite side of the table and shuffling a few papers around before looking up with a smile:

“Let us begin.”

The general mood of the room could be judged accurately by how tense Leon was at any one moment. Though he remained standing, he was relaxed and curious when Iseldir told them about the extent of Merlin’s powers (which Merlin looked incredibly dubious at), and he smiled proudly when they were told of Merlin and Arthur’s intertwined destinies (the nature of their soul-bond means he already knew they had some sort of great future, and this only proved it).

It was when Iseldir hesitated slightly as he gave Morgana a pitying look that Leon tensed up, and tightened his grip on her shoulder.

“You must all remember that destinies are... tricky. They are incredibly difficult to avoid, but it isn’t impossible; the future is not set in stone.-”

Morgana takes a deep breath and straightens her back, taking Merlin’s hand in her own and settling her face into a determined grimace:

“Just come out with it. Just tell me.”

Iseldir gives her a comforting smile as he nods, turning a sheet of incredibly ancient looking paper over and pushing it across the table towards them. On the scroll is a old, rough charcoal drawing of a woman with long, dark hair, her clothes somehow elegant and tatty at the same time. Her face is covered by a hood, but her arms are outstretched and violent looking flames extend from her hands, burning and destroying all the foliage drawn around the edge of the paper.

Morgana reaches a shaking hand out to touch the drawing but withdraws her hand before she makes contact, ignoring the tears gathering in her eyes as she looks up at Iseldir again:

“That’s me, isn’t it? Burning things?”

Iseldir nods slowly before speaking, his voice low and gentle, understanding:

“It is said that if you come into your full power, you will unite with The Once and Future King’s Bane. Your heart will freeze over, you will become consumed by hatred and fear and bitterness, and you will work tirelessly to bring about the downfall of Camelot, the downfall of Albion.-”

Arthur interrupts:

“Albion?”

Iseldir moves his gaze to the Prince, giving him a tight smile as he explains:

“The Kingdoms to be united under one name, Albion, with yourself as King.-”

He looks back to Morgana, his smiles turning just a little encouraging:

“-Like I said, the future is not set in stone. Arthur’s Bane came into existence several years ago, we’re keeping close watch on him; he has yet to show any... troubling, signs, nor have you.”

Merlin scowls slightly in though, before slowly saying:

“Arthur’s Bane is... a person?”

Iseldir raises an eyebrow and nods, letting out a breath of subtle relief when Merlin seems more genuinely worried than murderous.

Gwen is the next to speak up, her voice strong and her face determined:

“None of that is happening,-”

She reaches forward and aggressively turns the scroll over, squeezing Morgana’s hand as she continues:

“-not ever.”

Leon’s gasp has everyone’s eyes drawn to the overturned sheet, only to see a colourful image appear on the paper. The first figure to materialize is clearly Morgana, though in this drawing she is grinning, hood down, eyes golden and flowers in her hair. Next, Merlin and Gwen appear either side of her, Merlin’s eyes also glowing as he summons matching flowers in Gwen’s hair, Gwen who is pressing a kiss to Morgana’s cheek. Leon and Arthur appear next, in full armour with bright grins, a golden crown on Arthur’s head.

Iseldir chuckles, looking up at Merlin who is giving himself a satisfied nod as the golden glow fades from his eyes:

“Trusting your instincts indeed; you didn’t even need an incantation, very impressive.”

Merlin shrugs before turning to Morgana with a grin. She returns it with a shaky one of her own, once again feeling not-quite-so-scared thanks to the ever-comforting presence of her family.

They slept that night in a large tent that had been prepared for them, and were woken up early the next morning. They were given a proper tour of the camp and introduced to a few people.

Leon had questions about how the camp was run, in terms of enforcing rules and staying safe, so he was quickly introduced to a few of the elders. Whilst he had been reluctant to leave the others at first, Arthur’s teasing laughter and Morgana’s rolled eyes convinced him to spend the day away from them, learning about as much of Druid politics as he could.

Merlin and Morgana were quickly introduced to the strongest magic users, and whilst Merlin was taken aside to be given some lessons on healing using magic, Morgana was taught meditation techniques and breathing exercises by the camp’s most respected Seer.

Gwen sticks mostly with Merlin; whilst she had no magic to heal with, the herbal knowledge that was being shared was fascinating and she was eager to memorise as much of it as possible. She of course wandered over to check on Morgana occasionally, at first out of concern, but then out of pride, out of a desperation to never forget how relaxed and happy and at-home her soulmate looks.

Arthur spends the morning with Merlin, but quickly grows bored. Perhaps he should take more interest in healing considering how often he and the knights get injured, but he’s already got Merlin, Gaius, and now Gwen, so why waste the effort? Instead, he finds Morgana and the Seer. The sense of relief he feels to see his sister looking so at ease with such an easy smile gracing her face is almost overwhelming, but he doesn’t disturb them, sitting a little way away and silently watching them.

The Prince didn’t even realise he had fallen asleep until the tell-tale pop and the sudden shadow of someone stood above him jolts him from his nap. He opens his eyes blearily to see Merlin crouching next to him, an amused smile on his face and his hand out-stretched:

“Come on sleepy head, the others are waiting for us, it’s time to eat.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, allowing Merlin to pull him up before he stretches and rubs the sleep from his eyes. The sun was only an hour or so away from touching the horizon and he could see no one else in the little patch of woods Morgana had previously been sat in:

“Morgana?”

Merlin smiles softly, taking Arthur’s hand and leading him back towards the tents:

“Happy. She joined me a couple hours ago and we were practicing some simple spells, turns out she has more magic than just visions-”

At Arthur’s slightly affronted expression, Merlin chuckles and rolls his eyes:

“-You were exhausted, Arthur, don’t deny it. You got this holiday because of how hard you’ve been working, we didn’t want to wake you. We’ll show you a few tricks tomorrow alright?”

Arthur pouts and huffs slightly, fighting the smile trying to appear on his face as he nodded his agreement. Merlin just laughed at him again as they entered the meal tent, finding spaces with the other three.

The next morning was just as relaxed, though this time the five of them stayed together.

Leon, Arthur, and Gwen sat against a fallen log as they watched Merlin and Morgana show their magic off. A small audience of Druids had gathered as well, on account of Lord Emrys’ presence, and whilst Morgana tired quickly, not used to having such free access to the magic that had been inside her for years, Merlin could go for hours. He used few actual incantations, manipulating water and flowers and floating lights with just a little concentration and some imprecise waving of his hands.

Noon, unfortunately, came rather quickly, at which point Leon sighed and stood up, giving Merlin a sad smile before looking to Arthur:

“If we want to be home with a day to spare, we should start the journey soon.”

Arthur nodded in agreement and the rest of the group joins Leon in standing. The Druids disperse fairly quickly, but Iseldir stays with them, giving Merlin a pat on the back and a wide smile:

“It was a pleasure to have you here My Lor- Merlin.”

Merlin snorts in amusements but nods his appreciation, and the five of them wander over to their tent to gather their belongings whilst Iseldir collects the horses.

It’s only half a candle mark before they’re riding back out into the forest in the direction of Camelot. The teachers and elders, including Iseldir, wave them off with proud smiles, and whilst Merlin and Morgana are sad to leave this sanctuary behind, they were grateful for the freedom and safety and lessons they’d had, even if it was less than two days. Their utter faith that things would change when Arthur took the crown, that one day Camelot would feel just as safe, gave them something beautiful to look forward to as well.

Their journey home was just as uneventful as the journey out. When they finally pulled up into the courtyard with a day and a half of their free week left, Leon took everyone’s horses to the stable and informed a servant to tell the King of their arrival, whilst the others headed straight to Merlin and Hunith’s house. They had to wait for Hunith and Gaius to finish their actual jobs, but soon enough the whole group was crowded around the kitchen table.

Arthur and Gwen (who, though no one else would admit it, has the best memory of all of them) re-tell the prophecies and destinies.

Both Hunith and Gaius were furious once again at Morgana’s so-called destiny, but smiled proudly at her determined disposition, and the obviously magical drawing (the flowers seemed to move and the golden eyes definitely glowed off of the page) that Merlin pulled from his pocket. The others hadn’t even realised he’d kept it, but are grateful.

Next, Merlin and Morgana talk about their lessons. Gaius was intrigued by the healing knowledge Merlin and Gwen had gained, and after double checking that the door was locked and the curtains were drawn, they even showed off a few spells to their captive audience.

(There were times that Merlin showing off even the slightest bit of magic would give Hunith a heart attack and nightmares for days; she finds it doesn’t bother her so much anymore. She knows that Arthur, Morgana, Leon, and Gwen would never let anything happen to him, and the new stories of his apparent great power certainly helped ease her mind as well.)

Finally, Leon spoke about what he had learned from the elders; all bout how they keep camps running, their democracy, and how knowledge is preserved and passed on. It was a little boring, if any of them are being honest, but the bright grin on the knight’s face kept them from interrupting him.

Eventually, it came time for everyone to head to their respective beds and sleep. There was no denying that they’d had an amazing few days, but it was also a few days of constant activity and sleeping rough... they were all exhausted.

As Arthur and Merlin curled up under the covers, grateful for the slightly chilled night making cuddling easier, they let out simultaneous breaths of relief.

Arthur ran a hand through Merlin’s hair softly as he quietly spoke, aware of Hunith asleep in the next room:

“You think we’ll be alright?”

Merlin sighs and Arthur tries not to let the anxiety in his stomach swirl too violently at the lengthening silence. Finally, Merlin turns over to face his soulmate, shuffling even impossibly closer and giving Arthur a small smile. Arthur doesn’t comment on the nerves in the younger man’s eyes:

“There’s all this pressure on us to fulfil our destinies, to save the world, it’s a little... overwhelming. My whole childhood I tried to forget the fact that being Prince Arthur Pendragon’s magical soulmate would mean... everything, in one way or another, some day. And now that day is fast approaching, I can feel it, and I still have no clue what I’m doing. And that’s not even considering Morgana.-”

Arthur’s hold around Merlin tenses at the mention of his sister, and Merlin presses a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw before continuing:

“-I would give up all of it, everything, to save her. To see her happy. But... do I really have the right to make that decision? My people are counting on me, but you and Morgana and Leon and Gwen, you come first, and you always will.-”

Merlin rolls onto his back again, staring at the ceiling with furrowed brows as Arthur watches him mournfully:

“-I’ve spent so long being terrified of the fact that I know you would give up your crown if I just asked you to, and now I’m close to making the same decision myself; giving up everything for one person, to the detriment of the world.-”

He turns his head to face Arthur again, tears in his eyes:

“-I don’t know what to do, Arthur.”

The Prince clenches his jaw, having to push down the swell of anger at... everyone really. Kilgharrah, the Druids, the Gods, whosever idea this whole destiny shit was. Arthur often thought of himself as a fully matured adult whose place in the world was clear, but at times like these, he’s reminded of how young he is, and how Merlin is even younger.

He pulls the Warlock into a tight embrace, tucking his dark hair under his chin and running a soft hand over his back:

“I will stand by you, always, and we’ll figure it out, we always do. The future is fluid, Merls, we just have to keep an open mind and push through. We’ve all been through a little bit of hell, but that day? That you can feel approaching? That’s the day we change the world. I’ll force my father from the throne if that’s what it takes,-”

Arthur feels Merlin tense to argue, but rushes on before he can say anything:

“-not just for you, but because it will be the right thing to do, one day. This Kingdom, and then the world, will be golden, and the five of us, and Gaius and your mum, will be together every single step of the way. Ok? You don’t have to do anything, Merlin, not alone, not ever.”

Merlin relaxes again, and Arthur can feel his sigh of relief across his collarbones. The room goes silent for a while, and Arthur only just hears Merlin’s quiet words before he slips into a sleep filled with peaceful dreams full of meadows and flower crowns and golden eyes:

“Yeah... I think we’ll be alright.”

THE END!!

After thinking about it for a few days, and re-reading the series, I’ve decided that I actually like the ending here!

I hope y’all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, thanks anon for sending the idea to me all those months ago! :)

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