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yandere-sins · 3 years ago

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My Marks

Horrortober Day 22: Bite “Did you just bite me?”

It seems obvious in which direction this should go from the prompt, but I thought how about we turn things around? Satan is by far not a glutton, but I mean, wrath comes in so many forms doesn’t it?

Warnings: Yandere, Reader destroys a book sorry/I felt awful writing it too, Screaming, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Punishments, Biting, Blood Mentioning Characters: Satan x Reader

One of the many arguments you experienced with Satan involved his books.

You loved books. Loved the aesthetic, the fun, the knowledge they held. But even after years of being Satan's lapdog, the tiniest, rebellious part inside of you still demanded ravenous attention. It wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt you. Not just physically or by telling him you still believed Lucifer to be the superior being. Those things most certainly ticked him off and made his heart clench. But they weren't enough to satisfy your hunger for revenge. Oh no, you wanted Satan to hurt really, really bad.

Sure, papercuts were a risk, but you were willing to take them if it meant he'd lose some of those precious books of his. Had you been a free soul, someone who could have just walked away from a situation you disliked, you would never go as far as to destroy property—some which was lost forever if you ruined it. But here you were, 'waiting' for Satan to return, ripping out page after page from this old tome about spells and throwing them into the hungry flames of the fireplace.

It would only be this one book today. The one he hadn't finished reading yet. Deep down, you knew it wouldn't change anything for you. It was as futile of an endeavor as trying to escape the magical force he had laid over his room, forming and improving it for your sake, but no one else could see you within. Still, Satan was just as much at fault as you were. Putting a fireplace in your proximity to spend warmth and comply with his gothic aesthetic was just one of his dumbest ideas since he had a locked up human with destructive tendencies harboring ill-will against him. Satan should have known you would try to do something.

Feeling a bit of regret for destroying such a pretty tome, you sighed. Gripping the last few pages, you pulled at them firmly, the ripping sound resounding in the room. What's done is done, you told yourself, trying to soften up the feeling of guilt inside of you. Taking the empty cover back to Satan's reading nook, you placed it on top of the stacks of other books, exactly where he left it. It could only be a few more hours before he'd return, but you couldn't wait for the face he'd make. With your own book in hand, you cuddled into his bed and pulled the blanket around you as you began returning to the fantasy world that was the closest to escape you had.

Time didn't necessarily go faster in this magical realm he created, but the book kept you in good company until you heard the door open. Without looking up, you only made an acknowledging hum as Satan's voice rung out, announcing, "I'm back!"

He walked over to you, letting his fingers briefly draw over your arm, enjoying a moment of closeness with you despite not getting your attention before finally sitting down in his lounge chair. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to relax, and the part of you that was curious about what was happening outside of your confines wondered if he had a rough day since he seemed tenser than usual. Lurking at him from over your shoulder, you were waiting for him to reach for his book. But at the same time, a bad feeling started to form in your stomach.

When Satan finally reached over, he stopped immediately as the cover collapsed under his half-hearted touch. "What in the world…" he mumbled as he turned towards what he thought was his book, and you bit your lip to hide your laughter. Taking it into his hands, he opened it up, only finding the inside of the binding and some left scraps of paper that swayed inside of it from where you ripped the pages out. Satan grew stiff, his brows almost touching each other as he scowled hard at what you had done. And then, his eyes snapped to you.

Stark green eyes, shining like the emerald scales of a snake, narrowed in on you, and though you burst out laughing, it wasn't the satisfaction you envisioned when you went to work on that book. "Very funny," he hissed, words dripping from his lips like venom. Slowly, your laughter faded, and you let out a disappointed sigh, turning around again. As much as you liked bothering your crazy captor, he wasn't the most fun being to be around when he was pissed.

Really, what did you expect to happen when he found it?

That he'd scold you? Drive out of his skin? You, better than anyone, should be aware of his tendencies to lash out. Even if he said it bothered him when he had to restrain you, he had yet to hold back from any punishment he had ever given you. Up until now, you had just been lucky that he knew how to mend broken bones and patch up bloody wounds, none of the rage ever leading to anything worse than months in bed and your stomach full of painkillers. But the truth was: you wanted to get back at him for all he did to you. No matter what that would mean for you in return.

"You know I didn't finish it yet," he complained, and you heard the leather cushions breathe as he stood up. "I don't even get to enjoy it to the end? Really? Look at me!"

Gripping your shoulder, he twisted you around, muscles straining of how unnaturally you were turned over. Shaking him off, you waved your hand at him, sighing loudly, "Calm down. Don't make such a big deal out of it."

Satan snatched your waving wrist mid-air, his fingers embedding in your skin as he squeezed it tightly. "Not a big deal? I could say the same about you! Why are you making a big deal out of hurting me so?!"

You pulled at your hand, but Satan's grip didn't loosen. Instead, he only yanked your arm higher, so you had to sit up quickly to not hang from it. "You know how much I wanted to read this! How hard I worked on getting this tome!" Disappointment and anger mixed in his voice as he shouted at you. Biting your lip a bit harder this time, you held back from saying anything. Because really, he wasn't wrong with his accusations. You knew all this and still went ahead with punishing him so you could have a taste of revenge.

"It's not like you don't know how much I'd like to leave," you replied snidely. It was just as much the truth as his concerns, but the reminder didn't sit well with Satan, magic gushing out of him as he grew angrier by the second. You were quickly enveloped by the thick fog hanging in the air, and though you had no trouble breathing, wrath always made you feel like you were suffocating. Even when you tried to calm yourself, his magic had the ability to hang heavy on his object of anger, surprisingly so.

But the next thing you felt wasn't the pain of a punch like so many times before. It wasn't the actual choking of his hands around your neck, nor the screams in your ear, shaking your whole brain. It was a row of stings on your arm and then the crunching of your muscles and bones under pressure. Hot wet dripped down your skin, making you glare at it stunned as you watched the blood flow from the teeth marks in your flesh, and all you could muster was an unbelieving, yet quite hysterical, "Did you just bite me?!"

"You want to hurt me? Leave?!" Satan yelled in your face, completely ignoring your question. "That's a game that both of us can play!"

The end of his sentence had yet to reach your ears before his jaw closed around your arm again, even harder this time. As if he was trying to bite out a chunk of your flesh, he bit down and then once more for good measure. Three massive, very bloody marks were all that he left as you screamed in pain, pushing and punching him in an attempt to make him stop. But he only shook your arm into your face, shouting, "Look at you! Look! At! You! Try leaving me with these marks and tell everyone who put them on you, so they know you're mine! And if you ever try something like this again, I will hurt you much more than you can ever hurt me!"

With that, he slammed your wrist down into your lap before turning, briefly wiping his mouth from your blood and grabbing the destroyed book before leaving and throwing the door into its lock behind him. It was your least concern that he was probably trying to fix the tome you destroyed as you clutched your arm, only to have more blood gush out of the open wounds. The swelling was almost immediate, and you had nothing to stop the bleeding with. In a desperate attempt, you tied the sheets on your blanket over it, tears mixing in with the red fluid covering all you could see.

You expected some punishment to happen, but not like this. Not such a disgusting mess. Like always, you were left alone and in the dark after these arguments, Satan running off to calm down before he did 'something worse' how he always threatened. And yet, to you, the door stayed close. Your arm throbbed painfully, but you could only bring yourself to give the swollen marks another look once you found the bleeding was getting less.

They'd heal, but maybe scar. And if they did, you really would never get rid of Satan, would you?

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five-rivers · 4 years ago

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What Was Bound, What Was Loosed Chapter 3

Written for Dannymay Day 6: Core.

Ellie took to spending her days in the palace library.

Danny thought he was trapped. Believed he was trapped. So did everyone else. But Ellie didn’t believe it. All cages had keys. Danny had opened hers. It was only right that she return the favor.

(Of course, she wasn’t happy about being stuck herself. There were still things she wanted to see on Earth. She missed the stars.)

The books were old and new. Some were in English, others were in languages she couldn’t even begin to recognize. Most of them had nothing to do with what she was looking for. Like in any library, they were on a wide variety of subjects, all spread out.

Still, she searched. The stack of tomes that had to do with ghostly kingship and the laws of the Infinite Realms grew progressively larger. Occasionally, one of the shades would attempt to put the books back, but they were easily dissuaded, having no will of their own.

She was making progress. Not a lot, but some. Enough to keep her going.

Vlad knew when to quit.

Oh, maybe it didn’t seem like it, he was easily as obsessive as any ghost, but he did. Sometimes, a plan just wasn’t feasible, and he had to cut his losses.

Cutting his losses, in this case, meant getting incredibly drunk on ghost wine. Fright Knight didn’t approve, but who cared what he thought? Fright Knight was part of the reason he was in this situation in the first place!

If he had just been warned this would happen, he’d have been able to make arrangements, to find some way to keep his portal open, or to stay in the human world, where his life was.

But no. They were all trapped here. No way out.

When hundreds of ghosts all said the same thing, Vlad was inclined to believe them. Danielle, as motivated as she was, was simply experiencing denial. Or, perhaps, bargaining. He had to admit he was never exactly clear on the stages of grief.

Then, there was Daniel, who seemed to be firmly trapped in the ‘depression’ stage, more of a ghost than Vlad had ever seen him as. He lingered in corners, at the edge of Vlad’s vision, quiet, sad, always flanked by Fright Knight and that other ghost, the one with the clocks.

There were parts of him, his Obsession reasserting itself, that yearned to reach out to Danny, but… He didn’t even know how to begin.

Danny felt like a pale, wandering shadow of himself.

Most of the time, he slept, exhausted by the demands the Zone made on him and the continuing changes he was undergoing. The expanding circle of vitality, of rejuvenation, of reconstruction and growth, that so many ghosts were celebrating had to draw energy from somewhere, after all, and even though Danny was absorbing just as much as he was expending, that process made him drowsy in and of itself.

Pain, too, plagued him. His missing eye ached, and sometimes it seemed as if the crown was burrowing into his skull, not merely resting on it. His hand hurt from all his attempts to take off the ring.

He could hardly care for himself in even the most basic of ways. Clockwork often had to remind him, or help him, and he was always so excruciatingly gentle.

Then Vlad and Ellie came.

Their arrival was a relief. Ellie was a friend, was family, and hadn’t been complicit in his betrayal and binding. Vlad had been an enemy, and not even an honest one at that, but essentially everything they’d been at odds over was moot, but he was familiar.

Despite the relief, despite his desire to connect with people who hadn’t hurt him, at least not as badly as everyone else, he hung back. He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to bridge the gap.

So, he lurked and lingered. When Ellie went to the library, when Vlad moped and bothered the shades that ordered the kitchen, he followed, he watched.

Clockwork and Fright Knight, of course, followed and watched him in turn.

At least, this is what happened when he was awake and aware enough to do anything. Danny was under the impression that being awake and independently mobile at all this soon after being… coronated… was unusual, perhaps even unnerving. Normally, he’d be curious, excited about new abilities and what they might mean. Maybe he’d even throw around a quip or two about how awesome he was but…

It wasn’t the time, and he didn’t have the willpower to reach for even that dubious coping mechanism.

In the too-numerous times when Danny was both awake and not well enough to follow Ellie and Vlad around, he liked to sit in the garden. It was almost peaceful there, by the fountain, although the plants had a distressing tendency to reflect his every change in mood.

Today was one of those days. He was too dizzy and lightheaded to drift after Vlad or Ellie, even if neither of them moved very much, but he didn’t want to stay in the bedroom, or, worse, the throne room. His core seemed to pulse, sluggish and painful in his chest. Or perhaps that was his heart. He couldn’t really tell with this mixed-up form. It could even be both.

Another slow wave of transformation swept out from him, making his extremities tingle. He watched, tiredly, as it briefly interacted with the walls of the palace and the scattered shades before moving on. The shades… another aspect of all this that Danny wasn’t comfortable with, but couldn’t bring himself to learn more about. They were sustained through his power, but what were they? Extensions of his will? Aspects of his personality? Constructs generated by the palace? By the Ghost Zone itself? He didn’t know.

As much as he should try to learn, he couldn’t help but think of them as yet another imposition, another burden he was being forced to bear.

This wasn’t a healthy mindset. Jazz would tell him as much. Jazz wasn’t here.

“Danny!”

He looked up, his one eye already searching for Ellie. Fright Knight stepped forward, as if to protect him, but Danny snarled at him, annoyed. He wasn’t going to let him get in between him and one of the few people he could currently stand. Clockwork stayed back, passive, but he looked… worried. Uneasy. As if anticipating a disaster.

“Danny!” exclaimed Ellie again, bursting from a bush, a thick book raised above her head. “I found it!”

“Found what?” asked Danny, leaning forward slightly as Ellie joined him sitting on the edge of the fountain.

“A way out!” She opened the book and started flipping through it, obviously looking for a specific entry.

Both Clockwork and Fright Knight looked extremely tense, now. They probably didn’t want him to find this, didn’t want him to leave. Would they try to stop him?

He hunched his shoulders. He might not be well, but he could fight and make it hurt.

“Here!” said Ellie, triumphantly. “Look at this.” She tapped a picture of a bright, spherical object.

“The core of the Infinite Realms?” asked Danny, reading the legend of the picture.

“Uh huh. Apparently, it’s what determines what the Ghost Zone is like as a whole and controls the rules and laws and stuff. Like, even when it comes to what ghosts act like, and what they can physically do, or how the Ghost Zone’s physics behave. But the important part is that you can go talk to it and petition it and stuff, and sometimes it’ll listen. I bet we can get it to listen to you and make it so that the Ghost Zone doesn’t need a king anymore.”

Danny felt a flutter of hope. The book was old from what he could see, and, ignoring Ellie’s paraphrasing, the language was fantastical and couched in metaphor, but still if there was a possibility…

Near their feet, small, bright flowers began to bloom, each no larger than the head of a pin.

“Daniel,” said Clockwork, in a careful, soft tone. It wasn’t pity, not quite, but it was the verbal equivalent of being handled with kid gloves. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then what is it like?” asked Danny, hunching his shoulders and leaning protectively over Ellie.

“What do you think the King of the Infinite Realms is?” asked Clockwork.

Danny shrugged. Clockwork gave him a small, pained smile.

“The King of Ghosts and the core of the Ghost Zone,” said Clockwork, “they’re the same.”

Danny shook his head, unwilling to let this scrap of hope slip through his fingers so easily.

“Please, Daniel,” said Clockwork. “Why do you think it was so vital that you be crowned? The Realms cannot exist without their core.”

It made sense. A horrible, horrible sense.

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Ellie. “The core’s supposed to be the basis the whole Zone is built on. That can’t just be one person.”

“The library has some books on the subject,” said Clockwork. “But you can see how Daniel is changing things.”

Danny felt his hope collapse and doubled over, hands on his head, face almost touching his legs. A scream bubbled up in his throat, but he swallowed it. All those people, everywhere, his responsibility, his… Not just the people, everything. Everywhere. Not just his responsibility, but relying on him, modeled on him, dependent on him, centered on him.

He wasn’t just the Ghost Zone’s ruler, nominal or not, he was its heart.

“Danny?” asked Ellie. He looked up.

There were blast lines in the ground, radiating away from him. The fountain was cracked and leaking water. Fright Knight had, evidently, grabbed Ellie and leaped away, into the air.

Clockwork hadn’t left, still leaning towards Danny. There was a jagged, dripping slice across his shoulder. Danny gasped, reaching towards him.

“It’s alright,” said Clockwork. “It’s alright.”

“I can’t be,” said Danny. “I can’t be. I’m—I can’t be part of the Ghost Zone. Not—Not like that. That’s not—I can’t be what the Ghost Zone is built on, it doesn’t make sense, I…”

“It’s alright,” repeated Clockwork. “Would you like to go inside? You may feel better if you eat something.”

“Don’t want to bother Vlad,” mumbled Danny. Didn’t want another person to see him crumbling like this.

“We can send something up to your room,” said Clockwork.

He did feel tired. The fountain was repairing itself behind and underneath him. He groaned as the ground beneath him pulled together as well.

“I don’t want to be the core of the Ghost Zone,” he said, knowing that what he wanted was not and never had been a consideration. “I don’t want to be king. I don’t want to be in charge of anything.” He grabbed the edges of Clockwork’s robe, ignoring the moisture despite the pang of guilt it brought him. “I want to go home. And I…” His words failed as he reached for Clockwork’s injury. “I don’t want to do this.”

“This is nothing, Daniel,” putting a gloved hand over the wound. “I have had far worse.”

It started to rain. Great, heavy droplets of water tainted with just enough ectoplasm to glow.

It was one way to hide tears, he supposed.

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2021 #a king in chains #what was bound what was loosed

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the-delta-42 · 4 years ago

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The Demon and the Guardian

Ra’s Al Ghul glared at the hidden box in the corner, he could tell just from sight that it was empty, meaning either all of the Miraculouses were in use or, more likely, the Guardian knew he was here.

“Doesn’t anyone in your family know to visit during the day?” Asked Marinette, as she entered the room.

Ra’s turned his glare onto the Guardian, as she frowned at him. Marinette took a step to the side, dodging Talia’s lunge.

“I see and hear everything that happens in this house, did you seriously hope to ambush me in my own home?!” Demanded Marinette, before snapping her fingers.

Talia gasped as she found herself in a plush armchair, while Ra’s kept glaring.

“I don’t see why two Guardians can’t have a civilized conversation without having to rely on violence.” Said Marinette, leaning back in her chair.

“I’m surprised you even recognised me as a Guardian, Mrs. Agreste.” Said Ra’s, his glare only deepening.

“Honesty, are all of you exactly like Su-Han?” Asked Marinette, her eyebrows raised, and tone exasperated.

“No, I just don’t like interlopers.” Said Ra’s, making Marinette grimace.

“I can see where Damien gets his attitude.” Said Marinette, leaning forwards and opening a book, “I know about you from the Temple’s archives, Ra’s Al Ghul, taken from his family around the same time and Wang Fu, believed that the Miraculous should be used to control the world, departed the order when you realised you weren’t going to get anywhere, founded the League of Assassins and then capitalised on the vacuum of power when the Temple fell, I assume that the Order’s been giving you some trouble?”

Ra’s glared at her, as Marinette smirked and closed the Tome.

“I’m going to give you the same answer as I gave the Justice League and all the other heroes and villians kicking around the globe,” Said Marinette, her face impassive, “Paris, is my turf. You stay out of it and I don’t invade your turf.”

“I was under the impression that ‘Hawkmoth’ had been neutralised.” Said Ra’s, making Marinette scowl.

“The Order’s informed me that the Butterfly has been stolen.” Said Marinette, frowning, “They don’t know who it was, but it was someone who knew the layout and general security of the Temple.”

Ra’s grunted, already seeing how little the order had changed, “And, yet you keep the miracle box in this room.”

Marinette snorted, “Don’t be ridiculous, Ra’s, that is a fake, a decoy to prevent anyone from looking any further.”

Ra’s didn’t react, only tilting his head when there was a loud thump.

“Expecting guests?” Asked Ra’s, as there was another thump.

“No.” Said Marinette, opening the door.

There was a man with a foot long beard with blood running from his eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Marinette flicked the man on the nose, and he vanished in a puff of orange smoke.

“The black cat miraculous is to be given to Damien.” Said Talia, getting a growl from Marinette, “It’s current wielder is unworthy-”

Talia gasped for air as she felt a lump form in her air ways.

“Let’s get something clear,” Snarled Marinette, thunder rolling, “you do not command me in who, or what, receives a Miraculous, especially since I’ve given all the Kwami permission to kill anyone who’s stolen or is using a Miraculous for their own ends, and I assure you, Damien Wayne will never wield a Miraculous as long as I still draw breath.”

Ra’s and Talia found themselves back in the head quarters of the League of Assassins.

“You stupid girl.” Said Ra’s, stalking away from his daughter.

TDaTG

Damien winced as Marinette grabbed Bart and threw him across the room.

“How do you do that?!” Demanded Bart, rushing back over to her.

Marinette smirked, before pulling her sleeve up, revealing the snake miraculous, “Luka’s having an operation today, and we’ve been bonded to our Miraculouses to the extent where we can use our powers outside of the suit.”

“Recognised; Batman: 02.”

Marinette folded her arms and looked at Batman, not reacting when he glared at her.

“Ooh, the famous ‘Bat Glare’,” Snarked Marinette, smirking, “What’s happened, the Batmobile lost a wheel and the Joker got away?”

“Talia Al Ghul sent me a letter.” Said Batman, holding the envelope up, “Something about you threatening her family?”

Marinette snorted, “No, what I did was illiterate that she didn’t decide who got what miraculous.”

“Meaning?” Asked Batman, his tone flat.

“Her son isn’t going to wield as Miraculous as long as I live.” Said Marinette, shrugging, “He doesn’t have a good enough control over his emotions.”

“Neither did you.” Said Batman, everyone tensing.

“All the more reason to not give him one,” Said Marinette, glaring, “When Hawkmoth first reared his head, I sent out requests for help to the Justice League. And you all laughed about it, it wasn’t until Hawkmoth went to New York did you deign to even investigate the claims and then what happened?”

“The Justice League and all foreign heroes and villains were denied access.” Said Wonder Girl, as Marinette nodded.

“But that didn’t stop the various assassins that Ra’s sent after my team, my family,” Growled Marinette, the room slowly growing colder, “if that child is anything like his mother or her father, I wouldn’t hesitate in relieving his shoulders of his head, just as I did to all the other assassins that thought they could take the gems.”

Batman was silent, as Marinette exhaled sharply through her nose. Marinette rolled her eyes and flicked her hand, opening a portal back to Paris, “If you don’t mind, I’ll be taking my leave.”

Marinette stepped through the portal, before it closed.

TDaTG

Marinette scowled and rubbed her eyes. She frowned, she knew Bruce was concerned about her safety, and she knew there were similarities between her and Damien, the only difference was that she wasn’t raised to be a weapon. Marinette heard a light ringing sound, she sighed heavily and hung her head.

“Let me guess, Cheshire?” Said Marinette, looking at the woman’s mask, “How many times do I have to send you to the rainforests before you stop turning up here?”

“I need the money.” Said Cheshire, as Marinette shook her head.

Cheshire jumped at her, Marinette opened a portal to Cheshire’s living room and closed it after the Assassin had gone through.

“This is getting beyond a joke.” Muttered Marinette, rubbing her face.

“Cheshire’s here.” Said Adrien, looking up at Marinette, as Emma played on the rocking horse.

“She was, she’s home now.” Said Marinette, going to sit down, only to gag and slap a hand over her mouth.

Adrien sighed and passed her a bucket, allowing Marinette to throw up.

“Does the baby have to be so disgusting?” Asked Emma, stopping the rocking horse and looking up at her parents, “I don’t like it when Maman feels yucky.”

“Emma, all babies make their mother throw up, it’s what makes us know they’re there.” Said Adrien, as Marinette shook her head.

“Really?” Asked Emma, as Adrien froze under his wife’s glare.

“Well, it’s one of the things that makes un know they’re there,” Corrected Adrien, quickly, “there’s ultrasounds, cravings, mood swings, the odd fainting spell or two and the way Maman’s belly swells up.”

“So, Maman’s going to get fat?” Questioned Emma, as Marinette buried her face in her hand.

“No, she’s growing a baby.” Said Adrien, sweating slightly.

“The embryo starts out at the size of a pea and, over the course of roughly 40-weeks, grows to the be size of a watermelon, once it starts to get too big, her water will break and she’ll go into labour and over a period of several hours, the baby will be born.” Said Damien, making everyone jump.

“How’d you get in?” Asked Adrien, as Damien had the decency to look ashamed.

“I picked the lock.” Said Damien, as Marinette threw up again.

“I really hope there’s a reason for your visit.” Said Marinette, as she reached for a bottle of water.

Damien shifted uncomfortably.

“Damien, if you’re here to demand a miraculous-”

“Can you help me control my emotions?” Interrupted Damien, “I heard father say you had trouble with your emotions when you were my age.”

Marinette sighed, before standing up, “I can direct you on certain courses of action, but emotional control is only something you can learn from yourself.”

Damien looked down.

“But” Damien looked up at Marinette’s voice, “I will help you wherever I can.”

#miraculous ladybug #DCU #marinette dupain cheng #ra's al ghul #talia al ghul #damien wayne #bart allen #cassie sandsmark #wonder girl #bruce wayne #batman #ladybug #robin #adrien agreste #emma agreste #Maribat #delta writes

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subbing-for-clones · 4 years ago

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She Who Walks the Line Between Part 5

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader 18+

Word Count: 2989

WARNINGS: smut in this chapter, p in v, oral sex (F receiving), unprotected sex, predator kink, smut

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST

The morning after the passionate kiss, Maul was the first to wake on the couch. Y/N was still asleep on his chest, rising and falling with his breathing. Her legs still wrapped around his waist and his arms enveloped her form. He replayed the previous night in his mind a hundred times before she woke up. How one moment he was reliving his childhood trauma with his master and the next, he was being praised by the woman he loves. Yes, love is the proper word for it he thought. He loves this woman, he would fight for her, he would die for her and he would live for her. To say he owed her his life would be an understatement. He owed this woman his very soul. All she had to do was ask and he would find a way to give it to her. She never would ask that of him though and that’s one of the many reasons why he loved her. She only ever asked for his health, for his wellbeing and his company; his embrace.

An inadvertent growl rumbled in his chest when she stirred, all of a sudden he could hear her blood pumping through her heart. He could smell her pheromones rising when she took in her surroundings. She leaned forward to kiss him "good morning," she hummed sweetly before laying her head back down on his chest sighing comfortingly.

His pupils starting to dilate, "it is a very good morning." He bit his lip and gripped the couch with one hand, resisting primal urges he didn't expect to have. He fought against the want to pull her back up to his lips, to drive his hips up into her while she was straddling him. Urges to suck bruises into her soft flesh and bite at her to mark her as his. It had been so long since his last heat cycle he had forgotten it would happen again now that he was restored. She had said many species here would be mating soon, perhaps he was now in sync with the planet he thought.

"Are you alright?" She asked with concern. "I know last night was... a lot." Maul began shifting under her.

"No last night was wonderful, I just.... I'm experiencing an affliction my species goes through that I haven't in some time." He watched a little too closely as she moistened her lips from the chilly night with a lick. He could hear the sound it made, not being able to take his eyes off of her full, wet lips; his stomach grew warm with need.

Obviously unaware of what exactly it was he was dealing with Y/N stood up. "As long as you're alright, let me know if there's anything I can do to help." The word anything echoed in his mind, not knowing if he had imagined it but he could swear she drew out that word specifically. He fidgeted wishing she was on top of him again, no, he didn't want to hurt her. Using all of his strength to push his biological cravings from his mind he made his way towards the door calling behind him, "I think I’m gonna skip breakfast today and go straight to training."

"If you say so dear," his loving savior called out after him.

Much of the snow had melted in the morning sun leaving only a few inches. Burn it out he thought. That's what his master used to make him do during these times. Telling him it was a weakness of the mind he had to train harder and faster so that's what he did. Running as fast as he could he sprinted towards the cliffs and back. He was sure that he was breaking personal records but not thinking to time it.

~~~~~

You watched him from the porch take off faster than you've ever seen towards the cliffs. Shrugging you made your way back inside; trusting him when he told you he was fine. Still, curiosity got the better of you and you swept your bookshelf until you found the anatomy tome you sought. He had said it was an affliction his species went through. Perhaps you could figure out what it was. Flipping through until you found the chapter on Zabraks. You continued to search until you found the little information about the nightbrother subspecies. Scanning through information about bone structures, their horns, organs, life spans until you found something peculiar.

The males go through their mating cycle averaging twice a year. The purpose of which is to guarantee survival of the species as their female counterparts are much more rare in population. Symptoms of the cycle approaching its apex include elevated body temperature, heightened hearing, sight and smell; aiding in their search for a female. However, if not relieved, the male will experience a specific pain to further encourage repopulation.

You closed the book blushing fervently. Sympathy for your sweet Zabrack took over your mind while you ate your breakfast. Honestly the idea of him being unable to control himself around you both saddened and excited you. You've thought about him that way for a while now and you wanted him but were hesitant. You feared taking that step and him leaving would cause you greater pain. Who were you kidding though? You were already madly in love with him. You'd hunt down the Jedi called Kenobi and bring Maul his head if he only asked it of you. Still, you wanted him to want it. Not to just be a relief of pain. You needed him to want you like you wanted him.

You entered his room, enjoying his scent that now surrounded you. You watched him through his bedroom window his now shirtless back to you as he intently worked through advanced forms with his Saber. Hmm heightened senses huh? You thought to yourself. You closed your eyes, a throbbing in your own belly imagining his hands harshly exploring your body, his teeth on your neck and his cock prodding at your entrance. Opening your eyes, you saw him. Standing still, chest heaving, hands clenched and shaking; staring at you like a hunter stalks his prey. You left the window to go change, a plan forming in your mind.

~~~~~

Her scent interrupted him. Maul saw her watching him through his own bedroom window. He could smell her arousal. With the little self-control he had left he planted his feet, breathing heavily, standing his ground until she disappeared from his view once again. Did she know, he wondered? How he ached for her. Even before his heat had come, he ached to feel her around him.

He dropped to his knees, if brute force wouldn't stifle his urges perhaps meditation would. Some time had passed and finally his heart rate slowed. Breathing deeply his body cooled off but he could sense her. Trying to push her from his mind despite her footsteps drawing nearer. She stood now just inches behind him. "Maul?" She asked coyly. He creased his forehead trying to ignore her. "I know what you're going through... I have a question for you." Still, he said nothing. Aside from grinding his teeth he didn't move either.

"I said, I have a question for you and I will get your attention one way or another."

She took one more step towards him, completely closing the already small gap between them. Pulling her dress aside she draped her bare leg over his shoulder, rubbing her inner thigh against his cheek. "Darling... please." She sighed seductively.

That was all it took to break him. Eyes completely blown he grabbed her and sunk his teeth into her sensitive skin. Not hard enough to draw blood but with enough force to knock her off her one planted foot. He caught her with the force and laid her down gently, turning towards her and continuing to lick and caress his savior. He pulled aside her dress while she moaned to reveal red and black lace covering her sex. Snapping back to himself for just a moment he strained out a warning.

"If you want to have a conversation run. I.. I can't control myself around you right now. Stay out of my grasp, I don't want to take you like this... but gods above I will… RUN!" He snarled and force pushed you into the jungle.

~~~~~

You did as he commanded. Not out of fear but out of respect of his wishes. With all your might your feat pounded into the jungle floor; you could sense him chasing behind you. Where his mouth had met your skin was still wet, still sending pleasurable waves through you. He was gaining, an excitement rang through you as you leapt up into the trees knowing you couldn't out run him.

You sat statuesque as you observed him below from the canopy. He turned, smelling the air before he sat and closed his eyes. Chest rising and falling rapidly trying to gain his control again.

"I'm sorry." He called "what is your question? You said you knew what I was going through. Please know I'd rather die than cause you harm."

“I know. I believe you darling.” You hesitated before asking, "will you leave me?"

Maul looked genuinely surprised at your query. Not wanting to assume anything he inquired further "what do you mean exactly?" Eyes closing again.

"I mean we are nearing the time where our mutual goal will be reached. Even in the state you're in now your inner balance is almost restored. Your Sith eyes have calmed, your force signature is steady. I need to know if you're going to leave when it is because... because I love you. With all my heart I love you Maul. But I can’t leave this place."

His shaking stopped and he leapt up into the tree where you sat. Approaching you cautiously where you were huddled. A newfound resolve giving him strength to stave his desires.

"You do?"

"Of course I do. How could I not? You’re kind and gentle yet strong and powerful. Your voice is like a suave prayer in my ears and your arms around me feel so grounding and safe."

He pressed his hand to your cheek and with his thumb wiped away the tear that had fallen from your eye. "I never wanted to leave you. As a matter of fact, I… I feared for weeks now that you would be the one to ask me to. I never imagined that you could possibly return my sentiment. My heart belongs to you. Only ever you. Never anyone before you and never anyone after you." He soothed.

“But I wanted solitude. You didn’t.”

“My love, how could I possibly ever feel lonely when I’m with you? The only person to have ever actually seen me before?”

Scooping you up in his arms he brought you down from your perch. You wrapped your arms around him and brushed your lips against the vein in his neck, licking and kissing at it softly. He made his way back to your shared home fighting to keep consciousness despite your affections.

"You don't mind that we're the only ones here? That it would just be us most of the time?”

"I prefer it actually. You say my scale is almost aligned well, that could only be achieved and maintained by your side. I don't want to spend any time away, I don't want to leave." You kissed his neck again still watery eyed. His eyes however started to dilate again, that now familiar warmth encompassing his insides.

"Please..." you began to beg, your own need starting to bloom. "My heart is yours, my soul is yours.. please… take my body and claim me."

"Are you sure?" he strained.

"I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

That was all the confirmation he needed. Quickening his pace, he just made it to the porch before he set you down, lips crashing together in a vehement fervor. Tongues thrashing, hands tearing desperately at one another's clothing while you danced away into your bedroom. He pushed you up against the door frame, undressing you until you stood bare to him, leaving the red and black lacy panties. He took a moment to take in your form, hands pressed to the wall on either side of your head. He growled before gripping the backs of your thighs and pulling you up to him. You could feel his throbbing erection against your heated core, making a sinful whimper escape your lips only to be swallowed by him.

His chest was warm against your pebbled nipples. You bit back a moan as he laid you down on the bed delicately. He took in your view again, wanting to remember you like this forever. He tore the remaining lace away, while you clawed desperately at the sheets beneath you. Maul started with your neck, sucking hickies into the soft flesh until he was satisfied they would show for days to come before lowering himself further. He rolled one of your nipples in his mouth, pulling at it gently with his teeth while pinching the other. You were a whimpering, trembling mess under him. Never had you been so turned on in your life. Your legs were already starting to shake as he moved further down your body, lapping at your supple flesh all the way. He groaned in need at the sight of your slick, dragging his shaky fingers between your folds and dipping two digits into your heat, eliciting loud cries from your plump lips.

Maul took your hardened nub in his salivating mouth, twirling his muscle around it in circles while pumping his fingers inside of you. He growled at your cries, reveling at the sweet taste that coated his tongue. It didn't take long before your walls were fluttering around him.

“Oh Maker… Maul… please p-please… don’t stop… I I I’m gonna.. you’re gonna make me c-“ Sucking your clit hard and curling his fingers deep inside you he pulled your orgasm straight from your core. You cried out his name as your vision turned spotty in your bliss. Euphoria wracking your every nerve you projected your pleasure through the force and onto him until he was roaring and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Growling he pulled out his fingers, dragging a string of your cum with them before licking them clean. He crawled onto you and hitched your legs high on his hips as he prepared to enter you. His massive cock dripping with precum. His body vibrating from the orgasm you shared with him ethereally.

"P please Maul, my love… Take me… Fuck me… I need it.." He groaned at your begging for him, your eyes still glassy and your cheeks rosy from your climax. He pushed into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. Both of your breaths hitched, eyes never breaking contact as he sank into you to his hilt turning you both into groaning messes. His chest vibrated loudly with a raspy purr as he tried to hold back, to wait until you were ready, his claws tearing the fabric beneath you. You dragged your nails longingly up his back and over his head, "Maker, please move Maul… I n-need..!"

“Tell me what you need… gods… say the words..”

“Fuck me… Make me cum again.”

He took your command to his hearts and took off at a brutal pace, losing himself completely biting your shoulder, eyes wide with a hungry desire. His cock continually rammed into that electric spot deep inside you. You were crying out for him desperately trying to catch your breath as he forced the air from your lungs with every thrust. Your skin was on fire with pleasure. It didn't take long before pressure in your belly built again, threatening another climax.

“Fuck! So… So tight… So w-warm.. Maker….” Any words he wanted to say after that came out in ragged gasps and growls. He sat up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, gripping your hips so tightly you knew they’d leave marks. He pulled you down onto him as he thrusted up into you.

“T-taking me.. so well… f-feels so fucking good.”

That was it. The sound of his praises sent you over the edge you couldn’t cling any longer to.

"I..I'm gonna cum!" You called out. "Look at me while I make you cum know that I am the one to put you here."

You tightened around his cock and screamed your release, snarling in pleasure he fucked you through it while you projected your climax again onto him. It was overwhelming for him, he rolled over so you rode him. Lifting you like you weighed nothing he slammed you down onto him repeatedly threatening yet again another orgasm, not even finished with the aftershocks of the last. Maker he was everything, pleasure incarnate. He ground his teeth breathing heavily until you both cried out in final climax, both of you sharing your pleasure through the force. Lengthening and intensifying your orgasms. He pumped you full of his hot seed, legs twitching with the aftermath.

You lay in one another's arms for you didn't know how long his cock still inside you while he purred deeply. Taking your sweet time to come down from your highs. Your force signatures hummed and swirled together.

Maul was the first to break the comfortable silence once your heartbeats had slowed.

"I will always remain by your side as long as you allow me to. I love you more than I ever imagined I could love anything or anyone." Your lips met softly but passionately as you mewled back, "I love you too."

#maul x y/n #star wars maul #maul fluff #maul smut #starwars au #swtcw au #jedi reader #grey jedi #swtcw smut #maul x reader #grey jedi reader #i have a problem #jedi knight #sith warrior #star wars #starwars x reader #lemon

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noire-pandora · 4 years ago

Text

Stay

My last work for @14daysdalovers. Thank you so much for hosting this, I had so much fun writing for it and reading everyone’s work. Can’t wait for the next one!

Also, a big thank you to the ones that liked/reblogged/left comments on my fics. I am really grateful for your encouragement. It really helped me to write more.

“Ask me to stay” and “ Wearing the Other’s Clothes”. Also on my AO3

Pairing: Solavellan

Words: 2744

Warnings: none.

The soft sound of charcoal scraping on the paper lulled Solas into a deep state of concentration, the monotonous music of the movement relaxing him as his mind diligently absorbed the knowledge hidden in the pages of Lady Gihni's book.

The nimble fingers guiding the charcoal on paper belonged to Elluin, who kept him company tonight. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, hunched above her sketchbook precariously balanced on her knees. She adamantly refused Solas' suggestion to join him in bed, claiming sitting on the floor helped her concentrate. He let her be, grateful they could share a few hours together, alone, with no unwelcome guest or dignitary to require the Inquisitor's attention.

While the hours passed, sleep made his eyes heavy, the Fade buzzing at the back of his mind, but he ignored its call, eager to spend more time with her, even if midnight found them still awake. At night, she could be his, and they could be just two lovers enjoying each other's presence, with no titles to separate them. At day, he had no right to ask for her company, as she belonged to her duty but, as the sun went down, he craved her presence and treasured every moment spent with her.

A sudden, long sigh coming from Elluin startled him, and he rapidly blinked to bring his attention back to the present moment. He closed the book and abandoned it on the bed, his attention shifting to her.

"Is something bothering you, Vhenan?" he inquired, a curious expression crossing his face, and he moved to glance at her.

A frown pulled hard at the corners of her mouth as she squeezed the charcoal between her fingers. She sighed again and rubbed her chin thoughtfully, staining her skin with the black powder. "I'm trying to sketch Dorian, but his face looks weird. I don't know what's wrong."

The bed creaked when he left it to join Elluin on the cold floor, his shoulder brushing against hers, the warmth of her body urging him to close the distance between them. His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

A half-finished drawing of Dorian took form on the paper, his features brought to life by the rich lines. He stood at a desk, a frown of concentration knitting his eyebrows as he studied a large tome. Solas took a minute to scrutinise his face, his eyes patiently analysing the lines on her creation.

"I believe his jawline is too prominent," he concluded, one of his fingers hovering above the lines of Dorian's face." The line of his jaw is softer."

"What?" she frowned at him. "Dorian has a strong jawline."

"Yes, but not as sharp as you sketched it. I believe that jawline is more suited for me."

"For you?" she stared at him for a few seconds and trailed a finger down the side of his face, tracing his jaw. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, a shiver of pleasure coursing down his spine at the touch. "You're right. I've been studying the beautiful lines of your face for too long, and my mind blended them with Dorian's. Tomorrow I'll sneak into the library when he's not paying attention and—why are you smirking like that?"

He chuckled at her words, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "It has been a while since anyone praised my beauty."

He could barely contain a self-satisfied smirk from spreading across his lips. His hand left her back, and he turned to face her, tucking his legs under him, his knees touching her outer thigh." You think the lines of my face are beautiful?"

She shot him an incredulous look, cocking an eyebrow. "Of course. Why are you so surprised? I'm sure I'm not the only one who told you that."

She gave him a lopsided grin and changed her position to imitate his. Her sketchbook opened on the floor between them. "Really? When was the last time?"

"When I was young."

Memories of times long gone shuffled unexpectedly through his mind, but he gently pushed them away, back to that corner of his memory where he hid his secrets. He forced himself to stay anchored in the present, to lavish in the comfort and the safety her presence brought to him. To fully enjoy the sensation, he had not felt for hundreds of years.

She leaned forward, her gaze never leaving his as her fingertips drew circles on his left knee. Her fingers were so warm, and the caress was so gentle that his skin prickled at the contact. "When you were 'bold and cocky'?"

He grinned at her, hoping she didn't notice how much that simple touch tantalised him. "Yes."

She hummed and studied his face for a long moment, a curious gleam in her eyes. "That must have been quite a sight."

To his surprise, silence fell between them as she turned her attention back to the sketchbook. He swallowed hard, wishing she continued caressing him.

He watched her as she ripped the page with the failed drawing from her sketchbook and crumpled it into a ball to set it ablaze with her magic. A trail of smoke rose from it, and he followed its sinuous journey through the air, his thoughts pulling him away from the present, the same ideas that came into his mind when he laid on his bed, half asleep and wondering.

Wondering how it would have been if they met thousands of years ago when Elvhenan still stood proud? Would she love him? Would she join his rebellion? He knew it was a foolish thought, but he wished they could have met back then and not now, not in this world he could not understand. Here, he could only show a faint shadow of his passion, of his love. In Arlathan, he would have done anything to make her happy; he would have given himself entirely to her. If only his plan succeeded. He closed his eyes to hide the emotions residing there, afraid she might read them and question him.

"Do you think we'd get along if we met when we were young?" she finally spoke, forcing him to ignore his thoughts once again, surprised she has been thinking about the same matter.

He opened his eyes again and stared ahead at the wall behind her, contemplating the idea. "Yes. But I do believe our strong personalities would clash a few times. As it happened when we first met."

She nodded in agreement, a solemn expression on her face. "Yes, two young, stubborn elves butting heads. I guess we'd end up bickering about everything," her charcoal danced again on the paper, her fingers leading it to draw a few bold, seemingly random lines. "It took us a bit to get along after we met, didn't it?"

"Indeed"

He looked at her work, and a faint smile grew again on his lips as he realised she was drawing him. This time his face looked younger, with no wrinkles or laugh lines to mark the passage of time.

She stopped suddenly, her gaze shifting from her drawing to his face and stopping at the ceiling. She studied it, her fingers twirling the charcoal piece, and he understood she had another question for him. One that might surprise or annoy him.

"What is it? You may ask."

She still eyed a point above his head, intentionally avoiding his gaze, spiking his curiosity. "I would've loved to draw you back then. Do you think the younger you would've let me?

"Yes."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and this time she allowed him to look into her eyes. "Even nude?"

"I," he began, ready to give a negative answer. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss of words but sighed, defeated. As much as he wanted to deny that, he knew his younger self too well. "Yes."

She laughed, slapping her thigh. "Really? You were that different?"

He nodded." I was. It would have been impossible to refuse a request from a beautiful woman like yourself. My younger self would not resist you."

"Resist me? Now I'm curious about how it would go," she purred, her eyes falling to his lips.

"You would get your drawing," he paused and slowly licked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "Eventually."

Undistilled desire poured through him at the thought of spending a night together in Arlathan, and he swallowed hard, his throat drying at the mental image. A strong wish to erase all the distance between them nagged him, his fingers twitching in anticipation, but he denied himself that joy. No matter how much he wanted her, he had no right to ask for more than a few heated kisses from her. Not when parts of him were still hidden from her.

He searched her face for any hidden signs of desire, but he couldn't see any. Instead, she wore a pensive expression, her unfocused gaze locked on the piece of charcoal resting on her opened palm. He knew that expression as she wore it every time uncertainty hung over her.

He shuffled closer, her warm breath tickling his skin. He tucked a wayward strand of her chin-length hair behind her ear and chuckled when the curl stubbornly escaped. Slowly, his hand slid down the side of her face in a warm caress, his fingers finally cupping her chin and lifting it until their eyes met.

"Even then," he whispered with a gentleness that surprised him. "I would have loved you. As I do now," slowly, he leant forward, his lips touching hers in a soft caress. She answered, lightly tasting him.

She broke the kiss, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. She rubbed the back of her neck, looking down at the floor. "I... thank you, Solas."

He attentively watched her, curious if today will be the day when she will utter those three words, but the hesitance in her gestures made him realise it won't happen. He had no desire to pressure her into confessing her love for him, her gestures enough for him to understand how much she cared, but curiosity nagged him. Curiosity and confusion at why, a woman as powerful as she was, found it hard to say it. She jumped in front of the danger with no second thoughts and challenged anyone who dared to badmouth her, but she became uncharacteristically quiet when he confessed his love for her. He knew she had other lovers before him, and yet love left her speechless. Or it was just his love? Another mystery her soul held, one he was eager to understand.

"I should go," she suddenly said, slipping the charcoal into the pocket of her trousers and closing her sketchbook. "I'm sure your spirit friends miss you."

He got up at the same time she did, but instead of letting her go, as he always did, he reached for her hand, barely touching her fingers.

"Stay with me tonight."

She blinked a few times at him, her hand squeezing his fingers. "Are you sure? Last time I did that, you left in a hurry."

The first night they spent together sleeping in the same bed almost brought his nighttime fantasies to reality, and, with a heart-shattering effort, he had to abruptly put an end to the moment, leaving her confused and unsatisfied. Since then, they haven't shared a bed anymore

"I am."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We're going to sleep in the same bed, right?"

"Yes."

"Really?" she asked in surprise, eyeing the bed.

"Yes, Vhenan. But if you mind it, you can refuse me," he let go of her, allowing her to leave if she wished it.

She waved the sketchbook in the air, rolling her eyes at him. "I don't mind it at all, Solas. But I know you enjoy your loneliness.

He reached for her hand and planted a soft kiss on the centre of her palm before speaking again. "I do. But I enjoy your presence much more."

"All right, I'll stay," she confirmed, giggling at the light touch of his lips. "I need to get my nightwear from my room."

"No need, I can lend you one of my sleeping tunics."

He made his way towards the small closet sitting in the opposite corner of his room and opened it, searching for one of the sleeping tunics Josephine ordered for him. He found a cotton one he never wore and handed it to her. She accepted it, grinning at him.

"Aren't you always so kind?"

She set down her sketchbook on a chair and reached for her blouse to take it off. Instantly he turned his back on her. She snorted at his reaction, but he felt no shame in it. Offering her intimacy was the least he could do.

"How do I look?" she asked after a minute, her shirt and pants neatly folded resting on the chair, above her sketchbook.

He turned around to face her, and his heart thumped as his eyes followed the lines of her body. Her shoulders were bare, the sleeves of the tunic slipping on her tiny arms, revealing her freckled kissed skin and the scars adorning her right shoulder. The tunic reached her knees, exposing her short and thin legs with knobby knees. He forced himself to take his eyes off her and answer the question. "Comfortable."

She spun on one heel, and he found himself dumbstruck by her beauty. Even in simple clothing, she still charmed him. What a fool he was, thinking nothing in this world could capture his attention.

"I actually feel really comfortable. No wonder you're wearing this all the time."

"I do not wear my sleeping tunics at day time, Vhenan."

She giggled, beaming at him. "Are you sure about that? They look the same."

With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing how much she loved to tease his clothing choices. "Yes, I am sure."

She stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder as she made her way towards the bed. He shook his head at her, amused by her behaviour, but his eyes lingered on her hips, delighted by their shape. He gritted his teeth in annoyance at his nagging need to touch her body.

The worn-out bed-springs creaked under Elluin's weight as she lay in it, a sight of comfort slipping her lips.

"Are you coming?" she asked him, eyes closed, pulling the blanket close to her chin.

"In a second," he answered, taking off his shirt, neatly folding it to place it above her clothes. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head, his joins popping loudly. Elluin lazily opened her eyes at the noise, only to snap them wide open at the sight of Solas' bare torso. Pride washed over him, noticing the shy blush tingeing her cheeks pink, content he could still impress a woman with his physique . "Is it bothering you? If it does, I can--"

"No, no, it's fine," she stammered, shaking her head. "I forgot you like to sleep shirtless. Make yourself comfortable. I don't mind it."

The bed protested again as Solas joined her under the blanket. He pulled her close, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapping around her tummy. She giggled when he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Good night, Solas."

"Good night. I will search for you in the Fade."

She hummed in agreement, reaching for his hands and intertwining her fingers with his. He watched her as she slowly drifted into sleep, her chest rising and falling as she inhaled and exhaled, the soft sound of her breath lulling him to sleep, to embrace the calling of the Fade.

"Solas?" she whispered in the darkness a few minutes later, startling him.

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

With eyes widened in surprise, he opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. When he spoke again, his voice quivered. "I love you too, Elluin."

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her scent, the perfume of the lily of the valley salve she used to tame the curls of her hair, overwhelming his senses. It was the scent of love and acceptance. It gave him hope that maybe, maybe, this world he used to hate could be his new home. Their home.

#14DALovers #solavellan #ask me to stay #wearing the other's clothes #solas #lavellan #elluin lavellan #i had so much fun participating in this #i remember last year i read all the works thinking woa these people are so cool for participating in this #i had no idea i will do it the next year #it's a nice feeling #thanks for hosting it

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aidanchaser · 3 years ago

Text

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero @magic713m @ccboomer @aubsenroute @somebodyswatson

Chapter Fifteen The Heist

Luna Lovegood hated Hogwarts. Yes, she was in Ravenclaw, and yes, she loved learning, but school? School was where curiosity went to die in a long, slow, stretched out sentence.

For Luna, the transition from her family home, where her father had encouraged her explorations and experiments, to a place of high stone walls and demanding bells had been terrible for her, and she’d nearly quit after her first year.

Now she was glad that she had persisted, because school had one thing worthwhile: Ginny Weasley.

When Ginny had hexed those boys for calling her Loony, the stars in the dark night had burst into existence, and school had become not just bearable, but pleasant. Luna had skipped everywhere for the rest of the that week.

This year, however, there was no skipping. Even Herbology, one of Luna’s favourite subjects, was overcast by the horrid cloud that Snape and the Carrows left on the school.

At least Ginny and Neville were in Herbology with her. N.E.W.T.-level courses often combined sixth and seventh years, and Luna was glad to have her closest friends with her at least once a week.

They were currently repotting Venomous Tentacula, which involved lots of soothing whispers and gentle strokes to the stem and vines. Neville worked easily, and Luna did too, even humming a lullaby to her knot of vines as she transferred the plant into a larger pot and carefully aerated the soil.

“Ow!” Ginny hissed, drawing her hand away from her plant.

Luna patted one of her vines and paused her melody. “Did it bite you, Ginny?”

Ginny pressed her wounded hand to her mouth. “Just got me with its leaves. Bloody bastard hates me.”

“You have to be gentle,” she sang, and reached for a watering can.

“I am gentle!”

Luna giggled. Ginny could be gentle, but it was not her natural state by any stretch.

Once Luna had finished repotting her Tentacula, she moved to Ginny’s station to help her work.

“You have to be kind and patient.” Luna ran her fingers along one of the vines. “It’s a sensitive plant.”

Beneath Luna’s hands, the vines no longer lashed out with sharp, sudden outbursts of movement, but instead swayed in time to her humming.

“See?” Luna paused her song. “Now put your fertilizer in that pot.”

Professor Sprout praised them all for their hard work, and congratulated them for finishing the lesson without any bite accidents. “There’s usually at least one of you turned bright purple and on your way up to the hospital wing, but you all did excellent work today,” she beamed at them.

“Hospital wing’s full up anyway,” Hannah Abbott mumbled, just out of Sprout’s earshot, as she cleaned up her work station.

Hannah looked unusually wild today. Her thick plaits were uncharacteristically loose, and dirt streaked her cheeks. She wrestled her book into her bag with the sort of determination one might use when salvaging Snargaluff pods.

Neville reached across his station to hers and picked up her shovel and trowel. “Ernie will be fine,” he murmured, and returned her tools to the greenhouse shed.

Hannah tried and failed to regain control of her trembling lip, then hurried out of the greenhouse before Neville could come back.

It wasn’t just Ernie, who was recovering from a detention after he had called the Daily Prophet “rubbish” and added that he hoped Harry would show up at Hogwarts so he could “put Snape in his place.”

It was Parvati and Padma Patil, who had refused to attend Muggle Studies. Each night that they refused earned them a night of detention, until after three weeks both girls had become too ill to attend any of their classes.

It was Hugh Ward, who had defiantly announced to the boys in his Slytherin dormitory that he was a half-blood.

Luna didn’t know what curses the boys had used to try to punish Hugh for being so proud of his Muggle lineage, but he had been in the hospital wing all week. Luna had visited him, and the Patil twins. She made a point to visit anyone who had been in Dumbledore’s Army, because they were her friends.

On these visits, it was not uncommon for her to find Hannah, helping Madam Pomfrey change linens and administer medicine to those who needed it. Though Hannah never did any of the Charm work in the hospital wing, she watched closely each time Madam Pomfrey cast a spell.

Luna knew that Hannah wanted to become a Healer. Each time Luna visited the hospital wing, she thought about becoming a Healer, too. She liked caring for people, and she was taking enough N.E.W.T.s for it. But so much of Healing was urgent, and Luna had never done well with urgent.

“Must you always move so slowly?” Ginny snapped.

Luna frowned at her gloves as she packed them away. She much preferred the greenhouse to the castle and couldn’t understand why Ginny was so eager to get back. She’d much rather be down here with the fresh air than back with the Carrows.

“Come on,” Ginny whined, “I’m starved.”

Luna squeezed her Herbology textbook between her personal field guide and the thick tome for Transfiguration. With those three texts and her scaly Care of Magical Creatures book, her bag was nearly bursting at the seams.

“Why didn’t you eat breakfast?” Luna shouldered her heavy bag and hurried to the door where Ginny and Neville were waiting.

“I wasn’t hungry at breakfast.”

“Helen said she was sulking in the Owlery after a row with Harry,” Neville whispered, but not as quietly as he should have.

“We didn’t have a row! And anyway, don’t use his name. Someone might hear you.”

“Should we just call him You-Know-Who?” Neville asked with a grin.

Ginny shoved him, none too gently, and picked up her pace, leaving Neville and Luna trailing behind her.

Luna pursed her lips and looked up at Neville. There was something different about him this year, but Luna couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Did you grow taller over the summer?” she asked, and tried to gauge if she was looking up more than she had looked up last year.

“What? Oh — yeah, I did. Gran sent out for a whole new wardrobe.” He wrinkled his nose. “It was only like, an inch I think, but she insisted. I think it was her way of apologising that Mum and Dad were gone most of the summer.”

Luna tilted her head. “I suppose they work quite a lot.”

Neville laughed. “I haven’t seen much of them since… well, I guess since Voldemort came back. I mean, a meal here and there, but usually only one at a time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not bad.” He adjusted his bag. “Their work’s important. And I’ve always had Gran around.”

Luna looked down at her hands. There was dirt under her nails, and she supposed she ought to clean up before lunch, but she liked when her hands were dirty. It reminded her of her mother, who had always smelled like earth and soot. It also reminded her of her father, whose fingers were often stained with ink.

“But you miss them.”

It wasn’t a question. Luna didn’t ask questions she already knew the answers to. There were plenty of other questions to be concerned with.

“What do you think we should call Harry?” she asked. “And I suppose we’ll need names for Ron and Hermione as well. Should we all have secret names? Like cats, perhaps? I should like to be Turnip.”

When she and Neville reached the castle, Ginny was waiting impatiently at the door.

“You both walk slow,” she complained, and stormed inside.

“My,” Luna said, “it must have been quite a bad fight with Parsnip.”

Neville frowned. “No, I don’t like that one.”

“Butterscotch?”

“Hmm…”

“Pickled Herring?”

“Must it be food?”

“I like Pickled Herring, because it sounds like him, but backwards.”

“I suppose.”

Luna waved goodbye to Neville and joined the Ravenclaw table. She sat next to a girl named Kim Sheringham, who Luna did not consider a friend, exactly, but they had lived together for the better part of six years, which might count for something to other people. It just didn’t count very much to Luna.

“Hi, Luna,” said Kim.

“Hello,” Luna said, but remained focused on her lunch

“How was Herbology?”

Luna hummed. “Warm. Pleasant.” She reached for the pitcher and poured herself a glass of water.

“Sounds nice. Listen, do you think you could do me a favour?”

Luna stared at Kim and took a sip from her cup. She waited for Kim to ask for what she really wanted.

Kim faltered, but she’d always been more keen on small talk than Luna. Finally, she said, “Could you tell Flitwick I’m not well? I need to review for the Muggle Studies exam tonight. Please, I just can’t keep all the Sacred Twenty-Eight straight. Just tell Flitwick I fell ill after lunch or something. Any excuse will do.”

Ravenclaws, as a rule, did not skip lessons — unless they had an exam to prepare for.

“I could review with you,” Luna offered, and pretended not to notice the way Kim’s brow furrowed.

“That’s alright, thanks. Just tell him I’m not well. He’ll believe whatever you say, you know.”

Now it was Luna’s turn to frown. She didn’t understand what Kim meant, but she didn’t get to ask because Kim was already leaving.

Luna finished her meal alone, still puzzling over Kim’s comment, and wandered to Charms by herself. She apologised to Flitwick for Kim’s absence, and promised to take notes for two. Flitwick readily accepted her vague excuse, and this only puzzled Luna more. How had Kim known that Flitwick would not press her?

She was distracted throughout class, but her notes were no less for it. She was not sure that they would help Kim — no one ever asked to borrow Luna’s colourful, pictographic notes — but Luna would not mind explaining them.

After Charms, Luna had a free period, while the Gryffindors took their Charms lesson. She passed Ginny and Neville outside Flitwick’s classroom door and smiled. Ginny grinned back, which worried Luna. It was not the sort of grin that suggested Ginny was truly in a better mood; it was Ginny’s mischievous grin.

Luna waited until she was in the library to check the Galleon in her pocket. She had not noticed it grow warm during her Charms lesson, but it must have, for there was a new date and time inscribed where the identification number would be. Tonight, an hour before Muggle Studies.

Whatever Ginny had planned would get them all into trouble, certainly, but Luna at least knew that it would be fun, and fun was in such short supply these days.

There was plenty of time between now and then, so Luna set about working on their personalised field guides for Herbology. She had started adding to it, not just for Herbology, but also for Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was sweet, but Luna did not find him an adept professor. She could appreciate the practicality of his lessons, at least, but had started recording what she learned from their field experiments into her Herbology project. She enjoyed this sort of work, collecting information and organising it. And decorating it.

Professor Flitwick had suggested a career studying magical plants and animals, doing field work, exploring, traveling and notetaking, making discoveries. Luna liked the idea of it, but the way he had presented it sounded tedious. He had mentioned the Ministry and paperwork, almost as if he had been trying to put her off from the job. He had even suggested that she spend her summer reaching out to people at the Ministry to try some job-shadowing, but Luna had a hard time finding people in the Ministry that were not involved with either the Death Eaters, the Rotfang Conspiracy, or the Heliopath Army.

Was it not enough to simply wander?

Luna had never been good at purpose. It was one of the many things she had always admired about Ginny. Ginny had always known who she was and what she wanted. Luna, for all her appearances of self-assurance, wondered and doubted far more than anyone knew.

Luna finished her note about Fire Crabs in preparation for tomorrow’s lesson and waited for the ink to dry. She swung her legs back and forth and stared out of the large window. Neither of her parents had ever made a living on the things they were passionate about. They did things that were uninteresting to fund their curiosities. She wondered if she would end up doing the same.

With a sigh, Luna closed her field guide and headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. Again, she ate alone, but she watched Ginny talk with one of the girls from her dorm. Ginny’s smile was wide but empty, and she tapped her fork anxiously against her plate.

Neville sat alone, picking at his food, and Seamus and Lavender sat together, but they had more interest in the professors’ table than in each other.

Luna shook her head. Gryffindors were always so obvious. If the Carrows were even a little bit smarter, they might have known to be suspicious.

Neville left dinner first, and after an exact count of thirty, Ginny followed. The rest of the D.A. made their way out of the Great Hall in staggered exits. Some relied on a count of their own choosing. Some relied on waiting until a certain number of people had exited before they made their way to the seventh floor.

If Umbridge had taught them anything, it was how to avoid getting caught.

Luna waited until Michael Corner loudly announced that he was going to check on Padma, and trailed after him at her usual aimless pace. When he headed for the hospital wing, Luna went all the way back to Ravenclaw Tower, but instead of climbing the stairs, she slipped down another corridor to the Room of Requirement.

The Room no longer looked as it had for D.A. meetings. In fact, Luna thought it looked rather like a proper classroom. There were even stacks of reference books on some of the desks.

“I thought if anyone did walk in on us, it would look like we were studying,” Neville said, when he saw Luna’s curious glance.

She hummed thoughtfully. “You should ask it not to let anyone walk in on us.”

Neville looked surprised, then frowned and sank into one of the desks. He drummed his fingers thoughtfully.

Luna always appreciated the way Neville took her ideas seriously, rather than laughed at them, or dismissed them instantly, the way so many of her peers and professors did.

Padma and Parvati returned from the hospital wing with Michael, and a small crowd surrounded them, asking if they were alright. Hannah and Susan were notable outliers, clustered by themselves and whispering quietly. Ginny, too, stood alone, trying to count heads, and another girl in a green headscarf, someone Luna had not spoken to since those early days of the D.A., sat by herself.

Luna slipped into the desk beside Atalanta Shafiq. She smiled pleasantly.

“Hello. It’s Atalanta, isn’t it?”

The girl stared at her with large brown eyes. Luna thought she was in fourth year, the same Dennis Creevey would have been in.

“You’re Luna.”

Luna’s smile widened. “How did you know?”

“Everyone knows you. You’re one of the people who went to the Ministry with Potter two summers ago.”

“Oh, you mean Pickled Herring.”

Atalanta stared at Luna as if she had lost her mind, a look Luna was used to, though she hadn’t seen it in a while. She hadn’t spent much time with new people recently.

“You’re friends with Hugh, aren’t you?” Luna asked her.

Atalanta nodded. “I know you visit him. How is he?”

“Oh — he’s well. Don’t you see him yourself?”

The girl turned to stare straight ahead. Her face was hard and her voice tight. “He asked me to stop coming. As if everyone doesn’t already know we’re friends — as if he has anyone else to bring him notes —” She broke off abruptly and her nostrils flared. “Everyone knows we were friends with the Creeveys anyway. My lineage doesn’t protect me as much as he thinks it does.”

“It sounds like he cares about you.” Luna hummed. “But you seem like someone who can take care of yourself. It’s okay for both of those things to be true, you know.”

Atalanta did not say anything. Luna appreciated the way the girl considered her words. It was like watching someone put together a puzzle, and Luna loved puzzles.

The door opened and closed one last time for Pearl Lais and Ginny announced, “I think that’s everyone. Let’s get started.”

All conversations ceased as she spoke. Ginny commanded a room with more ease than Harry had. Luna could not help but smile dreamily.

“So as you all know, tonight we have an exam for Muggle Studies.”

“I won’t take it,” Zacharias Smith announced loudly.

“And we fully plan to resume our protest,” Parvati added, voice defiant. Padma looked less confident, but she nodded when Parvati looked at her.

“Standing outside the Muggle Studies classroom is great,” Neville said, “but if we could do something more coordinated and subversive, we might be able to get more students on our side, and you wouldn’t have to go to detention.”

Padma raised an eyebrow. “You have something planned that won’t get us in trouble?”

“As long as we don’t get caught,” Ginny grinned. “I heard Snape threatened to take your Prefect badge. Your protest has been great, but it’s not worth that. We need people like you in charge as much as possible. Let me show you what we have in mind. It’s so easy, even Neville could do it.”

Neville did not look upset by the remark in the least, and pulled a stack of loose parchment from the desk at the front of the classroom. He began passing it out.

“It’s partly a Muggle-trick,” he said, “so it’s perfect for Muggle Studies.”

“There’s a bit of Charm, of course,” Ginny said, “to make it more interesting.”

Ginny and Neville explained the procedure of the prank to the members of Dumbledore’s Army. Everyone had several sheets to practice with, but Luna took to it right away. She found it a rather endearing bit of spellwork, but she knew that Alecto Carrow would hate it. Still, it was a harmless and funny prank. Even if they did get caught, the punishment couldn’t be too severe.

As Luna finished folding her third sheet of parchment, just for something to do with her hands, Ginny slid into the desk next to her.

“Hey,” she said, “I have a special job for you.”

Luna looked up from her parchment as Ginny pressed a small bottle into her hands.

“Neville got that from Herbology today. Can you smear it into Carrow’s book before the exam?”

Luna held up the colourless vial. “Should I wear dragonhide gloves?”

“No, it has to be ingested. Just the corners of the pages will do.”

“How will I get the book?”

“Just ask her for it. Say you need to check your notes or something. She’ll believe whatever you tell her.”

Luna stared into Ginny’s deep brown eyes. “Why?”

“You have an honest face. If I ask, she’ll know something’s up.”

Luna wasn’t sure what it meant that she had an, “honest face,” but it was the nicest compliment Ginny had given her all year, so she took it and pressed it into her memory like she pressed flowers into her field guide.

“I should go now, then,” she said. “So I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about getting caught,” Ginny said. “I’ve got something else planned and she’ll probably single me out for the whole thing.”

Luna didn’t mean to smile, but she did. “I would be honoured to have detention with you,” and she punctuated her statement with a curtsy. Ginny laughed, and it made whatever punishments Luna might receive for smearing poison into Alecto Carrow’s book worth it.

As Ginny had predicted, Professor Carrow did not suspect anything was amiss when Luna arrived at her office early and asked to check her notes against the enormous tome that she read out of during their lessons. She muttered something about Ravenclaws and perfectionism, then left Luna at a desk with her notes and the book.

Carefully, Luna dabbed some of the poison onto her finger and smeared it onto the upper right corners of each page. She pretended to skim some of the pages, and even made a few marks into her own notes to sell the lie, but she wondered if she even needed to. Professor Carrow hardly paid her any mind.

When she had finished, she thanked Professor Carrow, and waited until she was alone in the hallway to wipe her hands clean.

All students were required to take Muggle Studies, and the curriculum was entirely new, so everyone, from first year to seventh, took it together in the Great Hall three evenings a week. Luna found it slightly more entertaining than History of Magic, because while Professor Carrow could drone on much like Professor Binns, Carrow at least took questions, and Luna loved when her friends asked questions.

In their very first class, Neville had challenged every line of Professor Carrow’s reading. She had snappishly asked for his lineage not twenty minutes into class. With a wide grin, Neville had said, “Longbottom and Fawley.”

The other day, Ginny had asked Professor Carrow why they weren’t going to evaluate the Carrow family tree the way they had the Bones family. Professor Carrow had turned red and Luna had expected her to hex Ginny then and there.

Luna had not asked any questions yet, though she had, at one point, raised her hand to point out that it was unfair to accuse Muggles of being liars and cheats when Thicknesse was a continuation of Scrimgeour’s evil plot to bring down the Ministry through the horrors of gum disease. The other students had laughed, and Professor Carrow had given her a condescending smile.

“How could the Ministry allow such plots to happen right under their nose?” Professor Carrow had asked with a sickly smile.

“Same way they allowed Death Eaters to infiltrate and Voldemort to take over,” Neville had said loudly, and he’d gotten a week of detention.

The dining tables were removed from the Great Hall each night of Muggle Studies and were replaced with rows of desks. Students sat by year and by house, so Luna took a seat near the back of one of the Ravenclaw aisles. She thought it was a good thing that the D.A. was largely composed of upper-years. Professor Carrow would be less likely to notice them folding up their exams.

The Great Hall was quiet as students worked on their exams. Quills scratched against parchment and occasionally Luna heard the sound of a page turning as Professor Carrow licked her finger and turned the page of her heavy tome.

As she folded up her exam just like they had practiced in the Room of Requirement, Luna watched Professor Carrow closely. The woman coughed after five pages and reached for her tea. After ten pages, she rubbed her throat and finished her drink. By the fifteenth page, her cheeks were already flushed purple and she looked uncomfortable.

“Professor!” Ginny shouted. She didn’t need to shout, since the hall was as silent as O.W.L.s had been, but as her voice echoed, every head turned to her.

She had her hand stretched as high as she could and she bounced anxiously. “Professor!”

Professor Carrow stood from her desk and frowned down at Ginny. “This is an exam, girl. Be quiet.”

“It’s an emergency, Professor. Can I go? I’ll only be a minute.”

Professor Carrow’s mouth lifted in a sneer. “No.”

“Please, Professor? I mean, I’ll use my exam if I have to, but —”

Laughter rippled across the hall and Ginny grinned.

“Make it quick!” Carrow snapped at her, and Ginny sprinted from the hall.

She really was gone only a minute — both Luna and Professor Carrow counted — and Luna wondered what she possibly could have accomplished during that time.

Ginny maintained an appearance of studiousness as she returned to her exam, and Professor Carrow returned to her book. She rubbed her throat again and looked at her empty tea cup. She snapped her fingers impatiently. A house-elf appeared with a pop and poured her a fresh cup, then vanished just as quickly.

Luna forgot all about the clusters of parchment that decorated her desk. Her focus was wholly on Professor Carrow as the woman inspected the cup of tea. She sniffed it, tapped her wand against it, took a small sip, and seemed satisfied. She finished the cup and went back to her book.

Luna kept watching, and it was another seven pages before Professor Carrow licked her finger and paused. She looked at her hand, at the book, and then directly at Luna. Luna tried to shrink into her seat.

Carrow got to her feet and started down the aisle of Ravenclaw desks with a look of fury that might have cowed a dragon. Luna, however, was spared immediate consequences by a squeak that began on the Gryffindor side of the room, followed closely by a squeak from the Hufflepuff aisle.

Hastily, Luna Animated the collection of parchment mice that she had so carefully constructed during the exam. They joined the chorus of mice that now filled the hall, leaping off of desks and scampering towards Professor Carrow.

Luna didn’t think Professor Carrow was a woman who feared mice, but it at least startled her, and it certainly upset several of the other students, who screamed as the parchment creations scurried over their feet and onto their desks. Students leapt up onto chairs and desks, and the entire hall descended into chaos.

It was impossible to tell, as Ginny and Neville had probably planned, where the mice had come from. Carrow pointed her wand at the ones nearest to her, and they went up in flames, but they were quickly replaced with more. Some tried to climb her skirt while others scampered across the room, nibbling on exams and tearing every piece of parchment to shreds.

“Everyone out!” Carrow snapped, crushing one of the mice under her heel. “Orderly!” she added as a few of the more skittish students bolted for the door.

But even those that ran reached a wall of students who had, for some reason, stalled in the doorway of the Great Hall.

“What now?” Carrow elbowed her way to the front, and Luna stood on her tiptoes to peer over Draco Malfoy’s shoulder. She saw a message painted on the floor of the entrance hall in bright red, impossible to miss.

DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY: NOW RECRUITING

Professor Carrow tried to vanish the mess, but it sparked with fireworks and she leapt backwards. A pair of first years stared in awe. A few upper years laughed.

“Weasley!” Carrow snapped, and a few of the older students waited for the inevitable joke of, “Which one?” before realising that Ginny was the only Weasley left at Hogwarts.

Ginny leaned against the pillar that framed the door into the Great Hall. She smiled at Carrow. “Yes, Professor?”

Professor Carrow lifted her wand. “You’ll get more than detention, brat —”

“Say, Professor,” Ginny said, “you’ve got a little something on your —” Ginny gestured to her face, then paused and gestured to Carrow’s hands, “well — everywhere.”

Professor Carrow looked down at her hands, now bright purple.

“That looks like Venomous Tentacula poison,” said Neville. “You ought to be careful around the greenhouses, Professor.”

Carrow whipped around and aimed her wand at Neville, then searched the crowd for Luna. “You,” she snapped.

Luna raised her eyebrows.

“What’s your name?”

“Lovegood,” Luna said, before it had even occurred to her to lie.

Carrow ran her tongue across her teeth. “Lovegood? Your father runs The Quibbler?”

“Er — yes, Professor.”

“You and Weasley, to the Headmaster Snape’s office immediately.”

Luna started for the stairs, but Ginny folded her arms over her chest and refused to move.

“Weasley!”

“Snape isn’t Headmaster.”

“I’ve had just about enough of you. Pureblooded or not —”

“Last week you called me a blood traitor, but this week you’re suddenly all concerned with —”

“Imperio.”

Luna watched, horrified, as Ginny’s posture relaxed and her dark eyes widened.

“Stop!” Luna cried, which, futile as it was, at least provided cover as Neville drew his wand.

“Stupefy!” Neville shouted, and Professor Carrow fell backwards, sprawled over Ginny’s message on the floor.

A few of the students cheered and footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Amycus Carrow and Argus Filch shoved their way through the crowd of students. They took in the mess of paint on the floor, the unconscious and purple professor, and Neville with his wand drawn.

“What did you do, you filthy brat!” Amycus snarled.

“She was only Stunned,” Seamus Finnigan shouted. “Seemed fair since she was using a bloody Unforgivable!”

“Another week of detention then?” Neville asked, with more bravery than Luna thought anyone should have, considering how many detentions had landed students in the infirmary.

“No, I think your punishment should be a bit more public and swift —”

“Professor?” Malfoy interrupted. He grabbed Luna’s arm and pulled her forward. His Head Boy badge glinted in the candlelight. “Professor Carrow was just about to take Lovegood and Weasley up to the Headmaster’s office. Shall I help you escort them?”

Amycus Carrow did not do well with being interrupted. It was a challenge for him to hold so many thoughts in his head at once.

“Lovegood and Weasley?”

“Yes, sir. They’re responsible for this mess, too. Pansy can help Professor Carrow, here, and I’ll help you get this lot to Professor Snape.”

Luna did not fight Malfoy’s tight grip on her arm as he took her to Snape’s office, not the way Ginny pushed and pulled on Amycus as he dragged her up the stairs. Neville, too, was more docile in Filch’s grip, and he eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

Carrow announced the password, “Asphodel,” and the gargoyle that guarded the stairs to the Headmaster’s office parted with ease.

Luna was so rarely angry. Anger was a concept, something she witnessed in others, and maybe glimpsed in herself the way she could glimpse the edge of the Black Lake on a clear day. She did not feel true anger very often, but as she was pulled up to the Headmaster’s office, it rose in her chest with each step.

It was horribly unfair of Hogwarts, who had denied Umbridge access to the Headmaster’s office, to allow Snape control over it, when Snape was the very one who had killed Dumbledore.

Luna tried to swallow down her anger, but it refused to budge. She hated Hogwarts.

Carrow pounded his fist on the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs and pushed it open.

The Headmaster’s office was different from what Luna remembered. She’d only seen it once before, but she had adored it. There had been so many trinkets bobbing and whizzing about; it had been full of noise and life. It had reminded her of her mother’s office.

Now, however, it was cold and empty, with nothing but a Pensieve in a corner and a desk stacked with parchment. Fawkes’ perch remained, but was empty, and behind the Headmaster’s desk were the frames of all the previous Headmasters, including Dumbledore, fast asleep. She looked away, and settled on Snape’s face. As much as she disliked Snape, looking at him hurt less than looking at Dumbledore’s portrait.

Snape, seated at the Headmaster’s desk, kept his eyes on what looked to Luna like a letter.

“No, please, come right in,” he drawled. “I’m not busy or anything.”

“These students cursed Alecto,” Amycus said. “Stunned her right in the entrance hall.”

“They had nothing to do with it!” Neville snapped. “I Stunned her because she used an Unforgivable on Ginny! It was just me!”

With an eerie amount of care, Snape set the letter aside and finally looked at the group that had invaded his office. His face had no more displeasure than it usually did as he looked at each of them.

“Then give Longbottom a detention,” he finally said to Carrow. “Five feet of lines reading, ‘I will not hex my professors’ ought to do it.”

Luna could not tell if Snape was serious. Amycus appeared to be having the same problem. His jaw worked fruitlessly before he finally sputtered, “That’s it?”

Snape stood. “What would you like me to do? Expel him and send him back to his Dumbledore-fanatic parents? You’re in charge of discipline, Carrow. So discipline them. Can’t you control a few children?” He opened a cabinet and pulled out a cloak. “I have business off of the grounds tonight. I expect that this will be dealt with by the time I return.”

Snape held the door open for them, and Carrow reluctantly led them back down to the corridor. Snape swept past them, dark cloak billowing the way it had as he had paced the aisles during his Potions lessons, and disappeared down the stairs.

Carrow watched him go, a hard look on his face. “Are the dungeons ready, Filch?”

“Oiled the hinges this morning, sir,” Filch said. “Haven’t put the chains back in yet —”

“It’ll do for now.”

Ginny’s thrashing did not hinder Carrow in the slightest as he, Filch, and Malfoy took the three of them downstairs into the dungeons. Their wands were set on a nearby shelf, tauntingly visible but well out of reach, and then the three were left alone until Carrow could come up with something more creative.

“Did you see it?” Neville’s voice was steady, and he leaned almost comfortably against the stone wall.

The iron-wrought bars rattled as Ginny kicked them, but they did not budge. “Of course I saw it. We ought to go for it now, while Snape’s gone.”

Luna eyed a trickle of water that slid from the ceiling and into a small puddle on the floor. She wondered if it came from the Black Lake or a leaky pipe. “What did you notice?” she asked.

“The Sword of Godric Gryffindor,” Ginny said. “Didn’t you see it hanging under Dumbledore’s portrait?”

“Oh. Is it important?”

“Dumbledore left it to Harry,” Neville said. “He needs it. I don’t know how we could get it to him, though.”

“I can talk to him,” Ginny said. “If we could just get out of here —” She kicked again, but the bars did not budge under her assault.

“We aren’t getting out of here.” Neville retrieved a worn piece of parchment and a golden feather from his pocket. He searched for a dry spot on the floor and unfolded the old parchment. “But we can make a plan. Halloween would be good, when everyone’s at the feast.”

Ginny gave the bars one more kick for good measure, then joined Neville on the floor.

Neville pressed the tip of the feather to the parchment like a quill and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Ginny was forced to scrub the entrance hall clean until there was no trace of her graffiti, and students could see their reflection in the polished floor. It took her the better part of three full weeks and her hands were blistered and cracked when she was finished.

Luna spent every night reading out loud from Alecto Carrow’s horrible book, and if she faltered or hesitated in any way, she earned a welt and had to start over. It went on for two weeks.

Neville was left in the dungeons for a week, and did not appear for lessons nor meals. He said nothing about what happened to him, but he flinched when Seamus clapped him on the shoulder at his first meal back.

It wasn’t even an hour later that Susan approached Neville and asked what the revenge plan was. Neville told her to keep her head down until the Halloween feast.

To an outsider, it might have appeared that the Carrows had won. Muggle Studies lessons passed without incident. There were small protests in Dark Arts, but nothing more dramatic than civil disobedience. It was quiet at Hogwarts, until Halloween.

They started small. Seamus and Parvati slipped some of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes Exploding Whizz-Bangs into the eggs at breakfast with a Switching Spell. After the chaos of breakfast, Alecto Carrow promised to hold the entire school for an extra hour of Muggle Studies that evening if no one confessed or gave up the perpetrator.

No one said a word.

Lavender took the leaflets from the Daily Prophet with Harry’s face and the bounty and modified them. Instead of “Undesirable No 1” the leaflet read, “Desirable Chosen 1” which was enough of a change to get their point across. She lamented that Dean could have done better, but the rest of the D.A. praised her work.

The leaflets were blown up to twice their size and pasted into windows all across the castle, with the help of everyone in the D.A. Every common room, from Gryffindor to Slytherin, was plastered with Harry’s face.

By lunch, the Carrows were scorching walls left and right, and Atalanta Shafiq told everyone that the Carrows had accidentally blasted a hole through the Slytherin Common room right into the Black Lake and flooded the dormitories.

Neville’s job was an unfortunate one, but he took it with grace. He waited until lunch was nearly over, then shouted at Crabbe and asked, “I know you said you’re a pureblood, but isn’t there a bit of troll in your tree? Was it on your mother or father’s side?”

Crabbe threw a hex that sent Neville flying five feet backwards and when he got up, he was puking up something slimy. Hannah escorted him to the hospital wing.

Ginny’s role for the day revolved around being as suspicious as possible without getting into real trouble. She ducked through hidden corridors. She paused to fiddle with her bag or her shoes. Luna stayed close with her for most of it, until after Transfiguration, they ducked out of Amycus’ careful watch by slipping into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Demelza was waiting for them. “Ready?” she asked.

Ginny nodded and plucked out a strand of her hair.

Luna left the bathroom with Demelza, but Amycus Carrow saw exactly what he expected to see: Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley heading down to the Halloween feast.

Luna watched Demelza sit next to Helen Donoghue and engage Helen as easily as if she really were Ginny. Amycus stood at the door, eyes intent on Ginny. Luna could not help but smile, despite her trepidation at her own task.

She ate slowly, unsure how full her stomach ought to be. She looked at the professors and bit her tongue when she noticed that Snape was missing. Their plan hinged on Snape being out of his office.

Well, it was too late for them to change course now. Neville was waiting for her in the hospital wing, and Ginny was probably already hiding out by the Headmaster’s office.

Luna took a deep breath, pulled the bright yellow half of a Fainting Fancy from her pocket, and swallowed.

She woke with a headache in a corridor not far from the hospital wing with Neville and Michael Corner leaning over her. She licked her lips and tried to swallow down the spiced pepper flavour that seemed stuck to her tongue. She decided that she didn’t care for the second half of those Fainting Fancies.

“Are you alright?” Michael asked her.

Luna sat up and rubbed her throbbing head. “I fell,” she said.

“I tried to catch you. You should have warned me when you were going to do it.”

“It’s alright,” Neville said.

Luna gagged. His breath smelled like Porlock dung.

“You’d better get back to the feast,” Neville told Michael. “The less time you’re with us, the better it’ll look for you.”

“Are you alright?” Luna asked Neville as Michael hurried back to the Great Hall.

Neville grimaced. “I was hoping for boils. Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be tasting acid for a week, but she was at least able to stop the puking, so we can go ahead with the plan. Everything seems to be going well so far.”

“Oh… there is one thing…”

Luna told him that she had not seen Snape at the feast. Neville checked the map while they walked.

“I don’t see him at all,” Neville frowned. He ran his finger across the Marauder’s Map. “Oh — he’s just arrived at the gates. What do you think he left for?”

“Perhaps he’s joined a league of vampires. Halloween is a special holiday for them.”

“Then I guess we’d better hurry up before he finds us and drinks our blood.” Neville squinted at the map. “You catch up with Ginny. I have an idea. Peeves is just around the corner and if he can stall…”

Neville was still talking as he disappeared behind a tapestry of Mordicus Egg cooking over an open fire. Luna paused to watch the heavy tapestry resettle in Neville’s wake. The threads of the flames seemed alive as they rippled back and forth, until finally the tapestry stilled.

She skipped on ahead to the gargoyle at the end of the corridor. She spun around once in a circle, and did not see Ginny. So she spun again, and this time Ginny stepped out from behind a suit of armor.

“How’s Demelza doing?” Ginny asked.

“She’s very good at being you,” Luna said, then said, “Asphodel,” to the statue. It stepped aside easily and Luna hummed. “I really thought he would have changed it.”

“It’s a good thing he didn’t. Where’s Neville?”

“He said to go on without him.”

Ginny was already halfway up the stairs. “Alohomora,” she said, and the lock on the office door clicked open. She shoved the heavy door with her shoulder.

Ginny ran in for the sword, and Luna listened at the door. While she listened, her eyes roved over the portraits. Their oily eyes were fixed on Ginny as she lifted the Sword of Godric Gryffindor from its display.

“Breaking and entering!” one portrait shouted. “In the Headmaster’s office!”

“Put that sword back, child,” Dilys Derwent said in a kinder voice. “I’m sure you mean well, but —”

“Thievery!” Phineas Nigellus Black shrieked at her. “Unheard of! In my time —”

“Treachery!” one woman with a thick wand shouted.

“You’re the traitors!” Ginny shouted back at them. “Letting Snape in here — helping him — and after what he did to Dumbledore!”

She broke off and stared at Dumbledore’s portrait. It’s gold frame glistened, and the impression of Dumbledore stared back at her, as still and as unmoving as any Muggle portrait.

Luna abandoned her post at the door and came to Ginny’s side. She stared at Dumbledore’s portrait and felt her heart grow heavy, the way it did each time she passed her mother’s office in the basement of their family home.

“Ginny,” she whispered, “we should go. You can’t argue with what’s been done.”

“It isn’t fair.” Ginny turned her fierce glare on all the portraits, then back onto Dumbledore’s still portrait. “You know what the sword is for, what it can do. Tell them.”

The portrait did not so much as blink at her.

“Ginny.” Luna tugged on her arm.

Ginny’s lower lip trembled, and she turned away from Dumbledore’s portrait. Luna pulled her towards the door, but froze on the first step.

Ginny heard it too — footsteps coming up for them.

They backed into the office, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run as Snape and the Carrows burst into the office. Ginny brandished the sword as she might a wand for a duel. Luna did not have time to reach for her wand as Amycus Carrow thrust Neville at her. He fell into her and she staggered under his weight.

“You two,” Alecto Carrow sneered, “are supposed to be in the hospital wing.”

“Oh, but I feel much better,” Luna said. Neville only groaned.

“How’d you find us?” Ginny snapped.

“Hogwarts is a castle filled with portraits, Miss Weasley. I think you can figure out the rest.” Snape waved his wand and Ginny jumped as if the sword had burned her. It clattered to the ground and she clutched her hand to her chest.

“I thought,” Snape drawled, “I asked you two to control these children.”

“We did —” Amycus protested. “We have — she was just in the Hall, I swear.”

“I think a detention in the Forbidden Forest ought to teach them a lesson or two. Every night for the next week. From sundown to midnight.”

Luna tipped her head to one side. “But —”

Ginny squeezed her wrist and she stopped talking.

But that meant they would be with Hagrid instead of at Muggle Studies lessons. She wondered if Snape just didn’t realise when Muggle Studies lessons were. Did he think they were during normal lesson hours?

“And what if they try it again?” the Carrows asked.

Snape removed his cloak and pulled out a smudged piece of parchment from his pocket. “I expect you’ll prevent them from trying again.” He glanced at the sword on the floor. “I’ll have it removed from Hogwarts, then this will no longer be a problem.”

As he tucked the parchment into a book on his desk, Luna was certain that the smudge of ink was actually a small black pawprint. She supposed if Snape was a vampire, he must have a familiar by now.

Snape took a seat at his desk and surveyed the small crowd in his office. “Well? Is there a reason you’re all still here?”

The Carrows shoved Ginny towards the door, and Luna helped Neville limp down the stairs.

“Yes, I know,” she heard Snape say as the door closed. “I can have a duplicate ready in days.”

And as the latch on the door clicked, Luna thought that she heard the familiar rumble of Dumbledore’s voice.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

It was midnight, but no one was keen on heading back to the castle just yet. Ginny sat down in the grass and leaned against one of the trees on the edge of the forest, still in view of Hagrid’s hut, but away from where Neville was helping Hagrid pick Moondew for Madam Rosmerta’s Butterbeer.

Luna crouched down beside her.

“Do you think the Carrows will come and collect us?” Ginny asked. “Or could we stay out here all night?”

Luna ran her hand over the trunk of the tree. She loved the transition from the soft moss to the rough bark and back again.

“It’s just so empty in the common room,” Ginny said. “Is it like that in Ravenclaw?”

Luna crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. She thought for a moment. “A bit. Terry Boot never came back. Mandy checks for his name in the paper every day. Anthony Goldstein wasn’t a Muggle-born, but his family left for Canada after Dumbledore’s funeral, and they don’t plan to come back any time soon.” She plucked a small dandelion flower from the grass by her knee. “I expect it’s worst in Hufflepuff.”

Ginny folded her arms over her chest and looked up at the stars over Hagrid’s hut. “I miss him, Luna. I miss him so much, but when we talk it’s like he isn’t there. And I — I know you probably don’t want to hear it — I’m sorry — but I don’t know that I have anyone else —”

Luna reached for another dandelion and folded the stems into the beginning of a flower chain. “I will never take half of you,” Luna said, “and I don’t believe that you are one to give halves.”

Ginny’s laugh was sad. It made Luna’s chest ache. She leaned against Ginny and continued working on her flower chain.

They sat in silence, until nearly two, when Hagrid insisted they return to their bunks.

“I’ll walk yeh ter the castle,” he said, “but don’ let Filch catch you on your way up.”

Neville waved the map. “We’ll be alright. As long as any portraits don’t get involved.”

Luna tied off the flower chain into a crown and stood. She spun in a circle and dropped the circlet on Ginny’s head. “Up we go,” she said, holding her hand out to Ginny.

Ginny took it. “Thanks, Luna.”

Luna smiled. She pulled Ginny along and hurried to catch up with Neville. She took his hand as well.

Luna hated Hogwarts, and she had no desire to go back behind those high stone walls, but at least she did not have to go alone. At least she could go with friends.

#luna lovegood #hp fic #hp everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #harry potter #hp #dh

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raffinit · 4 years ago

Note

for ur sylvaina prompt ask if ur still doing it: as a sign of good faith during peace negotiations, jaina invents a few spells (w/ her brother as a willing test subject) for sylvanas and the forsaken. spells to help improve taste, for example. little things to help an undead get through the day a little easier, things that only the forsaken or those who lived with them would know about. basically jaina helps with forsaken accessibility and sylvanas not knowing what to do with that

thank you to everyone who bought me ko-fis

bc of you i can actually put a read more cut on this with my VERY OWN COMPUTER SOBS

back to regular updates soon i promise, i just have all these beautiful prompts

-------

It began, like most things, curiously. Or rather — with curiosity. It was a trait of hers that drew mixed results at times; more in her vibrant youth than in her middle age. Her mother once told her that she had enough curiosity to kill ten cats, and Jaina had worn it then with pride.

She learned, with time, to contain her curiosities. To apply them scientifically; because science allowed for more curiosity than she knew what to do with. Science was her excuse for setting the curtains on fire when she was nine.

Science was her excuse for portalling abruptly into the war room and landing on the table during a council meeting.

Science was why she stared so intently at Sylvanas Windrunner.

Or perhaps, more accurately — it was purely curiosity at that point. The Banshee Queen was an unreadable figure, an inscrutable force that left Jaina all but reeling with each passing day the Horde and Alliance drew closer and closer to sealing a peace treaty.

She never thought she'd live to see the day.

What she still couldn't quite put her finger on was — ironically — Sylvanas.

The Warchief did many things that were incomprehensible for one reason or another. But to Raise Derek — what could Sylvanas have possibly gained, short of perhaps tormenting them with the knowledge that she simply could?

Her reunion with Derek had been a tearful one; rife with things that neither of them could fully comprehend. Clutching her brother close, clinging to him tight, she caught the figure of the Warchief in her periphery; caught the strange melancholy on Sylvanas' face.

It was there for only an instant. Sylvanas' ear flicked, then her burning eyes flashed to meet Jaina's.

Jaina blinked and the Warchief was gone.

Reconnecting with her brother came in stages. Baby steps. They had become vastly different people — too changed to reminisce without sorrow in its wake.

Still, beneath it all, beneath his Undeath — Derek was still Derek.

Derek, who teased her fondly about all that he could. He who boldly tested the limitations of his Undead form in ways that brought back memories of a childhood spent clambering over tree branches and diving off cliffs.

"What does it feel like?" she asked one day, when her curiosity became too much.

Derek paused, lifting his head to stare off into the horizon. “It feels like…living behind a curtain, honestly,” he confessed. “I feel present…but my presence feels…” he shrugged. “Muted, almost. As if I exist on only a fragment of this plane. I’m stronger than I ever was; I can do things I couldn’t even imagine.”

Jaina ducked her head to meet his eyes encouragingly. It was still unsettling, in some way, to look into her brother’s face and see the burning unnatural shade of his gaze. “But…?”

“But I do miss it,” he sighed, a wistful look on his face. “Eating, drinking. Sleeping. I’m never tired, but sleeping’s never just been about being tired, has it? I’d like the privilege of choosing whether or not I want to rest.”

Jaina felt that deeply.

She blinked then, head tilting curiously. “Do you not taste things anymore? I’ve read some things about that, but I thought Forsaken could eat. And sleep. There were inns in the Undercity.”

“I understand about as much as you. Perhaps even less so,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. He gave her a soft, self-deprecating little smile. “But here I am, lamenting the things I’ve lost when I should be grateful to even be here to begin with.”

She smiled at him faintly, though her mind was already reeling with thought. With the myriad of ways that she could — that she should — help.

“…what if you could do those things again?” she asked.

Derek paused and turned to stare at her curiously. Whatever it was that he saw there on her face made a knowing smile spread across his lips. “I know that look,” he said. “That’s a science look.”

Jaina smiled slowly. “Are you up for an experiment?”

“Always,” he said gamely. “Anything for science.”

-----

They tried spells first. Little experiments of magic that Jaina imbued her brother with in slow, gentle touches. The Light burned, but too much arcane made Derek sway like a sailor drowning in his cups. Some spells rekindled too much of Derek’s living form; made him inescapably aware of the damage his body had borne.

The agony on her brother’s face made for many sleepless nights and haunted dreams.

“This one makes everything smell,” he said one today.

Jaina brightened hopefully. “Good smells?”

“Like eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Farty eggs. Like kippers in the morning.”

Jaina huffed and waved her hands briskly to recall the spell. “Maybe a potion instead.”

It took her another few weeks to pull together a functioning elixir. Nights spent hunched over her desk, sleeping with her cheek pressed to page after page of notes from ancient tomes and books helpfully “borrowed” from the vast library of Stormwind City.

Derek watched her some days, peering over her shoulder like a curious child at the window of a bakery. She indulged him as much as her patience would allow; until eventually his persistent questions and hovering made her all too aware of the cramped space of her temporary rooms in the Keep.

“How about you sit,” she said, jerking her chin at the plush armchair by the fireplace. “Tell me about what it’s been like since you’ve...Risen.”

Derek peered at her wordlessly but obliged, settling himself comfortably into the armchair. “What exactly do you want to know?”

Jaina shrugged. “Anything, I suppose. Everything? The Forsaken are an enigma to us. The Warchief most of all.”

“I don’t have anything to report,” he drawled. “She never spoke of plans to double-cross the Alliance, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I just meant as a person,” she replied in exasperation. “What was the Warchief like...up close?”

Derek blinked and sat back into the armchair, staring for a few thoughtful moments into the fireplace. At length, he said, “She’s a lot kinder than you would think. When I first...Awoke...she was there. She wouldn’t leave me until she was sure I could manage it on my own.”

“Manage what?”

“Existing, I suppose.” He twisted around in the armchair and peered at her over the back. “Did you know; she said I led her to my body?”

Jaina blinked. “What?”

“My soul, that is. She said she could hear it. She could hear all of us.” Derek’s voice softened with thought, and something like pity. “All of the souls lost at sea. The ones who never made peace with it. The ones who refused to rest.”

Incredulous, she asked, “She can do that?”

Derek nodded sagely. “So it seems.”

“Hmm.”

Eventually, she held out a vial of something that looked like it was made of something between the aether and sewage water. “Here.”

He took it in hand, tilting the vial this way and that and swirling it gently. “Couldn’t it have looked like a pint of mead or something? Why do all potions have to look like bog water?”

“Derek.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed, bringing the vial to his lips —

“Just a sip, first,” she warned, eyes wide with apprehension. “Hold it on your tongue for a moment and let it coat your mouth before you swallow.”

He complied with a slight nod and Jaina watched as Derek’s jaw moved in a slow flex; as if he were considering a particular vintage of port. His glowing eyes blinked in surprise and he pulled the vial away to stare down at it thoughtfully. “Doesn’t taste as awful as it looks.”

Jaina’s eyes lit up eagerly. “So you can taste?”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, then winced hard. “Yes,” he croaked, glaring down at the vial in betrayal. “Farty eggs and kippers.” He stuck out his tongue and tried to scrape the taste off it with his teeth.

“Are you sure you’re not just confused with the smell of the sea?”

He gave her an exasperated look and corked the vial. “I think I’d know what the sea smells like.”

Jaina sighed, reaching up to run a hand through the already-tousled mess of her hair. “Back to the drawing board.”

Their success plateaued for a time; there was nothing more that Jaina could do that yielded any further result, and the frustration was building. She took to wandering the stress of Stormwind, watching the Forsaken as they bustled about. They were wary still — all of them, but the Forsaken moved with darting glances over their shoulders and the reflexive flinch of beings long-accustomed to violence.

Some mornings, she dared to test her tongue at Gutterspeak; pulling what little Derek had managed to teach her. They stared at her at first, eyeing her with open distrust and hostility that made her wonder if the words her brother had taught her weren’t inflammatory somehow.

Still, she persevered, walking among the Horde by herself when she could. Most meetings between the Alliance and Horde ran long, and there were some evenings when she would catch the glimpse of rich purple and feathered armour around the bend when she walked.

Sometimes, she would catch the Warchief’s eye as she passed. Sylvanas’ eyes gleamed at her brightly, watching as a cat would at a passing flicker of light before nodding once in greeting.

For how distant she was from the Banshee Queen, Derek seemed to have no qualms with approaching Sylvanas.

At times, she saw them talking — in quiet asides that halted abruptly the moment any other individual came within earshot, and it prodded at Jaina’s curiosity once more.

“I never thought I’d see you so friendly with the Warchief,” she remarked one day.

Derek shrugged. “She brought me back. For whatever reason. And despite what anyone might think...she...cares.”

“Cares?”

“Ask her yourself,” he replied, nudging her in the shoulder.

She didn’t, only kept her efforts of mingling with the Forsaken. Most were wary of her still, barely acknowledging her words or pointedly ignoring them.

Then one day, a Forsaken replied. His words were guttural and harsh in tone, but the words were almost...friendly. “Good morning. You must use your throat more.”

Jaina obliged readily and welcomed any and all criticism that came. Some were malicious and stung, but a majority of those who engaged her seemed...bewildered at her willingness to learn. “Haven’t others tried to learn Gutterspeak?” she asked.

The Forsaken shook his head. “Gutterspeak is beneath the Alliance, isn’t it? ‘Tis the language of us Forsaken.”

Pursing her lips, Jaina said, “All peoples should have a right to their own language.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, eyeing her with something less than hate.

Though most were wary but polite, not all members of the Horde were as accommodating. She dared to approach a warlock troll one day, blinking in surprise when he curled his lip and sneered at her.

“Why would I be sharin’ de secrets of da Horde wit’ ya?”

“Because I want to understand more about your people,” she replied staunchly. “I’m only trying to help —”

He barked out a laugh, the sound calling the attention of the nearby folk. Orc and goblin and trolls watched on, murmuring among themselves as Jaina fought back the embarrassment building in her belly.

“Leave her alone, Zaejin,” an orc said. “You’re not stupid enough to challenge the Lord Admiral.”

“Mebbe it be time someone did,” Zaejin growled back. In his hands, a dark, swirling ball of energy formed.

Jaina backed slowly away from them, smothering the prickle of arcane itching at her fingertips as more of the Horde began to gather. Something solid and cold bumped against her back and she helped softly, spinning around in alarm —

“Lady Proudmoore.”

She stiffened, staring up at burning red eyes.

Sylvanas peered down into her face impassively. A hand reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her in place. Those blazing eyes flashed back to the crowd.

Before Jaina could speak — to explain, or perhaps protest — Sylvanas insinuated herself between them, all but looming over the warlock. “Have you any qualms with the Lord Admiral that I have not heard, Zaejin?”

The gathered Horde froze, darting nervous looks between them as they shuffled back. Zaejin bowed at the hip, refusing to lift his gaze from the ground. “Warchief. How are we ta trust de Lord Admiral’s intentions —”

“Has she given you cause for concern?” Sylvanas drawled. “Has she trod on your toes? Planned a military coup to usurp power while we are in peace talks with the Alliance?”

“Who knows with de likes o’ her,” Zaejin grumbled, casting a resentful look at Jaina.

“Then this peace treaty is a waste of time,” Sylvanas said. “If you’d like us to return to war, only say so, Zaejin. I shall leave the Lord Admiral to deal with your insubordination herself.”

At last, Jaina found her voice. “It’s alright,” she croaked, darting a slightly bewildered look between Sylvanas and Zaejin. “It’s understandable that he would be...wary still. There is too much between our factions to expect everyone to be content with peace talks.”

Sylvanas’ ear flicked, her burning eyes flashing with amusement as she inclined her head. “That much is true. Regardless.” She reached out and laid a hand on Jaina’s shoulder, squeezing just so to leave the woman gaping wordlessly at her grip. Setting her eyes to the crowd, she said, “Let it be known; so long as we remain in Stormwind, the Lord Admiral is free to walk among the Horde with my blessing.”

A rich plume of power began to bleed from her shoulders effortlessly and Jaina fought back a shiver at the raw strength of it. “Have you any protests, warlock?”

Zaejin said nothing further, only glared. Boldly, Jaina reached out and touched Sylvanas’ elbow, casting a speaking look up at the Banshee Queen. “I think your point’s been made, Warchief. Let us do as you say and lay our animosities to rest.”

Wordlessly, and strangely, Sylvanas complied. “I shall escort you to your quarters, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina blinked. It didn’t exactly sound like an offer so much as a command, but she quelled the instinct to bristle and nodded mutely.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, when they were a fair distance away. “That was...unnecessary, but thank you.”

Sylvanas inclined her head; the weight of her hand lingered at the small of Jaina’s back. “If these peace talks are to bear fruit, we can’t have the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras assaulted in the streets. And we can’t have you levelling half the street in retaliation.” Her eyes slid sidelong knowingly.

Jaina huffed. “I could have managed with a little more tact than that.”

“I have no doubt,” Sylvanas said. They walked on for a time in a stilted sort of silence, until the Warchief folded her arms behind her back and remarked idly, “How have your experiments been going?”

Jaina paused in her step and stared.

Shrugging, Sylvanas said, “Derek likes to talk.” It was strange to hear her brother’s name on such a foreign tongue. “I understand the desire to...process the state your brother returned to you in. Not many of the living had such a kind reception to their Undead loved ones.”

“...He told me you gave him the choice to come back. Despite everything.” Jaina’s gaze was hard and searching, but not unkind.

Sylvanas’ ears swivelled and flicked, but there was nothing in her face that gave away the Warchief’s thoughts. She shrugged. “...I do not Raise those who do not wish to be raised. Not without purpose."

“And what was your purpose here?”

Sylvanas peered at her thoughtfully before turning back forward. “I did not Raise him with the intention of misusing him. I know the stories the Alliance tells about my powers. My goals and aims.”

Her burning eyes slid sidelong to Jaina for a moment. Quietly, she said, “I will not lie and say that the possibility never crossed my mind. But the Forsaken have never been mine to use. They are my kin, not my servants.”

The weight of Sylvanas’ words stunned Jaina; brought every story about the Dark Lady and her relationship with the Forsaken into question. Many thought her a tyrant — and she was, in many ways — but this was not one of them, it seemed.

Jaina ducked her head almost in shame before nodding once, meeting Sylvanas’ gaze steadily. “I believe you.”

Sylvanas made a noise in her throat, tilting her head curiously at Jaina. “...Does he regret it? Some do.”

“No,” Jaina replied, and the honesty of her response surprised even herself. “I don’t think he does. I think he’s...trying to adjust. And I want to help.”

Sylvanas nodded slowly. “Do let me know, should you require another test subject. I would be curious to see what you could achieve,” she said.

“Wh—?”

“If you require information from the High Necromancer, I shall provide it,” Sylvanas continued, pausing as they reached the tower. Glancing up at the spire, she turned to Jaina. “It is my duty as their leader, is it not? To ease their burdens. I would like to help, if I can.”

Jaina blinked rapidly, then found herself nodding. It was the only thing she could think to do. “Y-yes, alright — I — thank you??”

A slow, curling smile spread across Sylvanas’ face. “You’re welcome. Until another time, Lady Proudmoore.”

#this got away from me YET AGAIN #anon #ask #fic drabble #sylvaina #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #derek proudmoore #magic and vague lore things #can sylvanas really hear all the souls? who knows #i say she can #it's weird typing on my laptop again sobs #why are the keys so soft now #Anonymous

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justjessame · 3 years ago

Text

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Light ~ 7

While I soaked in the warm water of my chamomile and lavender scented bath, I puzzled out what Loki was alluding to with his mentioning Thor and I during meals. Now that my hair was loose and my scalp was no longer being tortured by the tight braids - and my body was no longer constricted by my gown - I felt more capable of the challenge.

Meals were gregarious when Thor was present - loud and a near feast, even when there was no real reason for celebration - that was just how he was, boisterous. He knew everyone’s name and used those names when he spoke to people. When I first arrived, he zeroed in on my quietness and sought to bring me out of it - usually during meals since that was the only time we were in the same place. Like a sibling, of which I had none, he taunted and teased. At most he hugged me, or put his arm around my shoulders -

“Lady Sigyn,” he’d roar, in his bearish way, “come have a drink with us and tell us how the witchery goes!” I’d roll my eyes, shrug off his arm and beg off from the drink, smiling and laughing at his attempts.

Being cruel to Thor would be like kicking a wolfhound. It wasn’t his fault he was huge and playful - he just WAS. “Thank you for the offer,” I’d murmur, a blush on my face because his voice would carry and draw attention to us. “I think your mother is calling for me,” and I’d go off to Frigga’s side, happy to sit quietly and have my meal before retiring to my rooms - before stealing away to the gardens.

I’d simply seen his invitations as those of a thoughtful brother by proxy. He wanted to include me, he didn’t yank me onto his lap like I’d heard stories told of the wenches and the Warriors Three. Instead he just wanted to make certain I felt welcome, in his own way.

Apparently Loki saw it through a slightly different view. I tried to understand it, but I couldn’t. Jealousy would be my first thought, but that would be ridiculous. Why would Loki be jealous?

After my bath I put on the green nightshift, I considered my choices - reading in the window seat or a walk with my new guard through the gardens. My book lay where he’d set it after he snapped it shut, and I was curious if he’d simply picked up where I’d left off - after all he hadn’t turned the pages while I’d watched him - or if he started fresh? As if he’d spelled it, I had to see - and as I grew closer I was enveloped in the scent of him - apples, jasmine, leather, sandalwood, and that subtle hint of galbanum. Swallowing past the dryness in my mouth, my fingers closed around the leatherbound volume I’d left and he’d picked up - it was warm, as if he’d just left - I let it fall open in my hands, where my ribbon still held my spot and it was if it also bookmarked HIM. I held it up to my face and if the cushion and my reading nook held his scent heavy - the book was a portable version.

I took the book to my bed, my choice made for me. Crawling in and propping myself up against the headboard with my pillows, I started where I left off - letting the fragrance surround me much like my hiding spot in the gardens would. I read until my eyes grew heavy, marking my spot and putting the book carefully beside me on the bed, and sleep came easily - far easier than it had since I’d arrived at ten years old.

I felt far better when morning dawned. A good night’s sleep will do that for a person - at least until they sit up and find that they aren’t alone.

I sighed, there he lounged in my window seat, but at least he brought his own book this time. “Good morning, Loki,” I thought if I greeted him, perhaps he’d take the not so subtle tone of aggravation in my voice and leave - so I could get out of bed without him seeing me in the nightshift he’d chosen.

“I think I prefer it when you address me as your prince,” his eyes stayed on his book, but he sounded amused. “You look far more rested today, Lady Sigyn.”

I propped my pillows up and sat against my headboard, settling in for a visit. “I feel more rested,” I agreed. “Your mother will be expecting me.” I reminded him.

“No,” he shook his head, turning the page of his book. “You and I are spending the day together.” My eyebrow rose at the change in my routine without notice. “I told you, we should get to know one another AND you are ill prepared for another realm without -”

“Yes, you wish to teach me SOMETHING,” interrupting him caused his head to raise from his tome. “You never quite got around to what precisely it is that I’ll be learning from your capable tutelage.” I may have come off sharper than he thought appropriate, since his eyes were narrowing again. “Are you going to illuminate me, MY PRINCE?”

Lips fighting to choose whether he wanted to smirk, smile, or - “You play with fire, Lady Sigyn.”

“Do I?” Studying him, I wondered if he was all that hot? “You seem rather cool, MY PRINCE.”

Letting out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, his flashing gaze met mine. “You wore the green, I see.”

“I was told it brought out the color of my eyes.” I countered. “I never learned what the blue did - not completely anyway.”

His gaze flickered to my hair, loose around my shoulders. “As if it were kissed by fire,” he murmured, and my breath caught. “Your hair -” his eyes locked on mine again. “When we’re in Midgard, you should wear it up.” I nodded. “It could be a cumbrance, get caught on things, or be used to hold onto you - you haven’t my aptitude for -”

“Quite,” I knew what he meant. I couldn’t just vanish at will. “So I’ll wear my hair up and out of the way.” And so we began our day with Loki telling me how to dress and appear for my first voyage out of Asgard.

“You have to leave,” Loki had discussed everything from my hair to my shoes - I was hungry and I wanted to change for the day. He was still lounging in the window, and raised an eyebrow at my tone. “Loki, I would like to break our fast, and I’d like to change my clothes - at least one of those would require you to leave my rooms.”

He sat and studied me. “You do understand that while we’re in Midgard I will not let you out of my sight.” I stared at him. “Not for a single moment.”

My mouth had dropped open - not a moment alone? “Not even when I’m -” there are certain moments that EVERYONE needs to do on their own. “My prince, surely you know that you cannot follow me EVERYWHERE.”

“Mother insists, Lady Sigyn.” The smile that formed on his lips was pleasant, yet also challenging. Daring me to force the issue, to press back, to argue - to throw another tantrum.

A challenge was it? A dare? Fine. Chin up, shoulders back, I slid out of my bed. Bare feet touching the floor and my moss green shift sliding down my length, I let my loose hair settle down my back. “Fine,” I maintained eye contact. “If Frigga INSISTS, then I suppose you SHOULD learn what I go through to get ready every morning.”

While he acted as my captive audience - I once again chose a gown - this time one of my day and public ones, far more restrictive and constrictive. I also had to choose my undergarments, my shoes, and I had to work literal magic on my hair. Which I did - SLOWLY.

“You said when on Midgard my hair should go up?” I asked, still standing in my nightshift. He nodded. Taking a deep breath, I contemplated all the ways that my hair could go up without it looking ridiculous. And as he watched, up it went. “How’s this?” I turned around and looked over my shoulder at him. “Does this pass your standards, my prince?”

A curt nod and I moved on. He’d dared me - challenged me with the idea that Frigga expected us to never be apart for a moment during our time on Midgard - and so, with my back still turned I let my nightshift drop from my shoulders and pool around my feet. Without looking at him I dressed, skin out, down to my shoes.

“There,” when I finished I faced him. “Does that meet your approval, Loki?”

“I think that’ll do, Lady Sigyn.” His gaze was on mine, and I felt that I might have surprised him for once. “Let’s have something to eat and then -”

“Yes?” I wanted to know what my day would look like, since my routine was broken.

His smile returned. “Then, my lady, your new studies begin.”

“Which are?” But he didn’t answer, instead standing and offering me his arm. His scent - apples, jasmine, leather, sandalwood, and of course, galbanum wrapped around me like a cloak - and I was surprised when he matched his pace to my far shorter stride.

“You’ll see,” was all the answer I received, that and a smirk.

#loki x sigyn #loki #loki series #sigyn #alternate universe #slow burn #eventual smut #bear with me

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aaetherius · 4 years ago

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@shymaidxn

♝ (Diantha sees Lucifer looking at the journals she has for the Xolotl book she's been writing, so she goes over all the stories she's heard throughout the different islands, partially just to excitedly show off.)

Acts of intimacy || Accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☼ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

A thin veil of steam wafts up from the warm cup of coffee settled upon the table in front of him, and warms his skin against the frigid air nipping at the hull of the ship. The scent of freshly roasted coffee beans with a hint of vanilla slipping in fills the kitchen, and he inhales softly against its welcomed heat. Fingers wrap delicately about the smooth porcelain of his cup - handling it with more care than is likely needed, but he has shattered a fair few with somewhat clumsy wings since his revival, and though he is always forgiven, he would prefer not to make too much of a habit of it. The drink is still burning hot when he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, and nearly singes his throat on the way down, but he’s always been one to drink his coffee as bitter and biting as possible when he makes it for himself - as close to his original creation as he could get. Though, he’s taken a liking to the various blends and styles mortals have come up with since, and occasionally indulges on them as well. Handle balanced upon his index, middle finger, and thumb, he glances around the steam at the small, but neat pile of books and journals sat in front of him. He’s always made a habit of reading whatever he could - even going through Lucilius’s impressive collection of tomes at least half a dozen times over thousands of years ago. But he finds himself thumbing through texts even more often now that he has more time to invest in them, and millennia-worth of information to study up on. From the girl in blue’s journals she often lent him to the flyers handed out from the various islands they’ve visited to research papers dating back centuries to absurd romcoms lent by various members of the crew, and everything between - he could often be found with his eyes trained on the page of a book.

Much had changed since he had last interacted with mortals, and if he wished to live amongst them while encouraging the remaining Primarchs to do the same, he wished to have a better grasp of their customs and culture. Yet, despite all of his reading they proved a constant source of surprise for him. In the short time since he had been welcomed into the crew, he had learned more about them than the centuries he had spent brushing up on their legends and beliefs in the hallow, but lonely walls of Canaan. And he was ever eager to learn more. To listen in on the conversations that took place around him and see how the various islands had changed or come to be. Though he largely kept to himself and rarely sought others out so as to not become a burden to them, he knew quite a bit about the more talkative members of the crew or the ones who were most often present simply from overhearing their conversations or reading about their adventures in the colorful journals he had been entrusted with. And he intended to pass today in much the same manner, studying the books he had been lent while enjoying a few cups of coffee in the quiet of the kitchen during the off hours between when the crew normally ate - resisting the urge to slip into the cafe to try to help Sandalphon run it, at least until he has a slightly better grasp on his new body so he doesn’t add to the damage that’s already been done.

So free hand reaches out to grab the first piece upon the pile - a journal whose cover he opens carefully as if it were something precious, though he tilts his head ever so slightly upon being greeted by the neat handwriting and tale contained within. It’s not one of Lyria’s - hers are always filled with colorful drawings, and her penmanship isn’t nearly as refined. Truthfully, he can’t recall who had given him this one, or where he might have picked it up - perhaps it had gotten mixed up with his budding collection by mistake. Brows furrow slightly in thought, but he finds himself drawn in by the contents of the notebook. ‘Ti Icniuhtli Xolotl’ - he has heard that phrase before, centuries ago, though his knowledge of the Primal Beasts that came well after him was limited at best thanks to the time he had spent largely isolated and in complete solitude as he watched over the ever evolving skies. It pushes him to read on until the sound of footsteps upon the wooden floorboards of the ship draws his attention away from the text - the sound of voices mingling, and he can just barely make out the conversation beyond the door - someone searching for a misplaced journal, and ah - a young woman enters the kitchen just as he’s rising to return the book to its rightful owner.

“Forgive me, it seems I somehow came into possession of your work, and I must confess that I found myself reading through it. From what I have read, it is a wonderful tale. If it at all possible, I would like to hear more of it.” He draws the cover shut, gingerly running his fingers across the soft leather as he offers it back to her. But, to his surprise she chooses to humor him instead. A soft smile quickly blooms upon his lips as he sets the journal down once more to listen to her with his undivided attention as she flips through the pages and excitedly begins to recount her story to him, and the information she’s been able to gather since. About the loyal canine turned Primal Beast who had felt terribly lonely after his dear friend had rejected him upon his return - the tale making an ache settle in his newly formed core, but it lessens the more she speaks of him and of the island. How they had accepted the Primal as a companion through the use of song, though the meaning of those words and that tradition had been lost with time until fairly recently. His attention never wanes - her excitement is contagious, and he is ever eager to learn. By the time she’s reached a point where she’s able to pause for a breath, his coffee has gone ice cold and been forgotten about entirely, having set it down some time ago without noticing. “It seems I still have much to learn, and I would be more than eager to hear the rest if you wish to continue, but you have my gratitude for sharing what you have with me thus far - it is a truly fascinating story. This is for a book you are working on? If you are ever in need of someone to review what you have, I would be more than willing to continue reading.”

#shymaidxn #| ☩ Cradled within the gentle breeze ☩ (ask) |#| ☩ And once again the sky rises; sincere and melancholic ☩ (IC) |#| ☩ A faint dusting after sunset ☩ (verse: AU - Post) |#{ Thank you for sending this! }#{ Ahhh precious! }#{ Let her show off!! }

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beauregardlionett · 4 years ago

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Queens of Queens - Ch. 4

AO3 Link

Stifling what felt like the hundredth yawn since waking up just an hour ago, Beau trudged her way up the stairs of her university’s campus library. Her footsteps echoed heavily in the empty stairwell, and Beau tried not to wince as the reverberations assaulted her overtired senses. She hated to admit that Amber was right when she said Beau worked too much, so Beau shook herself and pushed the doors open to one of the quieter floors. The library had seven floors, and the higher one went, the quieter it was—both by circumstance and unwritten campus rules. Floor five was Beau’s favorite, and there was a secluded corner near a window she had dubbed as her official unofficial spot.

As she began winding through the mazes of shelves, Beau breathed in the musty smell of pages and wood and dirtier than it seemed carpet. Something coiled unwound in her chest and she sighed. Beau truly hated studying for her major, but there was something about the library that brought her a much-needed sense of peace.

Rounding the corner, looking forward to curling up in her corner, Beau came to an abrupt halt.

Someone was already there. And Beau really did not harbor the patience to deal with this today.

“Hey,” she said, snapping a little more than she meant to. “You’re in my spot, dude.”

The guy looked up, his eye bags impressive even to Beau, and narrowed his eyes her way. It took her a moment to place his face. But Beau recognized him as the guy who had been sitting in the corner of Molly’s bar a week and a half ago with his nose in a book for hours. He hadn’t seen her then though, as far as Beau knew, so she kept that revelation to herself. They stared each other down, both with narrowed eyes and no small degree of obvious displeasure at the interruption to respective routines.

“I was…unaware this spot was claimed,” the guy murmured after a few moments, appearing not to care about Beau’s annoyance. His accent tripped thickly through his syllables, and Beau’s natural curiosity distracted her momentarily. But she shoved it down and crossed her arms over her chest, jutting one hip sideways to appear more intimidating.

“Well, it is. So I’d appreciate it if I could have my spot back. I’ve got a massive paper to work on today.”

“As do I,” the guy countered back.

Beau huffed, figuring out rather quickly that she was more than likely going to lose this battle. Or at the very least, not gain any ground. With a huff, she looked around and spotted a chair near similar to the one already here. Beau figured that was good enough. Walking over to it, she dragged the chair across the floor and planted herself in it across from the guy. As she unpacked her bag, she noticed his eye twitch with displeasure, but he said nothing.

Smirking as she unearthed her laptop from her bag, Beau counted it as a win.

Pulling up the document for her paper killed that feeling. With a disgruntled twist of her lips, Beau settled a little more into her seat and scanned over her outline. She had already done most of the research she needed on stocks and their effect on entrepreneurial pursuits. The outline was all but complete after weeks of work. Now she just needed to flesh it out—make it sound like a paper and less like her sleep-deprived three in the morning ramblings.

She hated it, but she got to work. Beau tossed her one leg over the armrest of the chair, tucked the other under her, and balanced her laptop precariously on her lap. Now that she had made herself more comfortable, she began typing.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed before her workflow got interrupted. The guy across from her had been stretching, his arm knocking over the haphazard pile of books beside him. The tomes went tumbling noisily to the floor, drawing a quiet, panicked curse from him. Marking his page and setting aside the book he had been reading, the guy crouched to assess the damage and re-stack the books. Beau chuckled quietly at first. But then she set aside her laptop and crouched down with a groan to help—more out of nosiness than anything else.

The first book she picked up had a title in a language she couldn’t read. The second one was about the history of their world and cultures, nearly as thick as the biology textbook Beau used her freshman year. She looked up to hand the books off and found him already staring at her, his blue eyes intense and guarded.

Beau wanted to pick him apart. He had been at the bar; he was here too, and every instinct was yelling at her to find out everything she could. If he was going to frequent her haunts, she needed to know if he was worth her attention.

As she held out the books to him, Beau made a vague gesture in the form of jerking her head toward the stairs.

“Want to get a coffee? I need a break and it looks like you do, too.”

The man hesitated, and Beau made a mental note about his reservations and suspicion of her. But after a few seconds, she got a nod.

Shoving to her feet with grace, Beau saved her half finished document and tucked her things into her bag. It was between hours, which meant that not only would the line in the coffee shop likely be shorter, but their stuff would probably remain undisturbed. Swiping up her wallet, Beau shoved her hands into her pockets and waited for the guy to finish fussing over his things.

They took the stairs in silence, and it was only once they were halfway down that Beau spoke up.

“I’m Beau.”

“Caleb,” he offered in that quiet voice, casting her a sideways look.

“I’ve never seen you around campus before,” Beau said when they descended yet another flight of stairs in silence. “You new or somethin’?”

“Ah…no,” Caleb muttered, pushing open the door to the floor that had the coffee shop. Beau ducked out after him, trying to needle him into more than monosyllabic answers.

“What are you studying? Like, what’s your major?”

“Library studies,” Caleb said almost immediately, eyes lighting up as he spared Beau a glance. Bingo. “I would like to work in a research library some day, like the one in the capital.”

Beau nodded, refraining from wincing or rolling her eyes. “That’s cool, man.”

They continued on in silence from there, standing in the short line at the shop, ordering their drinks, and then waiting off on the side. It was only as they stood there, Beau fiddling absently with the zipper on her wallet, that Caleb spoke up again.

“What uh…” Beau looked his way, raising an eyebrow at him. “What are you studying?”

She was getting the sense that this guy was just as bad at talking to people as Beau was. Passing conversation and business talks were easy enough, but when it came to small talk—personal connections—Beau fumbled. Caleb seemed to do the same.

“Business,” Beau said with a weary sigh. At Caleb’s strange look, Beau shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. “Family trade.”

“You did not choose business?”

“Not willingly,” Beau muttered, scuffing her foot against the tile. “But it’s fine.”

“What uh…” Caleb hesitated again, and Beau let him. “What would you be studying if you got to pick?”

Huffing a laugh as she rubbed a hand against her neck, Beau shook her head with a shrug. “See, that’s the stupidity of it all. I don’t know.”

The barista called Beau’s name as they slid a cup onto the counter, and Caleb’s cup appeared beside her own as she approached. Beau swiped both of them up, turning to hold out Caleb’s drink to him. He took the drink with a silent nod of thanks, and they began their trip back up to their floor.

“No one has ever asked me what I wanted to study before,” Beau said, running a finger along the underside of her lid. “So I never thought about it.”

“Well,” Caleb said, sounding contemplative as he cradled his steaming cup in both hands. “There’s still time to change.”

Beau mulled over his words as they pushed the doors open to the fifth floor, the studious silence soothing something frazzled in Beau’s stomach. They wove their way through the stacks, eventually finding their sheltered corner once again, and taking up their respective chairs. Before they settled too deeply, and Beau could get lost in either her paper or Caleb’s suggestion, she reached out and tapped the cover of the foreign book.

“What language is this? I’ve never seen it.”

“Zemnian,” Caleb murmured after a moment, something flickering in his eyes. “It’s an old language from up north. Few still speak it.”

“Huh,” Beau picked up the book and leafed through a few pages, skimming the strange words curiously. “Would you teach me?”

When Caleb didn’t answer her right away, Beau looked up from the book to find him studying her. She couldn’t figure out if that light in his eyes was suspicion or excitement. But when she cocked a pierced eyebrow his way, he nodded.

“If you would like, I can.”

Beau snapped the book shut with a grin and set it back on the precarious pile between them.

“Great,” Beau said as she dug out her laptop to continue her paper. “Thanks.”

They settled into their papers, Beau’s fingers clicking away at the keys of her laptop as Caleb read across from her. The sound of pages turning was interspersed among Beau’s typing, a studious melody that put Beau strangely at ease with this near stranger. One look at him, and she knew he was a walking depiction of a complex lie. But he seemed harmless enough, and now she had him somewhat under her thumb just in case things went awry.

There was more than one way to protect her claim and her people from this stranger. She could learn from him as she kept him in line, and no one had to get hurt.

Jester waved to the tall figure at the end of the alley, the man’s hoodie pulled over his face to obscure his features. He waved back to her and disappeared around the corner, leaving Jester to finish her painting. The brick wasn’t the most forgiving of canvases, but the little Tiefling was nothing if not an expert at improvising. Sticking her tongue between her lips as she studied the expansive mural she had created, Jester swapped out her yellow paint for a charming neon blue.

Her newest piece consisted of flowers and geometric shapes, paisley patterns interwoven with humanoid anatomy, and an immaculate ratio of hidden dicks. It was perfect. She used the neon blue to add some drop shadow to one of her geometric patterns before nodding with satisfaction.

Another piece completed, she scooped up her favorite shade of rich blue paint and tagged the piece on the side as “the little sapphire”. Jester hummed to herself as she scooped her paints into her bag, admiring her work once more before turning to leave. Jester poked her head out of the alley, clinging to shadows to make sure the coast was clear, before scrambling onto the sidewalk. This area of Queens hardly saw any nightlife, so the foot traffic was slim to none at this time of day. It never hurt to be extra cautious, though. She had had one too many close calls with the authorities when she moved her and her artistic career here. The patrols and officers here walked a different beat than back home, so it took time to figure them out. Thankfully, Jester made a friend who helped her find her footing much faster than if she had been on her own.

As she skipped down the sidewalk, paint cans clattering in her bag, she checked her phone with a wince. Jester had promised Caduceus she would be home around midnight, but it was now going on one in the morning. He didn’t worry about her, because he knew she could take care of herself. But the lovely Firbolg always stayed up to see her home, and she hated to keep him waiting.

Picking up the pace, Jester scurried along toward the approaching intersection. She had the walk symbol still, so she could make it if she sprinted.

Jester slammed into someone’s shoulder and stumbled back a few steps with a noise of surprise.

“Sorry,” a uniquely accent voice drawled. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jester waved off the stranger’s concern. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Jester looked up and promptly froze. A half-Orc stood before her, looking rather concerned and very handsome in the dim street lighting. She stuck out one hand with a cheerful grin, watching the half-Orc blink at her in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“Hi,” she chirped. “I’m Jester. Sorry I ran in to you, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Fjord,” the half-Orc drawled, reaching out to shake her hand. “Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t either.”

“Where are you coming from, Fjord?” Jester asked, beaming as she did. The walk signal over his shoulder switched to red, and the Tiefling barely spared it a glance.

“I just got off work,” he said, giving a vague gesture over his shoulder. “Night shift. Same for you?”

“Oh, something like that,” Jester giggled as she tightened the strap of her bag. Fjord passed it a curious glance, but cordially did not question.

“You headin’ home? I’ve got a bus to catch, but I can walk ya’ wherever ya’ need to get, if you’d like.” Fjord’s eyes flit over Jester’s shoulder and she tipped her head to one side curiously.

“There’s someone who’s been starin’ at ya’ for a while now,” Fjord murmured in a lower tone. “I can walk ya’ home if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Jester cooed sweetly. “I can take care of myself, but I wouldn’t mind the company!”

Looping her arm through Fjord’s, Jester tugged him over to stand at the intersection, waiting for the walk signal to switch again. He blinked down at her, stunned, and Jester beamed back up at the half-Orc.

“So, Fjord,” Jester said as they waited. “Where do you work?”

“Oh, uh,” Fjord glanced over their shoulders and Jester tugged him along when they had the right of way. “Down at the docks in College Point. How about you?”

“I’m an artist!” Jester said, patting her bag. “I always take the latest ‘studio time’ though, so I’m usually out pretty late.” The lie came easy enough, and she added an extra cheerful grin for good measure. “I didn’t know you could work at the docks so late at night. What do you do down there?”

“Mostly just cleaning and moving supplies and equipment around. But it pays, and I’m at school most days.”

“That sounds like a lot!” Jester looked up at Fjord with wide eyes. “You must be pretty busy.”

“Sometimes, yeah,” Fjord shrugged. “But it’s not a big deal.”

“Well,” Jester said in a very matter-of-fact tone. “I think it’s pretty amazing.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Fjord rub the side of his neck and grin, seeming bashful. Jester gave herself an imaginary pat on the back for making her new friend feel good. They continued on in relative quiet for about another block and a half before Fjord spoke up again.

“Oh, that’s my bus,” Fjord said, watching as a bus groaned to a halt at the stop about half a block ahead of them. He looked down at Jester, conflicted. Jester smiled, touched by his sweet thoughtfulness. She patted his arm where it still linked with her own and gave him a nudge.

“My apartment is, like, a block from here. I’ll be okay, Fjord,” she promised.

“If yer sure,” Fjord hesitated, but unlinked their arms.

“Totally sure,” Jester shooed him off, grinning.

“Get home safe!” Fjord called over his shoulder as he dashed off. Jester waved, watching as he just barely swung himself through the doors of the bus in time. Giggling, she clasped her hands behind her back and turned to the figure that had followed them all this way. As the hooded figure approach at a leisurely stroll, Jester exaggerated a pout of her lips.

“I thought you went home,” she said. “You scared him, Traveller.”

“Well,” the Traveller drawled beneath his hood. “I had to make sure my favorite student got home safe. And I wanted to test that lad’s character.”

“He seemed really nice,” Jester gushed as the pair headed for her apartment. “I think you’d like him a lot.”

“I don’t doubt it,” the Traveller chuckled. They stopped in front of Jester’s building and he reached out a slender hand to pat her once on the head. “Sleep well, Jester.”

Jester waved as the Traveller left, pulling her keys from her pocket and prancing up the stairs to her apartment. Pushing open the door into the colorful, homey space, Jester found Caduceus sitting up on the sofa, a blanket over his legs and two steaming mugs on the coffee table. He smiled sleepily at her when she walked in, offering a greeting through a yawn.

“Oh Caduceus,” Jester said, guilt bubbling in her chest. She had forgotten her haste to get home after bumping into Fjord. “I’m so sorry I’m back so late.”

“No trouble at all,” he reassured her with ease. “I made cocoa.”

“Caduceus!” Jester squealed, dropping her bag inside the door and bounding over to curl up on the sofa beside him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Caduceus chuckled and shared his blanket with her, handing over a cup as well. The Firbolg pat her knee as they settled into the sofa together, content.

The keys fumbled from her sore fingers and clattered noisily to the ground, knocking against the door as they did. Yasha winced and bent slowly to pick them up, every smarting wound and bruise screaming with protest. She had barely straightened up again when the door’s lock clicked from the inside and flung open. Molly stood framed in the doorway, red eyes wide as they swept a look up and down Yasha’s form.

Something in Yasha’s chest broke a little when their tail drooped behind them with disappointment.

Molly reached out a careful hand, icy fingers circling Yasha’s wrist and tugging her into the warm interior of their apartment.

“Go take a shower, dear,” Molly instructed. “I’ll meet you out here with the first aid kit after.”

Lacking the energy to argue, Yasha trudged off to the bathroom, her guilt a heavy weight on her chest.

A painful fifteen minutes later, after watching the water run from red to pink to clear in the shower, Yasha sat sideways on the sofa. Molly perched in front of her, dabbing antiseptic with clumsy care over her bruised, split knuckles. They didn’t ask questions, but Yasha could sense the inquiries bubbling beneath Molly’s calm facade. A game show played quietly on the television across from them, the screen illuminating the living room with strange color and shadow.

Yasha broke first.

“It’s not what you think,” she murmured, tracking Molly’s fingers as they applied a bandage to Yasha’s bruised wrist.

“Then what was the reason this time?” They asked without malice, but the question still stung.

“We weren’t going to make rent at the end of the week,” Yasha whispered. With her free hand, she pulled a wad of cash from her pocket, dropping it on the coffee table. “That’s the only reason, I promise.”

Molly’s shoulders deflated, and they finally looked up at Yasha, solid eyes sad.

“Yasha, my love,” Molly sighed, not even sparing the money a glance. “You do realize that rent is a shared responsibility, right? It’s not your job to support us both. I could have made sure we were covered.”

“That would have affected the bar and you know it,” Yasha countered, flexing and curling her fingers to test the sturdiness of the bandages. Molly watched the motion with silent attention, lighting nerves on fire in Yasha. It was rarely good when Molly was quiet.

“Maybe it would have,” Molly agreed, looking back up at the Aasimar. Regret and sadness lined the skin around their eyes, and Yasha hated herself a little more for putting that there.

“But I hate to see you like this, Yasha.” Molly reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing gently. “It makes me nervous and scared for you. I know you can handle yourself, but even still.”

“It was just one night, Molly,” Yasha reassured them, managing a tiny smile. She wasn’t sure it fooled her friend, but Yasha pushed forward regardless. “Just one night to make sure ends meet. Nothing more.”

Molly bit their lower lip between their teeth, nervousness still plain on their face, but Yasha smiled and pushed to her feet.

“I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

Molly nodded near imperceptibly, watching Yasha round the couch before calling out a quiet, “Yasha.”

The Aasimar turned, watching as Molly pushed up to their knees and leaned over the back of the sofa to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead. Their lips were cold and slightly chapped, but the warm gesture softened the frazzled edges of Yasha’s nerves. She hugged Molly as tight as her bruises would allow over the back of the sofa before heading off to her room. Not bothering to get beneath her blankets, Yasha stretched out on her bed and stared at the picture on her bedside table. Her apologies to both Molly and the photo were silent and ringing with guilt as Yasha slipped into painful sleep.

#cr #critical role #m9 #the mighty nein #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #empire kids #empire siblings #jester lavorre #fjord #caduceus clay #mollymauk #yasha #writing #my writing #qoq

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strangerthingsharrington · 5 years ago

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Can’t Fight This Feeling

We’re following Dustin’s older sister Louise during S3. Started writing this after S3 came out, focused more on it during this quarantine! No posting schedule, just testing the water here.

-1-

Hawkins was a pretty boring town. But, that’s how I liked it, if I was going to be honest.

I’d been in Hawkins my entire life, except for the couple of times a year I’d go and stay with my grandparents. They lived not terribly far from Hawkins, but far away enough where it felt like I was taking my own little mini vacation.

Some days I loved and Hawkins...some days I wanted to get the hell outta there. I wanted away from some of the kids, mostly. Some of the kids from the high school were assholes, and that’s all they would ever be. But that’s the case with places all over too, I guess.

One of my good friends, Jonathan Byers, was always getting picked on. People calling him weird and a psycho and a freak and all this other shit, when Jonathan was one of the nicest people in the world.

No, we’re not dating, he’s dating Nancy Wheeler, and yes we did try dating in the very distant past, but we were definitely better off as friends. No question.

“Louise,” my mom called from the other side of my bedroom door.

“Yeah?” I called back to her from my position on my bed sorting through some of my old records.

She opened the door and smiled at me, “Do you want to come with me to pick up Dustin?”

My little brother Dustin’s last day of his month long summer camp was that day, so he needed to be picked up from Camp Know Where.

“Do you want me to?” I asked, putting a Bowie record off to the side.

She leaned against my doorframe and I knew what was coming next.

“LuLu, you haven’t seen your brother for a month,” she guilt tripped me.

I sighed as our newer cat, Tews, ran into my room and jumped onto my bed.

I grabbed him and held him, “I guess?”

She smiled at me, “Good, I’m leaving in ten minutes!”

I rolled my eyes, “Thanks for the heads up.”

“So you can’t back out like you probably would have,” she winked, “come on, Tews,” she said before turning and walking away from my room as the cat kept out of my arms and ran after her.

I sighed and stood up from my bed and stretched my arms and legs out, they were still a bit stiff from my earlier run.

I pulled my curly hair up into a ponytail and slipped on a pair of my converse, deciding not to change out of my jeans shorts and stripped tank top.

I grabbed my small messenger bag and tossed it over my head to hang around my shoulder and left my room shutting the door behind me.

I met my mom in the living room and extended my arms out to the sides of me.

“I’m so proud, you didn’t even try to wiggle your way out of coming,” she said, fake wiping a tear from her cheek.

I laughed and shook my head, “You’re a pretty convincing lady, what can i say,” I said with a smile.

We left the house a few moments later, getting into my moms car and starting the drive to the camp to get Dust.

It was a comfortable ride with my mom mostly asking me about my next year of school, which was my senior year and if I was excited about it.

Which I could honestly say that I was excited, because three of the kids who made my life a living hell there had graduated. Tommy H, Carole, and Steve.

Steve hadn’t been so bad since he and Nancy got together. And even since they had broken up the past November and he had become really good friends with my brother. But in my mind he was still a giant douchbag who loved to make peoples lives hell for some reason.

When we got to the camp pick up area Dustin was sitting alone on a bench looking sad and mopey with his head down. I got out of the car and called out to him.

“Dustin!”

He looked up and smiled at me before standing up and grabbing his suitcase that was next to him.

“Lou!” he called back to me.

Mom was out of the car and speed walking over to him where she pulled him into an awkward hug since his one hand was still grasping his suitcase and his other was holding his ever present walkie talkie.

When mom finally pulled away and wiped her face free of tears Dustin and I made eye contact and I had to hold my nose to try and contain the snort of laughter that was threatening to spill out. His eyes were wide and he shook his head slightly at moms over the topness.

Dustin finally came over to the car with mom prattling in the background about what he wanted for dinner and what he wanted to do for the rest of the summer.

“Mom, let the kid breathe for God sakes,” I told her as Dustin closed the trunk.

Dustin moved to the front seat, just as I had promised him when he was dropped off for camp, that I, as the older sibling, was willing to give up my automatic front seat privilege when we picked him back up.

I settled into the back seat, still not listening to a word mom was saying since I knew none of it was pertaining to me since little Dusty was back.

She eventually simmered down on the drive home after he gave his input for dinner, ‘Whatever you want, Ma,’ before he turned his walkie talkie on and changing it to the right channel of frequency. Then he began calling out to his friends, changing between Mike, Will and Lucas. There was never a response to him.

I leaned my head against my back headrest looking out the window, trying to block out the aggravating sound of static from his radio calls.

“Mike, do you copy? Over!”

“Lucas it’s Dustin! Do. You. Copy? Over!”

“Will! Answer me! Over!”

I rolled my eyes at Dustin’s insistent calls over the walkie talkie to the other kids in the party. I faced the back of Dustin’s head and huffed.

“Dustin,” I complained, “just call them when you get home.”

He put his walkie down and removed the headset and microphone combo he was using with the walkie talkie. He turned to me harshly from his spot in the front seat, “It’s bullshit, Lou. They knew I was coming home today and they’re ignoring me?”

“Dusty,” mom said, “language”

Dustin tolled his eyes and faced the front of the car once again, “What do you want from them?” I asked him, “Mike and Elle are dating and Lucas has Max...they have other shit going on!”

“Lulu!” mom scolded me, “you’re teaching Dusty bad habits.”

“I’m eighteen mom,” I said absent mindedly looming out of the window.

“I’ll call Steve when I get home,” Dustin said sullenly, “maybe he’ll be happy to see me”

I scoffed and lightly hit the back of my brothers head, “You’re gonna call Steve? Come on, Dustin, the guys a jerk!”

“He’s my friend,” he said defensively.

“Why are you even friends with him? He’s such a douchbag, Dust,” I asked disgusted. Dustin turned around with an annoyed look on his face.

“Maybe he was to you, but he’s turned into a good friend of mine.”

I rolled my eyes, “He was to almost everyone in the school, especially Jonathan Byers. And then all of a sudden he turned into what? Some nice young guy that’s friends with kids? Weird.”

“Lou, Steve has been nothing but nice to Dustin,” my mom started, as Dustin pointed at her with a nod before turning to face the road once again.

“So that makes the way he teeated me okay?” I asked harshly, staring at her through the rear view mirror.

My mom sighed in her seat, “No, of course not. But he’s not the same kid that he was in school.”

I looked down at my lap to my intertwined hands and sighed deeply, “All I’m saying is that he was awful...awful to me.”

“Has he been mean to you since he’s known me?” Dustin asked.

I looked up at the back of his head, “No, because I’m never around when he is. I avoid that kid like the plague.”

“Then that’s on you, Louise,” Dustin said, half turning towards me so i could only see one side of his face, “you don’t know him like I do. He’s a good guy and a good friend. Sorry that everyone isn’t as miserable as you all the time, and that you have a hard tome believing that people can change,” he turned more so he was fully facing me, “because no one will ever be as great as you!” he said adding the last part with some heavy sarcasm before turning back around.

I crossed my arms and looked out the window, my nose began tingling, and I knew I was close to tears because of what that shit head said.

“That’s enough, Dustin,” my mom told him sternly

Dustin huffed, “Sorry but it’s true,” he said a bit more gently.

I didn’t say anything else to either of them. I just continued watching the road of Hawkins pass me by as I watched from behind a window. My mind began drifting to one of the worst moments of my high school life, which Steve was a direct participant of.

“Hey Louise,” Tommy slyly said, leaning against my locker next to me.

I felt awkward being next to one of the popular kids, I smiled uncomfortably, “Hi Tommy.”

“I’ve got a secret to tell you,” he sang to me, as Carole scurried over to us and stood in front of us, popping her gum.

“Yeah,” she said with an edge to her voice and a fake smile on her face, “big secret.”

My heart rate increased at the thought of Tommy having something special to tell me.

“What’s that?”

He looked across the hall and jutted his chin out, “Steve Harrington has a crush on you,” he said loudly, drawing the attention of some people around us, including Steve, who was across from us.

I felt my face instantly begin burning. I knew it was bright red. From embarrassment and from excitement. Steve Harrington had a crush on me? It had to be a dream. That was something I had only ever daydreamed about.

Until Steve broke the deafening silence.

“What??” He said loudly before laughing, “You’re outta your fuckin mind, Tommy. That’s just messed up man,” he said through laughs, causing Tommy and Carole to burst out in laughs along with everyone around us.

Now my face was burning out of pure embarrassment. Everyone was laughing at me, which is one of the worst feelings ever.

“Don’t listen to him, Lisa,” he told me, still with a laughin edge to his voice, “he’s lying. Trust me on that,” he said, before laughing again and walking away with Tommy and Carole with him.

I only came back from that horrible memory when mom parked the car at home under the overhang. I knew full well that his friends were hiding in the house to surprise him and I was close to spoiling that for him based on how shitty he made me feel back in the car, but i knew I never would do that to him.

I got out of the car, slamming the door behind me only to have Dustin step in my way.

I looked at him and shrugged dramatically, throwing my arms out, “What?”

He looked woefully at me, “I ... just wanted to say I’m sorry...you know, for what I said in the car. You’re not a miserable person, and the fact that’s Steve’s my friend now doesn’t like...make what he did to to you or anyone else okay. He was a giant douchbag back then and I know that,” he explained, “but if you got to know him now...he’s not like that anymore.”

I sighed and shook my head slightly, “And that’s great for you, Dustin. But he made my high school existence awful. Seriously. So I’m sorry that I just can’t, ya know, be totally chill and whatever when it comes to him. Maybe eventually it’ll be okay, but not right now for me.”

And with that, I sidestepped him and went to the front door that mom had left open for us, before disappearing into my room closing the door behind me.

I walked to my bed and grabbed a Journey record before going and placing it on my record player.

I sat with my back against my headboard and hugged a pillow to my chest. I didnt like fighting with Dustin, but the shit with Steve...that was genuinely irritating.

I knew it was Dustin knocking on my door immediately. I rolled my eyes before calling for him to come in.

He opened the door and looked at me sadly before closing the door behind him.

He walked over to my bed and sat down next to me, leaning his hat covered curly head on my shoulder.

“I really am sorry for the shit you went through in school with Steve, Lou. You know that right?”

“I know,” I breathed, “just like you know how sorry I am about the shit you go through sometimes.”

“I’ll never excuse the shit that he put you through, none of it was right, ya know? And I would never be friends with someone who talks bad about you or anything, because he’s never said anything mean or bad about you in front of me.

“Trust me, Steve wasn’t exactly my frist choice. But I needed his help with some shit...and then we became friends.”

I scoffed and nudged him with my shoulder, “What did you need Steve for that I couldnt have helped with?”

I looked over at him and his eyebrows were furrowed together, “Huh....yeah ya know...girl...shit. Girl shit.”

I fought hard to keep the smile off my face, “Girl shit?”

He kept a straight face, but nodded.

“You...you realize that I am, in fact, a girl right? I could’ve helped you out too?”

At that his face relaxed into a small smile, “I know,” he said before looking to me, “I just...wanted a guys take on it. A guy that’s actually you know...had a girlfriend and shit.”

I smiled sadly at him, “I get it...I’m sorry, Dust. I’m not mad at you or anything...it just brings up bad memories is all. As long as he’s good to you...then it is what it is.”

Dustin sat up and smacked my knee, “Listen, do you wanna hang out? Since no one obviously cares that I’m back,” he said bitterly, “I have to go and build my radio, Cerebro, so I can talk to Suzie...you know...my girlfriend,” he said with a dreamy smile.

I smiled along with him. Yes I knew of the girlfriend. The one he never stopped talking about every single time he would call home.

“Anyways, I need to go to the top of the hill and build it so I can reach her...wanna come?”

I hummed in mock thought before I turned and patted his head.

“Absolutely not,” I said with a small laugh as his face dropped.

“Come on, Lou!”

I shook my head, “No! I’m not gonna spend one of my summer afternoons going to a hill and sitting there while you set up and still sitting there while you try to reach Suzie!” I said with a laugh.

“You’re so mean!” he told me with a smile.

I pushed his shoulder, “Go to your room and unpack and we’ll talk about this later!”

He got up from my bed dramatically, “Fiiiiine,” he told me before leaving my room.

I leaned my head against the headboard and grinned at the door, as I began the wait for the party to surprise little Dusty for his arrival back home.

I didn’t realize there was a character limit or whatever for tumblr posts??? Oops! GIF credit to owner and title credit to REO Speedwagon.

#steve harrington #stranger things #strangerthings #steveharrington #imagine #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine

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aughraseye · 4 years ago

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Naia+Brea for 12

Thanks for the ask anon! I hope you like it! I’ve never written for these two before, and it was a lot of fun. I also had another request for Naia + books and I’m counting them both as this fic. Thanks again!

You’re an Open Book, But I Can’t Read

Naia’s palm pressed heavy against her cheek. She was sitting in one of the smaller meeting rooms at Stone-in-the-Wood, elbow propped on a hard wooden table, listening to Brea read.

Though she was doing her best to focus, the fingers of the hand not holding her face twitched below the table. Biting the inside of her cheek she forced her gaze back to the princess.

Brea’s voice was soft and lilting as she read, and her silver hair shone brightly in the afternoon light streaming through the nearby window.

As she continued to read, she glanced up and smiled softly as their eyes met.

Naia did her best to return it. But she felt tense and irritated, and she wasn’t sure that it didn’t show on her face.

For the past few weeks the princess had made a habit of pulling Naia aside to share some scroll, or poem, or passage. She seemed always around a corner or a just trailing behind, toting the next book she felt Naia needed to hear.

Sometimes she would take hold of Naia’s wrist and drag her off somewhere so she could read to her aloud. Other times, Brea would sit beside her so close that their thighs pressed together as she showed Naia the scrawling words on the page. Other times still she would wait until Naia was sitting alone and then take the seat across from her, unloading stacks of heavy books - like today.

Naia sighed, quick to flash Brea another easy smile as the princess looked up at the sound.

She just didn’t understand where this habit, or inclination, or whatever it was had come from. Brea wasn’t really teaching her to read. And if that was what she was doing she was a poor teacher. Besides if Naia had wanted to learn she would have gone to Kylan first.

She just read aloud as Naia listened patiently.

At first, it hadn’t bothered her. She even liked it. She liked the way Brea’s voice changed cadence as she spoke, rising in parts to something animated and joyful and in other parts slowing and careful to draw out each word.

But the longer it went on, the less sure Naia was about why it was happening at all. And that made her uneasy.

When she’d asked Kylan, he’d said that Brea was probably just trying to be friendly. That for the Vapra, who were meant to be cultured and refined, sharing a written work with a friend or possible friend was something common.

But to Naia, Vapra and their books were all soft talk - roundabout and indirect and ultimately obscuring whatever point they were trying to make. And though she didn’t mind Brea’s voice, or the softness of her hands, or the warmth of her body as they sat side by side, she thought that reading flowery poetry and old tomes wasn’t a very good way to make friends.

She wasn’t sure that was what was happening anyway. Brea seemed friendly enough with Gurjin and Kylan and even Hup, but Naia was the only one she cordoned off and read to.

So she’d been meaning to say something, parse through why exactly the princess kept pulling her aside. But another part of her didn’t want to anything at all.

Drenchen hard talk wasn’t for everyone, she knew that. And though Naia wanted to understand Brea’s motivation, she also feared that the question might not be well received and Brea would stop reading to her altogether.

Her mind raced, juggling pros and cons, playing out different scenarios, and wordings that a hard talking Drenchen had no practice using.

“Are you listening?”

Naia’s focus snapped back to the princess. Her book was shut and laying on the table.

“Hmm?”

Brea’s brow creased together and the corners of her mouth fell.

“If you don’t like this one I have others…”

She trailed off as she turned to dig through the other books stacked beside her. Naia watched her, the softer words she had thought of using forgotten as the question came out just as she meant it.

“Why do you want to read to me anyway?”

Brea lifted her head and their eyes met. The princess’s mouth opened and shut once then twice, and her eyes grew wide as her face flushed pink. Naia had never seen her at such a sudden loss for words.

Silence stretched out between them as Brea struggled to say anything other than brief syllables punctuated with more silence. All the while her face grew a deeper shade of pink.

Naia swallowed hard. There was a tightness in her chest, something like her earlier unease but stronger. She looked away and then back at the princess whose face was bright red and worried. She shouldn’t have asked, she thought. It had only made things more uncertain, more uncomfortable. So, she pushed her chair back slightly, making to get up and leave.

But before she could stand, Brea leaned across the table - flustered and hasty - her nose bumping past Naia’s as their lips pressed soft together.

The kiss was…unexpected, and Naia felt her eyes widen in surprise. But instead of moving away, she tilted forward so that the kiss grew firmer.

When she did slowly pull back, her eyes fluttered open to see Brea still leaning into the space between them, palms pressed flat against the table, eyes gently closed.

A moment passed and Naia just looked at Brea as she stood there, heart suddenly racing.

But as the princess’s eyes started to open, she stumbled backwards, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I’m sorry, I just, you- I-”

The words were coming out fast and jumbled - the beginnings of a babble. And all at once Naia knew that it would be too many words for something that now seemed so clear.

So fast stepping around the other side of the table, she took Brea’s face in her hands and pulled her into another kiss. This one was harder and more sure than the last.

And when she moved back, hands falling away from the smooth skin of Brea’s face, the princess’s eyes were still lightly closed. Naia’s chest tightened at the sight.

Though she hadn’t really listened to the words Brea had been reading to her, as Naia watched her eyes open slowly, a shy smile spreading over her face, she thought she might be able to guess what they were about.

“So princess, what are you going to read for me now?”

#naia #brea #naia x brea #the dark crystal #age of resistance #fanfic #ask meme #mine

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nothingeverlost · 4 years ago

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On the Wings of an Owl (2/?)

In which Sirius finds his way home and Remus starts a new journey.

Prologue

Chapter One - A Journey Begins with a Single Step

The sun was shining when Sirius left the Department of Ministry. It was the first time he’d seen the sun in twelve days and it seemed a sacrilege that it was bright and not hidden behind clouds. The whole world should be weeping for Lily and James.

“Oh thank Merlin.” Monty was waiting for him in the ally, in a set of robes of dark gray. His hair seemed whiter than it had been a few months ago, no signs left of the strawberry blond it had been once. His skin was fragile like those dusty old tomes Remus liked to read.

He couldn’t think about Remus, not right now. His head was already throbbing with too many thoughts.

“You didn’t need to come,” he told the man who had been a father to him for almost a decade. He should have known one of the Potters would be waiting for him, but it seemed too much to ask of them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d feel up to apparating just yet, my boy, so I hired a car to take us home.” Monty’s step faltered a little as he turned. Sirius automatically grabbed his elbow, steadying him. Monty looked at him for a moment before taking another step. When he spoke it was in a voice that was soft, and more to himself. “That’s just right, lad. We’ll prop each other up.”

It took a little less than an hour to reach the house, the last five minutes down a private lane that the driver wouldn’t be able to find later even if he had a reason to drive out to Weybridge again to look. The house had changed little since Sirius first saw it at the age of twelve, the summer before Second year when he stayed for a week. It looked like James should come running out the door at any moment to greet him, like he had a thousand times before.

James would never greet him again.

The sprawling manor house had been in Monty’s family for generations, probably as long as Grimmauld Place had belonged to his own family line. Where Grimmauld was weighed down with the past, however, the Potter home was alive, treasured antiques from the Potter’s English roots entwined with the warm colors and scents of Euphemia’s Indian heritage. A suit of armor in the hall had a dent on one arm where he’d knocked it against a wall after James had used it to scare him once. Opposite the armor was a bronze elephant decorated in jewels, the trunk raised in a show of prosperity. Harry was using the elephant to pull himself up, focusing on standing until the door opened and he noticed the new arrival.

“Pa-foo,” he said clearly, looking up at Sirius with eyes the same vivid green as Lily’s, his hair sticking up at odd angles just like James. For the first time in a week Sirius broke down in tears, collapsing onto the floor. Harry lost interest in the elephant and fell backward, landing on his well-padded butt and rolling over to crawl over to the object of his attention. His small fingers found the holes in the jeans Sirius wore and he used them to pull himself up until he was almost in his godfather’s lap. Sirius pulled himself together enough to support the lad, holding him close to his chest. The warmth he felt against his skin was alien after weeks of only feeling cold, or more often feeling nothing at all. Harry reached out one chubby hand to touch Sirius’ cheek. “Pad-foo wet.”

“He’s been waiting for you. I told him you were coming today.” Euphemia stood in the hall, ignoring the single tear falling down her cheek. She was dressed in robes of pure white without adornment, her feet bare despite the chilly November day. The white was for mourning he knew. She had told him once that bare feet made her feel more connected to her home and her magic. “Welcome home, Sirius.”

Sirius could only look at her for a moment before bowing his head.

The weeks after the war were a strange time. First came the celebrations, of course, the great silence of the last years ending in cheers and fireworks. The pubs were crowded as friends and strangers alike toasted to the downfall of He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers. Infants who had been born into war woke up for the first time in peace, and children who had been afraid to play were finally able to run in the streets in bright colors and with raised voices. Wizards were no different than any other human and needed their victory, but after the first few days reality set in.

For the first time, they had the leisure to mourn the dead after years of having to push away grief to focus on the next mission, the next battle. For months memorial services happened on a weekly basis, some for a single person, sometimes for an entire family. Two months after the war ended Christmas came, a celebration that highlighted the many empty chairs at Christmas dinner.

In Diagon Alley a memorial was built, a single arm raised with a wand outstretched, behind it a field of stars, Every minute the name hovering above the wand changed, each of the fallen listed in turn.

Marlene McKinnon Dorcas Meadows Fabian Prewitt Gideon Prewitt Edgar Bones Benjy Fenwick

It took more than an hour to see every name. After Lily Potter’s name faded away the series began again. There were names that were missing. One day Regulus Black would be added, when his deeds were learned, but that wouldn’t be for years. It would take another month before the death of Arabella Figg was discovered, as she had little communication with wizards and it took time before anyone checked on her. Frank and Alice Longbottom, stuck between life and death, weren’t on the list.

Peter Pettigrew’s name was quietly removed from the list the day after it was discovered that he was still alive.

It was a rare family that wasn’t touched in some way by death. Remus Lupin, half an orphan before the war started, was completely alone after. His father had started fading the moment his mother died; he had chosen recklessness as his way to join her. There had been whispers of werewolves going after muggle families. It was a member of Greywolf’s pack that killed him, though Remus fortunately never knew that fact. He only knew that his father died and he was alone.

In the weeks after the war Remus fled to Wales. For the first time in his adult life he didn’t have anything to do. No mission from Dumbledore, no job, and certainly no friends to meet at the pub. He mourned in his own way, drawing his grief tight around himself. Grief for the friends lost and the relationships that had fallen apart. He tried to look back at everything and figure out when Peter had become a betrayer and where he’d missed the signs. He did not want to think about Sirius, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the much more obvious signs of how badly that friendship had gone wrong. Losing James and Lily was like an amputation, a part of himself that was there one moment and gone the next, leaving phantom pains. Losing Sirius was a festering wound that would probably never heal. He mourned the losses of his friends, all of them.

The Daily Profit announced on the front page when Sirius Black was released, and it was a dull sort of comfort knowing that at least he was free and innocent, or at least as innocent as any of them could be after fighting a war. The picture they used was an old one, from Jame and Lily’s wedding, and it hurt to see it. Though it was only Sirius in the frame, mugging for the camera, Rumus knew that his own younger self had been cropped away. They had all been so happy that day. Sirius had even dragged him out to the dance floor after a few drinks, and it was just a lark for him but Remus could still remember how it had felt to dance with his friend and secret love. He tossed the paper in the bin.

Transforming on his own was always harder, leaving him exhausted. He needed another day of rest, he decided, but then it was time for a change. There was no reason to stay in England. Sentiments against werewolves were even worse after the war; some had been responsible for vicious attacks, and the best that could be said was that some had chosen to remain neutral. He had his parents’ house, but without an income there would be no way to feed himself. There was only one thing he could do that would be of use to anyone; he was going to find Peter. Tomorrow he would start tracking down a rat.

Sirius could not sleep. The bed was too soft and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a real bed. The last month was a blur of cells and leaning in doorways and curling up in alleys as a dog. After living in the city and fighting a war the sounds of the country were too quiet and strange. Mostly, though, he couldn’t sleep because it felt as if James being dead had changed the whole equilibrium of the world and he couldn’t find his footing.

His bedroom faced the back garden, his view partially obscured by a tree that had been a handy way of coming and going when he was a boy. Many a time he and James had climbed down the tree to go for a midnight swim or smuggle in things to drink. More than once he’d climbed in on his own, the window never locked as if the house itself knew that he sometimes needed a place to run to when his own house was too much. The summer before Fifth year he’d shown up at one in the morning on an August day, climbed inside and collapsed in the bed, sleeping until James had pounced on him and demanded to know why he hadn’t woken him up. Sixth year, when he’d left his family or good, he’d used the front door.

Sometime in the last couple of years Euphemia and Monty had changed their bedroom to the downstairs suite. It meant that of the five upstairs bedrooms the only other one occupied was the one to his left, a guest suite that now held a crib. To his right was James’s room, separated from his own by a bath they had shared. The door to the room that now belonged to Harry was open, and Sirius found himself standing in the doorway more than he tried lying on his bed. The window shade was up and the almost full moon illuminated the crib enough to see the bandage on Harry’s forehead. Magic wounds were hard to heal, and no one knew how long a curse from such a powerful wizard would take before it stopped bleeding.

“James should be the one standing here,” he whispered to the boy as he stood at the edge of the crib. His friend had been so excited about being a father. So proud. So worried about his ability to protect his son and wife. Sirius had sworn that nothing would happen to any of them. He had lied.

“Mmm.” Harry shifted in his sleep, as restless as James had always been. He was such a small thing; Sirius had panicked the first time Lily had handed the baby to him, certain that he would drop the kid and nine months of work would be ruined. James could forgive him just about anything, but probably not a dent in his kid.

“I’ll fuck this up, Prongs, but I swear I will do my best.” The first time James had asked him to be godfather it had seemed a joke. It was a good laugh, him responsible for anyone’s child. Merlin, there were days when he shouldn’t be responsible for himself, let alone another human. As the war had progressed the promise was one that James had reminded him of on occasion. Every time he had panicked and told James that he and Lily were the ones most likely to survive. Even after the prophecy they had a plan. James would be safe. Godfather would be an honorary title that just meant he got to spoil the kid with the things his parents wouldn’t buy for him. And then he’d made the stupidest argument in his life and had convinced James that Peter would be a better secret keeper. James and Lily paid for his mistake with their lives. Harry would pay for the rest of his life, his parents stolen from him.

Thank Merlin for Euphemia and Monty. He couldn’t raise Harry on his own. Without them he wouldn’t know what to do. Without them he’d probably be in a cell in Azkaban.

It was another hour before he slept. He only settled because Harry woke up and needed rocking; they both fell asleep in the chair that had been Lily’s, Harry on his chest, the rocking charm he’d put on the chair long since worn off. Euphemia found them in the early hours of the morning and covered them carefully with a blanket.

#wolfstar fic #wolfstar #remus lupin #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius x lupin #remus x sirius #sirius black #siriius black x remus lupin #harry potter #my fic #harry potter fic #MPPW

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