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bluedragonbooks · 2 years ago

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Adjacent 04 of 25

Don't get me wrong. I'm no prude. Despite much embarrassment during our teenage years Mother had given us a liberal dose of education in the finer points of sex, sexuality, and the mysteries of the male and female body once puberty came knocking; she had also encouraged us to experiment - safely and with respect. She also respected our privacy, but she had demanded certain niceties in return and discouraged furtiveness.

Elric for some reason had taken this on board without question; often embarrassing some poor smitten girl by introducing her to Mum and asking her to stay for Breakfast. For some unknown reason, this mostly worked in his favour. I had taken Mum's advice and done some experimentation on my own. Several of the village girls thought I was worth a tumble; tho on reflection, this often seemed a ploy on their part to get closer to Elric.

The Blacksmith's Apprentice made more than one visit to my bed, tho he declined to stay for breakfast; pleading the need to rise early and stoke the forge. He was pleasantly muscled and decidedly enthusiastic in his love making; but after each visit I would develop painful hives where he'd lain against me. After one particularly painful bout I asked my mother about it. She had sighed and led me to the window "Watch him working, what do you see?"

I'd watched him for a while, stoking the fire, pounding on a piece of steel, appreciating his muscles and sweat and his outline against the sparks. Damned teenage hormones, I'd just ended up getting aroused.

Mother looked at my flushed face, and realised I wasn't thinking clearly. "The sparks you cow-eyed fool; they get into his clothes and into his skin; iron in his skin ... you're lucky you're only a half-blood or I suspect it would affect you worse. Sadly lad, I expect the reaction will get stronger each time he visits, like people who gradually grow allergic to bee stings and such. Has it indeed been getting worse each visit?"

My mother and I had never actually had this conversation. We'd danced around it plenty but never put the words in the air for fear of actually saying them or having them heard.

Iron in his skin ... "Yes, it's been getting worse each time ... So, my father was Fae then?"

"I honestly can't say for sure. Probably not pure-blood Fae, but I suspect Fae touched at least or somehow associated with them; That was why there's no iron in this house except for your brothers’ mail and sword; and I keep those locked in Oak. I've seen you handle them and other iron without harm, but only briefly." She laughed, "but having that lad inside you, shaking the whole house with his thrusting. No wonder some of his sparks rubbed off and got under your skin in the bargain."

I felt my face get even hotter. She laughed again. "I've taught you better than that; no shame to be had in a bit of consensual fun. Get away with you, go and have a hot bath to open your pores and give yourself a good scrubbing with soap sand and thyme to get rid of it. Then you have to figure out a way to break it off without breaking that boys’ heart; he's as fond of you as you are of him."

Several days later serendipity had intervened; I was going questing with my brother and was able to bid my Blacksmiths Apprentice a teary goodbye, without breaking his heart. As much as I would have enjoyed it, I chose to avoid one final night of passion and the inevitable consequences, by pleading a need for a good night’s sleep in preparation for an early departure.

…

We’d been on the road a month when we got to “Two Bends” which was short for “tween two bends on Tyne”, a trading town that had sprung up on the Tyne River - between two bends. Rural folk aren’t renowned for inventive naming. The river was slow and wide here and an ancient causeway allowed crossing, one of only three crossings on the river. A week downstream you could cross by ferry at one of the few places where the canyon relented. Upstream, a week by foot and uphill all the way, you could cross at an ancient stone bridge that spanned a narrow spot in the canyon thru which the waters roared. Despite this the River Tyne wasn’t the obstacle we dreaded; what we dreaded was the forest.

Shortly after crossing the Tyne, you are confronted with the Eastern Range, a range of mountains that forms the Eastern border to the forest. The Western border to the forest is the escarpment - the edge of the highlands. Sometime in our history, a great earthquake had split the lowlands from the highlands, creating the Tyne, and both the Eastern Range and the escarpment … and the Riven Lands … a broad fertile valley filled with the ruins of a long-lost empire and the forest that had claimed it back.

There was nothing inherently bad about the forest; none had come to harm there; there were no monsters or great beasts or much of anything except the forest and the things that usually live in forests. But there were only the 3 crossings, and each took at least a week on foot; and anyone who spent a week crossing the forest knew instinctively why no-one had ever tried to build a village in its midst. Something about the forest inspired care and superstition, and people didn’t linger in their crossing.

We had enough coin between us for a weeks’ worth of supplies or for a pack animal, but not both. So, we were limited by what the 3 of us could carry. The consensus was you didn’t light fires in the forest unless you could find a clearing with a rocky outcrop. So cold and dried provisions that packed a lot of energy it was.

The Wizard and Elric left it to me, and I was able to put together 3 packs of food that should last each of us a week. Water wouldn’t be a problem, and I was hoping I’d be able to gather berries and the like to supplement our supplies as we walked. I had a hidden pocket in my satchel were a few gold coins for emergencies, but I hadn’t had to use those; in fact, I had a few coppers left over from our supply budget - which was enough for a small supply of travellers’ biscuits as insurance.

#adjacent #fantasy #LGBTQ fiction #writers of tumblr #short story

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barnesandco · 5 years ago

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Nikah: March

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. Thank you all for reading and commenting! (Picture below is mine, btw)

Bucky’s birthday arrives amidst blooming flowers and a pollen-scented breeze, the day marked by preparations for a party Sam is throwing for him at one of the hotels downtown. Avengers and close friends only, yet he’s spared no expense, insisting on a proper welcome back. The captain is unrelenting in matters of social activity, especially since he has been spending minimal time with his teammates since his marriage. Marriage. He shakes his head at himself in the floor length mirror as he straightens his cuff-links and moonlight catches on the gold band on his finger. It no longer feels like a burden.

Rather, it’s a seed that’s been planted on him, and it’s taken root inside him, growing, growing, growing into a steady feeling of friendship with the person he wears it for. An understanding, a companionship. He refuses to confess to anything more, even within the confines of his own mind. His heart, on the other hand, has no compunctions about making its opinion known, setting off like a hare being hunted whenever she approaches. Most dangerous assassin in the world, defeated by her smile.

She offers him one now when she enters, picture perfect elegance very nearly succeeding in concealing her nerves. Bucky’s nerves, meanwhile, are on fire at the sight of her, sensory overload short-circuiting his brain. He finally turns to look at her directly and the fox-hunt pace of his heart stumbles, stutters to a stop.

“You- you’re- jeepers,” Is all he can manage, the rosewater blush deepening on his cheeks. It has the opposite of the desired effect, and she steps back, mascaraed eyes widening, horrified.

“It’s too much, isn’t it. Oh God, I knew I should’ve-” She begins to reach for a tissue box on the dresser and Bucky stops her. Lowers her hand slowly and keeps a hold of it, as if she will float away otherwise.

“Jesus, doll, stop. You’re perfect,” He tells her, and she slips her hand away but smiles a little as she sits on the foot of the bed - their bed - to put on her shoes.

“Thank you. You look nice, too,” She says, lifting the hem of her black gown as she pulls on pearl white heels. The matching clutch - pearl encrusted - is on the bedside table, and he hands it to her as they leave the room and then the apartment.

“Hang on, your tie is loose,” She says the moment they enter the elevator. He can’t even press the button for the ground floor while she holds him in place. The split-second it takes for her to wrap her hands around the green silk and pull it tighter stretches into hours, the graze of her knuckles gentle in his cotton-covered chest. He has enough time to carve the shape of her cupid’s bow into his mind, the descent of her jaw to her chin into his lungs. After half an eternity, she puts distance between them again and presses the button while he tries to smooth his hair back only to feel the short strands tickle between his fingers, and he remembers cutting it last week.

The lobby is bustling, people coming and going like bees in a hive, and they nod their hellos and offer the doorman a Good evening before getting in the car Sam sent. The seats are cold and comfortable, and the chauffeur tips his hat once in the rear-view mirror before putting the Rolls Royce into gear.

“ ‘Possess ye, therefore, ye who borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue’ ” She murmurs, letting her fingers trace the stitching in the butter-soft leather.

“Marlowe?” Bucky asks, turning away from the New York evening, that special, streetlights-reflecting-on-wet-asphalt evening, to look at his wife.

“William Cowper. The Task.”

“I think I’ve read that one,” He lies, fully prepared to come clean, and she looks at him curiously.

“Wow, really? Even I haven’t read all six books,” She says, dubiously verging on impressed, and Bucky drops the facade.

“I’m pullin’ your leg. I’ve read some of Cowper’s work. Don’t remember much, but bits and pieces of school are still there,” He explains, all cheeky smile. “What’s it about? And why in God’s good name is it six books long?” This - the conversation, letting her talk about her work, her passion for literature - this he can do. Playful questions intermingling with genuine intellectual interest is manageable. Her beauty, her grace, the cloud of perfume that bleeds into his veins and makes his lungs strive for air, is not. So he concentrates on what he knows. Or doesn’t know, apparently.

“Honestly, what isn’t The Task about?” She laughs, eyeshadow glimmering like stardust in the smile wrinkles in the corners of her intelligent eyes. “Cowper had a bit of a breakdown during his barrister training in London, and retired to the countryside. In 1781, he met his friend Lady Austen, who later gave him a task to write about, to cheer him up. He started, and then just followed that train of thought wherever it took him.”

“Which book is that line from?” Bucky asks as the car stops in the inevitable Friday night traffic jam. At least they accounted for it, leaving early on purpose to avoid tardiness.

“I don’t actually remember. I think it’s from an extract in which Cowper criticizes the superficial pleasures and unnecessary luxuries of city life,” She answers, opening her clutch. Her phone and a tube of lipstick peek out but she reaches deeper for a pair of earrings.

Closing her eyes, she fastens the first one on the side Bucky can’t see, the other crescent-moon shaped accessory in her silk draped lap. The flower made from pearls matches her bracelet, the two pieces of jewellery clinking together as she puts on the other one.

“City life, huh?” Bucky muses, trying desperately to calm his heart. The earrings dangle, contrasting wonderfully against her simple black gown, and he swallows. She looks like royalty.

“Yeah, many poets of the time wrote a lot about the beauty of nature. They had a lot more of it at their disposal, I guess,” She shrugs.

“Do you have any favorites?” “Nature poems? I don’t know. There are so many good ones. Wordsworth’s To the Cuckoo, Herrick’s Daffodils, Yeats’ Wild Swans at Coole, Tennyso-” She cuts herself off with a huff of a laugh at herself.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, no- I just-” She laughs again, trying to wave her hand like she’s shooing a fly. “I just have conflicting feelings about these poems by classical authors who write about nature. Poems that express a keen appreciation of beauty yet are fillled with sadness because so many beautiful things are short-lived and because human life itself is so short,” She says, twirling the ring around her finger, deep in thought. Bucky doesn’t know how he found her. This simple, wise soul, in the midst of all the chaos of the world. The chaos of resettlement.

The chaos of the kitchen, an hour before dinner as the Avengers prepare dinner together, is unholy. Sam’s panicking about dessert while Wanda stirs the marinara sauce for spaghetti in her signature demure fashion, while Peter’s pile of handmade spaghetti grows taller and the pasta dough shrinks. His phone lights up on the table, and Bucky - kneading more dough nearby - is the only one who notices. He calls for Peter and pushes it over to him, not knowing what the point of having a phone is if it’s always going to be on silent, but Peter holds it out to him after just a moment of conversation.

Bucky reads the caller ID on the top and sees who it is, closing the kitchen door behind him, flour on his black t-shirt, as she speaks.

“Hi, Bucky. I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“No, not at all. Have you decided?” He asks, pacing the hallway, staying out of sight of the others. Not that it matters, they’re still fairly busy. She had seemed unsure when they met, and he had given her time to decide it she wanted to do this.

“Yeah, but I just- this is a huge favor,” She says.

“Not to me, doll. I’m just helping a friend of a friend,” He says, and it isn’t entirely true. That isn’t why he’s doing this. Something in him wanted to help, wanted to repay the debt of kindness that he owes the world. This is how he wants to do it, although he doesn’t think it’s fair that he gets to choose his penance.

“I thought you said Peter talks your ears off.” Bucky cringes, grateful she can’t see his face, even though he can hear the joking lilt of her tone.

“He’s a good kid. And I want to do this. Do you?”

“Yeah.” A lengthy pause, heavy and tangible, even across the phone line.

“When do you want to get married?” She asks finallly, voice shaking. His hand is, too.

“We have a week-long mission right after Christmas. Boxing day arms deal in Sao Paulo,” He replies, cursing the Brazilian gangs who could find no other time do get up to no good. Evil doesn’t go on vacation, and neither do the Avengers.

“So… New Year’s Eve?” She asks, doing the math. He realizes that’s true. A week from Boxing Day.

“Yes. Shit, you don’t have a ring-” He begins to say, freaking out about the logistics. He didn’t even propose properly.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” “Alright, I’ll see you then.��

“Bye Bucky.”

“G’night.” He bids her farewell, then looks at the phone, asking himself what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. A knot builds and twists in his body, and he tries to loosen it. Breathes, and makes his way back.

“I’m engaged,” And the kitchen freezes in time as they all drop everything - not literally, Sam’s holding a knife - to look at him. The smile on Peter’s face is brighter than the Christmas tree in the adjacent common room, and the somersaults in Bucky’s stomach only settle at the sight of his relief.

It seems that his teammates gave him a later time on purpose, because they’re all ready, dressed to the nines and wine-tipsy, waiting for him when they enter. It’s a small ballroom, downtown Manhattan, quaint and graceful. A chorus of Happy Birthday erupts in the room, and he smiles and thanks them. The hugs pile on, and he begins to introduce his wife to his friends. Home away from home for the man who has never had one since the 1940s - until he met her, that is. She’s home now, though he wouldn’t tell her that.

Instead, he relishes in the grin she offers him between introductions, till Sam drags him off to stand him on a chair and sing a birthday song. The party commences in much a similar fashion, too much noise in the room for a couple of dozen people. He stays away from Thor’s alcohol, knowing she doesn’t drink, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

He’s just thinking about how she might be dealing with the hectic atmosphere when her hand slips into his while he’s talking to Harley Keener about letting him look at his arm. He’s shocked, looks at her to see her smiling and concentrating only on the conversation, but he can tell she’s tired. It’s been hours, and he knows he can’t leave early - it’s his party - but he just wants to slip those heels off her feet and sit and talk, still in partywear, for hours on end. Let her quote Byron and Cowper and Austen to him, poems and essays and books, until he falls asleep on their sofa. Instead, her voice says something he isn’t expecting at all.

“Is it possible to put some sort of temp regulation in it?” She asks curiously, head tilted to the side like a sparrow. Harley thinks it over for only a second.

“Of course, why?”

“It hurts in the cold. He rubs and rolls his shoulder a lot in the winter,” She answers, and the thoughtful observation astounds him. It’s accurate, but it hadn’t even occurred to him, the movements that she’s citing entirely subconscious. They talk to Harley for a while longer, and then dance to several of Bucky’s favorite songs. Billie Holliday is crooning in the background as the second-to-last guest exits, leaving only his wife and his captain and his deputy director. When the door shuts behind them, they break apart, and Sam and Maria approach, ready to call it a night.

The car ride home passes in complete silence, a comfortable weight resting like a blanket between them, so much so that she falls fully asleep on the way, her head resting against the cold window when they arrive. He doesn’t have the heart to wake her, so he goes around to her door, opening it slowly and lifting her into his arms, not caring what it might look like to onlookers. It’s late, and there are few of them, at least in the lobby, and as the elevator doors shut, her head curls against his shoulder, hair tickling his Adam’s apple.

Bucky looks down at her, her resting, easy expression, the chandni earrings still on, and thinks: what a way to turn 103.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #slow burn #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

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Loki's Daughter

TITLE: Loki’s Daughter CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 6: A Gift AUTHOR: traveling-classicist ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Avengers: Endgame AU Loki that gets away with tesseract has been using it to explore the universe. During his adventures, he comes across a little girl with developing but oppressed magical abilities. Intrigued (and subconsciously lonely) Loki keeps her around. RATING: This chap is PG-13; mostly fluff but some mentions of Kuna’s past as a slave

AO3 Link: Here NOTES/WARNINGS: Nothing here. Enjoy!

Loki and Kuna followed Shakk’uri and her entourage of small male companions to her ‘hive’. It was a beautiful palace built up in a thick dome-like structure that Loki could have interpreted as a beehive. They entered. Scampering all around them in formal attire were the darker blue colored males, skittering about with trays and pitchers in their hands, or moving linens here and there.

When Shakk’uri entered, they all bowed so low their noses touched the ground. Loki was fascinated by the culture being displayed as was little Kuna. She looked around in awe at the palace. Golden banners swept across the ceiling and hung from balconies connecting to higher levels creating a rivers of silky, golden fabric running throughout the great halls. They entered a large, circular room. Lounging on puffy couches and chairs were a group of female Tenanciians. They were draped in light blue, loose fitting silk garments.

The men scampered about, catering to them with trays of food and drink. Loki liked this set up. He had increased respect for the queen/mother for commanding such reverence by just entering a room.

As they approached the circle of women in the center of the room, Loki noticed they were eating something that looked rather like sugar. He laughed internally, thinking these people were quite like bees in their mannerisms.

She invited he and Kuna to sit upon one of the fluffy couches amongst the other women. She herself, sat on a gorgeous white marble throne cast with soft furs and pillows. The men scampered over and offered her a drink and food, but she dismissively waved them away with her hand. They then treated to Loki and Kuna. Loki took a drink and encouraged Kuna to do the same.

“Take what you like,” he told her. “It’s polite and respectful to take food and drink that’s offered you.”

Kuna took a cup from the man and a small piece of fruit from the tray. “Thank you, sir,” she said. The man bowed to her, then to the queen and ran off. A few giggles rang up from the women around them. Kuna shyly ate her fruit and drank.

“This is an extraordinary hive, your majesty,” Loki said. “Am I using your proper titles? Please, correct me if I am not.”

“You may call me Shakk’uri, if it pleases you.”

“Very well,” Loki said, smiling. “Shall we discuss our stone then, Shakk’uri?”

“Let my girls see it,” she said, waving to the other women. “Ladies, this was the man causing all the commotion in the market today. He has a beautiful gem to show us.”

Loki smirked as the women sat up in their recliners, their interest piqued by the strangers before them. He revealed the diamond from his pocket. Gasps of shock and awe echoed around the room. They leaned in to get a better view of the diamond in his hands.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” one woman said. “Have you?”

“No, it’s delightful,” another said.

“It’s so big.”

“Where did you find it?” one asked Loki.

“Lopt, here, has declined to share that information with us,” Shakk’uri explained. “As a true negotiator would,” she added with smirk in his direction.

The women seemed a little disappointed, slumping back in their chairs a little. Loki loved having this much control over a situation. Especially, when he could see how much it affected these women. He smiled thoughtfully at them.

“My apologies, ladies,” he said. “But some things must be kept secret for… business related purposes. I’m sure you understand.”

“Well, then, let’s discuss our price,” Shakk’uri said. The women sat up again; at attention now.

“Let’s,” Loki said.

“I will offer you 500 million Xandarian units,” Shakk’uri said. Her voice was even and stern.

“Ooooh,” Loki said, taking the low ball as a bit of a blow. Kuna looked up at him. She could not count very high herself but Loki’s tone made it sound like Shakk’uri had bid far too low. She looked at her hands and counted on her fingers. Five was definitely less fingers than seven.

“Hmm,” Loki continued. “You see, it is my desire to learn more about your culture. You seem to be new to the Nova Corps as I’ve never heard of your planet before. Are you still transitioning to their ‘units’?”

“Yes, we are,” Shakk’uri said.

“Are your native monies still accepted by your people?”

Shakk’uri was intrigued. “Yes,” she said.

“They still hold value?”

“Yes.”

“Then I desire to receive payment in your currency. What’s it called?”

“We use a coin-based currency called the Shap’ak.”

“And what is the value of this diamond in Shap’aks?”

The women around him looked at each other, confused. “You do realize, Mr. Lopt, that our currency cannot be used anywhere else in the galaxy?”

“Oh yes, of course,” he said. “The Nova Corps are a wondrous little organization but - and this is between us, of course - I have little desire to switch to their currency either.”

“And why is it that you wish to stay hidden from the Nova Corps?” Shakk’uri said. Loki knew she was clever.

“I am simply a traveler,” Loki said. “All we wish to do is sell this rock, gather some supplies, and lay low. It is not the Nova Corps we wish to hide from, it is their enemies.” He put his hand on Kuna’s back.

Shakk’uri looked at him and then to the small child beside him. She did not know how to read this man and she did not like how she could not. It made her feel vulnerable. She then glanced down at the child, quietly eating her snack. Perhaps, it was her captors that they were running from. Perhaps Lopt was just trying to protect her.

“Very well,” she said. “I can offer you one trillion Shap’aks for this diamond.”

“Three,” Loki rebounded quickly. Shakk’uri smiled. “I mean, I’m sure you have a lot of them just lying around now that you’re being registered for units.”

“Two and a half,” she responded.

Loki considered this offer. He looked up at the dome above him. A small circular opening let in natural light and air. He took a deep breath and looked back at Shakk’uri.

“Two and a half million Shap’aks and I will let you stay in my hive for as long as you wish,” she added.

Loki considered this new offer. He looked down at Kuna. She stared at him, cocking her head to the side. She had no idea what was going on except that the adults in the room were bidding on something. She knew a lot about bidding. That’s what all the masters did at the slave auctions. Loki gave her a little wink, then looked back at the queen.

“I will accept this offer,” he said. The women looked relieved. They all started whispering to each other. “However, may I see your currency before we settle this?”

“You are very inquisitive, indeed, Lopt,” she said. She waved her hand and a man skittered over. She whispered something to him, and he scampered away, returning a few moments later with a large purse.

Shakk’uri dipped her hand into it and revealed an assortment of small golden coins. Embedded in each one was a precious jewel of a different color. Loki took a deep breath, raising his eyebrows. He had seen these being traded in the market.

“They’re beautiful,” he said, taking a few from her hand. “Look at these, Kuna. Have you ever seen anything like them?” He offered Kuna a handful.

She stared at them in her hands. She had never held money before. Ever. She swallowed hard and looked back up at Loki, shaking her head.

Shakk’uri smiled at the precious girl. “Come here, Kuna,” she instructed her. “Come sit with me.”

Kuna looked up at Loki, as if asking permission. He gestured for her to go. “Go ahead,” he said, chuckling a little that she’d ask him. He was smiling and if he thought it was okay then Kuna did too. She hopped down from the couch and slunk over to Shakk’uri. She picked her up gently and set her down on her lap.

Loki was beginning to like having this child around. Women could be so easily taken by children.

So are you apparently, the voice said from its cell in the dark corner of his mind. Loki pushed him away.

Shakk’uri put her hand on Kuna’s arm, gently rubbing it. Loki could tell that Kuna was a little uncomfortable from all the attention. She pulled her hands up to her neck and fiddled with the collar.

“Tell me more about her,” Shakk’uri said to Loki. “Who would keep such a beautiful child as a slave.” The other women gasped at the revelation. Loki was a little annoyed at the sudden change in conversation. He wanted to make this deal. He wanted to see more of this currency.

“Well, I was exploring a world in a faraway system. One that is not yet included in the Nova Corps,” he began. “And probably for good reason. They’re incredibly primitive, it would seem. This world, called Torileena, was covered in these immensely large trees. They were so tall they seemed to touch the sky.” The women all leaned into his story. At least he had their attention.

“I found Kuna being dangled over a cliff by a chain,” he said to gasps by the women. “Her ‘masters’ were using her as live bait for these ferocious beasts called kapka.”

Kuna shuddered a little from the memory. Shakk’uri pulled her closer, comforting her.

“They were horrendous to her. Kicking her and beating her. I could not just leave her there in such a condition, so I pushed the men over the side of the cliff and into the jaws of the disgusting creatures.”

“Serves them right,” one of the women said.

“How awful,” another.

“Kuna was alone with them,” Loki continued. “I had already met a rather unsavory beast wandering the woods that had tried to kill me and only just survived. I could not leave her there, so I took her with me. And here we are,” he said.

“How terrible, my dear,” Shakk’uri said, looking at Kuna. “I will ensure we get those awful chains off you. And a nice, warm bath and plenty of food. Of course, if that’s alright with Lopt.”

“Yes, that was my intention as well,” he said.

“Tell me, darling. How long have you been a slave?”

Kuna did not like this question. “Um, um, almost my whole life, your majesty,” she whispered.

“How old are you, my love?”

Loki was interested in this information too. Kuna had been so sick and weak; he had not had the chance to learn more about her.

“I – I’m only two centuries old,” she said.

“Oh, so young,” Shakk’uri admitted.

What would she know, Loki thought to himself? Two hundred years could be five years for her people or a thousand years for another planet. It was good information to have, though. Kuna seemed to be of the ‘immortal’ type. She’d live for several thousand years or so not a few blinks of an eye like the humans.

“What happened to your mother?” Shakk’uri asked Kuna.

Kuna was confused by the question but hung her head. “Mommy and daddy didn’t want me anymore.”

There were gasps and angry muttering from the women.

“What sort of monsters are her people?”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“What sort of people keep children as slaves?”

“What does she mean her mother and father didn’t want her?

Loki felt for Kuna. She was not alone in the struggle of parents not wanting their children. He felt a heat rise in his chest at the thought of his biological parents and of Odin.

“The father should have been grateful to even have the chance of siring a child,” one woman said.

“How barbaric of a mother to give up her child.”

“Ladies, please,” Shakk’uri calmed them with a wave of her hand. “We don’t know about their culture. They could still think men and women are equal.”

Loki looked around mischievously. He tried not to laugh at what they thought was ‘primitive’. He did not want to disrespect them, especially, when he was so close to getting himself and Kuna a ton of gold and jewels that actually were valuable.

Kuna was very confused and very uncomfortable. She had few memories of her real parents -none of them good- and she did not want to remember them. She also did not want to disrespect the queen even though she wanted off her lap and to sit beside Loki again. So, she lowered her head and stayed still.

“Well, now, my dear,” Shakk’uri said. “You’re safe now. You seem to be in good hands.” She looked up at Lopt who was watching Kuna. He was looking thoughtfully at the child, his green eyes full of a deep sadness. “So, Lopt, what do you think of our deal?”

He straightened up. “I think it’s perfectly agreeable. Once the Shap’aks are all assembled and counted, I will give you the stone.”

“Very well, then,” she said, extending her hand to him. “We have a deal.”

Loki stood and gracefully took her hand, shaking it. Kuna looked up at him and to his surprise, lifted her arms to him as if wanting to be picked up. He smiled and lifted the child out of Shakk’uri’s lap and sat down again. The queen called over another scurrying man and instructed him to collect the two and a half trillion Shap’aks Loki had been promised. Kuna hugged him. He was surprised by her sudden need to be touched. She had been so instinctively afraid of his touch until now.

Then, he remembered the little groot toy she had wanted in the market. “Oh,” he said. “I’ve just remembered the toy I promised you.” She looked up at him with her big eyes. He looked at the queen and explained, “We were looking through the market and I told her she could pick out whatever toy she wanted. She found a little toy groot at one of the vendors, but, as we did not have any money, the owner would not allow her to have it. He was a little gruff about it, come to think of it, even though I promised him cash upon return.

“Will you please excuse us for a while so I can fulfill my promise to her?”

Shakk’uri smiled warmly, “Of course.” She gave him the large bag filled with Shap’aks.

“What do you think? Do you want to go get that groot?” Loki asked Kuna.

Kuna nodded, smiling with tears in her eyes. Her very first ever toy. She couldn’t wait any longer. They stood and bowed to the queen and the ladies and left the hive.

“What did you think of all that?” Loki asked her, picking her up and propping her on his hip as they walked outside.

“Um,” she said, fiddling with her collar.

“Oh come on,” Loki prompted her. “What’d you think?”

“That was a little weird,” she said, after some consideration.

“Ha, yeah, it was,” Loki chuckled. “It’s always interesting to find about what other cultures and peoples view as normal or strange or outlandish.”

They made their way to the marketplace with the purse full of Shap’aks the queen had given them. Kuna was still thinking about all the ladies calling the queen ‘mother’.

“Do you think she’s the mom of all of them? Like ants or bees?” she asked, inquisitively.

Loki smiled. He knew she was clever. Beneath all that nervous, jumpy exterior was an inquisitive, observant little girl.

“Yes, I do think there’s something like that going on here. Perhaps, we can ask her to tell us more when we return.”

Kuna nodded. Then, she saw the vendor they had been to before. Loki put her down and she jumped up on the stool again, scanning to table for her groot. She couldn’t find it. She looked again to make sure she hadn’t missed it, hiding under all the other toys.

“Hmm,” Loki said. “I don’t see it. Sir,” he addressed the same gross looking being from before. He was definitely not native Tenanciian. Loki didn’t know what he was. He was squat and fat with disgusting pink, wrinkly skin. “Sir, where is the little groot toy we were looking at before? Did you place it behind the counter?”

“Nah,” he spat back at him. “That kid there’s bought it.”

Loki and Kuna turned to see a male Tenanciian with a small child hugging the little toy. Loki looked down at Kuna. He could see her disappointment. A small tear trailed down her face but she quickly wiped it away. Loki panicked. He didn’t like seeing her cry so much. He glared at the fat man, who smiled smugly back at him.

“Come on, Kuna,” he said, taking her hand. “We’ll find a better toy somewhere else. These are all poorly made anyways. I’m sure there are better ones at another stall.”

The fat man glowered at Loki but made a movement for him to stop, not wanting to miss out on a sale. Loki ignored him with a flippant toss of his hair and walked away with Kuna.

She was quiet and watched the ground as they walked. Loki picked her up again.

“He was a meany, anyways,” he said. “We’ll find you a better a toy. There’s tons of stalls here.”

The walked for a little while, passing all the stalls. Some sold clothing, others bags, others weapons and armor. There was an array of items being sold from all over the galaxy. Loki noticed Tenanciians spending a mixture of Shap’aks and Xandarian units. His eyes fell on a small shop selling Asgardian goods. He did a doubletake at the familiar linens and fabrics.

Interested in what they had to sell, Loki approached the very non-Asgardian salesman. The vendor appeared to be from Vanaheim with his pin straight black hair and almond shaped eyes. On the table, there was a spread of Asgardian weapons and armor, along with some clothing and jewelry. Loki examined the items while Kuna still looked about for a toy stand.

“Do you have anything that’s child sized?” Loki asked, taking Kuna under her arms and showing him her size by extending her out in front of him. Kuna looked around, shyly, before Loki put her back on his hip. The Vana smiled and picked up a small chest from behind the draped table.

“Please, have a look, sir,” he said.

Loki opened the box and began thumbing through the clothing. “You’re a long way from home,” he observed to the vendor.

“I am a traveler, my friend,” the Vana explained. “Selling goods from the Nine Realms to fund my travels and my family.”

“Ahh,” Loki breathed, not looking up at him.

“You too, seem far from home.” Loki looked up in shock. Had this Vana recognized him from Asgard? He had hoped the disguise would help him from being recognized. The man pointed to his mouth. “You’re accent,” he said.

“Ah, yes,” Loki said. “We’re traveling too, aren’t we?” he said, nudging Kuna a little.

“It is good to be away from the Nine Realms in these troubling times, yes?”

“Troubling times?” Loki said, acting surprised. “Do you have news from the Realms?”

“It has been many, many centuries since I’ve been there but my wife has contacted me, saying that the Realms have erupted into chaos since the death of one of the Asgardian princes.” Loki’s heart was beginning to race. He couldn’t read this man. Had he recognized him or not.

“Mmm. Yes, I do remember hearing of Loki’s death,” he said. Kuna turned her head to look at him. She hadn’t fully been listening to their conversation. “If I remember correctly, he destroyed the Asgardians’ Bifrost and nearly destroyed Jotunheim as well. Perhaps, he deserved what became of him. Is your wife safe?”

“Oh, yes. She is,” he said. Loki was relieved for changing the subject. “She and my sons are gathering more materials for us to sell. They will be joining me on Tenanci’i soon.”

“That’s good. This seems to be a uniquely peaceful place.”

“It truly is lovely,” the man said, looking around thoughtfully. “Here, I have something special that may suit what you are searching for.” He ducked back into his covered stall and returned with a beautiful light blue and brown noble Asgardian child’s garment. Loki took it from the man, who ducked back into the stall once more.

Loki kept his eyes on him but handed the outfit to Kuna. “What do you think, little one?” he asked her. “For you.”

She felt the fabric in her hands. It was soft and warm. The man reappeared with a small cloak and some tiny boots. “These were made in the Asgardian garment district. They are genuine Asgardian ovis wool. Breathable and soft but will keep you warm in the coldest of climes,” he said gesturing to the tunic and trousers in Kuna’s hand. “And these are bilgesnipe leather boots,” he continued, showing her the wee boots. “They will protect your little feet from anything. Completely watertight and warm.” He set them down in front of Loki on the table and lifted the cloak. “But this is what I wish to show you. Here, have a feel.”

Loki and Kuna both felt the soft, deep blue cloak. It was trimmed with a silver lining, knitting itself in delicate knotted patterns all around the outside the border of the cloak. Kuna let out an ardent breath, admiring the beautiful needlework. Loki too felt a pang of homesickness which he quickly buried.

“This would be a wonderful compliment to these garments, but it is not just a beautiful piece, it will protect you well. For this needlework is enchanted to protect the wearer from any projectile or melee attack like a fabric shield.”

Loki smiled. He thought he could feel magic in its fibers. Kuna pulled her hand away and looked up at Loki.

“It’s alright,” he said, sensing her fear. “I think it would be very useful for you. And this outfit would look lovely on you. Can she try it on?”

“Yes, of course!” the man said, smiling. “Come this way.”

Loki stepped cautiously behind the counter and followed the man behind the Vanir decorated tarp.

“Here,” he said. “I will give you some privacy.”

Loki nodded and the man stepped out. Loki listened, making sure the man stayed put in the stall and didn’t run to the nearest Nova Corp crony. Satisfied that the man had gone back to his work and not to tattle, Loki turned to little Kuna.

“Here, let’s try this on,” he said, crouching to her level.

She shyly turned away. “I can’t have a magic cape,” she said.

“And why not? Don’t you think it’s pretty?”

She nodded, staring at it longingly. “But it’s magic,” she said, pulling her eyes away to look at Loki again.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well – well, I’m a slave. I can’t have magic things.”

“You are not a slave anymore, Kuna,” Loki told her, firmly. “You are free now. You can do whatever you like. If you like this cloak, I want to get it for you.” She still looked unsure.

“Let’s try on the outfit first,” Loki said, setting aside the cloak. He made another peek outside. The Vana stood, helping another customer buy a leather purse. He turned back to Kuna and started to lift her ragged shirt, if that’s what you could call it. It was more like a burlap sack. “Let’s get your shirt off.” Kuna pulled away from him, nearly falling over in fear. She shook her head and sniffled.

“Kuna, it’s alright,” he said. “We need to get this off you. Look at it, it’s filthy.”

Kuna had never had a different shirt. This is the one she had always had. The one they’d given her when her mommy and daddy sold her to the stockyard.

“You can’t possibly be attached to it,” Loki said.

“I- I- I’ve never had anything else,” she stammered.

“All the more reason to take it off,” Loki replied shortly, his brow raised.

“P-please don’t take it off,” she whispered. “I’ll be good.” She spoke as if she’d misbehaved. Loki looked at her, confused.

“It’s fine, Kuna. You’ve not been bad. I just want you to try on this cute outfit.”

Kuna took a deep breath and removed the sack herself. Loki’s heart sank at the sight of her bared torso and back. Layers of scars from years of floggings and beatings crisscrossed her front and back. Some far newer than others, still healing with thick, crusty, infected scabs.

“Oh, Kuna,” Loki breathed.

Suddenly, rather ashamed of her appearance, she folded her arms.

“No. It’s alright,” he said, gently pulling her arms away and holding her hands. He looked at her softly, “I’m sorry that they’ve done this to you. You’re too young to suffer this much.”

She looked down. “That’s what I’m for,” she said, dejectedly. She believed it.

“That’s nonsense!” Loki said, dispirited by her response. “That is not what you’re for. Not anymore. You’re free now and you’re with me so that basically makes you a princess,” he said lowering his voice so the Vana would not hear. “No one is ever going to hurt you like this again. And I’ll pinky swear to that too,” he said, lifting his pinky to her. She shook her head and looked at her feet.

“Come on,” he encouraged her. “Try on this cute shirt and trousers. Then, we’ll go find you a new toy.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled yet again with tears. He rolled up the tunic and held it in front of her. She put her arms through the arm holes, and he lifted it over her head. Adjusting it on her small frame, he found it was a little too big for her. As he tightened the sash around her waist, the garment suddenly shrank before his eyes, perfectly adjusting to her size. He raised a brow, but Kuna nearly leapt out of it.

“No, no,” he said, steadying her. “It’s alright. I didn’t realize it would do that or I would have warned you. This appears to be enchanted too which is good, because the trousers should fit as well.

She removed her tattered trousers and he helped her into the new ones. They too, shrank to fit her stick-thin legs. She stepped into the boots which also shrank to her size. Loki draped the cloak over her shoulders and anchored it with the knotwork fibulae on the front of the tunic. He sat back on his haunches and looked her up and down.

“You look stunning,” he said. Kuna sniveled a little at his comment. All these compliments in one day were far too much for her little, abused mind. “Turn around and have a look in the mirror.”

She did so and was amazed by her reflection. Looking past her matted hair and dirty face, she nearly cried at how pretty she looked. She put her hands to her neck and looked at her whole body. She looked like the rich boys and girls on Torileena and the other planets in her home-system. The knotwork on the garments was so pretty. She traced it with her fingers.

Loki watched her appreciate herself for probably the first time in her life. “See? What did I tell you? This is perfect for you. And practical too,” he said, thinking of the armor enchantments on it. He helped her take it off and put her old clothes on. “When we return to the hive, I’ll give you a nice warm bath so you can appreciate these clothes with a clean body, huh?” She nodded, still in wonder at the gift he was giving her.

They stepped back outside, and Loki nodded to the Vana man. “Yes, I think these will work perfectly,” he said. The Vana smiled. “And such a perfect fit,” Loki laughed.

“Ah, yes,” the Vana replied. “The Asgardian garment mages produce some of the finest garments in all the worlds I’ve ever been to. I hope it reminds you fondly of home.”

Loki paid for the garments in Shap’aks which the man gladly accepted. He leaned in closer to Loki, putting his hand up to shield his words. “I don’t want to tell the Tenanciians that the Nova Corps are duping them with their strange digital currency. This is far more valuable,” he whispered, flipping the Shap’aks in his hand.

Loki nodded with a smile. “Me either,” he said.

Loki also purchased a nicely made Norn leather satchel to hold their new belongings. While Kuna looked at the other garments on display, Loki saw a rather lovely looking celestial steel dagger. It was perfect for Kuna; just her size. It was not Asgardian. It looked as if it were made for a light elf, but he could see the Dwarven makers mark. He picked it up.

“Oh, I knew you had good taste, sir,” the Vana said to him. Loki put his finger to his lips and darted his eyes to the girl. The man took the hint and smiled, nodding.

“Eitri,” Loki breathed. The dwarf king from Nidavellir, it was his mark. The star forge had made this blade. Loki wondered how the man had acquired such an item but not wanting to offend him, kept his thoughts to himself. He wondered if he even knew who had made it. It was intricately woven with elven-style knotwork on the handle. The blade itself was engraved with the same motif. He purchased it and quickly tucked it away in his satchel before Kuna could see.

Clearly, the Shap’aks they had been given were worth quite a lot as they had barely used any to pay for all these expensive things. “Come, Kuna. Let’s get you a toy,” he said. Kuna bounced over to him and took his hand. “Thank you so much, sir, for your hospitality and kindness. It’s been very nice visiting with you. I wish you and your family well.”

The man nodded, bowing his head slightly as the Vanir did when fare welling. “I wish you and your daughter the same,” he said. Kuna looked at the man in confusion then up at Loki. He smiled and chuckled a little before thanking him and walking away. He took Kuna’s hand and they walked away into the market again, eagerly searching for a toy stand.

#Loki #God of Mischief #Father #Others #Submitted fic #submission #Loki's Daughter #chapter 6 #traveling-classicist

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lokis-daughter-fic · 5 years ago

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Loki’s Daughter Chapter 6: A Gift