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rebrandedbard · 4 years ago

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A little drabble exchange for @theamazingbard that accidentally became more of a ficlet. Threw in a little hispanic nursery rhyme since I don’t know if we have them in english for making pain go away. I tried googling but it was unhelpful.

TW: Descriptions of blood, drinking it, gross stuff like that. Canon-typical wounds. References to drinking and inebriation.

WC: 2617

Lips Black as the Rose

Featuring highervampire!Jaskier as he tries to figure himself out after being turned. A bit of spice in there. Am I picking and choosing parts of the lore as I see fit? Yes. Is it very sexy of me to do so? One hundred percent. Will I beta this before posting? Oh absolutely not, you know the drill. ‘No beta, we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments’ is my go-to Ao3 tag for a reason.

Under no circumstances would Jaskier ever cause harm to another living thing, but the world did not reciprocate that exact philosophy. He’d been chased and held at the business end of many a sword, dagger, lance, and—on several unfortunately memorable occasions—a startling variety of available flatware. Things were rougher after meeting Geralt and having his usual human pursuers overshadowed by the threat of monsters.

Where once a spoon in the hands of a rabid duke would seem a most threatening opponent, Jaskier now found himself on the run from a more literal array of rabid beasts, and he could quote the running speeds the prove that having an extra pair of legs did indeed give certain monsters a leg up, so to speak, on the competition. But then, having no legs at all could prove a better advantage, and such creatures as those often had the additional advantage of long, venomous teeth.

Suffice to say, it was a difficult thing to be a lover in a world of fighters. Particularly when one falls into the company of another presumed lover, only to discover that their invitation to dinner was, in truth, an invitation to be dinner.

A vampire. Young, wine drunk, and foolish, Jaskier allowed himself to be led into the vampire’s den. It had been many years ago, he no longer remembered the details. He only remembered a sharp pain on his shoulder, followed by a woozy numbness, and he awoke in a strange bed, in an inn he did not check into, with his reflection missing from the mirror. He’d run away from home shortly after, fearing a bloodlust that was never to come.

It was a strange thing, being a vampire. After months of research, Jaskier came to no conclusions as to what it meant to be one exactly. He experimented with the content of old myths, touching silver very cautiously, taking delicate bites of foods prepared with garlic. He could cross a river just as well as any man. All in all, there was not much wrong with him, and he wondered what all the fuss was about. Well, there was a bit of fuss in that he could no longer be sure of his appearance, and he’d become more vain than ever, relying on the opinions of others to assure him that he looked presentable. This was a particular bother where Geralt was concerned, for he rarely paid compliments—if ever—and was not inclined to offer opinions concerning such trifling things as fashion or appearances.

Jaskier felt sure that Geralt would have noticed right away, but when their paths crossed again, Geralt seemed entirely ignorant of Jaskier’s dramatic change in biology. Running his tongue over his teeth, he could find no fangs. People complimented him on his eyes, still cooing over how bright and blue they were; and he’d been so afraid they’d turned a ghastly red as in the stories. From what he could tell, he appeared human. He had no violent urges to drain the blood from red-cheeked virgins, nor had he transformed into a bat and flown into the night. Sunlight only burned his skin as much as it had before, though it might have been harder on his eyes. He found himself squinting more in the afternoon, and it was unpleasant hot at times.

All in all, he was relatively normal.

“Such beauty ought to be preserved evermore.” That was what the vampire had told him that night. A great favor, immortality, but he wished he might have been offered a list of instructions to go with it. Figuring things out on his own was exasperating. And though he was not quite compelled to drink blood, there were times when he was … drawn. By curiosity.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, his flesh torn and body bleeding, Jaskier found it challenging to tend his wounds. Many times, he’d almost given into temptation. It did not help that he’d wanted to know the taste of Geralt’s skin long before the transformation. Now, there was an intoxicating layer to the fantasy, and the smell of Geralt’s blood made him hazy, like the bouquet of a strong wine. Or more realistically, the cloud of bitter vodka. If it had been a particularly nasty fight, Jaskier was sure he could taste Geralt’s blood by the smell alone, so powerful it made his nose wrinkle. He could get drunk on the fumes, and it was not always so pleasant.

He never dared try. There were too many things to consider. For a start, there was no telling what the blood of a witcher would do to him—and that was before factoring potions into the equation. Having never fed of blood, Jaskier did not know how his instincts would react, and he was sure he had some animal instinct to him now. He might drain Geralt dry in a matter of minutes, or the taste of blood might make him go insane and start tearing at his surroundings like a mad beast! Or, simplest and frightening of all, Geralt might kill him. So Jaskier kept his secret, never giving in to his curiosity.

But one day, he’d slipped.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He clenched his hand and a sharp smell pervaded the air. In sharpening his sword, his hand had slipped. He’d cut the meat of his palm, just above his wrist.

Jaskier was up at once, Geralt’s bag in hand, ready to wrap the wound. He was very quick these days in getting things bundled up as soon as possible. Once the wounds were wrapped, the smell was not as pronounced. He fished out a strip of cloth and had it round Geralt’s hand in a matter of moments, working efficiently with good practice.

Geralt smiled ruefully. “A clean wound, at least. Should stitch itself up by morning.” He chuckled and inspected the wound, his eyes flicking over to Jaskier. “Haven’t done that since I was a child sharpening my first dagger,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself often in training?” Jaskier asked.

“No, not so often. We didn’t waste wrappings on such small scrapes either.”

There was a distracting shadow of red seeping through the cloth. Jaskier scoffed. “So you let it bleed into the open air, did you?”

“We were less inclined to coddle than humans.”

“Coddle?” Jaskier said, raising an offended hand to his chest. “My dear, a dressing is hardly evidence of coddling. If I wished to coddle you, I’d kiss it better and sing a little chant.”

Geralt presented his hand to Jaskier, smirking humorously. “Then do it. I’ve never heard of humans having such power as to kiss wounds better. Would save me a lot of trouble.”

“Erm … ” Jaskier flushed, considering the proffered wound. He nearly made a joke about lacking such power, being no longer human, but he bit it back. To cover his hesitation, he took Geralt’s hand and gently sang the rhyme his nurse used to calm him after a scraped elbow or knee. His tongue rolled musically as he rubbed the dressing carefully. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.” Then he bent his head down to kiss the place.

“I don’t see what frogs’ tails have to do with my hand,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier did not hear him. Instead, he felt oddly fixed in place, a metallic tang on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and licked at his bottom lip to chase the memory of the taste. As he did, his tongue scraped the end of a long, pointed tooth. He stumbled back unsteadily, muttered his excuses, and fled to the safety of his bedroll across camp. There he sat, writing nonsense in his notebook as though struck by sudden inspiration.

He’d tasted Geralt’s blood. And now he wanted more.

The next few hunts were blessedly without injury. Jaskier found he was able to breathe again. It twisted his gut whenever Geralt went off to fulfill a contract, and his conscience was at odds with this new obsession. He wanted Geralt to come back whole and unharmed. But he wanted some cut, some smallest scrape upon which to lathe his tongue. When he thought of it, he felt a stirring in his gums, and touching the place, he found the fangs had grown in again. It took concentration to hide them again. He took to smiling with his mouth closed after the first incident, and he developed a habit of biting his lips.

When they came to a larger town, Jaskier went straight to the butcher. To quell his growing need, he bought fresh meat, sneaking a sip from the blood dish beneath the draining sheep’s carcass while the butcher’s back was turned. It had the strangest effect on him. Within minutes of leaving the butcher’s shop, he felt light-headed. He felt drunk, in short, and he wobbled his way to the inn, a giggle in his throat.

For dinner, he asked the potmaid to send the loin to the cook and surprised Geralt with it: a small treat to celebrate his recent hunting success. In truth, he wanted nothing to do with it, festering in the shame of his lie. The loin had merely been an excuse: something to keep the butcher busy while he drank his curiosity like some writhing leech dredged up from the water.

It made him drunk. He made note of it in his book and swore that would be the end of things. This odd affair made it easy to forget, his stomach turning in guilt and disgust at the thought of repeating the act. He was fine and healthy without blood, therefore there was no need to partake. He could go the rest of his life perfectly happy never drinking another drop. Until the day it fell from Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier stared at it from across the room. Geralt had just returned from a fight, his eyes and blood black with potion. His armour was scratched up, covered in foulness from monsters unknown, but he was alive and whole, hardly bruised. Jaskier tried to focus on the smell of the guts dripping from his armour. It was still as disgusting as ever, even with vampiric senses to influence his opinion. The wretched blood was still unappetizing. But above it, he smelled a strange scent: sweet, a touch of iron. And there, shining on Geralt’s lip, the wet glisten of blood.

He swallowed hard as Geralt wiped the cut on the back of his hand. The blood smudged along his chin, all the more enticing. His knuckles turned white on the sheet of his bed as he held himself in place. Ordinarily, he would be up on his feet to help coax Geralt out of his armour by now, but he did not trust himself to be so close.

Geralt shed his shoulder pads, looking at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. “It’s a bit slippery,” he said. He inclined his head, beckoning Jaskier over. That was their way. They did not ask things from one another. It was simple routine, and the brief lapse was something awkward to acknowledge.

What excuses could he provide? Jaskier stood on trembling legs and made his way, biting his own lip to hide the fangs he felt beginning to grow. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasps, far too close to Geralt’s face. His breath caught, watching a bead of dark blood roll down his lip, over his chin. His lip was stained black.

Geralt had always had nice lips, Jaskier felt. He was always reminded torturously of this fact when he helped Geralt out of his armour. How could one undress such a man without indulging in the fantasy of what came after, even a little? But oh, it was a dangerous line of thought. Now he was bewitched by his senses, his focus single-mindedly drawn to that point on Geralt’s lip. To kiss him now, to lick the blood from his lip—it would be divine. He felt his heart beat faster at the prospect, his hands stalling to unbuckle Geralt’s breastplate as he stared. Just one taste. One kiss was all he wanted.

A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him short. Jaskier startled out of his unconscious reverie and looked at Geralt in horror. He hadn’t—! Had he? His attention flicked between Geralt’s eyes and his lip, and to his relief, the blood remained untouched.

“Not just now,” Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. “The potions might paralyze you—at least for a day. Anything lesser would die from a drink of it. It turns my blood to poison.”

Jaskier blinked, edging back. “I … don’t understand your meaning,” he feigned.

Geralt followed him, stepping forward. He raised a hand, caressing Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the best at keeping secrets. I noticed some time ago you stopped aging, and there’s no shadow at your feet, even on the brightest afternoon.”

He swiped his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier gasped, his lips parting, and Geralt pushed in. Then, his thumb was pushing Jaskier’s top lip away, revealing a glistening fang. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped back once more.

“You’re a vampire,” Geralt said. “And not a common one either. My medallion doesn’t react to you at all.” He chuckled and added, “As if you could be common by any measure.”

Jaskier turned away, picking up one of Geralt’s shoulder pads. He clutched it to his chest, whether for protection or for comfort he could not say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid to tell you … afraid what you might say. What you … might do.”

A warm hand smoothed down his arm comfortingly. There was a teasing quality to Geralt’s voice when he spoke. A hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, making him nearly jump in surprise.

“In regards to what: the knowledge that you’re a vampire, or the knowledge that you want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, words hot against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shivered, the adrenaline of his fear quickly turning to something sweeter. “Both,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to understand Geralt’s intent.

“You cannot drink of me tonight,” Geralt whispered, “but I can satisfy that other hunger, if you only have the discipline to keep your teeth to yourself.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s hand slipped lower and lower down his front, Jaskier thought he knew. Even so …

Geralt chuckled, nose pressing to the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’m saying I’m tired of the way you look at me like a man starving and refuse to do something about it. It’s gotten worse. It was bad enough before, waiting for you to make your move, but since your turning, it’s insufferable. I feel like the centerpiece of a banquet, waiting to be devoured.”

“You said I couldn’t kiss you,” Jaskier said, breath coming up short as he felt himself pressed back against a firm chest, a second hand coming up to tug at the edge of his chemise. “I have no discipline whatsoever. And you know that.”

“Well then.”

Jaskier dropped the plate of armour as he was pushed backward. He fell, his knees caught by the edge of the bed. Arms caged him on either side, and above him. Geralt smiled, a drop of blood falling onto the sheets below. He pressed his thumb to Jaskier’s mouth once more, something ravenous in his eyes.

“Well then,” he repeated. “Looks like I’ll have to devour you instead.”

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #vampire!jaskier #highervampire!jaskier #showing off a bit of my culture there with the little rhyme #mexican / irish blended household baby!#sadly though I learned the rhyme from spanish classes instead of from my family lmao #such is life #lips black as the rose fic #persie's tag #I TOLD you I'd leave things unfulfilled #suffer

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yentotajaan · 4 years ago

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Repercussions IV: A Friendly Chat

An envelope is placed on Faye Covington’s desk, signed by Yen’to and containing a document within. There are various words and phrases crossed out and re-written.

Lady Faye Covington,

I am writing this report of recent events since it seems no one else bothers with such things around here will. Strega, Alyona, Lalatua, Kouronne, and an unfamiliar miqo’te named Naoko were all idling in the lobby when Sergeant Baxter arrived and let himself in. He announced that one of the Garleans from our previous encounters was being held prisoner and was being kept in a secret location ready for interrogation. Somewhat regrettably, Sergeant Baxter made it clear that the Alliance would still need the prisoner alive after we are finished with him. But not unharmed. We were then escorted most of the way by airship to an island off Costa Del Sol, then trekked the remaining distance by foot through jungle.

The building was guarded by a small squad who would remain outside to keep watch. We made our way inside into a dimly lit room, likely so to keep the prisoner from being too aware of comings and goings. A sort of mirror allowed us to view the prisoner in his cell without him being able to see us back. Sergeant Baxter then provided linkpearls so we could communicate regardless of who was in the cell with the prisoner. We discussed amongst ourselves for a brief time until deciding to use the figurative kraken root rather than the stick, at least to start with. At the suggestion of Strega we sent her in to begin discussions interrogation. We thought it safe enough that she would not need a guard, and we did not want to spook the prisoner by throwing so many unknowns at him.

The first attempt went about as well as one would expect from a Garlean. He was maniacal, so assured of his superiority that there was nothing a savage could offer him that could compare to Garlemald’s riches and might. We did at least discover his name was Marcu, likely a nickname of Marcus. That is, unfortunately, all we really managed to learn before Strega attempted speaking in his own language and raised his ire warranted suspicion.

It was at this point that ideas were thrown around with about as much care as rocks in a quarry. Insults started being hurled some tempers were starting to get frayed by this point, and Lalatua’s patience was becoming rather short wearing thin. She left soon after we settled on a plan. A shame, since she had some of the best thoughts on the matter. At any rate, one of the more promising ideas was to forge a document stating that Marcu’s masters had left him to rot and abandoned him. Lalatua’s plan was to try to get his ego stroked so he would be more likely to talk at length. We opted for the forgery as a plan B, and sent Strega back in to proceed with Lalatua’s idea. In the meantime, Alyona and Kouronne worked on the forged document, but I use the term work loosely.

Lalatua’s idea appeared to be working, and we managed to get much more information on the second attempt. The soldiers under tribunus Lucian are running an experiment and were none too pleased that we had set it back by destroying the main testing ground, along with a castrum. The Garleans are confounded by the ability of Eorzea to put forth warriors of extraordinary strength, who manage to consistently beat back their magitek enhanced legions. They wanted to discover the source of this strength, to understand it and either harness it or nullify its advantage.

While Strega was questioning the prisoner, an uninvited guest managed to sneak past the guards - a female with hyur features. It was my fault for not being more attentive. I should have had Naoko watch the door. The stranger expressed familiarity with us, and extended an offer of assistance. There was something familiar about her, but I could not quite place it. We were wary of this surprise offer, and were still trying to figure how much trust we could extend when she slipped into the prisoner’s cell while Strega was exiting. She immediately began speaking in Marcu’s native tongue, much to my regret since I have no understanding of it. Strega could understand it, at least, but gave a not-so-reassuring statement that she could not determine if this stranger was a spy or actually being helpful.

It was at this time that some of us heard voices from outside, apparently the soldiers talking amongst themselves about investigating a nearby disturbance. I paid it little mind, but Alyona left to go check it out with them. Meanwhile, Strega was making notes on the conversation overheard on the linkpearl between the prisoner and the strange woman. It seems that the prisoner is a medicus, not a scientist. Also, tribunus Lucian moves from castrum to castrum, staying in one place just long enough to continue his experiments and satisfy his urges to hunt. Based on past experiences, that could only mean adventurers or any hapless villagers unfortunate enough to be within range.

It was at this point, that everything went to shite wrong. The strange woman had just begun revealing who she was when we heard shouting and gunfire from outside, and hustled to see what was the matter. Sergeant Baxter and a few other soldiers were fleeing from the jungle, yelling about a strange monster that was stalking them. Behind them, I could make out some hyur-like figure that was wearing a Hrothgar mask. Yet it was not a mask at all, but an actual Hrothgar head, removed from the body it was once attached to. The thing creature monster moved with unnatural speed and ferocity, cutting down some of the soldiers before they could react.

We set up a defensive position just outside the building’s entrance. I confirmed with Strega over the linkpearl that we still needed the prisoner alive, and she set to work in freeing his restraints to bring with us. I am not sure on the exact details, but Marcu was somehow being tracked. Between the blubbering and screaming, I can only guess that it was some sort of device that Strega had to cut out. He also seemed to know what the monsters were and grew ever more frantic, his pathetic cries coming in clearly over the linkpearl. Sergeant Baxter reassured us that he had called for reinforcements, but our enemy also had more reinforcements arriving by every moment we delayed. Each had some sort of ghastly head from bestial races such as lupin and vath set upon their shoulders.

Just when I thought we would soon be overwhelmed, Strega ran out with the prisoner and we made haste to the nearby bridge upon Sergeant Baxter’s urging. A hail of arrows from the hunters threatened to cut us down as we ran for cover. Most of us were unscathed, but Naoko took a hit to the leg. We turned to make a stand, and managed to fight off the first wave of monsters, but more injuries were incurred. I foolishly assumed we had gained the upper hand but was proven wrong when some giant lizard with one of those monsters as its rider came barreling towards our group from the tree line.

Most of the others were knocked off the bridge into the shallow river below. Strega was caught in its jaws. The strange woman and I managed to hold our own long enough against the beast and its rider for the others to make their way back to us. Combining our might we managed to fell both beast and rider, and the other monsters fled back into the jungle upon its defeat and timely arrival of Maelstrom reinforcements.

The victory was not without cost. Strega, Naoko, and the strange woman were seriously injured; Alyona and Kouronne to a lesser extent. The Maelstrom chiurgeons tended to them, so they will be fine, but will take some time to be back up to fighting strength.

The prisoner will be remaining with the Maelstrom but can be accessed at our discretion if need be. However, I seriously doubt we will glean any more useful information out of him and that he has truly given up as much as he knows. I suspect he only has knowledge of the big picture, since at no time did he mention the dossiers we discovered at the Garlean safehouse or any specific plans for the Shroudrose. I am more than willing to attempt to beat it out of him question him further if need be.

The last thing I want to inform you of is the nature of the strange woman. I knew she sounded familiar, and her knowledge of us seemed to prove my suspicions. I thought I had observed her coming and going from the Shroudrose back rooms. That annoying miqo’te brat Luka is actually a annoying hyur brat, and had been using some sort of disguise. Luka is not even her real name, although she provided nothing else to call her.

For what reason she did this I do not know, since she was too injured for me to fully question. I am inclined to believe her loyalty lies with you, but her knowledge of Garlemald and her deception makes it difficult to fully trust her. However, she did risk her life to fight with us, nearly getting killed in the process. She was also instrumental in getting Marcu to fully open up about the Garleans’ plans. My suggestion is to keep the little fool her close as a potential asset.

Sincerely,

Yen’to Tajaan

https://yentotajaan.tumblr.com/post/636984776629387264/repercussions-iii-the-talk

@tough-bit-of-fluff

@fair-fae

#ffxiv #rp #balmung #storyline #Khaaaaaan

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magicalforcesau · 4 years ago

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Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 11- Year 1: June

(ao3 link)

The news that Dooku had been discovered to be a sith lord circulated the castle faster than even Anakin would have expected possible. He was given a little more interest as it wasn’t every day that students left the castle grounds to go gallivanting through the Department of Mysteries. Qui-Gon had already warned him not to talk about everything yet, but lucky for him the students seemed just as intrigued by the tub of brains as they were about the rumor of prophecy that was whispered in the halls.

It did feel nice to feel safe once more inside the sturdy castle walls. Dooku may not have been captured, but he was unlikely to show his ugly mug around the school again. Going to charms class was no longer as worrisome, though it was still clear Professor Windu didn’t regard him as his favorite student. He and Rex spent most of their class practicing a few of the most recent spells that Anakin had missed out on while being kidnapped, or actively worried for his life. While it was clear Rex wasn’t the best at them quite yet, it was still nice to have him show off the basics.

“I swear you’re doing better than I am,” Rex complained as Anakin successfully charmed their feather to dance above their desks.

“You know why,” Anakin tried not to brag, but it was a little hard. Rex had been his exception to Qui-Gon’s rule, he couldn’t leave his best friend out of the loop after all.

“Yeah alright,” Rex rolled his eyes, he was much too eager to start packing his things as class was wrapping up to worry about some chosen one prophecy powers.

“I find out I’m extra powerful and still Obi-Wan’s going to make me study for hours,” Anakin complained in a whisper, “He didn’t even seem that impressed!”

“It’s because he’s spent all year correcting your papers,” Rex pointed out with a grin. Anakin just sighed, letting the feather flutter back on the desk. The bell rang at the same time and both boys stood quickly.

“Skywalker. A word,” Professor Windu called without even turning around to look at him. Rex shot Anakin a worried look, but Anakin shook his head. He had no reason to fear Windu anymore so he waved Rex off and waited until the rest of the class had left the room.

“I’m not much for apologies,” Professor Windu did turn fixing his stern stare on the only occupant of the room, “But I was wrong this year in thinking you were the culprit of the cheating scandal,” It was probably going to be all he got so Anakin just shrugged.

“Well, I’m sorry too,” He admitted, “For thinking you were trying to murder me,” Windu looked taken aback by his statement and Anakin wrinkled his forehead, “Didn’t Qui-Gon tell you? We thought you were the mystery man. Dooku knew too I guess, when he kidnapped me he wore your robes,” Windu seemed to take in this information, staying still and silent longer than he normally did before he sighed.

“I suppose then, I owe you another apology, for giving you reason to believe myself capable of such a thing,” He added to his early statement, but Anakin just shrugged again and slipped his bag on over his head.

“It doesn’t really matter anymore,” He decided, “Dooku’s been axed so next year should be much less dangerous.”

“I hope so too.”

***

Anakin was taking his time getting to flying class. At this point in the year, he knew the school and the passages so well he could really head to class whenever he wanted and still manage to get there on time. He wasn’t sure if the knowledge had been worth the many near death experiences, but he figured he may as well use it now that he had it.

He was heading towards the statue of the old wizard holding a quill; it held behind it a secret passage that would lead him straight outside to the Quidditch pitch. Before he could pull out his wand to recite the password, a shadow staining the floor caught his eye.

He followed it up to the window where Padmé Amidala sat, the sunlight drifting through the window sill painting her in its delicate golden rays. She flipped a page in her textbook, probably studying for her final exams. She looked stiff, as if she’d been resting there for a rather long period of time and Anakin felt his mouth go dry as she turned to look at him, her hair falling softly over her shoulder. His attention was drawn to the silver hoop laid over her head like a tiara and when the sun hit it, it glimmered like a halo.

She reminded him of the stained glass windows in the church he used to walk past on the way to school and he thought about telling her, but his tongue practically shriveled in his mouth as her eyes met his.

“Oh, Anakin,” She looked surprised to see him, which he supposed wasn’t surprising given that he was supposed to be in class in a few minutes. Such things seemed so trivial in comparison to being in her presence. So, he let that thought slide to the back of his mind easily.

“Padmé,” He’d managed to say her name then, that was good.

“Is… Is there something I can help you with?” She turned so her legs dangled over the side of the sill, and Anakin had to stop himself from bringing up that stained glass window after all.

“Oh, sorry,” He said instead, “I was just heading to class. I… I didn’t expect to see you here,” Her eyebrows pulled together as she glanced over her shoulder at the grounds below.

“Aren’t you supposed to be down there? What are you doing up here?” She asked, “Not trying to skip class are you? I’m thinking about being a prefect you know, I could turn you in,” Anakin shook his head quickly, before running a hand through his hair, hoping he hadn’t just made it look like a mess.

“Oh no of course not!” He told her, “There’s a passage here,” He pointed at the statue. He was glad she was the only person here to hear him blurt out such secrets, but she just looked over the statue in curiosity.

“I’ve been wondering about those,” Padmé admitted, “They say you had some kind of map, where’d you get it?” Anakin shrugged although a little too quickly to be seen as completely nonchalant.

“I found it in September,” He decided, “Just under some desk. I’m glad it was me who found it, better than Sebulba or Dooku or something.”

“Is- is what they’re saying about what happened with Dooku true?” Padmé hesitated to ask, but let herself slide off the window sill, her shoes clacking on the stone floor.

“About me being the chosen one?” Anakin couldn’t help, but to boast a little, sticking his chest out importantly, “I don’t think I should say, could be dangerous,” but Padmé shook her head.

“That he was a Sith,” She whispered after glancing around the empty hall. Anakin just nodded in answer, much less interested in that line of thinking, “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a prefect after all,” She sighed, slumping a little back into the wall.

“What? You’d be great!” Anakin yelled, “What makes you think you wouldn’t? You’re pretty smart for us Gryffindor’s and you’ve been in much less trouble this semester than I have.”

“That’s just it,” Padmé frowned, “I didn’t suspect Dooku at all. I wasn’t even hardly involved in anything this year except my classes-”

“You were involved in the Zillo Beast case,” Anakin reminded her, “Who cares if you missed out on what boring old Dooku was plotting. You’re only in your second year so you’ve got plenty of time to uncover your own evil plot,” She smiled a little at that and Anakin grinned in return, “I don’t know the Gryffindor prefects really well, and Obi-Wan’s pretty busy with me. Maybe you could ask Satine about it. I’m beginning to think she must be lonely to spend so much time reading with Obi-Wan.”

“Well I don’t know about that,” Padmé laughed, and Anakin had to marvel at the sound, “But that’s not a terrible idea. We’re acquaintances already I suppose,” The clock tower rang out announcing the start of class and Anakin jumped.

“Oh no I’m going to be late!” He whipped his wand out from inside of his robe and pointed it at the statue’s quill, “Wingardium Leviosa!” The quill rose into the air until there was a click and the statue swiveled to the side revealing a wide passage through the walls.

“Don’t tell anyone!” He warned Padmé with a finger to his lips before he hurried into the tunnel before it fell closed behind him.

***

As he drifted up the winding stairs that led to the communal owl tower, intent on sending another letter to his mum, Anakin literally bumped into Professor Qui-Gon, who was uncharacteristically distracted as he regarded a letter he’d just received.

“Oh, sorry, Anakin!” He smiled sheepishly, which was an expression he wasn’t quite used to seeing on the typically placid man’s kind face. If Anakin didn’t know better, he’d say that Qui-Gon was blushing.

“Everything okay, Professor?” Anakin asked, which considering recent events felt like a very silly question, but Qui-Gon didn’t seem sad. It wasn’t that hot out today, even if it was June and summer was just around the corner, but he supposed he could be flushed from exertion. “Are you winded?”

He snorted, “I’m not that old yet, young one.”

Anakin never understood why grownups found such a suggestion so humorous. Everyone above the age of 18 was pretty old to Anakin. Even Obi-Wan, who was only 16, seemed old to him.

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

Most professors probably would have told him to shove his nose into his own business, but Qui-Gon was always the type to humor and challenge his students. It was why he was such a trusted confidante. Briefly, Anakin wondered if Dooku had been that way with Qui-Gon once upon a time.

“Honestly, I just received some news that I can’t help but be excited over.” He said, “So, accept my sincerest apologies over my lack of manners. It’s just that no matter how hard one looks for answers to the future and studies the texts of old, destiny always has a way of sneaking up on you.”

Anakin thought about that as he often considered Qui-Gon’s weighted words. “Just when I thought this year was only going to get worse, it got way better! And now, it’s kind of nice to know why all of this weird stuff has been happening to me.”

“A wise assessment, Anakin.” He nodded, “Sometimes, knowing why is everything, even if we don’t quite have the solution.”

“And what if we never find out why?” He asked, “Like with Dooku?”

Qui-Gon’s smile faded, though only a little bit, and he reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, “I need you to understand to the depth of your bones, Anakin, that none of Dooku’s motivations are driven to you personally. His choices to embrace darkness and go down a terrible path of cruelty speaks nothing of you. Or me. Or anyone, but himself.”

Anakin nodded, “I know. He said a lot of weird stuff about my blood being priceless or whatever, which I guess makes sense if I’m some holy chosen one.”

He laughed, “Yes, indeed, well, the greatest of evils often crawl out to try and combat the best of us. Do you know why?”

“No, sir.”

“Because they fear goodness most of all.” Qui-Gon said, “Because to be good and to stay good takes more courage and strength than any spell in existence.”

Anakin knew what Qui-Gon meant, but he still couldn’t help but feel that the exuberant displays of power that both professors spewed at one another were also pretty surefire ways of exemplifying strength.

“So, where is destiny taking you, then?” Anakin asked.

Qui-Gon’s smile returned to full vibrancy and a wistful look overtook his eyes as he regarded all of Hogwarts, “It appears I am to be the new Head of Ravenclaw house come this fall.”

“That’s amazing!” He chirped, “Really, it probably should have been you all along.”

“As I said, my dear boy, fate works in mysterious ways.” He said, “I can both take the lessons I learned from my former mentor to heart and with scrutiny. And more importantly, I can learn from his mistakes.”

“I’m just glad Obi-Wan would never betray me.”

“No, I don’t think he ever would.” He said and then wagged a finger at him, “Speaking of, this knowledge is not to get out to anyone until Headmaster Yoda formerly announces it at dinner. Do you think you can handle that?”

“A secret? Oh, I’m like a vault, Qui-Gon.” Anakin waved him off, “For instance, I’ve known that Saché has a crush on Yané all year and haven’t said anything to anyone.”

Realizing his mistake, his eyes bulged and he clapped a hand over his mouth, “Oh bollocks.”

Qui-Gon’s deep laugh startled some of the owls nearby, eliciting screeches and fluttering wings from them and the professor raised a hand as though that was going to calm them down.

“Your secret is safe with me.” He offered.

“I’ll probably just not talk all day until it’s announced then.” Anakin grimaced and moved past him to send his letter with one of the public owls offered by the school for students who couldn’t otherwise afford them. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re the wisest professor here, which I guess makes you perfect for the job.”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence.” He said warmly and before turning to descend the stairs, eyed Anakin curiously while he gently pet the white and gray owl he usually deviated towards for mail-carrying.

“Is that your owl?” He asked.

“Nah, this is Artoo.” Anakin smiled and ran a finger along the spots on the owl’s belly, admiring how in a certain lighting, they almost looked dark blue, “He belongs to the school.”

“He’s a stubborn little bird.” Qui-Gon said and showcased a few painful-looking peck marks on his hands, “Never wants to listen to anyone.”

“Really?” Anakin found that difficult to believe, “He always sends my mail super fast, don’t you, Artoo?”

The bird chirped eagerly as though answering.

“Very interesting,” Qui-Gon stroked his beard, “It seems you two have a lot in common. Being mischievous and misunderstood standing at the top of that list, of course.”

Anakin laughed, “Yeah, I guess so. I came up here a lot when nobody believed me about the whole cheating thing. Not always to send mail either. I just liked hanging out with this little guy.”

Another bird with a deep copper-brindle coloring and large golden eyes squawked dramatically and fluttered as though distressed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re cool too, Threepio.” Anakin rolled his eyes and leaned closer to Qui-Gon, “He gets a little jealous.”

Qui-Gon smiled, “Well, I believe such a bond deserves to be made official.”

Anakin wrinkled his brow, “How do you mean?”

“I mean, perhaps Artoo would be happiest if he went home with you this summer?”

Anakin’s eyebrows shot to his head, “Seriously?”

“As a heart attack, Anakin.” He chuckled, “We cannot deny the bonds we make or the importance of friends and I feel this owl in particular might miss you a great deal. Plus, how else will you keep in touch?”

He hadn’t thought about it that way. It wasn’t like wizards used phones.

“I can really keep him?” He asked again, believing it too good to be true.

“Consider it my first act as a head of house.” The large man grinned, “Just promise to write this summer.”

“Yes sir!” He cheered, “Oh, mom is going to love this!”

Artoo seemed excited about the prospect of going home with Anakin too, because he flew right to his shoulder as though it were where he always belonged and eyed the other owls like they were suddenly beneath him. Then again, Anakin suspected Artoo had always been king of the castle with such beautiful coloring.

If owls could roll their eyes, the owl called Threepio would certainly have done so.

***

“What have you got there?” Satine asked as Anakin scurried by her on his way to potions.

“Oh, just some books.” He shrugged like an entire silver-eyed owl wasn’t presently perched on his left shoulder. “Finals are coming up.”

“I’m aware.” She chuckled and crossed her arms, “I was referring to the owl.”

Anakin looked over at the bird, who turned its head to mimic his master’s movements and nudged Anakin’s head gently with its beak. “Oh, you mean Artoo. Yeah, we’re kind of a package deal now.”

“Owls are supposed to remain in cages when not at the owlery, Anakin.” She said.

“I haven’t gotten a cage yet since this little guy was actually a gift.” He beamed, “Can’t say who from though. I don’t want anyone to get too jealous.”

She smirked and walked alongside him to class, “I think I have my suspicions as to whom he could have come from.”

“If you’re accusing me of stealing-”

“-No!” Satine abruptly interjected, immediately guilty at the very thought of doing so, but equal parts embarrassed for the outburst, “Of course not. I believe you. In fact, I’m very sorry that I didn’t sooner.”

He and his new owl seemed to regard her to try and see if they really believed her before apparently deciding what she said was true and rolling any residual disdain off Anakin’s shoulders.

“That’s okay,” He practically bounced in his step as he continued walking, “After all, you were the one who cleared my name in the end.”

She bit her tongue from pointing out that had it not been for her, perhaps he wouldn’t have been condemned in the first place. Ben and Cody were right when they said she couldn’t continue to beat herself up about it, despite how hard such a realization was. In a sense, it was incredibly narcissistic to trace the dark results of Anakin’s kidnapping back to her own meager assumptions. Not everything happened because of her volitions.

She wasn’t sure she deserved such easy forgiveness, but was grateful for it. Maybe, that was why she was feeling a bit generous at the moment. After all, he really did need to cage the owl. It might have been docile at the moment, but those birds were always easily excitable.

“I suppose I can pretend I never saw you today,” She said casually. “Just this once.”

“Obi-Wan wouldn’t.” He snorted.

“Obi-Wan’s not here,” She smiled and reached out a finger to stroke the owl’s stomach, surprised that he allowed her to do so, “Though as cute as your new friend is, I’m not sure Professor Palpatine is keen on allowing study buddies in class.”

“Actually, it’s going to be a show-and-tell sort of thing.” He said and frowned, “You know what that is, right?”

“I’m a muggle-born, Anakin.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He rolled his eyes, “Well, I owe you one. Maybe help you solve that Obi-Wan mystery thing from before if you want.”

“What Obi-Wan mystery?” She asked.

“The person he’s secretly swooning over, of course. I’d like to know for my own personal stash of secrets, though I’m not sure why you were so curious.”

She felt her face grow hot, though was grateful that Anakin didn’t seem to notice, “Let’s call it: friendly concern.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I guess I’d want to know if Rex was secretly snogging someone.”

Considering they’d just come off much more pressing events, Satine really tried not to let this jar her as much as it did, but she couldn’t help feeling that sickly green feeling at imagining Obi-Wan sneaking around with someone. Anyone. Well, anyone that wasn’t-

“Rex is a bit more forthcoming than Ben.” She offered before allowing herself to tread too heavily on intrusive images that she desperately wanted to banish. There were definitely times when she wanted to curse her over-active imagination and this was most certainly one of them.

“True,” Anakin rolled his eyes, “Surely whoever it is has dumped him by now. I mean, all he ever does is study with you these days.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” She fired with again, more enthusiasm than was appropriate for this particular circumstance. However, if any of the bustling students gave any indication of caring about their conversation in the open hallway, they didn’t show any deliberate signs.

“And when I talked to him about it, he does that thing he always does when he’s finished arguing with you.”

She wrinkled her brow. She never knew of such a tell. “What does he do?”

“Just plays around with his watch.” Anakin shrugged.

Satine stopped in her tracks, instantly causing some frustrated seventh years that were trailing shortly behind her to ram into her. She didn’t so much as blink as they grumbled some grievances under their breaths at the sudden motion. Even Anakin seemed startled and looked worried that he’d said the wrong thing.

“He… What?”

“You know, that watch he always wears? You’ve never seen him do that?” Anakin edged on as if she didn’t know, let alone construct the damn thing. Then again, maybe the boy just didn’t have that information. Of course he wouldn’t see it as important in the past. “Satine?”

She snapped back into the present, “So, you said he does this after we fight too?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, “It’s really weird. I don’t know much, but love and anger are supposed to be wildly different.”

She guessed it was a little weird to someone a bit younger, but she often struggled with that same level of duality. Not now, of course, because she could hardly hide the grin that was desperately trying to break across her face. She had to bite her lip hard to prevent it from happening, but suspected she looked quite silly to the confused first year.

“Maybe I can get him to talk about it more though.” Anakin shrugged, “See who this person is.”

She allowed herself the luxury of a contained smile as they finally approached his potions class. She hadn’t intended on walking him there entirely, but was bursting with the seams that she did. Where there had once been that horrible green feeling there was… Knowing.

She never dared to formally acknowledge the suspicions that clung to the warmest and most secret part of her heart. The signs were there, of course, on a logical level. They were practically inseparable, for one thing, and she’d always caught his stare even when she wasn’t seeking it. Their hands always brushed together and she always swore his ears would go red at any lingered contact. Whether or not he was fully aware of this situation was yet to be discovered, but there was something secure in knowing that if there was anyone that Obi-Wan Kenobi fancied, it was her.

What she wanted to do with this insight, she was unsure, but for now, it was enough just to have it.

“I appreciate the offer.” She said, “But maybe it’s best to allow fate to run its course. After all, he may tell us himself.”

He snorted, “I wouldn’t hold your breath. He’s like a lock box of feelings.”

“Maybe,” She admitted, “But as we well know, a lot can change in a year.”

***

“What do you think?” Anakin tossed his practice test on top of Rex’s.

“Hey! Careful you’re going to smudge the ink!” Rex peeled it off, but gave it a once over, “I don’t think Professor Palpatine is going to accept a comparison between a potion and a bowl of soup,” Anakin just took the paper back with a groan.

“It looks exactly like it though,” He complained, then sighed “You’re probably right, Obi-Wan probably wouldn’t even know what clam chowder is, which doesn’t bode well for Professor Palpatine.”

“Just think about what Obi-Wan would write then,” Rex suggested as he handed Anakin his own answers, “Do you think Professor Yaddle expects us to have all the dates memorized?”

“Well, she’ll probably give half points, but you’re not even in the right century,” Anakin circled the date with a red pen and gave it back.

“This would be much easier if they were Quidditch dates,” Rex let the papers fall on top of his textbook, “Cody practically drilled it into me,” Anakin tapped his pen to his lips in thought.

“Maybe you can relate events to which Quidditch games happened around them,” Rex perked up at the thought, “It’ll get you in the right ballpark.”

“That’s not a terrible plan,” They lapsed back into silence as Rex’s quill scratched out a timeline.

Anakin tried to think of another way to describe various potions, but his mind kept trailing back to his soup analogy. It was getting late, he realized glancing out of the window. Maybe it was about time to break for dinner. He looked back to Rex to see his eyes flick to the darkening window too.

“Dinner?” Anakin asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” Rex confirmed already shuffling around parchment, “Although, I’m going to completely lose my train of thought.”

“I don’t know how you haven’t lost it already,” Anakin mirrored him as they both packed up their bags, “My head feels stuffed full of random enchantments.”

“At least we’re not the fifth years,” Rex nodded over to where they could just barely see Obi-Wan, Satine, and Cody also packing up for dinner, “I don’t envy having to take the O.W.L.s.”

“Remind me not to get attacked my fifth year, I’m not sure I’d be able to catch up fast enough.”

***

During dinner, the large stone-lined halls were hollow from all life save for the ghosts that lumbered along, each relishing in the lack of tomfoolery that typically came with spending your eternal resting place in a location so heavily ingrained in the concept of raising and teaching children. Each gave themselves an appraising glance as the time drew longer and the students were held inside for just a few minutes longer to receive a formal announcement. None of them, even the persistently nosy ghosts and poltergeists, such as the young Mission Tao, cared much beyond this meaning they only had more time to do as they pleased.

Before long, however, the large doors swung open, slamming the wall behind it with a carelessness that wouldn’t have been atypical for the likes of the Fett brothers or even Sebulba and his cronies, but incredibly out of character for two prefects. Even more shockingly, Ravenclaw’s prefects.

“I hardly see why we need to run!” Satine complained, but still matched Obi-Wan stride for stride as they bounded down the hallway like two youths on a vibrant summer day- free and full of endless possibility.

“And yet, you continue!” He replied haughtily.

“Only because you do.” She fired back. “We’re hardly setting a proper example!”

“This is hardly a proper situation.” He said, “If you’re so pressed about it, by all means!”

“I’m not stopping if you’re not.” She scowled and flipped stray blonde tendrils out of her face as she continued pushing forward alongside him, “And let you get to him first.”

“It’s not a competition.” He said.

“I’m not the one who started running first.” She bumped into him, stalling him a bit by causing him to trip over his own feet and giving her a slight edge.

“You cheat!” He spat and quickly bolted down a sharp turn and leapt across the moving staircases, which swung just a bit too sharply, making it impossible for Satine to follow him. Feeling quite smug, he allowed himself a small smile at managing to shake her.

“Now who’s the cheat?” She called, voice echoing behind him.

“I’m merely improvising, my dear.” He laughed and dipped down another set of hastily moving stairs and down a corridor that he knew to be the quickest path to Qui-Gon’s office. After all, considering he’d been his mentor for well over five years at this point, he knew the way better than anyone.

Well, perhaps not Anakin, who’d mastered that stupid map earlier.

Then again, such a skill would have been useful for this situation. He didn’t know why it was suddenly important he won this haphazard race. It was like that with everything when it came to Satine. One moment, the two of them would be casually tossing crumbled used parchment into the bin and the next they were rabidly betting on who could accomplish the most “goals”.

As he rounded another stoned corner and Qui-Gon’s office was in sight, he felt a brimming pride swell in his chest for more reasons than one as he sprinted in that direction. However, just as he was about to step inside, the breath was completely knocked out of him when something (or someone) completely toppled over him. He wavered for a moment before collapsing to the ground beneath the weight and rolled over to face his attacker’s bright blue eyes, fierce and determined as they were disarming.

“What happened to never resorting to violence?” He chastised as she pinned his arms to the ground.

“I’m merely improvising, my dear.” She repeated back to him with the same smugness he’d allowed and then arched a brow, “Are you insinuating my full weight is that dramatic?”

“I-” He opened and closed his mouth and huffed out a breath, realizing he wasn’t going to win that particular segment of the debate, “This is quite demeaning, you know.”

She leaned in close, which made his brain suddenly feel fuzzy beyond exertion. “Losing? Yeah, I know.” Though when she moved to get up off him, he was quicker and seized his moment to bring her to the ground again. He was careful that she didn’t flop against the stone as he went for her ankles.

“I’m glad you know.” He argued, “Because I’m getting there first!”

“You are insufferable.” She shoved past him when they finally managed to scramble off their feet. “And a barbarian.”

“I don’t see you relenting.”

“That’s because I couldn’t stand your stupid smug face if I did.” She bit and they both moved towards the open doorway at the same time. Despite both being rather lean, they got stuck shoulder-to-shoulder. They both squirmed and tried to pry themselves away from each other. Despite their intelligence, still struggling despite all it taking would be for one person to give up.

Qui-Gon Jinn looked up from his parchment, still from writing whatever letter he’d begun to watch his two best students wrestle to squeeze their way through the door first. To what this would accomplish, was a mystery, but as he had for the past five years, allowed them to sort it out.

Upon noticing his stare, they both hastily tried speaking at the same time, saying the same array of compliments and congratulations that were barely coherent when one was constantly speaking over the other.

“We are so-”

“-Happy you’re getting this amazing-”

“-Opportunity! We knew you could-”

“-Do it! It’s going to be-”

“Breathe.” He raised a hand as he laughed, “You two truly don’t let anything get too boring for me.”

Ben and Satine both batted their hands at each other to finally separate, both equally red faced from exertion and likely, embarrassment, as they found their own respective seats.

“You’re going to make the best Head of Ravenclaw house, Qui-Gon.” Satine was the first to catch her breath and eyed Obi-Wan carefully, who nodded eagerly at her words, “They couldn’t have made a better choice.”

“Agreed,” Obi-Wan smiled warmly, “If you can sort out our inane debates, you’ll surely be able to mitigate an entire house of students.”

“You basically already do.” Satine shrugged and leaned back, “Even when Dooku wasn’t… Well, when we didn’t know what Dooku was doing.”

“Your words are kind.” Qui-Gon nodded, “But I would not be where I am if not for the students at this school. We must never lose sight of that. Hogwarts only flourishes as long as its student body does. If I can make these children a little safer and happier, then I’ve done my job.”

“And you’ll do brilliant.” Obi-Wan grinned, “Though I suppose we’ll have to get used to sharing your office hours.”

“My door is always open.” He gestured and quirked a brow, “Even to the more… Ridiculous disagreements.”

“It’s not my fault this one decided to make our congratulations to you into some sort of long distance sprint.” She pointed at Obi-Wan, who cocked an eyebrow, “I’m not the one who started playing dirty with all that wrestling.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t-”

“-Truly, I’d have it no other way.” Qui-Gon placated. “It’s not like this is the first time Satine’s beat you in a wrestling match to get into my office, Obi-Wan.”

Both students blushed, “That’s not the same!”

“Were you or were you not pinned down and covered in cake?” He appraised, “As any true prefect would be?”

“I slipped.” Obi-Wan muttered and crossed his arms. “And we weren’t prefects yet.”

“And so did I.” She tried, deliberately looking the other way, “Besides, you promised you wouldn’t discuss that again.”

“Regardless,” He chuckled, “I’m very lucky to be representing your house and proud of how far you’ve come over the years. I will do my best to be your biggest advocate and support system I can be. For as long as anyone’s got a friend here at Hogwarts, anything is possible. And as long as I’m here, you’ve got a friend.”

***

“Reducto,” Obi-Wan read aloud, ”It’s a-”

“A curse,” Satine answered before he could finish and he looked up at her with a soft glare.

“I wasn’t finished, Satine,” He tapped his wand on the textbook in front of him and it flipped to the next page, “Do let Cody have a chance to answer.”

“What’s the point?” Cody looked up from where he’d been resting his head on the book he had previously been reading, “If the knowledge isn’t already there I’m not sure cramming it in is going to do me any more good.”

“What’s Reducto do?” Satine prompted and he looked up at her with a scowl.

“I dunno? Reduce things?” He paused to think and neither Obi-Wan or Satine stopped him, “Wait no, it blows things up.”

“See you know after all,” Satine smiled at him.

“You’re overthinking it again, Cody. You always do,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“These aren’t regular exams,” Cody reminded them, “These are the O.W.L.s!”

“I’m well aware,” Obi-Wan answered, flipping another page in his book, “I’m quite fascinated to learn the differences. It’s outlined the same as all our previous exams.”

“I heard from a 6th year that they phrase the questions just a little trickier, and of course the practical is watched closer,” Satine sat up straighter in her seat, “It does make me a little more nervous, but overall I don’t think it will be much harder.”

“Why did I choose to become friends with the two biggest know-it-alls in the school again?” He asked and Satine kicked his foot under the table.

“It just means you get better study guides,” Obi-Wan responded, without taking an ounce of offense by the statement.

“That is true,” Cody flipped through the very detailed beautifully written mock quiz that Satine and Obi-Wan had created while Cody had been at an end of the year Quidditch practice. Satine flipped through her defense against the dark notes for likely the hundredth time and bit the tip of her Quill as she read through her answers.

“Ben? What’s the cure for the Conjunctivitis curse?” She looked across the table and he thought for a moment.

“Oculus potion?” He suggested and she double checked her notes to the text.

“Ah that’s right,” She scratched out a few lines.

“Why? What did you have?” Cody tried to lean over to see her notes.

“I thought perhaps the Sanavit Ocolos spell would suffice, but it didn’t sound quite right,” She turned her book around to lecture, “Sanavit Ocolos is better used for injuries to the eye and the Conjunctivitis curse is more along the lines of an illness.”

“So Oculus potion,” Cody scratched out on his own parchment, “Gotcha.”

“I am interested to know if it would help at all to use the spell,” Obi-Wan thought aloud, “Even if it didn’t heal your vision fully it might help in a pinch.”

“Or it could permanently blind you,” Satine pointed out as she spun her book back around.

“I wonder if anyone’s tried it though,” His eyes flickered towards the healing charms section of the library and Satine nudged his foot.

“Hey, don’t let your mind go wandering, you’ll have plenty of time to do obsessive research next semester,” She looked at him pointedly and he sighed deeply.

“I suppose it can wait,” The clock tower rang out for 10pm and they all glanced at each other nervously.

“Well, I guess we should head off to bed, rest is important before a big test,” Satine spoke first.

“I’m not sure I’m getting any sleep tonight,” Cody looked as if he was trying to read over all his notes rapidfire.

“You’ll be fine. Qui-Gon always says not to worry about such things,” Obi-Wan added.

“Easy for you to say.”

Even eager to get their exams over with, they took a rather long amount of time packing up and chatting in the quiet of the library before heading off to their respective common rooms.

***

“How was it?” Obi-Wan asked as Cody approached their makeshift picnic that they already had waiting on him. As he was walking, he was hastily stripping away layers of clothing- first his cloak, then his jumper, and finally his tie, before dropping dramatically to the ground beside his friends.

It was a vision of a day with its azure expanse that met the widespread of green grass over the rolling horizon. Children ran about on the front lawn excitedly, each happier than the next that finals and standardized testing had officially commenced. The day was theirs and the soft breeze caressed them as though reminding them of that.

“Sweet sunlight, I never thought I’d see you again.” He cried and then stroked a hand reverently against the grass that poked out from the blanket sprawled beneath him, “You too beautiful grass. I thought I was truly in for the bright light at the end of the tunnel.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say… Not good?” Satine asked.

Instead of providing a coherent answer, Cody slung his arm over his face and groaned into his arm for a long moment. Obi-Wan reached out and patted his friend’s shoulder out of solidarity, “I’m sure you did fine, mate.”

“Easy for you to say! When I asked you how the potions OWL was, you said it was fun!” He grimaced, “We’ve really got to reevaluate your definition of fun.”

Satine shrugged, “I dunno. While it’s not my favorite subject either, I also thought the structure of the situational questions was humorous.”

“Particularly when they had that one wizard who turned his leg into cheese and needed a reversible potion?” Obi-Wan laughed. “So nonsensical.”

“Especially how one of the options was the Caxambu Style Borborygmus Potion.” Satine chuckled, “I doubt making yourself hungrier would be very helpful to such a strange situation.”

“ARGH!” Cody groaned loudly again and then rolled to his stomach, “Why are you both such incessant nerds all the time?”

“No, because I still don’t believe I did well in DADA,” She sighed, “I do not feel confident about that written essay.”

“Doesn’t help that our professor who taught us how to ward off evil wizards ended up being an evil wizard.” Obi-Wan muttered, “I, too, was nervous about that one.”

“You? You know those answers in your sleep. Besides, I saw how quickly you reacted to that Bogart and it was something of expert-level.” Satine pointed at him as though she were caught in accusation and amazement. “The proctor said something about it being in record timing too.”

“As if you didn’t immediately glow with a patronus.” He scoffed, “I could hardly light up a spark.”

“I did refuse to perform an offensive spell on that spider.” Satine bit her lip and then tightened her fists, “But so be it if that’s what ends up knocking me from an O to an E. They shouldn’t use living creatures as test dummies anyway. If I don’t have my morals, what do I have?”

“Probably many other exceptional grades.” Cody complained, “Unlike me, who definitely just failed out and will never go on to be more than a beautiful hat rack.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, “We studied with you until the very end and you’ve at least managed passing grades. No doubt in my mind.”

“You weren’t there.” Cody droned on, “It was dreadful. I choked worse than you did that one Quidditch match third year where your pants fell down and-”

“-I’d rather not relive that, thanks.” Obi-Wan flared.

Satine stifled a chuckle and nudged the picnic basket towards Cody encouragingly, “Perhaps, fresh cookies will take your mind off of it?”

He shook his head, “I’m too disgusted by the foul stench of my stinky future to eat.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Obi-Wan smirked at Satine knowingly, “After all, we did smuggle a pot pie from the great hall with your name on it.”

Cody peaked his eyes out from underneath his arms and glanced at them, “I didn’t know they made pot pie today.”

“It’s as if they knew you needed it.” He smiled.

Despite his claims to be unhungry, Cody dove into the bowl of pot pie not intent on sharing with anyone, which was quite alright with his friends as they watched him with amusement in their eyes.

“I don’t suppose I’ll really need brains to be a star Quidditch player anyway.” He said, “I bet loads of dummies go pro.”

“One, you are not a dummy.” Satine rolled her eyes, “Far from it. If you were, you’d be unable to map out all of those strategies for every match. You’ve just got different strengths.”

“And potions is not one of them.” He grumbled around another spoonful of potato and meat.

“Maybe not, but that still doesn’t make you stupid.” She said.

“Says the girl without weaknesses!” Cody countered.

“Oh you know that’s not true. I’ve got tons of shortcomings.” She furrowed her brow, “But rather than go through them, because I doubt that will make you feel any better, need I remind you that you don’t require potions in any means to succeed at Quidditch?”

“Aside from perhaps, first aid.” Obi-Wan added, which earned him an elbow in the ribs from Satine. “I’m just saying!”

“My dad will still be pissed.” He grumbled, “I think I’ve got his lecture memorized.”

“I still don’t get why we’re accepting defeat on this aspect when there’s still a very good chance that you’re going to pass.” Obi-Wan said and then gestured to Qui-Gon, who just happened to be passing by, “Qui-Gon, please tell Cody he likely did fine on his OWL’s.”

Qui-Gon stooped down and smiled at each of them, “Now, now, anything that has already come to pass is just that- the past. Whether you did or did not fail has no immediate relevance to the present. You cannot change it and it is already as it was meant to be. So, therefore, you have already earned exactly what you were meant to achieve.”

Off each of their blank looks, he patted Cody on the shoulder and stood to move along.

Obi-Wan winced after he was gone, “Er… Yeah. Not exactly what I meant.”

Satine sighed, “That’s our new Head of House.”

***

School was officially over, marked as always by one final feast in the great hall. Students chattered excitedly about their summer plans and though Obi-Wan was one of the few who always hated leaving the halls behind, he was happy and quite proud to have made it through his fifth year. He’d been a good mentor to Anakin as well as made great leaps towards a future he wanted to build for himself. He found himself watching Satine, who was chatting with Aayla and Stass about a possible summer hang out. Satine had been there for him since first year and he counted himself so very lucky to be beside her still.

She’d caught him staring and sent him a questioning smile and Aayla and Stass giggled behind her. Though he knew not what it was about, he returned Satine’s smile and looked back across the hall. The Gryffindor table was rather lively this evening, house points were to be added up after all and they’d done everything they could to best Slytherin. It was a rather close call this year amongst houses so the results given by the headmaster would really be the only way to tell.

Anakin had caught more attention from his housemates since they’d all returned from thwarting Dooku and he’d taken to telling them any sorts of wild stories he could. Rex, who sat beside him, had clearly heard this particular tale before and was more interested in watching his brothers’ antics. Cody himself was recounting the best Quidditch plays of the season like he did almost every year. With the year having been so chaotic, Obi-Wan found himself reveling in the normalcy of it all more than he had in previous years.

“Ben,” Satine caught his attention easily and he turned to look at her, “You’ll write me when you get your class schedule won’t you? It’ll surely be odd not being in all the same classes, but I’d still like to keep track of you,” He raised an eyebrow.

“Worried I’ll run away?” He smirked and she shook her head.

“You had your chance to run. There’s no escape for you now, especially not in our 6th year,” She poked him in the arm, “I’d hate to have to find another who rivals me.”

“Surely there are others much smarter than I,” He argued lightly.

“Perhaps after a statement like that,” She countered. Whispers broke out across the hall and eyes began to point towards the front of the stage as Headmaster Yoda stood on his seat, waiting.

“Is over, another great year,” He opened, “In a short time, much has happened. But upon reflecting, grew, you all did,” He raised a hand towards the sky, “A great honor, the house cup is. Through bravery, loyalty, knowledge, and ambition, it is won. Shown their skills, the winner has,” A hush broke out through the crowd and many of the older students watched the banners in anticipation, “Won the house cup, Ravenclaw has.”

Cheers burst from the table of silver and blue as the decorations in the great hall changed to honor them. Gryffindor matched their cheering as anyone who beat Slytherin tended to be a friend of theirs.

Obi-Wan looked over at Satine, who reached out to brush confetti out of his hair. She looked surprised, but pleasantly so and her smile made him feel like he was melting from the inside out.

“A surprise for sure,” He told her quietly.

“But a welcome one,” She added, “I’d say we earned a little celebration wouldn’t you?” But before he could answer, arms were flung around their shoulders as Cody squeezed between them.

“Way to go you lot!” He ruffled Obi-Wan’s hair with a little more force than was necessary and he had to wonder how Satine always managed to avoid the same fate, “You really showed those snakes who’s boss!”

“Cody it doesn’t matter who wins, it’s all practically for show,” Obi-Wan pointed out and Cody just dunked him rather too close to his apple cobbler.

“Course it does! Where’s your team spirit?” He chastised and Satine giggled as she pulled Cody off him.

“Please, Cody I don’t want to waste any magic cleaning Ben up this evening.”

“Well you don’t have to use magic,” He winked.

“So I take it you’re not disappointed at your loss?” Obi-Wan asked instead of dignifying that with a response and Cody shook his head.

“Quidditch sure! But this stuff, eh we’ll get ya next year, mate! Don’t you worry about it! In fact-”

“Care to save the Quidditch tactics meeting for later, Cody?” Satine patted him on the arm with a smile, “I’d like to relish in our mostly academic win.”

“Fair enough,” Cody shrugged, “Kenobi’s Quidditch plays didn’t do you much good.”

“I thought I did rather well given the circumstances,” He huffed, but Aayla piped up from the other side of Satine.

“Well you did fall only once. For you, I’d say it’s an accomplishment,” and though he frowned at the statement, it was hard to feel anything, but warm in an atmosphere surrounded by his friends.

***

The Hogwarts halls were bustling with activity. Students were rushing here and there looking for misplaced items and saying final goodbyes. Satine had found herself on several scavenger hunts helping younger students find their odds and ends before she finally managed to make it into the great hall for a quick breakfast. Ben was already there, sitting across from Cody, skimming the daily prophet and she sat down beside him before scooping eggs and bacon onto her plate rather quickly.

“I can’t believe I’ve always taken prefects for granted,” She said with a frown, “I’ve already been on the hunt for 2 missing wands, 3 misplaced zonkos products, and 1 unfortunate runaway toad,” Ben, next to her was folding up his paper.

“Well we are the first line of contact for students,” He nodded. He wasn’t really looking at her though, in fact he rather looked like he was gazing through Cody.

“That’s why I’m not a prefect,” He seemed thankful for that, “Coaching some kids to play a good round of Quidditch is much simpler. I deal with their problems on the field and you deal with their problems off it,” Satine smiled at him.

“You say that like you wouldn’t be the first to help if one of your teammates had a problem,” She raised an eyebrow and he shrugged, but she knew he wouldn’t deny it. Had Cody not been in Gryffindor, Satine reckoned he’d be in Hufflepuff.

“She’s right you know,” Ben nodded in her direction.

“I’m, glad you think so,” She turned her gaze on him, “So what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me, Satine,” He said without missing a beat and looking about as unconcerned as a person could. Satine wouldn’t stand for it though. She looked to Cody, who glanced at Ben’s plate where she saw the unmistakable Kenobi crest displayed proudly in its wax steal atop a rather yellowed piece of parchment.

“What did they say?” She looked at him pointedly and he smiled at her, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“They were congratulating Ravenclaw on the house cup,” He explained, but Satine doubted that was the whole truth. Still she let it go as Obi-Wan sighed, setting his paper over top it, “How many first years are likely going to stop me on the way back to Ravenclaw tower?”

“Likely too many to count, given my own experience,” She smiled and he sighed even deeper, looking across the table at Cody with a look of envy.

“You wouldn’t perhaps like to go in my place?” He suggested and Cody snorted.

“That’s a lot of faith put into me about getting beyond your stupid riddle.”

“Polyjuice potion perhaps?” He considered and Satine rolled her eyes.

“Doubtful, unless you have a time turner I don’t know about,” She joked before turning serious and staring at him sharply, “You don’t do you?”

“Of course not,” He huffed, “I’m not sure Master Yoda would allow it, even if I did manage to get Qui-Gon’s permission. Plus,” he added, “I still remember your threats.”

“Good,” Satine nodded, “Because that’s the last thing you need, more work. Goodness knows though my mentorship may have failed, you’ll still have plenty of essays to correct until that boy graduates,” Ben really smiled at that, glancing at the Gryffindor table briefly before letting his eyes fall back on hers.

“I believe, you’re right once more.”

***

Over the years, Sidious had mastered various different modes of concealment. Sometimes, a situation called for ambiguity while others, it was best to hide in the limelight. His favorite, of course, was when he got to stand in the midst of his enemies as they crowded around him- utterly blind in their ignorance. When students approached him with bright eyes and thank you cards for a wonderful year, completely unaware that he was the hunter, not the savior- those were the sorts of moments he relished.

This day was not unlike the others in many ways to the common students that rushed aboard the Hogwarts Express, giving the placating prefects a run for their galleons as they tried to subdue the crackling energy of excitement in favor of order. Normally, such acts would take work for Sidious to maintain, because the display of kindliness that he needed to emanate was not one that came naturally to a Sith Lord. However, a true Sith sees the end in sight and understands the sacrifices necessary. Sidious supposed he should be assisting the prefects, but to the casual eye, appeared like his pitiful colleagues- enjoying the day with amusement and reminiscing on another year gone by.

For once, Sidious felt he had a reason to reminisce, because while Tyranus nearly destroyed his entire operation with his careless narcissism, so much had gone right for their cause. The dithering amaurotics would not see the change. To them, there were bullets dodged and hope triumphed, but Sidious didn’t get where he was by playing the short game. In the end, his patience and calculations would be what crushes these underlings like bugs.

Darkness was slowly and surely filling Hogwarts- the start of a plan he dedicated his (and many others) life to. Ironically, he recalled a foolish muggle saying about optimists seeing the glass half full and pessimists half empty, but Sidious was a realest above else and held the common knowledge that any person could drown in half a glass of water- with the right amount of effort. It was better that way, to claim his victories one-by-one, until he was covered like a coat of arms that would make the weak jabs of his optimistic foes worthless.

His eyes fell on the chosen one and a slow smile spread across his face as he watched him racing his friends to the train. There was so much promise in the boy- capable beyond what this school could teach him, from what he could ever fully understand.

“Anakin, slow down!” Obi-Wan Kenobi, who Sidious knew by now would either be critical or detrimental to his plans, ordered.

“Sorry, Obi-Wan.” Anakin scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, “I’m just excited to see my mum.”

It was sickening how attached he was, but such attachments provided excellent fishing reels for weaknesses to prey on. It was this that made Sidious genuinely hope that Anakin have the best summer of his life. It would make it all better in the end.

Kenobi smiled, but didn’t budge, “That may be so, but if you keep running around like a lunatic, you’ll fall.”

“Yes he will.” He thought.

But until then, there was much to do.

***

The last time Anakin was on the Hogwarts Express, he’d been buzzing with excitement and nerves about finding his place in a magical school. After all, he’d failed so many times to achieve this at the muggle preparatory schools he’d been shipped off to in the past. He’d always grown up believing he was a problem or a nuisance and to that end, resulted in fitting in nowhere.

However, while he had once felt inclined to run away from the castle that faded over the horizon as the train chugged along, he now had the understanding that he was never a problem, but a solution. He was the chosen one. Anakin had never been chosen for anything! And now, he was to be the reason the wizarding world saw peace and balance. Of course he never fit in, because heroes were meant to be so much bigger than where they came from. Others could not see what he was worth, because he was not on the same scale.

That’s not to say he felt better than his friends who gave him love and laughter, but finally that he was worth having them in the first place. They would trust him and know that he was going to save them one day. He wasn’t sure how and didn’t know when, but as he looked at the people who believed in him when it mattered (namely Rex and Obi-Wan), he felt it true in his heart that he would put a stop to whatever evil would come for them.

So, in a sense, he didn’t fit in at Hogwarts. But that was okay as long as he was loved.

And as they boarded off the train, Obi-Wan and Satine, as well as the other prefects performing their final duties for the year, assisting them along, he knew he was going to miss it over the summer.

Almost as much as he was excited to see the one person who was truly home.

He stepped to the edge of the train, completely ignoring instructions and holding up the line to get a better view of the surrounding crowd in hopes of seeing his mum. A firm hand slapped him on the shoulder and he turned around to see Sebulba glaring at him.

“Ah, so we meet again.” Anakin winced.

“I just wanted to say, it’s cool how you exposed Dooku.” Sebulba rolled his eyes as he said it, “It made my DADA final a whole lot easier, is all, so don’t go getting it into your ugly head that I’ve gone soft for you.”

A joke about their weird date was on the tip of Anakin’s tongue before he remembered that he and Rex were the only two who knew about that detail of the prank and he swallowed his words for a change.

“No problem.” He nodded while the Dug shoved his way past him to reunite with his own parents.

“Anakin, please keep it moving.” Obi-Wan sighed as he finally caught him lingering on the train, “I assure you, the train will look the same when it returns for you in September.”

He didn’t doubt that. Hogwarts loved tradition above all else, even if, in Anakin’s opinion, a little too much. Still, he adhered to the prefect and stepped down to meet him on hard concrete.

“Well, I guess this is it.” He shrugged and stuck out his hand for him to shake, “We survived our mentorship.”

Obi-Wan eyed his outstretched hand as though it might be holding a poisonous snake before raising his chin to look down at him appraisingly, “If you think for one moment that this means you are finished with me, you are sorely mistaken.”

Anakin slowly lowered his hand as he registered what Obi-Wan was saying. They hadn’t talked about it, of course, and many students did seem to stay close to their mentors well after their partnership officially expired, but he didn’t want to set his hopes up. After all, Obi-Wan was going into his sixth year. Why would he want to bother with a measly little second year if he didn’t have to?

“I told you,” The ghost of a smile teased at the corners of his mouth, “I picked you and I’ll continue to do so for as long as you need my assistance. Chosen one or not, your sentence structure in essays could use some work.”

Without giving it another thought, Anakin threw his arms around Obi-Wan’s torso with enough force that it caused him to stumble in place for a moment. It was really the only thing he could do to keep himself from tearing up at the flush of validation that pounded in his chest. Obi-Wan was stiff at first, but relaxed eventually and offered a gentle pat on the back.

“Make sure you write this summer.” Obi-Wan smiled in full and placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder to gently push him back so he could look at him, “Especially if you are in need of homework help.”

“Yeah,” Anakin laughed, “Especially since last time I asked my mum it got me wrapped into the cheating scandal. Hey, by the way, where are your parents-”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi.” An icy shrew voice snuck up on them before either boy noticed the presence of two adults standing off to Obi-Wan’s side. Satine, who had been walking over to most likely bid her goodbye to Obi-Wan, turned on her heels and pivoted back over to Cody and the rest of clan Fett instead.

Obi-Wan’s posture immediately straightened and his eyes glazed over in what could only be described as a blank mask as he turned and looked at who were presumably his mother and his father. His mother was short and slim with a long pointed nose and thin lips that Anakin could already tell were usually drawn together in a pressed frown. Her hair was long and tucked in a modest bun that was the same auburn color as Obi-Wan’s own hair. Her eyes resembled a sharks in their dark blasé nature as she took in her son with hands drawn to her hips. She was dressed in a manner that Anakin recognized when walking Diagon Alley with a long vintage ebony gown with sharp shoulder pads and a trail that followed her, but was enchanted not to touch the ground.

“Mother, Father, you’re here.”

It had been the wrong thing to say, apparently, because his mother’s face screwed into a displeased one that made her look ten years older than she likely was.

“What sort of greeting is that for your parents?” She snapped and looked to his Father, a tall bearded man that was easily twice her age- who bore no resemblance to Obi-Wan at all save for his eye color. Even still, on him, they looked like piercing knives of steel as opposed to kind and calculating. His fancy suit matched Mrs. Kenobi’s, but also used a walking stick that had a silver dragon on the top.

“Where’s your respect, boy?” He barked, eyes studying Obi-Wan carefully.

“I meant not to offend.” Obi-Wan apologized, “Just that I was not expecting to see you so soon. I’m still assisting with leading the children off the train.”

The old man rolled his eyes and leaned forward, poking his son in the chest, “From my point of view, you’re wasting time lollygagging.”

Anakin had originally anticipated an introduction of some kind- like he had with his mum and his friends at the start of the term. However, as Obi-Wan and his father stared back at one another in silent debate- Obi-Wan’s being a calm and neutral argument while Mr’s Kenobi’s only held disappointment in his eyes.

“I’ll only be a few minutes.” He said quietly and finally ducked his head to the side.

“Where does the insolence stop-” His mother began to rant, but was cut off by the hand of his father stiffly raised in front of her.

“Need I remind you that you’re not on your time, boy?” He asked and tapped the head of his walking stick against Obi-Wan’s prefect button. “You are on my time. And always will be so long that you are a Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan didn’t say anything in response to this and just stared at his father with a crafted neutrality that Anakin could never understand. However, the moment seemed to pass and Mr. Kenobi turned around and wordlessly led them off the platform. Without so much as more than a nod to Satine, who seemed to understand that she’d be covering for the both of their remaining duties, and to Anakin, Obi-Wan turned and followed them.

Anakin opened his mouth to say something about the strange interaction he’d just seen, but the words died in his mouth when the dark shadow of the Kenobi’s fully passed and revealed his smiling mother in their place. She was glowing like the sun and carried all of its warmth in outstretched arms as she knelt to the grown to meet him in a tight hug that refueled any coldness that had previously been left there. He was sorry to say that he’d briefly forgot about anything else, but couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it.

“I missed you.” His voice muffled in the crux of her embrace.

“I missed you too.” She kissed his hair and rubbed his back soothingly, “Every day, but I want to hear of all your adventures.”

Well, he couldn’t tell her everything for fear that she wouldn’t send him back (for which he really couldn’t blame her). For now, he just hung onto this precious moment of security, happiness, and comfort. He didn’t care if he looked silly or if everyone watched. Even the chosen one got to hug his mother.

Especially when she was the only person before he was famous that had consistently always chosen him.

He was home.

***

The walls here always echoed with laughter or screams neither of which were much for conversation. Plenty to talk to, but none that knew how to listen anymore, minds far gone if their souls were even still intact. To lose a soul, he thought, you’d have to have one in the first place.

To those who dared to visit such a place it was like he was a display, one of the few who still thought, who still talked, who still planned. Though they weren’t aware of that last part. Yes he planned, he planned from the shadows and sketched symbols on the wall they’d never understand. He’d gather what little information he could from those brave enough to come oogle.

From his cot a picture of a man was staring at him, weathered face and greyed beard, always one to be disapproving. The paper had called him a phantom, a menace hiding in plain sight, but what they did not know was that there were others. The new pet had failed the master, it came as no real surprise.

Though just this once, he’d wanted to be wrong, because he’d have much preferred the paper be titled with the death of Anakin Skywalker.

#Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Satine Kryze #Captain Rex #Padme Amidala #Commander Cody #obitine #Clone Wars #Prequel Trilogy #Star Wars #Magical Forces AU

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enchantedxrose · 4 years ago

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The Monster of West End: Chapter Three A Beauty and the Beast retelling set in 1837 London

The “Beauty” of this story is a young seamstress desperate for work to pay off her father’s debts. Her new employer, though Beastly in appearance, is coldly tolerated by society because he has money and status. She is quickly charmed by his warm heart and sense of humor, but his monstrous form isn’t the only obstacle to their budding relationship.

Mrs. Hutchinson led Viola up the servants’ staircase to a small garret bedroom at the top of the house.

“The upper-servants sleep on the upper floors,” she explained over her shoulder, “but I daresay the rooms off the kitchen for the cook and scullery maid are more comfortable. It gets rather drafty up here in the winter and stuffy in the summer.”

Viola surveyed the room with a satisfied sigh. It had creaky floorboards and a low sloping ceiling. The utilitarian furnishings consisted of a nightstand and a brass bed.

“I think this will do very nicely for me,” she told Mrs. Hutchinson without a trace of irony.

The housekeeper raised her eyebrows at Viola’s enthusiasm. “If you say so,” she muttered.

Viola did not pay Mrs. Hutchinson’s skepticism any heed. This room boasted one enormous advantage over her ten-square foot cell in the Marshalsea: a large window with a view.

The single narrow window in their Marshalsea ‘apartment’ faced only the discolored bricks of the prison wall. She could not see the sky, nor even the iron spikes atop the wall to deter escape artists. Her only occasional splash of color came from the laundry hanging on the line, the grey chemises that had once been white. There was nothing green to be seen all summer, save the bare spindly weeds between the paving-stones. They were on the second of four stories in their prison complex, and there was another building directly behind them, so that Viola felt constantly closed in by bricks on all sides.

Even when she was permitted to step outside the gates, the Marshalsea was always creeping up behind her, and she could not escape its shadow. Always trapped.

But here, in Mr. Carlyle’s house, she could breathe. She could see the slate-grey overcast sky above the rooftops; she could look down and see trees lining the cobblestone street, their branches glazed with frost. She could open the window and feel the fresh sting of the winter air.

Guilt gnawed on her, in the background of these hopeful observations, try though she might to wave it away. Was it so wrong of her, to want to leave her miserable circumstances behind? Was it selfish of her to escape like this, when she could not yet bring her father with her?

“Breakfast in the servants’ hall is served promptly at seven o’clock,” the housekeeper announced, abruptly cutting off Viola’s musing. “If you wish for a hot meal, do not be late.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hutchinson,” she replied with feeling, undeterred by her coworker’s sharp tone. “Before you retire, I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am for the opportunity you and Mr. Carlyle are giving me. I hope to prove myself worthy of his trust.”

The words were more deferential than she truly felt, but Viola could sense that Mrs. Hutchinson was suspicious of her in some way, and she wanted to be on better terms with her if they were to be working in close quarters. The housekeeper’s pursed lips relaxed a fraction as she continued to study Viola with that critical, piercing gaze.

“Mr. Carlyle has a partiality for waifs and strays,” Mrs. Hutchinson said at last in a clipped voice. “I need not explain why he feels a…kinship with those that society looks down upon. Therefore, it is incumbent on me to protect him from those that would take advantage of his sympathies.”

“I understand,” Viola said, swallowing hard.

“Do you?”

Of course she did. Viola had lost plenty of sleep over her too-trusting father over the years. But she decided to hold her tongue.

Once alone, Viola rapidly undressed to her chemise. The earlier she retired for bed, the earlier she could rise and return to her father.

She caught her reflection out of the corner of her eye and winced. She had no looking-glass in her cramped quarters at the Marshalsea and usually made do with checking her appearance in the reflection on the single windowpane—an image that was indistinct at best. But the garret room had a large oval mirror propped on the nightstand and she was face-to-face with herself.

Was she really that ashen-faced, or was it just the layer of dust over the mirror? Her linen shift hung so loosely on her, exposing a prominent collarbone and bony shoulder. The shadows were deep under her dark brown eyes.

Ugh, I look like a street urchin with consumption, she thought. No wonder Mr. Carlyle took pity on me tonight.

Viola had a rather square jaw set on a long, slender neck, which automatically gave her a waiflike appearance at the best of times—and now was decidedly not the best of times. Her hair was wispy and flaxen and did whatever it pleased.

She set the mirror face down.

The nightstand, she was pleased to discover, had been prepared for her stay: not only was there fresh water in the pitcher and a clean towel, but also a small cake of soap and a jar of tooth powder. She poured out a little water into the basin to wash her face, but found herself overcome. She had to brace herself on the nightstand and take a few deep breaths to swallow down a sob of incredulous relief.

The water was so clear and clean. It did not reek of rust. When was the last time she had used water without boiling it first? She couldn’t recall.

The garret room was chilly, as it had no fireplace, but when Viola pulled back the covers of the bed, she found a bed-warmer full of smoldering coals, which made the sheets invitingly warm. Exhausted and grateful, she fell asleep within minutes.

Viola went back to the Marshalsea early the next morning, to fetch her meager belongings and kiss her father goodbye. She was not expecting the scene she stepped into.

By the single narrow, grimy window stood Mr. Weston. Hardship had aged him prematurely—his hair was a solid iron grey, and sparse at the temples—and cataracts had taken almost all of his sight from him. He was speaking softly to his eldest daughter, Miranda, and had his hands soothingly upon her shoulders.

While Viola had inherited their father’s slight frame, Miranda took after their mother with her tall, commanding figure, made all the more striking by her wide straw bonnet and puffed gigot sleeves.

At the sound of Viola’s entrance, they both looked up—Mr. Weston’s face brightening with relief, Miranda’s contorting with outrage.

“Oh my dear, we have been so worried,” he said.

Miranda glowered at her. “Where have you been, Vi? We have been scouring the city for you. I hope you have a good explanation.”

Viola presumed the ‘we’ in this case meant Miranda and her husband Eustace, given that their father was not allowed further than the courtyard outside.

“I told the gatekeeper to send word that I’d gone back to Mr. Carlyle’s house for the night, because I missed the bell. Did he forget to pass along the message?”

Mr. Weston raised an eyebrow at Miranda. “There, now, what have I been telling you? I knew there must be a simple explanation—”

Unfortunately for him, Mr. Weston was much more softly spoken than his daughters and easily faded into the background during impassioned discussions. Miranda acted as if she had not heard him.

“Who in heaven’s name is Mr. Carlyle, and what do you mean by staying at his house?”

Viola took a deep breath to calm her temper. “He’s my employer, as of yesterday. I’m to serve in his household as a seamstress. I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss, but I thought you would know where I was.”

“We were about to start dragging the Thames for your lifeless body!” Miranda snapped. “For all we knew, you were frozen to death in the storm.”

Viola rolled her eyes. Her elder sister had once fancied herself a great actress, and even now always seemed to be auditioning for a Greek drama.

Miranda continued, gesturing to her heavily pregnant figure, “And I really ought not to be distressing myself so, not in my current condition.”

“I never asked you to distress yourself about me!”

“Well apparently someone has to, or you’ll gallivant about the city, staying at the houses of strange men!”

Before Viola could muster an angry retort, their father intervened.

“That’s quite enough from both of you,” he said, a note of pleading in his tone. “The important thing is that Viola is, in fact, safe and all is well. There is no need to quarrel over what is already past.”

He stood between the sisters for a long moment, waiting for their petty anger to deflate. Viola’s cheeks burned; their father had a way of making them feel like children caught misbehaving.

“I’m sorry for causing you to worry,” Viola said grudgingly. “It wasn’t my intention.”

“I’m sorry for getting so cross about it,” Miranda mumbled, picking at a loose thread on her coat.

“There, now,” Mr. Weston said briskly. “Was that so terribly painful?”

The sisters avoided each other’s eyes. Mr. Weston ignored their sullen silence and carried on as if the quarrel had never taken place.

“So, Viola, I take it you have accepted the position you interviewed for. Tell me about the house. Where does your employer live?”

“Near Covent Garden.”

“Oh dear.” Mr. Weston wrung his hands, troubled. “Is that a suitable neighborhood for you to be walking by yourself? It’s got rather an unsavory reputation.”

“That was true in your day, Papa,” said Miranda, “but it’s changed a good deal in recent years. They’ve rebuilt most of the houses. Now it’s considered quite a fashionable place to live.”

“Ah.”

Viola’s heart twisted painfully. Their father had been locked away for so long, and London was rapidly changing without him—when he was finally at liberty to walk the streets again, would he even recognize it?

“I’ll return every Sunday afternoon for dinner,” she promised him. “Mr. Carlyle has given me leave to visit you the entire day.”

Miranda cut in sharply. “You mean to say this will be a live-in position? How can you leave our father alone all week? How is he to manage by himself?”

Viola felt a renewed flicker of annoyance. Their father was still quite capable and independent; he did not deserve to be treated like a child or like a doddering old fool. But before she could speak up for him, he did it himself.

“Miranda, my dear,” he soothed her, “I may be blind as a bat, but I am not hopelessly infirm. I know this apartment well enough to get about without stumbling.”

Viola squeezed his hand. “Just promise me that you will ask Mr. Wilkins down the hall to help you light the stove fire in the mornings. I’m sure he won’t object.”

“I promise. I do still have some sense, after all.” He gave her a wry smile.

As Viola predicted, Miranda seemed mollified at the notion of his fellow-inmates checking in on him daily. “Well,” she said briskly, “it seems I am overruled. Gather your things, Vi. Eustace and I can take you in the cab. You are not walking all that way carrying luggage.”

Viola had few personal belongings worth bringing; they fit neatly into a single carpetbag. She owned exactly three dresses at present: two sturdy, practical wool dresses of brown and navy blue, and one finer black gown reserved for holidays and funerals. She didn’t like wearing dark colors, but they lasted much longer against wear and tear and stains. A working woman ought not to wear pink or yellow, if she was at all sensible.

The dour colors did make her look so grim and severe, she reflected morosely. She dreamed of a day when she had spare money enough for a gown pale as springtime, in rosebud or lilac or buttercup. What a luxury that would be!

Underneath the faded chemises and shabby stockings, she tucked her one real treasure: a well-worn collection of Shakespeare’s sonnets, in the margins of which her mother had scribbled her own annotations.

In farewell, Viola took both her father’s hands and kissed them. “I don’t want you to worry about me, Father. This is going to be good for our family, I promise.”

“I know that, my dear,” he said gently. “It’s been clear to me for a long time that you would have to forge your own path.” He leaned over to murmur in her ear, soft enough that Miranda was unlikely to hear. “Try to have a little more patience with your sister. She’s only looking out for you.”

Even though he could not see Viola purse her lips, he must have heard the irritation in her sigh.

“Viola,” he chided. “Be kind to your sister. For my sake, if for no other reason.”

“I’ll try. And now I really must be going; Mr. Carlyle expects my return before noon.”

#my fiction #monster of west end #beauty and the beast #victorian era #chapter four won't be far behind!#i'm about halfway done with it

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starscreamloki · 5 years ago

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It’s a Guard’s Life

Short fic

Warnings: Odin’s A+ parenting

Words: 1343

Summary: Loki has to take the full brunt from Odin while he is actually innocent and Kjelt, one of Asgard’s new palace Guards, is a witness to this.

A/N: Recently I came across this post where people blogged about the guards in Thor 1 and that they didn’t come into the Asgard’s vault as Loki discovered his true heritage even though there was a lot of shouting. This actually inspired a short fic about a guard who kind witnesses one of such fights in the house of Odin. This is set Pre-Thor 2011. A big shout out and thanks to @thesaltofcarthage who gave me the inspiration to write this drabble.

-----

It was his first day on the job and Kjelt was so happy to have it. He had worked so hard for this and now he finally was a palace guard. His parents would be so proud!

This morning Rumir had explained him everything he needed to know, though he hadn’t expected to be in need of that information so quickly.

“It’s a very shouty household,” Rumir said and then shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. Often it sounds as if King Odin is flaying his sons alive every night at dinner, but that’s pretty much just how they talk. The hammer might bang against the wall every once in a while, but if the wall stands, it’s alright, no need to take action.

“If you see lights flashing, that’s the younger Prince’s Seidr. Again, if the wall doesn’t fall down, you don’t have to intervene. The only time you have to hop to is if one them yells the word ‘Guards!’ That’s a summons, and you’d better be there on the double if that happens. Beyond that, you’re part of the furniture. If you aren’t getting blood splashed on you, just look the other way.

“Don’t worry too much about it though. Prince Loki deserves it with all his mischief making and Thor learns from those fights to be our future king. Oh, and don’t worry if something comes flying at you, Queen Frigga shall protect you. Unless she is not in the room, then keep your eyes open!”

Kjelt was standing in the dinning hall of the palace, gripping his spear harder with every single minute that passed. Rumir had not lied to him.

The King was having dinner with his wife and children, well, if a dinner was what one could call it. They were scarcely eating and heated words and sly jabs were being handed out over the table as if it was nothing.

Odin had yet to shout, but something in Kjelt’s gut told him it wouldn’t be long for that to happen. He tried to focus his attention on the wall opposite of him, but he couldn’t help catching the conversation.

“And then I threw my hammer at the Warg and it was dead,” Thor declared proudly, his voice resonating through the room for all to hear.

“No, it was not,” Loki interjected coldly, putting down his glass of wine. “I killed it with my knife, laying it low on the spot.”

“Liar!” Thor bellowed and Kjelt was sure he could see some dust falling from the ceiling as that booming voice echoed through the room again.

“Then explain the lethal stab wound in the beasts side and the blood on my armour,” Loki snarled, and Kjelt caught the withering glare the younger Prince gave his brother.

“How can I help it that you accidentally cut yourself on your own knives, brother?” Thor said with a mouthful of food.

Loki gave his brother a disgusted look and the poignant look Thor received from the Queen betrayed that she probably had said many times before that it was bad behavior to speak with one’s mouth full of food. Minutely Thor’s face dropped, but a grin quickly found his lips again.

“I did not and you know it,” the younger Prince growled. “I slew the Warg and you are taking credit for it.”

When Thor answered he sounded like a petulant child. “Am not.”

“I’m very proud of you my son,” Odin said, laying a hand on Thor’s shoulder and gave him a warm smile.

Kjelt could see the anger burning in Loki’s green eyes, but underneath that something he couldn’t quite place. Hurt maybe? He wasn’t sure and it was already gone, covered up by the young prince’s rage. “Thor is honorless and taking credit that belongs to another. me!”

Whatever Thor said next was lost on Kjelt, but it obviously dismayed the younger Prince. Kjelt hadn’t thought he would witness the Prince’s Seidr, let alone on his first day, but there it was. Just a flash of green and suddenly Thor’s food had turned into a plate of writhing leeches.

“A plate full of creatures that reflect very well how you are leeching of my victory!” Loki said vicious and pointedly took a bite of his own food as to rub it in.

If Kjelt had ever thought that Thor’s voice could be booming, he was now entirely sure from who he had inherited it. Odin’s voice boomed through the room and Kjelt couldn’t keep himself from flinching.

“LOKI ODINSON!” Odin shouted and jumped to his feet while banging the table with his fist, the chair he had been sitting on skittering to the floor.

“Husband, calm down. It was but a minor spell.” Frigga turned her attention to her youngest. “Loki, reverse the spell. And how many times do I have to tell you no spells at the dinner table?”

Thor piped in as well. “Give me my food back, brother!”

“If I am not allowed my Seidr at the table, then so shouldn’t Mjolnir be,” Loki shrugged unperturbed, taking another bite of his food.

“Mjolnir is a tool, your Seidr is not,” Queen Frigga said, but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Odin leaned down over the table to give Loki a withering look and said, “Turn your brothers food back. Now!”

There was no mistaking in Odin’s ire, and it was even obvious to Kjelt that the young Prince had only one change to obey the command or otherwise there would be repercussions. Even Kjelt didn’t think that Loki would dare to oppose his father, and yet he did.

“I shall not,” Loki said haughty, tilting up his chin. “Not until he tells the truth!”

“I am not the liar at this table,” Thor growled.

This time it was Loki who jumped to his feet, though it was without a falling of a chair or a fist banging on the table. “You are the liar and you well know it!”

Apparently that was all that there was needed and Thor jumped to his feet as well.

It happened faster then Kjelt could anticipate, and suddenly Mjolnir flew at the younger Prince’s form who ducked aside. The hammer continued its course, narrowly missing one of Kjelt’s fellow guards who didn’t even flinch, and the weapon crashed into the wall next to him. Kjelt was sure that if it had been him, he would have wet his undergarments.

The green flash appeared again, but if anything had happened, Kjelt couldn’t see what Loki had done. However, the King did, or he was just through with this fight, and with two big strides he bridged the distance between himself and the youngest Prince and grabbed him by the neck.

“You should do well to know your place, boy,” he growled and began steering Loki out of the room. “You and I are going to have a talk about modesty and you should be glad if I allow for you to finish your dinner after that!”

Loki struggled in the King’s grip, but it was obviously futile as the older man proved stronger.

“I have done nothing wrong. Thor is lying and too honorless to admit the truth!” Loki spat.

“Hold your forked tongue, Loki,” Odin chastised, but Loki wasn’t done yet with making his case.

“I have not even harmed him while he just tried to kill me with Mjolnir!”

“Silence!” Odin bellowed, and that was the last Kjelt saw of the both of them before they exited the dinning hall.

With dread in his stomach he watched the doors fall shut with a loud bang, almost fearing for the Prince’s well-being. He agreed with Loki and he didn’t understand why he was receiving a reprimand and not Thor.

But it was not his place to speak. It was not his place to intervene. His place was to be the invisible furniture along the wall and thus Kjelt relaxed his grip on his spear and kept staring at the wall as if nothing had happened.

#loki #loki fanfic #Thor #Odin #Frigga #Odin's A+ parenting #loki muse

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deathfrisbeeinthetardis · 5 years ago

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The Sky Beast, New and Improved Chapter 2

Yay I wrote a second chapter for the fic!! One of the key plot points is inspired by @q-unsolved‘s amazing art :D

Summary:

Ryan Bergara is 100% human until they shoot the Mothman episode. They didn’t find anything but Ryan might have brought a piece of the investigation home with him. Or: A bit of Mothman attaches to Ryan and he gets pretty cool perks. Shane is a fan.

Chapter 2 Summary:

Ryan goes to work with his wings tucked away, and they go camping for the weekend. Hijinks ensue.

Find it on Ao3 here or read below!

They take a sick day.

Partly to figure out how to best keep Ryan's transformation a secret from the rest of the world. Partly just because it is all new and exciting, and the two men want the chance to completely regress to boys for the occasion, you know, to celebrate.

Case in point, Ryan is flapping around his apartment with Shane on his tail, his wings doing all the work to keep them and Ryan's body from crashing into the walls or the furniture. They had taken time before this to clear away everything of value from shelves or tables, of course, they were capable of behaving like adults for a few minutes longer before they totally lost it.

"How's your six-foot-fourness helping now huh?" Ryan shouts with glee, cackling breathlessly as his wings maneuver him deftly away from Shane's outstretched hands, settling him to perch on top of a cupboard.

"Damn it, why aren’t you obeying the laws of physics?" Shane wheezed, supporting his hands on his bent knees before said cupboard with a giant grin on his face, which brightened even more, "You know what? Your mob name is going to be wings now if I am to be called legs! It's only fair." he declared, straightening with hands on his hips.

"Uh, no way. My wings are totally going to be my secret weapon! I can't go announcing that to all my enemies, also Night-Night is way cooler. You're just jealous." Ryan stuck out his tongue, relishing in the joy of this moment. The past two hours actually, they really haven't accomplished much.

It takes another half an hour before both of them are too exhausted and hungry to continue, and they collapse onto Ryan's couch with a carton of orange juice between them, chugging it down with the fervor of men after vigorous aerobic exercise and several cases of severe laughter-syndrome.

"So," Shane says when his breaths finally start to even out, "We know you can fly outside the natural laws of this earth. Also, I think I saw you're eyes glint red when the light hit it a few minutes ago, you're not about to go rogue on me now are you?"

"Wait, really?" He really hadn't noticed, cause that's not how eyes work. It was probably too dark the last time he looked in the mirror that morning for him to see. Ryan sets the carton onto the coffee table and hops over it to get to the window where watery sunlight shines into the room. Using his phone as a makeshift mirror, he wiggles his head until the light catches his eyes at a certain angle and, "Oh wow, they really are red."

"That could be a problem with filming, especially when our cameras are all good enough to avoid red-eye." Shane pauses, then chuckles, "Oh boy, if the fans ever find out they are going to go crazy. All those theorists positing how I'm a demon are gonna come after you now!"

Ryan wrinkles his nose at his reflection, "You're being way too happy about this."

"Hey, you win some you lose some. At least your red eyes are normal-sized, not like goggles or something like in the myths."

"Goggles," Ryan frowns at that, something in his memory sparking an idea, "didn't you recently get those pair of broke-Tony Stark glasses? The yellow ones?" He eyes Shane without turning, "You think they sell red ones? I can always say the red is from the glasses' reflection."

The other man makes a considering noise and pulls out his phone, after a minute his brows climb high on his forehead, stretching out his hand to show the screen displaying an astounding collection of red-tinted sunglasses, "They're supposed to help with visibility apparently, like the yellow ones." He strokes his nonexistent goatee, "Hmm I wonder what character wears red glasses, I gotta get you back for that Tony Stark comment."

"Shut up, Shane," Ryan replies almost on instinct, squinting at the screen to pick out the least obnoxious design. There was an optician's a few blocks from his apartment and Shane volunteers to get Ryan a pair while he practices camouflaging into a normal human workplace.

It actually turns out to be pretty easy, just as long as he keeps the thought of the necessity of the invisibility in the back of his mind. Ryan also discovers to his delight and Shane's halfhearted dismay that tangibility does not seem to affect his flight ability much beyond some extra concentration. He'll be fine tomorrow at work. He'll just have to remember to take a break every few hours to stretch or something.

The shoot on Monday though, that could be a problem. Now that he has gotten used to his wings through one day of intense usage, Ryan has absolutely no guarantees that if he gets spooked he won't just flap away on instinct.

Shane sleeps over that night to 'observe the Mothman in his natural habitat', Ryan decides his newest favorite sleeping position right in the middle of a five-pillow nest and when he drifts off he dreams about the red-eyed Mothman from the stories.

On Friday, Ryan wears the biggest hoodie he owns to work, just in case his wings pop-out unplanned. Despite the confidence from the day before, paranoia of a different kind creeps up on him as he sits at his desk next to Shane. He almost never comes in this early, but it was better than walking through the office with everyone there.

He stares bleary-eyed when his computer boots up, taking his new glasses out of the case and setting them on his nose. The color gives everything a mildly sinister tinge and makes him more self-conscious of his appearance than he has been in a long time, but they do their job.

He's quite proud that he only jumps a little when Jen calls "Nice specs, Ryan!" from six desks away. He also manages to wait until lunch break before he has to race to the bathroom to let his wings out. One of the pros of working at Buzzfeed is that there are constantly so many weird things happening that his abnormal choice in eye-wear didn't draw any attention more than a few comments and even some compliments.

All things considered, it's a good day. Ryan even manages to get a good chunk of editing done amidst his paranoia and routine banter with Shane, the latter has gradually started to become more and more moth specific. Seriously did the guy research all the moth puns through the night?

"What do you call a group of moths dancing around a light?" Shane leans over to say an hour before they can go home for the weekend, his eyes twinkling, "A moth pit."

Ryan groans, choosing not to respond as the passive-aggressive way to protest against the excessive abuse of all things moth-related within the day. His shoulders feel stiff, and out of habit he folds his arms behind his head and leans back in a long slow stretch, and it is the most satisfying stretch in his life, as the strain of a whole afternoon of mostly sitting still with his head craned forward just vanishes. He hums a little in satisfaction.

Simultaneously, the lights overhead go out. So does his computer. And everyone else's.

"Oh no no no my computer just crashed!?"

"Is there a power outage? What's going on?"

"I didn't save..."

Ryan is frozen in his position as the cacophony of voices barrages his now slightly enhanced hearing, and it hits him a moment later. In a flash, he's hunching down in his seat, trying to seem as small as he can with his face in his hands, while his invisible wings come down to wrap around him from where they had just stretched too, unseen. Fuck. Wasn't there a thing about electrical malfunctions on the nights of Mothman sightings? Oh god, he hopes he didn't knock the whole of Los Angeles off the grid. He feels his face flush, the skin heating up against his palms. Great job Bergara. Fantastic managing of your powers.

Shane, who had been in the process of returning to his own editing after snickering at his godawful joke, has his hands hovering over the keyboard and a bemused smile on his face as he tilts his head and sees Ryan with the hood of his hoodie pulled down over his face.

"I'm sorry," Ryan mumbles faintly into his hands, "I didn't think that part would apply to me."

Shane looks at him for a moment, then he claps a hand on Ryan's shoulder and wiggles him a little in his seat as his smile splits into a grin, "Lucky for you, I save my work by the hour. Otherwise, you'd have to fly like hell cause I'll tackle you."

"You'd never catch me," Ryan says, lifting his head a little to shoot a grateful glance at the taller man, "remember yesterday?"

"Oh but I was unprepared!" Shane declares, rubbing his hands and widening his eyes until he resembled a crazed hunter, "Next time I'll have a bow and a ton of those suction-tipped arrows, and I'm bringing you down baby!"

"You're unbelievable." Ryan huffs with a laugh, glancing around the pandemonium that has descended onto the BuzzFeed office and what seems to be the street outside as well, "Ugh, wanna head back now? We're gonna have to walk, uber is definitely not going to work."

Shane nods, chuckling silently at the whole situation. On their way out, Ryan desperately avoids eye contact with anyone and stares at his red-tinted feet, only snapping out of his inner guilt tirade when Shane pokes him in the rib.

"Stop looking down and hunching your shoulders, makes you look more guilty." He chides, the stupid grin still on his face as he tugs Ryan's hood back as they walk onto the sunlit street. "They'll just blame it on PG&E. The whole thing will teach everyone a lesson to be on top of their job and not rely entirely on technology and big electrical companies to save their work."

"You're just smug that you didn't get affected as much." Ryan retorts, but the comment didn't have any actual heat behind it.

"You bet I am. Come on, buck up buddy. We've got the entire weekend to have fun with this!" The taller man gestured to the general area on Ryan's back where his wings hung hidden, "Don't you want to go into the wild and see what happens?"

Ryan would never tell Shane this, but his wings stir and shudder a little at the words as if they were dying to show the extent of their abilities. Traitors.

They end up in Monrovia Canyon Park after an hour-long drive that afternoon, since they figured most of LA's population would be out in the city doing fun Friday night things, so the chances of anyone seeing a figure flying through the trees of the park are greatly reduced. Fortunately, they arrive with around an hour of sunlight left to hike in and set up their camping gear. Unfortunately, the light gives Ryan the opportunity to read the sign at the trailhead.

"Fuck no." Ryan yelps, pointing an accusing finger at the picture of a black bear with the words 'warning, you are entering bear territory' emblazoned in black under it. He's terrified of bears, those things are the apex predators of the land, and Shane knows that because they've argued about this multiple times, on camera. It's probably why he chose this damn park over the others. "I am not camping here with those things around."

The man shrugs and the tall backpack on his shoulders rise up at least half a foot with the motion. "It is the most heavily wooded park in the area, and I do have this bear mace here," He says innocently, though his brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight seem to issue a challenge that riles up something in Ryan into a frenzy. "And in case you forgot, you can fly, Ryan, no bears are gonna get you."

"I hate you," Ryan mutters darkly, shooting the other man a look that was something between affection and scorn. What Shane said makes sense, logically, and Ryan is beyond annoyed when stuff like this happens on the regular. Speaking of powers, he wonders if there are any more tricks up the Mothman's sleeve that he can use to give Shane a good getting back at.

Ryan half stomps over and yanks the canister of anti-bear from the side pocket of the taller man's pack, scowling at his snicker and latches onto the cool metal with a death grip, finger crooked into the trigger. Shane is right on one account, no bears are going to get him on this trip, or he'll get a face of mace and whatever cool shit Mothman can do when it's spooked.

They dump their bags in a patch of grass amidst the trees, far from any established trails or camping grounds just to be safe. With a sigh of relief, Ryan's wings materialize at his back, dark against the dimly lit forest around them, dwarfing Ryan with their span. It seems they hadn't been at their full size that day in his apartment. They now stretch twelve feet in total, drawing a sharp awed inhale from Shane as the powerful limbs flex and stretch in their freedom. The best part? Ryan didn't even have to take off his hoodie, the wings found their own way through the material without really altering it.

Ryan rolls his neck and relishes the warmth that the cracks leave behind as the soreness melts away, and he grins at Shane. "What now?" he says, a little breathless already.

"Whatever feels natural, Ryan." Shane says with a wolfish grin of his own, "Just let go of all the stress and embrace mother nature."

So Ryan lets his eyes flutter close and gives in to that wild part in him that has started stirring since their investigation in Virginia. When he opens his eyes again, their red glint sharpens his vision as his wings carry him straight up into the air. The wind whips at his face and he has his arms spread wide, laughter bubbling out of him as his previous fear of heights dissolves into the crisp rich air.

He rides the soft winds, weaving through the semi-dense woods around their campsite and listens to his new instincts as he twirled in the air performing moves that he had once seen professional divers do. He feels free in there, and even though the falls and dips in height still send his stomach clenching, it's more in anticipation of the thrill of control, of pulling back at the very last second to glide just a few feet off the ground, rather than fear. He flies and perches on various treetops and swoops again, all to the whooping and cheering of Shane from down bellow.

"Hey Ryan! Look what I brought!" He shouted, and Ryan glides down to a lower branch to give the not-so-tall looking man a questioning glance, the man was smirking with mischief, holding out a hand to wiggle a bright camping lantern in his direction, "Since you're Mothman, d'you feel anything for this here light?"

Ryan was about to adjust his grip on the branch to only using a certain finger on both hands when suddenly Shane yelps and starts to do a twitchy dance with his upper body. For a second Ryan panics, but he was just close enough for his enhanced night vision to see that the strange behavior is, in fact, not caused by a demon possessing his friend.

"Oh, fuck is that a wasp?" Ryan bursts out laughing at the way Shane's face contorts a little at the tiny insect buzzing uncomfortably close to his face and did not feel sorry at all for his friend. Nope. Ryan was almost squealing in delight as Shane batted at the wasp as best he could, flapping his long arms around with a panicked look on his face.

"See what you get? This is what you get! Yes! Take that for--" Its a shame that his victory speech is cut short when a wasp materializes right in front of his own face, sending him tumbling backward off the branch with a high pitched screech.

A part of his brain thinks that if people heard what he had just uttered, there are going to be reports of the first Mothman sighting in Los Angelas.

For some life-fucking reason, the wasp--actually three of them now-- tormenting Shane decide to refocus their attention on the flying creature instead of the sasquatch. They obviously haven’t taken physics or learned about surface area.

Ryan threads his way through the trees with much less of his previous flare and joy, flying for his life as the few wasps quickly grow to a swarm, despite a small voice in his head encouraging him to stop, to take a stand. What the fuck did he ever do to them?? It's not like he kicked their nest or something. Frustration and exhaustion combining is never a good look on Ryan, and after what he estimates is four minutes of high-speed air chase, he dives to the ground. Landing softly, he lets instincts take over, whirling around to let out a snarl at the swarm that races for him, wings arched at his back and shaking slightly to make rustling sounds.

The wasp swarm halts before him with a jerk.

Ryan's teeth are bared, which is kind of dumb, cause he doesn't have fangs so that image must not be very scary to anyone. But the wasps hover before him, their formation shifting uncertainly, and Ryan can see the detail on each and every buzzing insect with crystal clarity. A deadly calm washes over him.

"Heel." He growls, and his own voice startles himself. With all the macho, gangster bits they've done on Unsolved, he has never heard his voice go this low and guttural. Ryan blinks, and the heavy blanket of calm is gone.

The wasps hold still, their formation now in a fixed sphere as they buzzed quietly. Respectfully, a part of Ryan's mind supplies, they serve him now. What the hell just happened?

A crackle of a boot on dry leaves has Ryan whipping his head around to see Shane approaching him with a flashlight and bear mace in perfect Harries position, concern and something like dread tightening his face. "Ryan come here, get away from the wasps."

"They're not a threat anymore Shane," he said, tone stiff and tired. "They obey me now." The taller man looks doubtful but after a few flashes of light at the swarm produced no change in the wasps' motion, he slowly lowered the mace can.

"I-I didn't know what to do so I just grabbed this," he said, lifting the mace a bit and then letting his arms drop back to his side. "Ryan are you okay? Your hands are shaking."

"What?" Ryan says absently, and there are tremors running through his hands. He clenches them into fists and tucks them into his hoodie pocket. A flick of his head at the swarm has them dispersing, buzzing back to wherever the hell they popped out from. "We're losing light, we should set up the tent," he says as he turns to walk back to where they had dropped their bags.

Shane stands his ground and reaches out a hand to catch the smaller man's shoulder when Ryan tries to walk past him, and his eyes widen slightly as Ryan's wings bristle at the contact, but his grip is firm. "If there's something wrong, Ry, anything at all that feels off about this whole Mothman thing, you'd tell me, right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine, big guy." Ryan offers the taller man a small smile, though it might have wavered a little. He can tell that his friend would have liked answers to a great many questions about how he felt, about the mad chase and about that final showdown, but the man didn't push. He trusts Ryan to reach out if he needed it.

The problem is, Ryan has never been that good with emotions.

But at the moment he feels... okay. The excitement of the ordeal seems to have canceled out his energy. So he smiles some more, "I promise." At Shane's not at all satisfied expression, he nudges the taller man with the tip of a dark wing, "Come on, help me light a fire. I'm dying for some smores."

And so they did.

#fanfiction #inspired by awesome art #I love Mothman!Ryan so much #alex writes #Ghoul friends

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lokikingofasgardslover713 · 6 years ago

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Faithlessness

Masterlist

Faithlessness Masterlist?

Loki Laufeyson x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: None yet, Pain

Summary: Reader has crashed to the barren lands of Jotunheim after she is tossed out of a space craft and left for dead. Though you can guess who is the one who finds her, taking her back to the palace it is discovered she is just not any mortal or alien race. You have to read to find out what she is!

A/N: This takes place after Infinity War. In my thought Loki returned to Jotunheim to rule after he was supposedly killed on the Statesman. This was originally written for a challenge, but it turned into this! I may update it every once in a while with a brain fart. I'm never sure on chapter length, you know me I say what I have then put it to bed.

Words: +1,600

Burning, searing, white hot pain erupted along her spine. Ground cold, hard and unforgiving under shaking, pain racked body that had the once stifled cries of pain ripping through her aching chest to scream out to the sky. Shivering arms giving out to allow aching skull to contact the ice, hard, having more cries and curses dancing on the howling winds. Eyes screwed shut, the wind freezing, biting, the snow slapping her face, screaming out in frustration. Wherever this was it was designed to kill, this unforgiving hell that she had slammed into.

Finally, opening tear-filled eyes to look up into the dark sky that was a deep navy, hardly any stars, just clouds, ice, and snow. Breath misting around her as words began to echo in aching head, trying to calm her breathing, steady her nerve. This was no place to be out in the open, mountains in the distance, and ice. Gods all the ice.

So, this is what betrayal feels like. Laying on a barren planet that looked to be nothing but of ice and frozen hell. Betrayal was laying with your lower half shattered, praying for death and hoping your screams would draw someone or something that would end the misery. A crunching of ice had her moving to sit up with a whimpering screech to grab for a weapon, anything she had left only for it to be kicked away. Pain shooting from her hand, down to shattered lower half, falling to her back with a yelp and quick surrender.

More crunching ice, trying to look through the haze of pain at who or what was surrounding her. Then again maybe she didn’t want to know, eyes trying to focus as the ice cracked directly next to her, looking up as someone kneeled to look her broken body over.

“Your spine is shattered. No doubt from the fall,” the person, sounded like a man spoke, it seemed they were staying out of her sight, but then again like it would matter. The blinding pain was now thankfully easing due to the cold making it go numb.

A witty remark was on the tip of her tongue, ready to spill forth but more ice cracking had her realizing he wasn’t alone as well at the snort of a horse. Though he remained kneeling, there was a larger, taller being at his back asking what to do with her.

“Go back to the palace. I will return shortly with our guest,” was all the man uttered to the giant that nodded and left them, the man inching closer, not caring if it hurt as his hand traced over shivering side to shattered pelvis. “Try to keep your screams down. This will hurt and I don’t want an ice beast breathing down my back. I don’t have time to call him off,” was the last words spoken, not given time to ask what he meant before the pained worsened.

To stifle the scream as bones returned to there proper place, she shoved the fleshy pad under her thumb into her mouth. Teeth breaking the calloused hide to taste copper as it all reset, head falling back to the cold ice and relishing in the coolness of it on her over heating body. She knew she was freezing out here, hand falling from her mouth as it seemed the worst was done, or that was until he lifted her over his shoulder with ease. The man getting into the saddle as if he was just hoisting himself and pulling her to sit sideways in front of him.

This still didn’t afford her a glimpse of his face, covered in a fur hood. A spur had the horse starting forward at an easy trot that didn’t jostle her much but had her curious to why he cared if she lived or died.

“Where am I,” her groggy voice asked.

“Jotunheim,” he responded coldly, hand wrapped in the leather reigns as he spurred the beast faster but not bothering to look down at her.

Slowly she began to become aware, the haze of pain backing off. Looking into the distance to realize they were headed towards what looked to be a dark frozen palace, the figure pulling her tighter to him now her body began to shake harder. Dawning on her she was thrown to the frozen ground in nothing more than the clothes she had worn to bed, a thin tank top and loose lounge pants, no socks, no shoes. Lucky enough to have taken to keeping a knife strapped to her ankle, she thought as they trotted past palace gates into the frozen courtyard that looked like it had been recently rebuilt.

The shivering woman he held to was so mesmerized by the palace she never realized they had stopped at the bottom of the palace steps. Jolting the instant one of the blue, leather skinned giants stepped forward, supposedly reaching out to her so the man could dismount. Not meaning to seem desperate, she clung to the figure that let out a quiet chuckle but spoke an order that made the giant back off.

Tossing her over his shoulder once again, the shivering was now uncontrollable as teeth began to chatter. Looking around worriedly as she was carried up the steps to gods knew where, she was used to space craft, not this. The place looked like something out of one of those novels from Terra. Y/N slightly relieved when he pulled her into his arms to pull her close, sharing a little of his body heat. She was unashamed that she cuddled into the man, it was better than the freezing cold that didn’t seem to end as he carried her down the corridor.

The only time she looked up was when the room heated suddenly. At this she perked up, looking around to realize he had carried her into a room that looked warm, inviting, very luxurious. Cringing slightly as she was sat to freezing feet to scurry over to the fireplace that was in the room. The chuckle he let out calling her attention back to him as she huddled in a crouch next to the flame to get warm.

Finally, he removed the hood and cloak. Her glowing chartreuse orbs sparkling with fire light as she watched him like a predator. Not that she meant to fix him with the gaze, it was instinct, her nature. Taking in his long raven black hair that was slicked back but neatly styled, his skin not pale but with a healthy color, fair complexion. Black and dark green leathers adoring his person as well as a green cape, but unable to look away from the emerald green orbs that sparkled back at her.

“What do they call you,” the man began, noting she was occupied with getting warm and looking him over that she didn’t seem to think about it as she uttered a name.

“Y/N? That is a Midgardian name,” the man spoke, the woman finally noting the conversation, as well as the predatory look in his own eyes.

“Midgardian? What is that,” she asked carefully, never hearing anyone speak quite like him as he stepped towards her, this time she felt a shiver run her spine and it wasn’t the cold.

“Earth? Terra? You fell from the sky, from a space craft, yet…,” the man began, reaching a hand out to grasp her bicep as she remained squatted before the fire. It appeared he was thinking of pulling her close, but every fiber screamed at her to fight.

With a quick spring back, a wolf replaced the woman. All be it a large one, she was a wolf none the less, fur healthy and glistening it the fire light. Apparently he wasn’t afraid of her and even backed the large beast into a corner. His moves told the wolf, the woman, the creature one and the same, that he was apex predator in this place.

“Come now. You were just clinging to me the entire time I had you in my arms,” he smiled to her, finally stopping a few feet from the snarling beast, fangs glittering and sharp in the fire light.

“Calm down. No need for this to end in blood. I'm trying to help. Let us speak like civilized people. Return to your mortal form and I will be glad to find you clothes,” the man bargained as the cloak appeared in his hand, but she would have none of it. A snapping of teeth and she had him on his back, fangs at his throat. Or that was before she was tossed cruelly to the stone floor, back cracking but not breaking.

With a yelp the wolf rolled to her feet sorely. Obvious he had re-injured her as she collapsed to the floor, refusing to give up the form she was in. The man approaching her carefully, reaching out to lay a hand over her back but she snapped at it, sharp fangs pinching the skin to draw blood. With a hiss he drew away, stepping back for a golden collar to materialize in the bleeding hand.

“Very well. You want to behave like a beast, then I will gladly grant you the form to think over your actions,” he snapped before she finally began to black out.

The man kneeling before her to place the collar around her neck, to weak to fight. A low whimper escaping as she was lifted into his arms to be placed on the foot of the bed. It was apparent she hadn’t deterred his curiosity as a steady hand ghosted over a silky winter coat. A tingling following in its wake as she could feel consciousness slipping away once more.

Tags open! And re-blogs are ALWAYS welcomed!

Tags: @dark-night-sky-99 @prettybubblesintheair @gramaeryebard @reallyheckinggay @jovanna-shewolf @andiyholly @katstablook @nickyl316h @beets1bears1battlestargalactica @aslandia726 @moonfaery @furstinnajoelle @itsbqueenthings @lookwhatyoumademequeue

@whovianwookie86-captainxev@jazzieomega @moonlightprime @bambamwolf87 @tomhardy41 @get-loki @drakonwild

#loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #loki #loki (marvel)#loki x plus size reader #loki x oc #loki x you #loki x reader #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #mcu #loki mcu #loki (mcu)#mcu fanfiction #fanfiction #lokikingofasgardslover713

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fanfic-collection · 6 years ago

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Vampire: Loki x Reader - Pt 12

Vampire Tag list: catalinaacosta , starscreamloki , dream-reaper , hufflepuff-always-and-forever , portietomednalynn , all-these-wonderful-things , jayyx3oxo , littlelokilover , jessiejunebug , littlelokilover , vanessaaaasdfghjkl , lokislilslut ,

It’s like it’s meandering as I’m trying to figure out where to go next. I’m not unhappy, I just... it’s kinda fun just having boring plot building though, fun for me anyways, like sometimes nothing happening and just interaction is nifty. I dunno, that’s just me. Hope you enjoy, thank you for comments!

Time passed in monotony. You tried pacing the room, counting the individual steps, counting the floorboards, looking for cracks and holes in the wood. You stared at the ceiling, at the moth-eaten curtains. You spent a great deal of time staring out the window, straining your eyes to see into the dark tree and shrub covered land.

The home seemed to be in a clearing of sorts, likely man made, within a densely forested area. For a time you wondered what had become of the owners, had they met an untimely end? You hoped not, perhaps they fell on hard times and were forced to abandon it. You thought of Loki hunting, had they been slaughtered as you slept mindlessly on the bed. How long had you been in that vision, had Loki put you in it? It seemed the only likely possibility.

You sat on the bed, picking at your fingers, wondering how long it would take to get back to the manor where Thor had been. Was Thor out looking for the two of you? Perhaps he was just looking for Loki and assumed you to be dead. How far out were you? If you were to escape, would it even be possible for you to make it back. What of the wolves? There were legends of vampires being shapeshifters, able to commune with beasts of the night, even taking their form. Some of the legends had seemed silly, fearsome creatures designed as perfect hunters taking the form of a bat. Though flying across the night sky, traveling wherever your heart wanted.

You smiled, thinking of such a thing. There was a freedom in such a life, to be able to go and travel in such a way as you pleased, but always chained down by the need for blood. It seemed to consume Loki.

Boredom gave way to sleepiness, not that you were tired. Eventually you found yourself laying on the bed, curled up and dozing.

The door opened, clicking shut behind him.

You startled, jolting upright and looking to see Loki entering. There were traces of blood on his mouth but he turned away from you, walking over and closing the curtains. Dawn was fast approaching.

Loki sank onto the bed and lay on his back, eyes closed and arms resting on his chest.

“No greeting?” You muttered, annoyed by his absence.

Loki opened an eye and peered at you. “Sorry.” He muttered, closing his eyes again. The weight of the world seemed on his shoulders as he lay there seemingly exhausted.

“Did you kill someone?”

Loki tensed, eyes opening slowly to stare at you. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at the offending appendage. Slowly he sighed, gritting his teeth, “Yes.”

“You're going to attract more hunters if you're not careful.”

Loki sat up, dark circles under his eyes. “What would you have me do?” He hissed.

“You could go back to Thor, that seemed relatively low profile, you spent how many months there before anyone showed up asking questions? They probably only knew because they got to Analise.”

Loki glared at you. He unfolded himself from the bed, crossing the room to the sink and turning on the water to wash his face. Casting an annoyed look over his shoulder at you, he turned to the water and continued tending to his face.

“You missed a spot.” You muttered, folding your arms.

Loki hissed, rubbing vigorously at his face. “These damned mirrors don't work.”

“Is that why you stopped caring for yourself?”

Loki pulled away from the sink and turned around to face you, leaning against it with his arms folded. “Yes.”

“Silver is a holy metal, it doesn't work on err...” You trailed off.

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Most mirrors are made with alluminium these days though, why hasn't Thor gotten you one of those?”

“Most of the mirrors on Asgard were of silver, it probably didn't occur to him that there would be such a problem.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “What am I supposed to eat? I can't sleep all day, and if I have nothing to do, I'm bored out of my mind, at least at the house I had the library.”

Loki's eyes flashed, ready to snap at you, but at the mention of the library, his anger faltered. He looked away sadly. “I'm sorry.” He muttered.

You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but being honest... “You weren't thinking things through.”

Loki grit his teeth, “I'm trying, everything is so jumbled.” He rubbed the palms of his hands on his temples, tossing his head back. “Did you eat everything I brought last time?”

“There's a little bit left, but I can't go three days without food, I need sustenance.” You glanced at the door then back to Loki.

“Eat that.”

“Obviously I will, but I can't survive on scraps stolen from poor farmers, or murdered farmers, whatever the case may be.”

Beginning to pace, Loki rubbed his hands on his face, growling softly.

“And I know what you think about Thor.”

Loki pulled his hands away and snapped, “No you don't. You don't know anything between Thor and I.”

You sat down on the bed, arms folded, “Then tell me, I have nothing but time.”

Loki stopped his pacing and glared at you, then back to the bed and his face softened. “I need sleep. I can feel the sun approaching.”

“Tough. I've done nothing but wait, you can talk to me for a bit.”

Loki groaned again, walking over and all but collapsing onto the bed, face down.

Despite yourself, you smiled at him, gently rubbing his back in soothing circles.

Loki sighed into the blankets at your touch, slowly turning his head away to look at you. “Can't we just sleep?”

“I can't spend all my time sleeping. At least steal me a book or something, a television? Though we probably can't get any shows out here, maybe a video player and like six seasons of a show?”

“The number of entertainment options out in this country are very limited, and traveling with such an item is not easy.”

“Then bring me back to the manor, at least there I had things to do.”

Loki glared at you, “Do you just want to be by darling Thor?”

You rolled your eyes, “No, I want something to do, enrichment, purpose. I don't give a damn about Thor. I'm here for you.”

Loki smiled at that.

“But Thor realized that keeping someone prisoner, they have to have things to do to entertain themselves or they go crazy.”

“No he didn't.” Loki muttered.

“Is that where the scars come from?”

Loki closed his eyes but stayed quiet.

“Well?”

“Some of them.” He muttered finally breaking his silence.

“Some? How badly scarred are you?”

Cold laughter came from Loki but no other response.

You sighed, trying to change tactics. “What's the deal between you and Thor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I even mention him and you get annoyed, your whole demeanor changes.”

Loki glared at you before putting his face back in the mattress. “Everyone always likes Thor more.” His voice was muffled so you barely heard it.

“Wait, are you jealous of Thor?”

Loki lifted his head up and snapped, “No! Why would I be jealous of that witless oaf.”

“You're the younger brother, aren't you?”

Loki glared at you for a moment before pressing his face back in the mattress.

“Just because he's older, doesn't mean he's the favorite.”

Loki sat up and laughed coldly, “You would like to think that, wouldn't you. My own father told me my birthright was to die, do you think he told darling Thor that?” For a moment, he seemed surprised, old memories surfacing, crossing his face in a tangle of emotions. He seemed confused, perhaps at having admitted such a painful memory and also surprised, as though he didn't expect such a memory to be true.

“He couldn't have meant that.”

Loki looked away, “You didn't know the man.”

Your face softened and you reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “Maybe it's best you forget him.”

“He waited til his death bed to tell me otherwise. Even then, it was only when yet another lie of his surfaced.”

“Thor said you had a sister?”

“Yes, that was quite the surprise to discover after a millenia of life.”

“Maybe a happier topic?”

Loki looked back at you, lips quirking over his fangs. “A happy topic, she asks for, to a cursed beast such as I. Would my birth father abandoning me, my multiple near deaths, or perhaps my most recent death be the subject you'd like to hear about?” His eyes flashed and there was a dark look in their green depths as he looked at you.

You swallowed hard, pulling your hand back on to your lap, still you held his gaze. “My baby sister has been sick ever since I can remember. I would do anything for her.”

“Even turn her into a monster such as myself?”

Finally you looked away, “No. She would deserve to rest.”

Loki looked down sadly. “I don't remember what happened after...” He trailed off.

“But, regardless of how fair or cruel it was to do this to you, I'm glad I've been able to meet you. I mean that.”

Loki took your hand in his, your heart stammered in your throat at the delicate movement. Very slowly he lifted your finger to his lips. His tongue darted out, curling over your finger. Before you realized, his fang had pricked the tip of your index finger and a drop of ruby blood swelled up. Licking his lips, gaze flickering up at you then back to your finger, he pressed his lips to the digit and sucked gently. His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the taste as he pulled away.

Slowly he smiled at you, “Thank you.” His voice was deep and throaty. Turning away, he rolled onto his side and curled up, speaking no more.

You pulled your hand back, having left is suspended in midair after he released your finger. Looking down at the pinprick on your finger, the blood already had stopped running, you tilted your head. That was the second time he had tasted you. This time it seemed to calm him.

Sighing, you walked over to the table and finished the last morsels that he had gathered for you. You would be hungry this evening, but hopefully he would bring extra in the night. If you timed a nap well, you might be able to avoid the worst of the pain. Besides, less food meant sleep would come easier.

You walked to the sink and drank deeply from the water. Occasionally you cast looks over your shoulder as Loki slept soundlessly, a smile still on his face, hand curled up by his mouth. This was different than the last time you had seen him sleep, as though he was cherishing something dear.

With nothing better to do, you lay down beside him and allowed yourself to doze by rubbing circles into his back and untangling the knots in his hair.

#Loki x reader #multi chapter

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ua-monoma · 6 years ago

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.bourbon

His grandfather’s study smelled as rich as it always did, heady with the smoky smell of oak, vanilla, and cologne, thick and intoxicating as it filled the room, redwood soaking it all in and helping it spread. It was a smell he could now recognize as partially belonging to the bourbon the man kept in his cherished collection, though as a child he had no idea how to place it. There were a lot of things he couldn’t recognize as a child that was changing before his eyes in the last few years, wooly blankets that were ripped away in a flourish to reveal its mediocre truth. There was nothing magical about adulthood, he was learning. Everything that wasn’t painful was just... dull.

Which is why they drank so much, he had to assume, as he watched long fingers skim over bottle after bottle, one filled with something clear, another gold, then clear, then gold, before finally making their selection. Waiting quietly at his place besides it, he watched his grandfather sit at his desk, hands smoothing first over his tie and then along the lapels of his suit before they moved along his hair, slicking down what was already pressed neatly into place.

He spent ages doing that, the type of man who was so content and confident in himself that he spent ages enjoying just that. Himself; his presence and its effect on the air around him. Monoma watched him, trying not to fidget as well as he observed him quietly, waiting.

His grandfather stroked his beard for a long time. "Your grades," he decided on, before reaching for the bourbon and fixing himself a glass.

“They’re getting better,” Monoma said, quick to answer. “I’ve been-- there’s been some distractions, as always. I try and deal with them as best as I can.”

“Yes.” His grandfather was pouring another glass of amber. He watched the ice slosh around noisily, chest fluttering, heart fast. The glass slid over to him, just like he hoped it wouldn’t, before he placed the bottle down. “I’m sure there’s much to discover.”

He took the drink. It was cold against his fingertips. He briefly imagined frost growing, spreading across the surface, leaping onto the desk, clawing its way over the wood. He got so lost in the daydream he forgot to really respond, though it went unnoticed as his grandfather sipped at his drink, glancing at him first then brushing an invisible clump of dirt away second.

“You’re a man now, Neito.” His shoulders hiked, then relaxed at the sound of his name. “And becoming a man means awakening to certain... desires.”

He only tensed again. That’s not exactly the topic he was hoping this would land on. “I suppose so,” he said shortly before bringing his glass to his lips.

His grandfather let out a cheeky laugh as he did the same. “I know so. I remember when I was your age...! The things I got away with.” He winked. “What I still get away with.”

He forced a chuckle, sipped.

“Of course, you’re far more studious than I was at that age. I squandered a lot of my youth on silly things, shallow things. I didn’t have all the opportunities you have.”

His grandfather liked to do that. Remind him of their differences, eyes glinting in that knowledgeable way.

”Or the potential,” he added, still staring, eyes boring gently on him.

Monoma slowly worked down another amber sip.

“If I wasn’t pushed and pushed and pushed... Well.” He shook his head.

“Thank you,” he said uselessly, not knowing what else to say. What did he want to hear...?

“No need to thank me, my boy,” he answered gruffly, though a corner of his lips quirked at the gesture of gratitude. “As you were saying. You were catching me up, ah.” He tapped on his desk. “School. Your grades.” Another tap. “What about your power...? Any improvements to boast about?”

He felt sick. “I would say so.”

“It’s a shame I can’t see it in action.” He shook his head again. “They should allow us to sit in your class sometimes, really see for ourselves what kind of an education you’re getting. A demonstration that doesn’t require violence, that would be useful!” He stroked his beard again. “How would you describe it, hm?”

“Oh, just.” He felt sick. “I’m stronger, I would say.”

“Yes, but in what ways?”

Suffering made one stronger. Everyone knew that. Pain taught lessons. He’d withstood so much. He wasn’t breaking, but he was close. Fragmenting, but still together. Normal. Functioning. How could he explain that? Why did he want to? So many people had hurt him, he felt so weak, he had so much brimming under the surface, so much potential to be powerful, so much desire, so much-

Drinking again, he frowned, then placed the glass down. “There’s a boy in the other class. He was number one in the festival, the one that was on TV.” He took a breath. “I beat him, recently. In a fight.”

His grandfather mulled that over. He never showed his pride in a bright outburst of joy ever, always one to keep it in his chest and let it slowly burn through him. His expression eventually shifted into something a bit more smug as he sat back, self-satisfied. ”Isn’t that something,” he finally said.

“I got detention because of it though,” he continued to report.

“Quite alright,” he answered, waving it off with a big hand. “It happens! They’ve all gotten so strict in those schools. Boys fight each other! Let them! How else will they know about themselves without a good old struggle to find out who’s on top!”

He smiled vaguely. If only he knew.

“Make sure he remembers that, too. Who came out on top.” He’s shifting now, moving to pluck a cigar from a silver box he’d withdrawn from his pocket. “In any working relationship, it’s important to establish dominance. If not in strength, then in spirit. If not in that, then in your senses. Intellect.” He tapped his temple. “Common sense. Rational - logical - sense. You’re smart, I know you know that.”

Monoma nodded. He knew it more because his grandfather liked to repeated it, and his lessons, over and over until he could recite them in his sleep, but he didn’t say that.

“You know,” his grandfather continued, refilling their glasses, though neither of theirs had ever quite emptied entirely. “The only good thing that’s ever come from America is their alcohol. Of course, it’s still no sake, but it makes for a good celebration.”

Another nod. Monoma chewed on his lip as he watched the liquor pour and then he shifted in his chair, smoothing his bangs down where they sat just over his eyes. “Speaking of... celebrations... and, erm... working relationships... I’ve been getting close with a few... people,” he started, almost hesitant. “A few that are very good to know. Big names...”

“Oh?” His grandfather leaned forward, cigar forgotten where it was pinched between his lips. “Tell me more.”

“In the other class. A few of them are already quite famous, almost ridiculously so.” He talked fast, trying not to change his mind. “Names you’d probably recognize.”

"Out with it, boy."

"Todoroki," he blurted. "And Iida."

His grandfather’s eyebrows raised. “Endeavor’s boy...?” he asked and then leaned back again, thoughtful. “And the Ingenium line.”

His heart raced fast, pattering against his chest. He didn’t know why the feeling of betrayal started to coil up and around the base of his spine a little, but it did. “Yes.”

“Very good,” he praised softly. “Those are ones with a guarantee in life. They have a ticket to the top, in solid gold. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, ojisan,” he said softly, though his grandfather wasn’t listening, rambling on.

“Those are ones who grew up with a silver spoon welded to the roofs of their mouths. Huh!” He snorted. “Likely haven’t struggled a day in their lives. Souls must have been spoiled rotten from day one. What could they possibly know about life, huh? Looking down on us from their thrones, at all of us having to work hard to get even half of the same. Hah! Why, I--”

Monoma quietly went back to sipping. He can’t stop thinking about fire now. He could taste the smoke in the glass, carefully infused into the flavor of the alcohol he drank. Bourbon mostly just tasted like a mouthful of wet smoke. He imagined it, thick and filling his chest, roiling out of his nostrils. Endeavor must look like a beast when he was angry.

If suffering made one strong, how could he possibly reach the same level Todoroki found himself on...? How could he possibly compete with that much pain...?

His thoughts darkened, the taste on his tongue thick and sour. He didn’t even notice the creak of his grandfather’s chair at first, though it eventually drew his eye to the source, blinking as his grandfather stared expectantly at him, hand splayed on the desk between them.

“What are they like? Up close and in person?” Another lean. “All I know is what I saw on the television.”

“Iida is... hard working, and kind. Very gentle,” he said quickly, as if to make it up to him. “... And Todoroki is an asshole.”

His grandfather barked out a laugh. "Well! Stay close, you hear? There's only one thing you do with men like that." He propped his elbow on the desk and presented his pinky finger, glinting with the rings it adorned. "You do this," he said, twirling a finger from his other hand around it in insistent circles. "You wrap them around and around until you are exactly where you need to be."

He swallowed. "Of course."

“And are you exactly where you need to be...?”

“I’m close...” he forced another laugh, or maybe it dislodged itself naturally from his warming chest. “Who do you think I am...?”

“That’s my boy.” His grandfather smiled.

“As if I’d let those cads get the better of me...!” Monoma continued, spurred on by the way he was being beamed at.

“That’s my boy!” his grandfather crowed, rewarding him with a particularly hard smack of pride on his shoulder. "One day. One day very soon, we’ll have to start getting in the habit of talking business. Real business. Not this dancing around thing we do.” He grinned, a surprisingly wolfish expression “Just because you’re going to become a big-shot hero doesn’t mean you can’t have a hand with the company. It’ll have your name, after all.”

“Yessir...” he mumbled.

“Toppling a few ‘number one’s...” he murmured to himself, expression dreamy in a way he’d never seen, before his eyes snapped to him. “Your hair is getting a little long. You should cut it.” An ironic statement to make, as he literally brushed his own neatly done ponytail from where it sat on his shoulder. “You look more and more like your mother like that.”

“How is she?” Monoma dared to ask.

“Fine,” he replied shortly. “I haven’t seen her. I’ve been busy.”

“Oh.”

“And you?” he asked suddenly. “Have you spoken with her at all?”

“Oh. No.” He frowned. “I’ve been busy.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments. Something in the air dampened.

“... And their power,” his grandfather suddenly said, with a huffing sigh. “Have you taken it?”

Monoma’s mind frantically backtracked through the conversation. Oh. “Todoroki’s, mostly.”

“They call it ‘Hellflame’, you know. Endeavor’s. It’s a dangerous one.” His eyes were glinting again. “Very dangerous in the wrong hands.”

He thought of his nightmare and nodded simply.

“He’s very careful with it, though. Doesn’t have a lot of accidents.” He paused. “His son. He didn’t seem to want to use it much in battle. Seems almost a waste.”

“He uses it now...” he said quietly.

“Good.” He smiled again. “I hope he’s careful with it. He could cause quite the mess otherwise.”

Messes run in his family, he wanted to say. He wanted to tell him everything he’d learned. Everything he’d felt. How heavy it all truly was. How overwhelming. How small he felt. How hard he had to push, only to have every little win feel like the greatest loss. How he’d never been warned all this, despite all the lessons, despite everything his grandfather had warned him about the real world, how much it would all truly cost.

He didn’t say anything. His grandfather finally lit his cigar.

“What an exciting time you’re being raised in,” he softly mused over his silence. ”The last decade or two has gotten so dull. I envy you. If you’re as keen as I know you are, you can feel it. That shift.” He raised a finger, poised in the air. “What I know as a man will become useless soon, if society is truly changing like we all know it is. It’s very exciting,” he repeated. “I can only imagine what happens next. A new system? A revolution? A new world order? Who will lead that change? Who will end up on top?” He laughed out. “Ah, Neito. You’re so close. All you’ll have to do is reach out and touch it, won’t you?”

He shrugged, awkward as he giggled weakly along with him. He wondered if he sounded this insane when he’s similarly carried away. “Hopefully it’ll be that easy.”

His grandfather shook his head. “Of course it won’t. So, you work hard. You work until you get there. And you will. I can feel it in my bones.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Smile settling away, he looked at his watch. “Ah. I’ve kept you late.”

“Ah!” He glanced up at the clock, confirming the late hour for himself. “I don’t mind. I would’ve been up this late anyway.”

“Hm,” his grandfather grunted. “You inherited that from me.” He placed a pair of glasses on, sliding it over the bridge of his nose, only to peer at him above the rim. “Among other things.”

He smiled sheepishly. His grandfather finally looked away to reach for a newspaper, untucking it from where it sat on his desk and opening it up, eyes searching for something Monoma couldn’t guess. “Finish your drink then, and I’ll think of a story to tell.” He paused, seeming to find what he was looking for, and placed it down, eyes twinkling behind the lenses again as he reached for his glass. “There was a woman I was involved with once whose quirk kept contributing to the amount of floods in the area. Now, when I found that out...”

He continued to ramble. Monoma sat and listened, thinking to himself, wondering as he continued to sip. What other awful things had he inherited...? He supposed he’d just have to wait and see.

#[[ hello guys time to officially introduce you to monoma's nasty old sexy bastard of a grandpa BYe ]]#monoma.doc #inheritance.arc #aftermath.arc #alcohol tw #naito

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totk-headcanons · 7 years ago

Note

The Midna in BotW AU that you did, Midna returns after another hundred years (another complication with the Mirror of Twilight) and she find Link, Riju and Zelda with Wolf Link, who goes in full doggo mode when he sees Midna again (I headcanon that when wolf Link is around, it's the spirit of the previous hero watching over the new).

Part 1 Here

Something had gone wrong. The link that the Twili mages had managed to reestablish with the world of light had turned out to be a fragile one, but now that they knew how to accomplish it, the task or recreating the bridge between worlds proved to be a simple one. Whereas the first connection had taken five years to engineer, this new one was completed in a matter of days. Of course, there was no telling how much time had passed for Hyrule during that time. With luck, it would have been just enough for the Calamity to have been dealt with.

Taking a deep breath, Midna stepped through the portal and into the light.

She was greeted with an eruption of sand and a terrible roar. Ruins dotted the desert around her as a massive beast leapt from the dunes and came crashing down again, pursuing or pursued by several women harnessed to what seemed to be some kind of tusked, sand dwelling mount. One of them, somewhat shorter than the rest and wearing a familiar helmet jumped from her steed, reaching out towards the beast with a single hand.

With a snap of her fingers, lighting splayed out from her outstretched hand and was sent coursing through the monster. Letting out a final rumble, the beast fell silent, its skin turning black as night before vanishing in a haze of smoke.

“That should be the last of the Moldulga,” the young warrior called to her companions. “With the Calamity gone, they shouldn’t be able to return to life as they had before.”

The largest of them stepped forward and lay a hand upon the smaller one’s shoulder in congratulations but, upon noticing Midna, pulled her behind her and raised a spear in defense. “Who are you and what business do you have in these parts? Speak.”

Midna spread her arms wide to show that she was unarmed and meant no ill will. “I am Midna, Princess of Twilight. You are Gerudo, yes? If you would send word to your chief, Urbosa, you will know the truth of my words. She and I are well acquainted though it has been some time since we last spoke.”

“Lies!” the larger one spat, but the smaller held up her hand.

“Buliara, please.” Removing her helm, the small warrior cautiously stepped from behind Buliara. “I’m afraid your words will not reach her, she’s been dead for over a century.”

“Chieftain, please,” Buliara pleaded. “She could be a Yiga spy.”

The chieftain scoffed. “And how many Yiga do you know with blue skin and hair more fiery than our own?”

Stunned, Midna mouthed the words to herself over and over until her voice finally found them. “A century… how can it have been that long? It only took three days to get the gateway functional again. There’s no way it could have been that long.”

Pushing past Buliara’s protests, the chieftain stepped forward. “I am Riju, chieftain of the Gerudo. You must forgive my Captain of the Guard, recent events have left her quite paranoid.”

Midna snapped out of her confusion. “Y-yes, of course. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Riju. You must forgive me, I must have been away longer than I thought.”

Riju grinned. “You are in luck, Princess. Tonight is the night of a great feast, a celebration of our success in routing the Moldulga from our sands.” As she said this, her chest swelled with pride. “With the Calamity gone, we’ve finally been able to take back our desert from Ganon’s horde. Please, join us.”

“Yes, I think that would be lovely.” Doing her best to ignore Buliara’s death glare, Midna walked beside the chieftain as they made their way towards the town in the distance.

The feast was held under the Seven Heroines and began as the sun sank to meet the desert sands. A large bonfire blazed in the center of the memorial and all around Hylian men and Gerudo women drank, danced and sang. With ever step and every note you could feel that these were people who had spent too much of their time living in fear and worry. Now, freed from both, they could not help but express their joy and excitement with every fiber of their being.

Midna sat to Riju’s right, enjoying simply watching the festivities and dining upon the wide variety of food that had been prepared. Even with all the merriment surrounding them, thoughts itched at the back of the Princess’s mind. Thoughts of the Champions she had befriended and the century she had missed.

“You speak as though the Calamity’s defeat is a recent one, and yet the Champions have been dead for over one hundred years,” Midna pondered out loud. “Why is that?”

“Because the Champions lost,” Riju replied. “Revali, Mipha, Daruk and even my grandmother, Urbosa. They all fell to the Calamity when it turned their own weapons against them. For a century all we could do was wait for Ganon to finally grow tired of Hyrule castle and come for the rest of us.”

Midna frowned. “But then how was he defeated? I know first hand of how powerful he can be, what stopped him from taking all of Hyrule from the start?”

Riju smiled. “Because not all of the Champions had been defeated as we first thought.”

Before Midna could ask what she meant, trumpets sounded.

“Ah, here they come now.” Riju pointed towards the edge of the circle. A pair of blue standards had appeared bearing the crest of Hyrule and a small honor guard of Sheikah approached, flanking two riders on horseback. “I suppose we’ll get to find out if you are who you say you are after all.”

Midna could only stare dumbfounded as the two figures dismounted and pulled back their hoods, revealing Zelda and Link. They looked almost exactly as she remembered them. Rising from her place at Riju’s side, Midna crossed the distance quickly.

The Sheikah initially moved to block Midna’s path but a surprised gasp and a dismissive motion from Zelda sent them back into the shadows.

“Midna? I thought we’d never meet again.”

“I had begun to think likewise, Princess.” Midna offered a respectful curtsy, as one Princess to another. “Given how much time I discovered had past since my last visit, it is remarkable to find you and your knight still in the prime of your youth.”

A shadow of grief flickered across Zelda’s face. “I would gladly trade away my youth if it meant regaining what we lost.”

“Excuse me,” Link said, brushing past the two of them and taking a seat on Riju’s left, the two of them beginning to chat joyfully.

“What happened?” Midna asked. Something about the knight’s behavior disturbed her.

“It’s simple, really,” Zelda began. “We lost. All of our faith had been put in the strength of our machines and achievements but in the end it was those same devices that proved to be our undoing. The Champions lay dead and even Link was nearly lost. Thankfully we had the technology to preserve and restore him but…”

Midna frowned, a glimmer of a memory echoing in her mind. “Something was lost.”

“Yes. The healing process worked wonders, brought him back from the brink of death. Hope was kept alive at the cost of all of his memories, everything he knew about his past life. About you, about me and about everyone he ever cared about.”

“I don’t think I could bear for him to look at me as you described,” Mipha’s words echoed in Midna’s mind. “To see me without knowing me.”

Midna pulled the distraught princess into an embrace. “I’m sorry. I can see you grew to care for him during your struggles and I know how much pain it must bring you for him to look upon you without really seeing you.”

Zelda took a deep breath and regained her composure. “It’s quite alright. He’s different now, of course. Perhaps even better. I suppose in some ways his memories may have been a burden, bringing with them a pressure to succeed. This version of him is more alive and full of wonder than the Link I knew and he seems better for it.” The princess smiled, a look of resolve entering her face. “Now, is this a party or isn’t it? I’m going to join in the festivities.” Pulling away from Midna she twirled into a group of dancers and joined them in their frantic movements.

The night grew older and most of the celebrants had settled into quieter enjoyment of food and drink, punctuated by short bursts of laughter. Feeling restless, Midna made her way away from the circle of light and found herself wandering just outside the crowd.

Sounds of quiet laughter and rapid footsteps across sand drew her attention and the Princess discovered Link with the Gerudo Chieftain together, playing with a large dog of some sort.

I suppose he always was a dog person, in this life or any other. Midna mused to herself. A breeze kicked up behind her, blowing towards the playful trio.

The dog froze in its tracks, turning slowly to face Midna. Cautiously, it took a few tentative steps towards her. It was bigger than Midna had first realized. More of a wolf than a dog.

As the silver moonlight caught the wolf’s face, Midna’s breath caught in her throat. Radiant beams reflected off the white markings upon the wolf’s brow, catching its brilliant blue eyes which shined as sapphires.

It couldn’t be…

A heartbeat passed between them and then the wolf was bounding forward, an anxious excitement rippling through its whole body. Midna collapsed to her knees and embraced it in her arms.

“My hero…” she whispered.

The wolf, Link, her Link, panted and whined and smothered Midna with his tongue. Tears welled in her eyes as she simply pulled the wolf further into her embrace.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, I never should have left.”

The other Link approached the two of them, Riju trailing slightly behind. “I uh… guess you two know each other?”

Blinking through the tears, Midna looked up and nodded. “He is a very dear friend, one I thought lost to me.”

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises,” Link said to the wolf, bending down and ruffling his canine ears.

Midna could hardly get the question out. “Please, tell me. How did you find him?”

Link shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not entirely sure. I remember waking up in the Shrine of Resurrection and he was just kind of there, waiting for me outside. Zelda thinks he may be some kind of guide or spirit animal sent by the Goddess, but I don’t know.”

“Would you mind if I spend some time with him?” Midna asked. “I think we have a lot of catching up to do.”

“That’s really up to him,” Link said with a grimace. “He kind of does what he wants.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” Midna said. She gazed down at the Wolf-Link. “I have a feeling he’s missed me just as much as I have him, if not more so.”

Wolf-Link simply wagged his tail in response.

The other Link straightened, clearly befuddled. “Well, I guess I’ll just leave you two to it then. It’s getting late anyway.” Riju took his arm and started guiding him back towards the festivities. “Make sure you take care of him,” Link called back over his shoulder. “And try not to spoil him too much, he might get an attitude.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Midna said, giving Wolf-Link a sly grin. “After all we’ve both put up with much worse from each other before.”

Wolf-Link let out a dog groan and gave her what could only be the closest thing he could manage to an “Are you kidding me?” look he could manage with his canine features.

They remained seated together for several hours until the dawn found them fast asleep, nestled against each other. For the first time in five years that had lasted countless millennia, Midna felt at peace.

[Lonely Voe]

#botw #botw spoilers #midlink #riju x link #mod lonely voe #damn that took a while #worth it though #zelda #riju #link #midna #twilght princess

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dailyironfamily · 7 years ago

Text

day 11 - medieval au

Day eleven of the November Fic Challenge is a medieval AU! Which I tweaked slightly to make a medieval fantasy AU featuring prince Rhodey, knight Pepper, and dragon Tony. There’s about 10k worth of ideas shoved into 3k of fic but I had to wrap this up if I wanted to post it on time.

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a King and Queen, just and fair, who ruled over the people. They had three sons, the youngest of whom was named James. James was an inquisitive child, mostly left to his own devices, as the eldest brother was set to inherit the kingdom, and the middle brother to inherit control of the Royal Guard. As he grew, he became more adventurous, dabbling in the sciences, venturing out into the kingdom on his own, and generally getting himself into trouble. His parents loved his daring, but they worried for his safety, and appointed him a companion from the Guard.

Sir Virginia Potts was young and inexperienced, but she had been friends with Prince James since her days as a squire, and the King and Queen hoped she could encourage some restraint in their son. Virginia took her job very seriously, but she did not have much success in tempering James’s venturesome spirit. More often she was roped along into his schemes, and the two could be found running from a pack of angry trolls or irritated castle staff.

This continued for several years until, on the eve of his twenty-third birthday, Princes James was kidnapped by a dragon.

Virginia swore to the King and Queen that she would return their son safely to them, and set off to the dragon’s rumored stronghold: an abandoned castle in the mountains. It was a long journey, taking two weeks on horse and then by foot. The keep was ancient, not recorded on many recent maps, but Virginia collected information from people in the area and compared her findings to the maps she had. Soon enough the castle was revealed to her, and she drew her sword and strode up to the doors.

As she called out to the foul beast to show itself and return the prince to her, she was surprised when the doors opened to reveal Prince James himself. He grinned sheepishly at her, inviting her inside, and Virginia wondered what he had gotten himself into this time.

“I’m sorry, you what?” she asks, unsure she was hearing this properly.

“I wasn’t kidnapped. I ran away,” James says again, though it’s as ridiculous hearing it the second time as the first.

“Why would you run away? Without telling me?”

“Because you’d try to stop me.”

She can’t say that’s untrue, but it still hurts, knowing James hadn’t even confided in her about his plan. “Your parents are worried sick, James.”

James does look ashamed about that much, at least. “I know, and I’m sorry. But I couldn’t exactly tell them I was leaving either.”

“What did you do, James? And what about the dragon who’s taken this castle?”

The doors to the dining hall open with a loud creak, and Virginia’s hand goes to her sword, instantly on alert.

“James? Who’s our guest?”

The man who speaks is handsome, dark-haired, maybe a couple years older than them, but there’s something unsettling about his eyes, and Virginia keeps her hand firmly on the hilt of her sword.

James shoots her a worried look and says, “Virginia, this is Anthony. He owns the castle.”

Anthony’s eyes shimmer, snake’s eyes for a tenth of a second, and Virginia gasps and draws her sword.

James explains everything once he manages to calm Virginia down enough to stop attacking the man. Anthony is a dragon, yes, (his real name unpronounceable by human tongue), but he never tried to kidnap James, or harm him. James ran away with him because they’re in love. Virginia listens to this explanation while glaring at Anthony the whole time, waiting for him to try something, though he never does.

Despite this, she’s not about to just leave empty-handed. If James won’t return home, then Virginia will stay here with him as his protector until such a time as he comes to his senses and returns with her. Anthony bristles at the arrangement, but James agrees, just glad that no one is getting stabbed or set on fire.

No one else lives in the castle, which is understandably in disrepair. James shows her to quarters that are mostly still intact, and she spends the time asking him questions about Anthony—how strong is his magic, how did they meet, is he the dragon who’s been attacking the neighboring kingdoms. James answers what he can, but he promises that Anthony hasn’t been ransacking any villages lately thanks to him. Virginia scoffs at the thought of a reformed dragon, but she doesn’t argue any further. Soon enough James will see his mistake, and then she’ll be able to take him home.

She doesn’t spend any time alone with Anthony for the first few days, making sure to stick by James’s side as much as possible. James chafes under her strict watch, however, and finally shoos her away. Hurt, she takes the opportunity to explore more of the castle, and stumbles across a lab in a high tower with the largest telescope she’s ever seen. The tables are littered with books and pages of notes, and she glances over them before going to check out the telescope. It’s pointed at the stars, sparkling dots visible in the inky black sky, and she stares at them in wonder through the telescope.

She jumps when someone behind her clears their throat, and she quickly steps back from the telescope. Anthony stands in the doorway to the lab, handsome as ever, but now she knows it’s just magic making him look that way. Still, only very powerful dragons can hold a human form for long, so she knows not to underestimate him.

“I am glad to see you enjoying yourself,” he says, either unconcerned with or unaware of her suspicion. “I could show you how to change the angle of the telescope, if you wish.”

“A dragon who studies the stars,” she scoffs, brushing him off. “I didn’t think your kind were interested in anything other than treasure.”

“Science is a treasure,” he says so sincerely she almost feels bad for mocking him. “It’s one of the reasons I like James very much. He understands.”

She falls silent, because it’s one of the reasons she likes James too. He always wants to discover something new, something that he then shows her.

“Well, I’ll leave you be if you don’t want my help,” Anthony says after a moment, nodding at her. “You’re welcome up here any time. Or to the library, if you’re interested. Some of the books are very old, but they’re legible.”

He turns to leave without waiting for her response, but she mutters a “Thank you” before the door closes fully. She never does find out if he heard her or not.

Virginia glowers over her dinner a few evenings later, trying to ignore Anthony and James. The dragon had admitted over supper he doesn’t know any forms of human dance, and James had eagerly leaped up to teach him. Anthony had fetched a music box to play a tune, since they had no actual musicians, and now James was trying to walk him through some simple steps. Unable to help herself, she watches Anthony blunder around for a few minutes before she sighs and drops her napkin on the table, standing up.

“James, you’re trying to get him to lead while you’re already leading,” she says, interrupting their latest attempt.

James looks up, letting Anthony go, and motioning for Virginia to join him. “Then why don’t we show him how it’s done first?”

She hesitates, not meaning to get involved, but historically she’s always been bad at saying no to James. She takes his hand, and as Anthony resets the music box, goes through a few simple dance steps with James for him to observe.

“It’s quite simple,” she sniffs when they’re done, but the subtle insult goes right over Anthony’s head, who just nods seriously. They switch places, and she winds the music box for them. This time, Anthony follows James’s lead much better, with minimal stumbling.

James smiles widely, an expression of pride on his face. “Of course, there’s usually more than two people on the floor, and you switch partners and such throughout the dance.”

Anthony looks over at Virginia, and James laughs.

“Three’s still not enough. However…” James gives her a contemplative look. “Ginny, come dance with Anthony, let him try to lead this time.”

Virginia frowns. “What? No, why would I dance with him?”

“Because I asked,” James replies with a cheeky grin, and Virginia huffs but goes over to them, holding out a hand to Anthony.

��If you get too close to me I will stab you,” she says pointedly, and Anthony nods, polite as ever.

James starts up the music and Virginia lets Anthony attempt to guide her through the motions of the dance. She resists at first, but the look of concentration on his face is almost endearing, as if he’s doing his absolute best to get every step correct, and she finds herself helping him along, the two of them dancing until the music box trails to a stop. She stares at him and his peculiar eyes (they’re very, very blue, when they aren’t flickering snakelike slits of gold), until James claps them both on the shoulders and tells Anthony he did a wonderful job. Virginia draws her hand back, wondering what sort of spell had come over her just then.

The weather warms up and James wants to take them swimming in the lake by the castle. Both of them balk at the idea; Anthony says dragons don’t swim, and Virginia’s half inclined to agree knights don’t swim either. James shrugs and says he’ll just go on his own, and that’s more than enough for both Anthony and Virginia to readily agree to come with him. She can’t have come all this way and spent all this time just to let James drown in a lake, after all.

Virginia doesn’t wear her armor, though she brings her sword. It never hurts to be prepared. Anthony brings a book with him, and James rolls his eyes when he sees the two of them standing on the edge of the lake.

“You two are impossible,” he mutters, already stripping out of his clothes.

Virginia glances away, though it’s not as if she’s never seen him shirtless before. It just seems...odd now, with Anthony watching as well. What James and Anthony have is something she doesn’t want to intrude on, even if she still doesn’t understand why James would give up his life with his family to be with a dragon and she’s trying to break them up so James can come home anyway. She’s got some principles about the matter.

Left only in his undergarments, James makes a run for the lake, jumping in with a splash. Anthony sits down under a tree, its leaves just starting to sprout again, leaving Virginia to stand there, undecided. Well, if Anthony won’t have any fun, she won’t leave James disappointed. She turns away from him and strips to her last layer as well, dropping the rest of her clothes on the grass and running into the lake.

James waves as she swims over to him, then splashes her as soon as she gets close enough. Sputtering, she splashes him back, igniting a splash war that lasts several minutes until James concedes defeat. Virginia feels like they’re kids again, back when she was in training and she and James would run around all over the castle. Times were simpler then, she thinks with a sigh. James wasn’t running off to court any dragons back then. She misses the way things were.

“James...” she starts, trying to figure out how to put these thoughts into words. “Do you really not want to come back home?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he answers, floating in front of her. He looks over at Anthony, still sitting under the tree with his book. “I miss my family. But I’m a third son. I didn’t have any real responsibility at all except to be spoiled. When I met Anthony, it’s like...a whole new world opened up to me.”

Virginia frowns, pushing her wet hair out of her face. “You had me. Wasn’t that enough?”

Whatever James’s answer, Virginia never hears it. An ear-piercing shriek rends the air, and she whips around, looking for the source. Something large and scaly is flying across the lake, and for a second she thinks it’s Anthony finally showing his true colors planning to eat them both. But the creature’s coming from the wrong direction, and it’s too small to be a full dragon.

“Wyvern!” James shouts, diving for the shore where their clothes are. “Anthony!”

Virginia scrambles after him, but the lake slows their movement, and the wyvern is too fast, it’s wings making waves on the still water. She curses herself for being such an idiot and leaving her armor back at the castle and her sword on the grass, it’ll be all her fault when James gets eaten—

A loud roar answers their yelling, the sound even more heart-stopping than the wyvern’s shrieking. A huge red dragon unfurls its wings underneath that budding tree, the kickback from it taking off nearly knocking Virginia backwards. Anthony shoots across the water, crashing into the wyvern in the air.

Virginia grabs James by the hand and runs the rest of the way out of the lake as the two creatures grapple. The wyvern puts up a fight, but Anthony is larger, his four legs outclassing the wyvern’s two, his claws and teeth strong enough to tear even the strongest of enemies to shreds. Eventually the wyvern goes limp in Anthony’s grip, and the dragon flies to the far side of the lake to dump its body on the shore before flying back to the two shivering humans on the other side.

Virginia has her sword in one hand, James’s hand in the other, and she brandishes the blade at him when he lands, her expression a fierce line of determination. Anthony merely folds his wings back and takes a few wobbling steps before the transformation magic overtakes him, body shrinking and scales disappearing until there’s nothing left but a naked human covered in blood. Most of it is blue, the wyvern’s blood, but Virginia spots a splash of red at his side, and then Anthony’s on his knees, falling forward into the grass.

They carry Anthony back to his room in the castle, and Virginia tends to his wounds. She has more experience with medicine than James, but even she’s never taken care of a dragon, and she’s unsure if what she can do will be good enough. The gash in his side is the worst of the injuries, and Virginia wonders if he wouldn’t heal faster if he had stayed in his dragon form instead of using up his magic turning back into a human. They can’t do anything until he awakens, so Virginia does the best she can, and then they wait.

She sits vigil with James, not wanting to leave his side. He worries the whole time, holding Anthony’s hand, brushing his hair from his forehead, making her check his bandages more often than she really needs to. Virginia doesn’t protest, just does as asked, surprised to find that she’s worried about Anthony herself. But it’s to be expected, she thinks. He did save their lives fending off that wyvern.

Anthony doesn’t wake for two days, but when he finally does, all his wounds are completely gone.

“I’m sorry for not telling you,” he says, voice a little weak, but otherwise sounding just like he had before. James hugs him tight, and Anthony soothingly runs a hand over James’s back. “I just needed to rest to give my magic time to heal everything. There was no need to worry.”

“Yes, well, we worried anyway,” Virginia snaps, and Anthony looks up at her in surprise. She clears her throat and corrects herself. “James was worried, and I was worried about James.”

“Of course,” Anthony says softly, kissing James on the forehead. Virginia doesn’t think he sounds entirely convinced.

Nothing changes after that day, and yet, Virginia can’t help but feel like something’s different. She’s not sure if it’s her, or James, or Anthony, but things seem...tense. They go about their days as normal, but sometimes she catches James and Anthony whispering to each other, only to have them clam up when she walks in. She doesn’t even see Anthony for an entire day, and when she asks James what’s wrong, he says there’s nothing wrong.

Dinner that evening is a suspicious affair, Virginia glancing between the two men. She’d been trying to give them extra space since the incident with the wyvern so they can spend time together without her, but this is getting ridiculous.

“Where were you today?” she asks Anthony straight out, not wanting to step politely around the issue. Anthony jumps, startled, and looks to James, who nods. Virginia’s confusion only ramps up at that odd gesture.

“I was...working,” he admits, setting down his fork. He pulls a box out of his pocket, then gets up and kneels beside Virginia’s chair. “In the hopes that you would accept this.”

He opens the box, revealing a golden necklace with the biggest emeralds that Virginia’s ever seen. Her eyes go wide, taking in the gift, then Anthony’s anxious expression.

“What is this?” She looks between him and James, because surely this didn’t come out of nowhere without being discussed with James.

“I wish to ask you to stay here with James and I,” Anthony says, sounding more uncertain than Virginia’s ever heard him. “This is a courting gift.”

Virginia feels incredibly faint. A dragon is presenting her with a courting gift. A dragon who just so happens to already be courting her best friend, who is (was?) a prince.

“And you’re all right with this?” she asks James, looking at him again.

James nods. “I suggested the emeralds, actually. The necklace is from me too.”

“You too,” she squeaks, then shuts her mouth and clears her throat. “This is...”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Anthony says hastily, still kneeling beside her. “You are free to leave at any time. But James and I would be very happy to have you stay.”

She should do as he says and leave. She was only here to get James back in the first place. But how could she return to the King and Queen without their son like she’d promised? She would be disgraced. And if she thought about it...she’s enjoyed her time here. Even if Anthony is a dragon, and the castle is hundreds of years old and starting to fall apart. They’re resourceful people. Maybe they can even put the place back together.

She reaches out, gently touching Anthony’s hand. He looks up at her, waiting, and she nods.

His nervousness fades away into a bright smile, and he stands, taking the necklace from the box. She holds her hair out of the way while he clasps the necklace around her neck, reverently laying the emeralds across her chest.

“Welcome home,” James tells her gleefully, getting up as well and moving around the table to take her hand in his.

Virginia looks down, brushing her fingers over the necklace. What a life she led, and it was all James’s fault. Still, as Anthony helped her stand and James wrapped his arms around her to give her a tight hug, she supposes it could be much, much worse.

#pepperhony #pepper potts #james rhodes #tony stark #pepperrhodeytony #fanfic #au #*mine #november fic challenge #sorry this one didn't get proofread either

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autumnpawtribe · 5 years ago

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Loa Bound - Family Reunion

It was a small family reunion.

Once Jack got his letter, he was there within three days. He brought Kit with him. Somehow Hari came, not bringing Ki'la nor her ward En'ca, nor her mate. The next day two women that few had seen in years also came, followed by an orcish looking man, as thin as a troll, but a green orc in all other looks. He held hands with a pandaren, hands grasping as the two older males followed the two obvious sisters. Jura came with a male troll with bright yellow hair. Pahre welcomed them all to stay with her as Aret, Vol and Venya set up as much as they could as all of them showed within hours of each other. Venya made sure to send everyone on a two day vacation, full pay.

"Don't need anyone going fuckin' missing..."

Vol was feeding Tarja as breakfast was being made out in the open air.

As Xiao watched everyone arriving, he made sure to keep close to his mates, murmuring to either Vol’raka or Venyabi, depending on which one wasn’t occupied and how good Vol was feeling.

“Who are all of these people? You only sent three letters…”

He didn’t seem surprised, more so just looking for clarification on who each person was.

“Old guy, same coloring as Vol, That’s Jack. Seems he might talk while he’s here. You know Kit.” Venya was making copious amounts of eggs, those from chickens, as Aret worked on what looked like bacon. It was not bacon. “And Hari. I told you she was pregnant and huge. The red haired woman.. The one in leather. That is Tavisi. You won't hear a peep from her. The Dark haired woman, the one missing an eye. That’s Nazui. Remember what I told you about her? Drash is the orcish one with his husband Bronthro. They rarely come out of Dalaran. Drash is a teacher. I hope to Gonk you know Jura, and the gold haired guy, that is Tsal. Blue Tauren, pacifist.” “I remember Tsal from the naming. He’s nice.” Vol had really knocked down Aret’s dosage, the youngest of the four not as silly the last few days. “Are your other brother and sister coming?” “You won't see those two ten miles from Vol or any of you. They don’t like mons who like mons… bigoted fucks.” Hari had waddled over, taking a peice of ‘bacon’. “Oh I love you Aret. You made Dwarf. Wait no…” She sniffed it. “AUNTIE NAZUI! BLOOD TROLL! Which one of you bagged a blood troll?!” Vol pointed his spoon at Xiao. “All him. I was fucking Aret.” He scrapped out a little more pureed something orange, most likely mango. “Bwonsamdi seems to like him a lot.” He proceeded then to have a tiny fight with his daughter who did not want to do anything with mango apparently. “C’mon Tarja. You ate most of it..”

Xiao listened and nodded, smiling at the mentions of Jura, eyeing him warmly as he thought back on some memories. He shook himself of it when Hari came over, Xiao trying not to tense up. When she mentioned making dwarf and then so cheerfully shouted about the blood trol linstead, the poor Pandaren paled and his ears pinned back. It was when Vol pointed at him with his spoon that he offered a meek smile and an almost guilty wave over at the cannibalistic woman.

“She… was causing problems. I offered her to Bwonsamdi. I was not expecting him to make an appearance again.”

Well the cat was out of the bag on that one, his usage of ‘again’ giving away that this wasn’t a one-time occurrence.

“Again?” Kit came up, smiling as she came with her sisters. “Ja have seen our Loa more den once?” The Farseer smiled, looking very proud. “A good kill then, nephew. Since ja mates not introduced em ta Ja and ja lovely Janaret… Dis be Tavisi.” The red head nodded. “And Nazui.” She switched to Zandali for a bit. He’s not dinner, Nazzie. He’s your nephew soon.”

Nazui just nodded, still appraising the pandaren as dinner before Jack came to sit next to Xiao. If Xiao looked up at him he would see his lover, if he was fifty years older.

“No, Nazui.” The woman fumed, huffed and stomped back to sit with Jura, Drash and Tsal. She actually seemed to pout.

“Never alone with Nazui.”

“I like Auntie Nazzie.” Hari stole another piece of troll before speaking again. “But she taught me all I know. Breakfast ready soon?”

Vol nodded, looking at a pot with noodles and vegetables. “I don’t think Xiao and Bron are partaking in the troll, so as soon as the noodles and stir fry are done, yeah. Xiao love, can you start that. I’m not making you eat it.”

Xiao blushed a little at Kit’s praise, offering her a smile, the woman always a comforting presence to him. When Jack came to sit down, Xiao couldn’t help but stare, his gaze something between curious, surprised, and perhaps even a little lustful. A mature daddy version of Vol? He would have to remember to keep himself in check as he cleared his throat and forced himself to tear his gaze away. It was when Vol asked him to go cook that he nodded and stood up.

“Of course, Lok’dim.” He murmured with love as he leaned in to kiss the Darkspear gently on the cheek and nuzzled his forehead against his. “Love you.” He whispered before heading over to go about preparing the requested food for those who didn’t eat other people.

Vol put a hand out, grabbing him gently by the wrist. He pressed a kiss back to Xiao’s with a smile. “Love you too.” He let go when Tarja made a noise, loud and waving her arms loudly.

“BA! BA! BA!!!!” She made grabby hands as Vol, Aret and Venya stared at their daughter. “BA!”

“Whelp.. First word at a family gathering to find out about blood magic… Congratulations Xiao.” Venya laughed loudly as he kept cracking eggs, Jack starting to help.

The Pandaren farseer kept watching over at them, smiling. Drash turned and looked to, grinning at his nephews and the very happy yammering baby.

Xiao froze in his tracks as Tarja called out, at first thinking it was in the link until he realized it was quite clearly loud yelling little girl right behind him. He spun around and reached down to scoop her up, grinning and nuzzling his furry little face against her.

“Hello my little darling, your Ba is right here…” He murmured so happily down at her, kissing her forehead gently as he swayed back and forth.

“Tarja’s rule, I am off food duty. Someone else will have to do it.” He said with a playful grin as he cradled their adorably clingy daughter.

“If you will permit me, Xiao Chun, I believe I am well versed in our cuisine. May we speak?” The older pandaren came forward, his leather clothing modest as pandaren tended to be, a stark contrast to the amount of clothing that the trolls wore. He gave a small bow, a little stiff, but his hands were knotted with arthritis and it seemed it pained him to walk. “I may seem old, but I can whip up a simple stir fry. Drash’nar says that my cooking is still very good.” He picked up the pot and pan for their breakfast, gave a smile to his own orcish mate and walked to where another little fire pit was a few paces away.

“I do ask your forgiveness, it has been a long while since I have been home. I have been with my husband in Dalaran for a very long time. It was a blessing to hear that there was a family gathering that would allow me to return home even for a time.” The shaman set down the things he carried, sat on his bottom and started a fire with a flick of his wrist. “It is also nice to speak Pandaren. I do love my Drash, but Orcish tongues do not agree with pandaren words and he trips a bit in his pronunciation.” He gave a smile to Tarja who was tugging on Xiao’s beard. “A beautiful girl. May the celestials bless you with many more, I am sure that the Jade Serpent will guide you well.” He teased the fire so that the image of the four celestials danced for a bare moment. “Now, before the family festivities begin, I heard this is about blood magic. This is true?”

Xiao smiled and nodded as he listened and followed behind the older Pandaren.

“I did not know Vol’raka had any Pandaren in his family. I knew he had a touch of Orc, but I was utterly unaware of you and Drash’nar. It is nice to know I have another of my own to turn to if I have questions about all of the rituals.”

He chuckled a little as he watched the fire play out the images of the celestials ever so briefly. When he asked about the blood magic, his expression faltered a bit and he nodded more subtly.

“Unfortunately, yes. We discovered a little family revelation recently regarding one of the original matriarchs of the family. I am still a tad foggy on it all, but hopefully today will clear it up.”

Being able to speak in his native tongue was nice, it allowed him to be more eloquent, though his Zandalari was starting to get up there slowly but surely.

"I believe Kit'raka and Nazui will know most. Perhaps Jocamo. And I am not surprised that you do not know of me. My Drash'nar and I are not much for the company of the family. We tend to keep to ourselves in our old age. When he heard from his sister that Vol'raka was exhibiting the same, shall we say symptoms, he insisted we come to the discussions. Azu's experiments were not unknown to me."

Xiao’s brows rose a bit in surprise. “So you know it was his grandmother. This is all new to me, all I know is that... “ He paused, shaking his head. “None of it seems to bode well. Anything that makes him this sick cannot be good.” He stopped to smile lightly as Tarja began to babble and tug on Xiao’s beard, cuddling up on it and demanding affection from her fuzzy Ba even if he was talking.

"I believe it is sickness, not due to the fact that the beast lives in him. It is more the shock and fight. Drash took a few years to gain full control, but his beast is not compatible with his personality. My love is a gentle soul and he was, forgive the term, blessed or cursed with the life of a wind serpent. Chaos in the face of one who is very orderly, enjoys sorting, fastidious in his daily routine, is very difficult. He was ill for a long time. I am a healer among our people. I tried many things, believed he was dying. One day he was delirious, not eaten in days. It was then he told me of the wind serpent, his is named Stormwing. I have found that they all take their own names. I believe Jocamo also has control of his raptor. I do not remember his name, however."

Xiao nodded as he listened. “Vol’s is Raptorblood. A raptari was able to-... oh right you are not a troll!” He sounded rather excited at the prospect. “You do not have to observe the whole… ‘no speaking of the dead’ thing even if she is not dead. I… do not know how much you know of Naddja, but she was a raptari who lived with us. Some things happened, I will spare you the messy details, but she was the one who figured out what was going on with Vol, at least to a degree. I just… want him to be okay. Venya said his uncle Jack might have some information since he has a raptor too. I am hoping someone will be able to help at least.”

"I have not met any raptari, that I have known of.". He set to cooking as the trolls were gathering round the fire. "We do not want to miss what is said. It will also be privilege of ours to hear Jocamo speak. He has not uttered a word in thirty years, save for ritual magic.". Bronthro smiled, his gnarled hands still able to move the wok and pot quick enough. "When Jack speaks, best to listen to the old one."

Xiao rose his brows in surprise now. “He talks that little…?” He asked curiously. “So… does he not communicate with the family or anyone? Is it non-verbal or does he keep to himself. I was hoping to talk to him maybe…” He trailed off, probably not doing a good job of hiding his thirsty Panda ass as he thought back to sexy daddy Vol in the form of Jack.

“Very little. He is a calm man, subtle in his ways. A decently powerful witchdoctor if my memory is still correct. He is a man of few words since his mate died. Far before my time, but my love has told me of it when I first met him. Where Kit is his favorite Aunt, Jack was closest as Uncle. I know the family secrets, as you do, seeing as you are tied to more than one brother. Jocamo is a rare troll. If you can get more than a few words, I would consider that a high honor.”

“Xiao! Ya two comin’ or not?”

Venya was carrying a tray of Blood troll bacon, followed by Zakin and Pahre. Vol and the others were already seating around the pinci tables they kept between the houses. “Family meal time.”

Xiao listened, his eyes wandering over to Jack now as he tried his best not to stare. It was only Venya’s voice that really broke him of his staring as he blushed and nodding. “Of course, our food is just about done… I think?” He said the last two words quietly so only Bronthro could hear. “It smells delicious at least.”

Bron smiled. "Almost. You take your daughter and find a seat.". The orcish mage came close, nodding. "I believe my assistance has arrived.".

When and If Xiao moved, Vol would have a seat next to him, with Jack then Aret. Bron and Drash'nar handed over a large bowl of noodles, meat and Veg, Tarja going to sit in her Papa's lap. Vol let her have a taste of the bacon, the girl making a face and reaching for her Ba's noodles. After being told she was too little for noodles, she was given bananas to keep her quiet. Everyone sat, ate quietly, small talk and catching up.

Xiao's trolls helped clean up, leaving Xiao with Zakin and Tarja as magic from Drash'nar and grunt work from Jack, a stone circle was being created for the proper conversation.

"Have you seen a ritual of this family, save for your child's naming, Xiao Chun?"

Xiao nodded at him. “Well thank you for making it, Tarja here seems too enamoured today to let me cook.” He chuckled lightly and moved to take Tarja over to sit with his mates… and that sexy mature version of Vol. The Celestials were not being kind to him today, teasing him with someone he just couldn’t keep from eyeballing constantly. He focused as best he could on lunch as he ate his meal, though he did cringe when they fed Tarja the blood troll meat, but he kept his mouth shut out respect for their culture. He seemed relieved when she didn’t like the taste, happy to give her a banana in place of it so he could go back to eating his own noodles.

When they finished, Xiao was happy to keep the children occupied, having Zakin actually sit in his lap while he cradled Tarja in his other arm. He’d found that apparently all Troll children liked the fuzziness of his fur, so he had become used to be cuddled by at least one at any given time when they had the opportunity. He was silently watching as the circle was being made, pulled from another daydream of sorts as he had unfocused his eyes after gazing off at Jack again for a small while before Bron called out to speak to him.

“Hm? Ah, no, I have not. The naming ceremony was my first glance into the culture, at least up close. I have not spent much time outside of Pandaria and most of it was spent in the Elven lands. Considering what I have learned of some of them, I am not sure whether to be grateful for the lack of experience or not.”

"It can be intimidating, even if you were raised with it.". Drash'nar came forward, a look of apprehension on his face. "Bad things happen with Blood magic. I do not know what will happen, but I agree with my father's people that it is a dark place. My mother's….."

"Drashie, ja come help.". Kit wandered to her brother, smiling. He shook his head making her slip into Zandalari. "You are still bitter. Let it go."

"None of us asked for this.". The orcish man was rattled, hand out to the circle and Nazui with a bag of blood being poured in a bowl. "And mother's bullshit has almost killed people"

Bronthro lead the mage away, his face red as he began to get angry. Kit shook her head, looking at Xiao. Et best da lil ones not ere. Ah talk ta da Pahre. Da lil girl gonna watch h da children. Not need da magic goin more wild den et be already."

Xiao listened silently, nodding occasionally as he listened. He did not appear anymore at ease now that Drash had let his disapproval spill outward. He looked to Kit now, sighing lightly.

“Is there anything I can do to help? I cannot help but feel out of place, I am not sure what to do.”

“Ja, .. wait ja speak Zandali now ja?”

Xiao nodded in response, speaking her language now. “I speak it well enough. There are some more… ah…” He switched back to Orcish. “Niche…” then back to Zandalari. “Phrases that I don’t know, but for the most part I am fluent.”

“Good.” She smiled, pointing to a log Jack and Tsal were setting up, Jura setting a fire, in the middle. The one introduced as Tavisi sharpening a very sharp looking already, and thin Dagger. It was not worn, nor old but it had an ancientness to it. “That is your chair. You will have to stay put. The children won't be here, I and hari can’t perform this one. Too dangerous for anyone who can’t move fast. I won't have to worry about you, and if Arie and Ven can’t move their ass, what kind of trolls are they, ya know.” She thumbed at Nazui, her sister waving from right behind her. If she did not look at Xiao like food, she would look almost childish as she moved. Xiao would notice her collar having a high neckline, and a strange weezing.

“I’m sure it will be fine. VAHARI!”

The pregnant warrior came in, chewing on left over not-really-bacon. “If you are looking for the book, Jura took it.” She indicated with her snack and pointed to the three druids making a sort of …. Fence? It looked like a tall fence at least. It was at least as tall as Xiao, an opening, and had hard woods as posts and slats.

Kit nodded turning back to Nazui. "No Fel magic. Only Mama's magic. Got it? No sacrificing any trolls or pandaren..." Nazui made a sighing motion but nodded. She skipped off, heading back to pick up the book while Kit turned her head back. "Like dancing, Xiao?" Kit nodded her head to the house where Vol was coming out in clothes he must have been hiding. Venya was in near the same, Aret in his normal clothing. Vol's was a wide collar with intricate beading in golds, greens and deep blues. His kilt was leather and didn't do much but cover his bits. Pahre was helping him adjust it, Venya's already around his neck, in the same clothing that his brother was but in colors that suited him more. Jack nodded as he wandered past into the other house, Vol leaning down to kiss Xiao, Tarja ans Zakin on the head.

"Take the little ones to Nielka. They don't need to see their parents dancing naked."

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