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michelleleewise · 2 years

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Long Live The King

Pairing: Jotun Loki x Asgardian F!reader

Warnings: assassination attempt, not much this time, mild fight near end...

Summary: you are an assassin sent by Odin to kill the King of Jotunhiem, nothing could have prepared your for what happened......

Part one-

You sat in your chamber sharpening your dagger when a knock came at your door. "Come." You called out continuing your work. "Lady y/n, the king requests your presence." You heard, looking up seeing an Einherjar standing attention in your doorway. "What does he require?" You asked sheathing your dagger. "He requires your presence." He said again making you roll your eyes "very well, lead the way." You said getting up. Following him down the abandoned halls you came upon the large golden doors of the throne room. "Lady y/n to see the king." He said to the other guards as they opened the door.

You walked in seeing Odin sat on the throne gripping gungnir. "My king." You said placing your fist on your chest going down on one knee. "Lady y/n, glad you could join me." He bellowed through the room. "If I may be so bold, what is it you require of me?" You asked bowing your head. You heard him bang the spear on the floor "leave us." He called out, looking around you saw all the guards filter out. "Y/n, what do you know of the frost giants?" Odin asked making his way down the steps. "That they are cruel, evil beats, monsters your highness that the realms would be better off without." You gritted "very good, I have a task for you." Odin said. You looked up at him furrowing your eyebrows "come, I will show you." He said turning on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him.

"Why not send Thor? Does he not posess mjolnir?" You asked looking at him. "He is too brash, I need someone trained in stealth to sneak in under cover of dark and end him while he sleeps." Odin said "and that's me?" You asked raising an eyebrow "yes y/n, I have seen you train. You are quiet, agile. I believe you best suited for the task." He said. "Very well my king." You said placing your fist on your chest. "Very good, pack only what you can carry, speak of this to no one and meet me at the bifrost within the hour." He said "yes my king." You said bowing leaving the room. You went to your chambers layering your clothing, grabbing your thickest cloak with fur trimming fastening it to your shoulders you grabbed your daggers strapping the holsters to your thighs, slipping another into your boot you grabbed your gloves heading towards the bifrost.

You followed him into a small room behind the throne, walking in you saw a desk heaped with papers and maps. "Y/n, I do not give you this task lightly, but I trust you can handle it." Odin said rounding the desk "and what task is that?" You asked "the King of Jotunhiem has been attacking our allies on Vanahiem and Alfhiem, cutting off trading to the realms." He said shifting through some of the papers. "And there are talks amongst the people that they will try here next. Here, in case you are discovered." He said handing you a scroll. "Their king is ruthless, blood thirsty. He will not stop until he rules the nine realms." He said.

You walked in seeing Odin and Heimdall "my king... gatekeeper." You said bowing. "Y/n, we will have to send you by other means, the bifrost will alert too many." Odin said talking to Heimdall. "Here, take this." He said holding out a small bottle "if something happens and you cannot return you will freeze to death in Jotunhiem's frozen wasteland, This will make it more....bearable." He said as you nodded slipping it into your pocket. "Good luck y/n, may the God's favor you." Odin said "my king." You said bowing. You felt Odin place a hand on your head reciting some sort of spell, closing your eyes your body felt light as his words began to fade to the back of your mind. You felt a cold wind hit you face, opening your eyes seeing the barren landscape of Jotunhiem.

The cold wind blew through you as you squinted in the dark. You pulled your cloak tighter around you, shielding you from the snow while you looked around trying to get your bearings. You looked into the distance seeing Utgard shooting up to the sky "there you are." You said to yourself smiling beginning to walk towards the large structure thinking of a plan. The further you walked the worse the storm became, forcing you to take shelter in a near by cave until it broke. You huddled into a corner pulling your cloak up when you heard footsteps at the mouth of the cave. You got to your feet pulling your dagger out ready for a fight "h..Hello? Is anyone here?" You heard making you freeze. "Please..i...I n...need help!" They called out. You slowly stood looking around the rock seeing a man hunched over rubbing his arms.

"P..please....I don't know where I am!" He called out again. You sheathed your dagger slowly walking out "who are you?" You called out getting the man's attention. "My name is Magnus, who are you?" The man asked. You walked closer taking him in, his long black hair was stiff from the cold, his lithe frame only covered by a green tunic and black leather pants "how did you get here....Magnus?" You asked circling the man "I don't know! One minute I'm walking down the street the next I'm here." He said sitting down leaning against the rock wall. "And how have you not froze to death?" You asked watching him. "I..I j...just got here." He said, his teeth chattering. "Where are you from?" You asked keeping your distance. "I...I'm f..from V..vanahiem." be stuttered pulling his knees up to his chest.

You unclasped your cloak walking over to him draping it over his shoulders. "W..where are y..you from?" He asked looking up at you, his bright green eyes catching your attention "Asgard." You said plainly stepping away from him. "S..so you c..can call t..the bifrost?" He asked pulling the cloak around him. "Yes. But I have to do something first, stay here, remain hidden." You said walking to the mouth of the cave. "W..wait...don't l..leave me." He said getting up. "W..what if t..those monsters show u..up." he said looking at you. You sighed "fine, come on but stay out of my way." You said walking out.

You jogged to the capital, hoping that if you kept your blood pumping you wouldn't freeze, ducking behind a large block of ice you looked at the gates. "W..where is e..eveyone?" You heard Magnus ask next to you. "I don't know, just..stay here I will return shortly." You said pulling a dagger from your holster. "B..but..." he started "I said stay here!" You growled glaring at him as he sunk back down. You crouched down slowly making your way to the gates, noticing the only sound was the wind howling. Your gut was screaming something was off but you would not fail the king. Steadying yourself you continued, crouching down in front of the gated seeing them slightly opened. You looked back seeing magnus's black hair blowing in the wind waving for him to get down you slipped through the gate.

You stayed to the shadows, slowly looking for where the kings chambers may be when you came upon two large ornately decorated doors. "Well, this is probably it." You whispered to yourself. grasping the handle you slowly pushed it open slipping inside. You ducked behind a chair looking around, other then the fire the room was dark, the wall was lined with bookshelves, a desk sat in the corner with papers strewn across it. Seeing another set of doors across the room you slowly made your way to it, gripping your dagger you slowly pushed it open seeing a large four poster bed as someone shifted under the furs. You crouched down, slowly making your way to the side of the bed, standing up you held your dagger up ready to pounce.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." You heard making you freeze. Looking over you saw Magnus leaning on the doorframe admiring his nails. "What are you doing you idiot, I said wait for me." You whisper yelled. You watched as he unclasped your cloak tossing it aside "you aesir....so naive." He laughed stepping into the room. "Wha.." you trailed off, seeing his skin begin to turn blue, his red eyes boring into you. You stepped back looking at the now empty bed "h..how did..." you stuttered hearing him laugh. "A simple illusion, although I don't expect your tiny brain could comprehend it." He snarked walking closer.

@vbecker10 @lokisgoodgirl @holdmytesseract @el-zef @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @123forgottherest @lovebyloki @javagirl328 @loopsisloops @high-functioning-lokipath @immersed-in-mischief @chantsdemarins @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @midnights-ramblings @slpnbty2001 @angelaf1978 @sinsandguilt @usagishira @xorpsbane @lokifriggadottir365 @your-taste-on-my-lips @asgardianprincess1050 @cakesandtom @agentandreastark @sekaishell @dukes2581 @aniar4wniak @spork-fighter @stupidthoughtsinwriting @d1a2n389 @hypergamer7744 @buttercupbestie @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lokiprompts @daggers-and-mischief @kats72 @mochie85 @commanding-officer @lokis-coffee221 @huntress-artemiss @limiworld @lulubelle814 @idfkgabby @glitterylokislut @highkeysimpingforloki @myworldgoesboomz @lonadane @budugu @cloud-of-daisies @all-envy-suyu

You gripped your dagger "so, who are you really then?" You gritted watching him slink closer "oh, where are my manners, i am Loki Laufeyson King of Jotunhiem." He said smiling holding his arms out. Taking in his height he was much taller then you but much smaller then a frost giant. "I did not know the jotuns had a runt leading them?" You snarked. "You will take care how you speak to me asgardian." He growled "well, we won't be speaking long." You said lunging at him but he was much quicker, grabbing your arm he flipped you over his shoulder, your back hitting the floor hard. Gasping for air he straddled your hips, his knees pinning your arms down as he smiled down at you. "Oh, I disagree, we have much to discuss, but that can wait." He smiled placing his hand on your forehead he said something you didn't understand as you were pulled into darkness......

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perlukafarinn · 1 year

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Rating Star Trek TOS costumes because why not! (part 7)

I, Mudd (2x08). The vibes in Mudd's outfit are all over the place - it's pirate meets military meets used cars salesman. You know this man wears waaay too much cologne. 5/10, the belt should at least match the boots.

I'm way more into the androids' outfits. I love an asymmetrical shoulder and they've got that "one pant leg" thing going on that TOS was so fond of. I also adore their hair and their glittery tights! The chains look a little randomly placed, though, and those ugly ass necklaces sadly drag the whole fits down. 7/10.

Metamorphosis (2x09). Super cute! The whole outfit is very mod, maybe a little bit cheap looking but still stylish. The colors could match better but I love the cut of both the coat and the mini dress, and the headscarf and short gloves are just the perfect cherry on top. 8/10.

Journey to Babel (2x10). They did Amanda so dirty, introducing her in this ugly, shapeless coat. You can't tell from this screenshot but the collar looks like a cone of shame from certain angles. The dress underneath looks fine but we don't see too much of it. Sarek's outfit is boring but at least it's dignified. 5/10 for them both.

Sarek changes his outfit once (not counting his sickbay gown, which I don't), and it kind of looks like the same suit with a different decoration slapped on top. I do like this better, there's more of that dramatic flare we've come to expect from Vulcan fashion. 7/10.

Amanda's two other outfits this episode are a marked improvement. The first is a cute cocktail hour number, simple but colorful. 7/10. The second is my favorite; a pink wide-legged jumpsuit layered with a red knitted poncho with a pink fur trim. I'm a sucker for a red and pink color combo, and the fur trim is just the right amount of tacky for me. Amanda knocked it out of the park with this one, 9/10.

Then there's the various alien delegates we see this episode, which I'm lumping together because I don't have a whole lot to say. You can tell they had fun coming up with the aesthetics for the different alien races, though one group was clearly an afterthought. The rest of the aliens get prosthetics and bodypaint and then there's two regular dudes in cloaks. At least they're colorful? 7/10 for the whole lot of them, this is some delightful worldbuilding.

#star trek tos #star trek #rating star trek

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gatheringfiki · 9 months

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The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, Gen

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Druidbury

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The town of Druidbury was nestled in the Valley of Magic, the place where all lines of all energies converged above the Crossroad of the Realms. An idyllic little town built of brick and stone, blending traditional architecture and modern conveniences. Trams jangled along behind horse-drawn carriages, clocksmiths worked elbow-to-elbow with sculptors of the finest sundials, tailors and dressmakers offered fashions from countless eras.

It was a charming town that Kíli enjoyed visiting when he wasn’t bogged down by coursework.

Druidbury was almost exclusively occupied by Wizards, though a few magical creatures (and entities, like Brodrick the Shadow Wraith who haunted the local inn) had made their home there as well. Master Dwalin’s Sanctum was above the cobblers, and Mistress Minerva’s took up an entire block behind the community library.

Wizards who had married outside of Wizardry brought their families to live in Druidbury, and so there were schools to accommodate the magically impaired, jobs to support those who couldn’t perform spells, and all manner of inclusive event or club.

The ladies of the local knitting club were fond of Kíli, always gifting him sweaters and socks, or baking him cookies (that wouldn’t accidentally turn him into a snail).

“You asked me about Christmas the other day,” Fíli said, striding ahead of Kíli by a few paces. He was dressed finely in a three-piece brown suit under a thick tan cloak trimmed with fur. Unlike Kíli had seen previously (that is, in public), Fíli’s hair was loose around his shoulders and his eyes were bare of his glasses (those still misplaces in the chaos of his desk). It suited him, this casual appearance, and Kíli found himself somewhat more bashful whenever Fíli looked at him directly.

“Yes,” Kíli said, hurrying to keep up as they strode down the main avenue. “Well, I was more wondering if I’ve missed every Christmas since I got here. I’d imagine I have.”

Fíli stopped at the corner and turned to face Kíli, “Technically, you have so far. But, you could amend that if you decide to travel through the doors in the Cave of—”

“—Names.” Kíli finished for him, “Yes, I remember.” He looked disheartened. So, he had missed several Christmases, his family moving along without him. Had they even tried to get in touch? Or was there an unspoken rule that once a child is taken to the University, he’s erased from the family tree and never heard from again?

A finger hooked under his chin lifted his gaze to meet Fíli’s. “No need to be upset, Kíli. I’m sure your family loves you.”

“I suppose but…do they even know who I am anymore?”

Fíli moved his hand to cradle Kíli’s cheek briefly before letting go. “Of course!” He said cheerfully, “The University sends families letters whenever its learners achieve something.”

Kíli’s stomach dropped, “But…I haven’t achieved anything!” He really hadn’t, apart from a soap-bubble shield and an Apprenticeship with Fíli his gap year between The School of Tutelage and The Academy of Information. And that hardly counted; Kíli had made more mistakes than he’d made strides toward bettering his skills as a Wizard.

“That’s not true.” Fíli told him, taking Kíli by the shoulders and leading him across the street and down the next block. “You’ve achieved far more than you give yourself credit for, Kíli. Trust me.”

Kíli did trust Fíli, but it sometimes felt as though Fíli regarded him through rose-tinted glasses and not as who Kíli was. Which was a paltry Wizard who’d fumbled through the last leg of his lessons under the School of Tutelage trying to earn a vocation as—Kíli sighed—a Harbinger.

(He had mastered herding crows into lines on tree branches, at least. Not that that required much strain on a learner’s Flare.)

“You asked me about Christmas,” Fíli said, smiling and tipping his head to those they passed as they walked. “And today, I’m going to show you how we celebrate it here.”

Bug-eyed, Kíli blurted, “I didn’t know we celebrated it at all!”

“What do you think the Yule Feast is all about?” Fíli asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“It lasts twelve days, sir, that’s hardly Christmas.”

“Maybe not as you celebrated it back home.”

“And there are no presents.” Kíli added, giving Fíli a pointed look, as if that was entirely what Christmas was about.

“Not true!” Fíli countered, taking Kíli gently by the arm, “Which is why I’ve brought you here.”

Here being a dimly lit shop squished between a cobbler’s and an apothecary. The Cabinet of Curiosities the sign above the shop read in swirly gold lettering. Unlike the prettily decorated shops along the street, this one was dark and somewhat autumnal. The storefront was painted black and had gold runes carved into the wood. Thousands of candles illuminated the interior from gothic chandeliers and tarnished candelabras.

“I don’t understand.” Kíli said, frowning through the glass door. “What does this have to do with Christmas presents?” A thought hit him, “Wait, are we buying presents…here?”

Even from outside, he could see the strange and unusual objects littering the shelves within. Twisty branches embedded with jewels and tiny skeletons in glass belljars. Books and old maps and what looked like a well-preserved mermaid’s tail without the rest of the mermaid attached.

“No, Kee, we’re not buying presents.”

That was a relief. Until now, Kíli hadn’t had to consider what currency was used in Druidbury, but he knew he didn’t have a cent of it to his name. Whenever he and his friends visited the local, he assumed someone else always took care of the tab as he’d never been asked for payment.

“So…”

“Come on.” Fíli encouraged Kíli through the door with a gentle push to his lower back, the weight of Fíli’s hand making Kíli blush.

The shop smelt of leather and dust and was a comfortable temperature compared to the wintery outdoors. A fire roared in the massive fireplace on the farthest wall. There were rows upon rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, some with long tables between them, all filled to capacity with gruesome and weird trinkets.

An old, webby gramophone crackled to life on the service counter, telling them, “Back room!” as they wandered further into the shop.

Fíli obliged the voice, leading Kíli to the back of the shop and behind a heavy curtain. He held it open for Kíli politely, jerking his chin in the direction of a monstrous worktable cluttered with instruments and materials of all sorts.

Kíli eyed it warily, unsure what he was supposed to look for.

“Although the Crossroads and, therefore, the University, exist outside of time, we are still effected by it.” Fíli said, coming to stand beside Kíli. He spoke as he removed his cloak and hung it on a stand in one corner. “And some of us even participate in it.”

Just then a large man kicked open the splintered wooden backdoor, pushed inside with a gust of wind. He was as tall as he was wide with a jolly face and snow-white beard, round cheeks, and a bulbous nose. In his arms he carried a box bursting with scraps of fabric and small pieces of weathered wood.

“Hullo Fíli,” He boomed merrily, clearly happy to see Fíli there. He set the box down and began to empty its contents on the table. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Fíli said. He’d removed his suit jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of his light-coloured shirt when the man greeted him. Now, he put a hand on Kíli’s shoulder and introduced him, “This is my Apprentice—”

“Former,” Kíli corrected.

“Not quite, lad.” Fíli chuckled and then resumed, “This is my Apprentice, Kíli. He’ll be helping us today.”

Kíli looked between the large man and Fíli, confused.

“Kíli, this is Nícolae.”

Kíli bobbed his head cordially, “Pleasure to meet you, Master Nícolae.”

“Please, boy,” Nícolae smiled, “It’s just Nícolae.”

“Good luck with that.” Fíli teased, “Took ages to get him to stop calling me Master.”

“Hey!” Kíli pouted; he hated being spoken of as if he wasn’t there. Even if what Fíli said was true. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Nícolae.” He said out of spite, though it felt strange not to use the title he’d been taught to use whenever he met an elder Wizard.

Nícolae smiled at Kíli’s deliberate cheek. “Shall we get to work, then?” He asked, tilting his head toward the table. More specifically, the items he’d deposited on it.

“Absolutely,” Fíli said, clapping his hands, “Where would you have us start?”

Nícolae explained how things were to be done: no magic, no miracles, no mystifying feats. Just simple toolwork and some elbow grease. Kíli didn’t narrowed his eyes when he was given his instructions and encouraged into a tall tinker’s chair at one end of the table.

“No magic?” He asked.

Fíli shook his head, a secretive smile arcing his lips. “Can’t have anyone with an undetected Flare interacting with it.”

“Undetected…” Kíli peered at Nícolae, who took his seat on the other end of the table, the chair groaning under his weight. There was something peculiarly familiar about Nícolae that Kíli couldn’t quite put his finger on. “What exactly am I supposed to make?”

“Just follow the illustrations there, boyo.” Nícolae said, pointing at a small pile of illustrated parchments. They were step-by-step instructions of how to put together a—

Kíli frowned, “Dolls?” He glanced at Fíli, “We’re making dolls?”

“We’re making everything on our lists.” Fíli said, patting his own little pile of parchments. “There isn’t much left.” This, he said to Nícolae.

“The others have been very helpful this season.” Nícolae grabbed a thick piece of wood and a carving knife and started scraping away the bark. “Master Pallando and his brother have been by every week since the end of summer.”

Pallando. He was the Wizard who’d escorted Kíli to the University when he was a boy. Kíli hadn’t heard from or seen anything more of him since. It was interesting to discover that Master Pallando was still around.

“How did they fare without use of their magic?” Fíli wondered with an undercurrent of animosity that Kíli didn’t understand.

“Horribly.” Nícolae said, “but they got the hang of it quickly enough.”

They worked in silence for some time, until Kíli’s back began to ache, and his bum lost all feeling. He’d made approximately seven dolls, two wooden cars, nine stuffed rabbits, and six wooden soldiers.

It was as he was finishing the paint on the sixth wooden soldier that he realized, “We’re making toys.”

Fíli tried to hide his amusement and failed. “Spot on, Kee.”

“No, that’s not—” He glared half-heartedly at Fíli, “Why are we making toys?”

“Because you asked about Christmas.”

Kíli stared at Fíli for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then looked at Nícolae, who was hunched over a beautifully crafted dollhouse. White beard, jolly demeanor…He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it sooner.

“My word…You’re Santa!”

Nícolae cast his gaze to Fíli. They shared fond looks before both turning to Kíli.

“Some call me that, yes.” Nícolae acknowledged. “But I prefer Nícolae.”

Kíli didn’t hear him, too busy filling the air with questions, “Santa’s a Wizard?! How long has this been going on? Do you really deliver all these presents yourself? Don’t you have a village of elves to help you make toys?”

“No elves, I’m afraid. Just the charity of fellow Wizards such as yourself.” Nícolae said with a wink. “As for how long, I can’t be sure.”

“Fíli,” Kíli implored, “He’s Santa.”

“I’m well aware, Kíli.” Fíli said, not looking up from his work on a gorgeous tea set. His tongue poked out the corner of his mouth while he concentrated on his intricate brushwork. “Which is why I brought you with me.”

“To meet Santa.”

“To meet Santa.” Fíli echoed, finally meeting Kíli’s gaze. His eyes sparkled warmly, an expression of adoration adorning his features. “I could only answer your questions about time, and even then, only so much. But Nícolae has been a member of the University since its earliest days.”

“Why, you’re positively ancient!” Kíli blurted before he could stop himself. He slapped a hand over his mouth, his apologize muffled but sincere, “Sorry…”

Nícolae threw his head back and laughed, a rich chorus of sound. He flapped a hand in dismissal, wiped a tear from his eye and said, “I can’t deny that it’s true.” When he calmed, he looped his thumbs in his belt and said, “Now, you have questions, I have answers, and we both have a lot more to do. Why don’t you ask me while we work, hm?”

Kíli checked with Fíli that it was alright, knowing that he had the tendency to ask more questions than most were willing to answer. Fíli gave no indication that Kíli should restrain himself, so Kíli started with the most pressing thing on his mind:

“Do you really eat all those cookies yourself?”

Fíli bit his smile, willing himself not to laugh.

This was either the best or the worst idea he’d ever had.

#submission #Gathering 12 Days 2023 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #Durincest #the Hobbit

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peakdeer · 2 years

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Witchcraft request- Scott sarcastically teasing Joey who takes everything seriously and thinks Scott is complimenting him

Scott had been on yet another trip to Bertha, as many berries as he could carry at one time. He’d like to begin working towards the runes, but perhaps a staff would be better…

Not that he had enough gems for either. He was close to a staff, but not quite there yet. He’d spent most of his berries so far expanding the farm, and it was so annoying to pick the berries by hand. He might set up an automatic farm if he could find a fox…

Back to the task at hand. He handed over the berries to Bertha, pocketing the gems when he received them. He’d head back soon; he could try to clear up his area and perhaps go mining. As spiffy as his hat was, the robe was ugly, and it didn’t protect him as much as he’d like.

“Hey!”

He had just turned to the waystone when he heard an unfamiliar voice call out to him. He briefly considered teleporting home without turning around, but he’d already been spotted. If nothing else, he could at least learn more about this witch, maybe—the weakness and strengths; just enough to help him take the witch down.

Which meant social interaction. Ugh.

“Yes?” Scott asked politely, turning towards the witch. He had a nice cloak, evidentially not wearing the one provided for them; it had a white fur trim and was half blue and half red. The pattern continued to his corset, the white collar neatly matching with the cut of ocher below his collarbone. The ocher was accented by gold-lined strips of red and blue on either side of the corset.

So, in other words, he looked over-the-top, gaudy, and rich.

“Hello, mister witch! You’re so… dark and mysterious. I like your outfit; the ominous shadow vibes really suit you. You could stand to get a bit more sun though, you look a bit pale. Or can you go in the sun? Do you burn?”

“No, but I presume you burn, from your choice of outfit. Not just that it looks very flammable, or that it’s an eyesore, but I’m guessing it means you’re the Fire Witch?”

“Joey the Fire Frost Witch, actually. I have Frost magic as well.” Joey declared proudly, puffing up his chest. Scott wasn’t sure what there was to be proud of—it just meant he’d be good at two magics than great at one.

Scott wasn’t jealous. No, not at all.

“Sure, snowflake. I’ll believe it when I see it.” Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes. He reached up to adjust his hat slightly, pulling the brim down until it blocked the annoying sunray that was blinding his vision.

“I—I can prove it! When I get my next spell, that is.” Joey protested, losing his composure in the span of a second.

“Sure you will, sweetie. I bet you’ll have another reason to brag in no time.” Scott mocked Joey, offering an insincere pat on the shoulder.

“Really? You think so?” Joey looked up at Scott with shining eyes, his face a bit too close for Scott’s personal boundaries. Scott took a step back before answering, wiping his hand off on his robe as if the Fire Witch had germs. If he did, though, they might be sterilized by the amount of warmth radiating off of Joey, and he was probably somewhat resistant to minor diseases such as colds—no, no, he couldn’t be thinking about curious magic side affects right now. He needed to focus all his energy on not turning around and leaving.

“Of course,” Scott laid the sarcasm on extra thick, even adding a roll of the eyes. Yeah right. As if this upstart witch would ever be a challenge for the title of the supreme witch.

Joey brightened at that. “Thanks, uh… what’s your name? It’s really nice to hear someone believes in me.” Joey appeared genuinely delighted at this, as if he actually believed Scott had been expressing faith in him.

“Sure. Yeah. That’s what I said.” Scott’s voice was blank for a second—he wasn’t sure how Joey had gotten that from his overly sarcastic reply, but he supposed the witch was too dumb to pick up on sarcasm. “My name’s Scott,” He added after a beat of silence.

“Oh, wow, really? Scott? It’s a nice name, don’t get me wrong, it just doesn’t fit the vibe. Then again, no one’s really does,” Joey rambled, making Scott wish he could tune the man out. “My name’s Joey, by the way,” the witch added, as if he hadn’t already said that.

“Thank you, Joey,” Scott spit out through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to seem impolite—it wasn’t good to make enemies—but the cockiness of this man was driving him mad.

“I’m really glad the people here are so friendly,” Joey began, waving his arms about, “The people back home—” He paused for a minute, eyes beginning to water. The sight alarmed Scott—he hadn’t been aware this stuck-up witch could cry, and he was worried he’d be expected to comfort Joey, something he both had no idea how to do and had no will to do. “They banished me. Exiled me. Just because I didn’t have frost powers! After—I spent my whole life there, Scott.”

“Ah. Well.” Scott could think of no more words to say, embarrassed to have caught the witch at an evident low point. The seconds stretched on, feeling like minutes. The awkward silence cast a sort of spell on the area, no sounds but the soft rustling of fabric and Joey’s muted sniffles.

The spell was immediately broken by Joey opening his mouth, though. Honestly, Scott liked him better when it was closed. Maybe he could find a way to curse it that way.

“Oh! I must be going; it’s late and I should get my beauty sleep in order to make more progress on becoming the best witch here! I’ll be seeing you around, Scott,” Joey burst out in alarm, dashing to the waystone to teleport home. Scott had to step aside to avoid getting his cloak stepped on as he rushed past. Joey mumbled something under his breath as he activated the waystone, offering a quick wave as he vanished.

Well. That was… enlightening. And annoying. And honestly really sad.

None of which particularly mattered. He just had to beat him. That was all.

#wcsmp #joey graceffa #scott smajor #apologies i have had this half done for. days #i predicted scott's fox farm if you'd like to know how long ago i started this #dialogue is hard okay

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nightcourtreader · 1 year

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Elain Archeon deep dive

This is a long one, bare with me.

I think Elain’s character is easy for ACOTAR fans to mold her into what they want her to be because we haven’t really seen a lot of Elain from the series and but I also think we still have enough information about Elain to know her to an extent.

I like Elain’s character, she has so much potential in the future. Whether people agree or not she will have a major role to play in the future of the ACOTAR books and her character would be more fleshed out in her book, but the theories some fans come up with about Elain is crazy and I don’t think they fit her character or who she is.

The number one thing I see is, Elain is going to become an assassin/spy.

I know people say this about Elain to make her be better suited to be in a ship with Azriel & there is textual evidence to show that Elain is good at sneaking around and keeping secrets.

• “Elain was the only one who guessed. She caught me vomiting two mornings in a row.” She nodded toward Azriel. “I think she’s got you beat for secret keeping.” (Page 235, ACOSF)

• “Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he expected this wasn’t true. There has been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around, but the male remained in the human lands with jurian and Vassa.” (Page 311, ACOSF)

When Elain lies, her face tightens up. Azriel confirmed this in his ACOSF bonus chapter.

• “You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half wraiths she called friends. (Page 596, ACOSF)

There’s also evidence that Elain becoming a spy/assassin might not come to happen.

• “Gentle grower of things.” (Page 488, ACOMAF)

• “Elain had always been gentle and sweet—and I had considered it a different sort of strength. A better strength. To look at the hardness of the world and choose, over and over, to love, to be kind. She had been always so full of light. Perhaps that was why she now kept all the curtains open. To fill the void that existed where all of that light had once been. And now nothing remained.” (Page 156, ACOWAR)

• “If the faeries who attack possess magic,”Cassian said, and Elain recoiled at the harsh tone, “then thick stone won’t do much.” (Page 471, ACOWAR)

• Elain was blinking, wide eyed, at the camp. The army. Devlon let out a grunt at the sight of her. But Elain wrapped her own blue cloak around herself, averting her eyes from all of their towering, muscled warriors, the army camp bustling toward the horizon…she was a rose bloom in a mud field. Field with galloping horses. (Page 485, ACOWAR)

• “Graysen leveled a seething look at Rhysand. “Is this the start of it? You fae males will come to take out women? Are your own not fuckable enough?” “Watch your tongue, boy,” his father said. Elain turned white at the coarse language.” (Page 500, ACOWAR)

• “Nesta and I climbed inside one of the supply caravan’s covered wagons to change into illyrian fighting leathers. Nesta even buckled a knife at her side. Elain…she’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display and turned crimson. Viviane stepped in, offering a winter court fashion that was far less scandalous: leather pants, but paired with a thigh length blue surcoat, white fur trimming the collar. In the heat, it’d be miserable, but Elain was thankful enough that she didn’t complain.” (Page 609, ACOWAR)

• “She refused the knife Cassian handed her though. Went white as death at the sight of it.” (Page 609, ACOWAR)

• “Fae fertility cycles had never been something I’d considered, and explaining them to Nesta and Elain had been uncomfortable, to say the least. Elain had blushed, muttering about the impropriety of such things.” (Page 49, ACOWAR)

• “She gave it back”….“Elain had given it back—had pressed it into Azriel’s hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back.” (Pg 41-42, ACOFAS)

• “Elain, surprisingly, held her ground. “I wasn’t drinking myself into oblivion and—and doing those other things.” “fucking strangers?” Elain flinched again, her face coloring.” (Page 204, ACOSF)

• “And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her.” (page 580, ACOSF)

• “So Elain had let her golden brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…it sucked the life from her.” (page 580, ACOSF)

Elain is seen to be the most gentle Archeon sister. She’s seen to be sweet and innocent. But I know that Elain can grow out of that innocence. It’s very obvious that Elain is just not going to be sweet and innocent all of her life. I think she will seem to grow bolder with her family, the IC and go do things that she actually wants and not do what people expect her to do or be the person people expect her to be.

But what we have seen from her so far is that Elain recoils at harshness. She doesn’t like to talk about sex, menstrual periods, or even wear illyrian fighting leathers because she thinks that it’s inappropriate to discuss and to even wear. Night court black doesn’t suit her. She doesn’t want to train or hold a knife and she only did so out of necessity in ACOWAR. She doesn’t even like the cruelness of Hewn City.

So to say Elain is going to be assassin & spy when that job title includes killing & torturing in the Hewn City to the point that even Feyre couldn’t stand to see Azriel torture in the Hewn City and knowing Elain is the most gentle out of the 3 Archeon sisters and pretty much saying she’s going to to be ok with killing and torturing is beyond me.

Yes spy work is gathering information from observation which Elain is very good at doing but also you get information from torturing it out of your enemies as we seen Azriel do and I just think that’s not going to sit right with Elain at all.

And to claim that Elain is going to be an assassin & spy when she has no physical training to do either to me is far fetched, yes Elain could physically train in her own book, but I felt like ACOSF could have been a perfect set up for elain to train with Nesta since from ACOTAR, readers thought that Elain and Nesta had a really close relationship.

We also don’t know how Elain even feels about killing Hybern. He was her first kill. I’m pretty sure Elain is traumatized about that whole ordeal and I even think she has nightmares about it. Elain can claim that she’s fine but from what we seen from both Feyre and Nesta you can claim & appear that you’re fine all you want to but as the readers we won’t know the depth of her struggle until we get Elain’s pov.

But also, Elain doesn’t need to train and become a soldier to be a badass MC. Physical strength doesn’t define a person. Like Feyre said, Elain has a different type of strength and I would love to see that in the upcoming books.

Archeon sisters relationship.

Though I am a huge Feyre fan and I do like Nesta, but the way both sisters sometimes/most times describe Elain just really confirms to me that they really don’t know her fully at all and that the 3 Archeon sisters are not going to be as close as I really want the sisters to be. Though I know opinions can change.

• “It wasn’t that Elain was cruel. She wasn’t like Nesta, who had been born with a sneer on her face. Elain sometimes just…didn’t grasp things. (Page 11, ACOTAR)

• “It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty. I’d never been able to decide where she actually didn’t understand that we were truly poor or if she just refused to accept it.” (Page 11, ACOTAR)

• “She would have marveled—likely wept—at the gardens I’d become so accustomed to, at the flowers in perpetual bloom at the Spring Court. (Page 256, ACOSF)

• Saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up. (Page 130, ACOSF)

• “When human, Elain had easily been the prettiest of the three of them, and when she’d been turned High Fae, that beauty had been amplified. Nesta couldn’t put her finger on what changes had been wrought beyond the pointed ears, but Elain had gone from lovely to devastatingly beautiful. Elain never seemed to realize it. It was always that way between them. Elain, sweet oblivious. (Page 202-203, ACOSF)

• Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had since mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mothers golden brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. She will be an assist on the marriage market for us one day, if that beauty holds. (Page 203, ACOSF)

• “look who decided to grow claws after all,” she crooned. “Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. (Page 232, ACOSF)

• Elain had always wanted to visit the continent to study the tulips and other famed flowers, but her imagination had stretched no further. (Page 281, ACOSF)

• Elain was like a dog, loyal to whatever master kept her fed and in comfort. (Page 348, ACOSF)

• Nesta's throat constricted, and she surveyed the swaying cherry blossoms overhead. Elain would love this place. So many flowers, all in bloom, so much green—the light, vibrant green of new grass—so many birds singing and such warm, buttery sunshine. Nesta felt like a storm cloud standing amid it all. But Elain…The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. (Pg 455, ACOSF)

• Nesta was wrong, Cassian realized, to think Elain as loyal and loving as a dog. Elain saw every single thing Nesta had done, and understood why. (Page 470, ACOSF)

• Elain and I had grown closer since the war with Hybern had ended. True, I might never go out drinking with her the way I did with Mor, and sometimes Amren. And while I might never run to Elain first with problems or for advice, we had a peaceful, amicable understanding. I found her to be a pleasant companion. I wondered if she’d resent that judgement. I certainly would. (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

• “I mean, she’s been brave when she had to be, but she’s never been confrontational.” “Maybe she was never given the chance to be that way.” I whipped my head toward him. “You think I stifle her?” Rhys held up his hands. “Not you alone.” He surveyed the study as he thought. “But I wondered if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.” (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

• “With some time and safety, perhaps we’ll see a different side of her emerge.” “This sounds dangerously close to what Nesta said about Elain finally being interesting.” (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

• “You think Elain’s boring?” “I think she’s kind; and I’ll take kindness over nastiness any day. But I also think we haven’t yet seen all she has to offer.” A corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” (Feysand’s ACOSF bonus chapter)

From both sisters perspective I really don’t think they see Elain as more. The only thing they chalk Elain up to be is some pretty thing who only cares about gardens and flowers and she doesn’t think of nothing beyond that and that she’s content with just doing that. And that she’s need their protection for everything in her life since gardens and flowers is all she cares about. Feyre even stated that she only saw Elain as pleasant companion and that she wouldn’t liked to be known as a pleasant companion herself if she was in Elain’s shoes.

Its obvious that Elain wants to do more, because she wanted to help find the dread trove but she gets shot down by Nesta and Azriel, though Azriel didn’t say it to her face directly.

In Chapter 21 of ACOSF Elain said they can use her to find the trove. Nesta instantly said no, then absolutely not. Then Elain proceeds to say. “Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” (Page 232). The simple statement made Nesta flinch.

Page 311, in ACOSF. “Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “there is an innate darkness to the dread trove that Elain should not be expose to?” “But Nesta should?” Cassian growled. Everyone stared at him.

I don’t get why they were staring at Cassian crazy because I think it’s a valid question. Why is ok for Nesta to be exposed to the darkness but not Elain, especially when Elain said she wanted to help. Why do they get to decide what Elain can and cannot do?

Then after this we seen something from Amren. “She threw a nod toward Azriel. “Elain is more capable of defending herself against the darkness of the trove, if she chooses to. Don’t underestimate her.”

Why are the people (Rhysand, Cassian & Amren) that haven’t even known Elain that long are the only ones to seem to know that Elain is more than just being about flowers, gardens & being pretty? That she can defend herself if they really give her the choice to like she did in ACOWAR. And that Elain is going to be much more than what is happening in her life right now. Her family likes to stifle her and coddle her and I don’t think they will let her be to the best of her ability in the name of protection. Tho Feyre did say that Elain finding the trove was her choice.

But I still really think that Elain shouldn’t stay in the night court. As for right now, I don’t think Elain is seen to be apart of the night court despite the gardens she helps with around it and even tho she says she’s apart of the court. When she wants to help certain people shoot her down and make her play a smaller role.

Nesta was offered a title in the night court but what about Elain? Nesta is having a future of becoming a general of the valkyries for the night court. But I really don’t see a future for Elain in the night court, maybe as a courtier or an emissary since it’s stated how Elain threw a ball for Feyre’s return in ACOTAR and Nesta said Elain used to love balls and parties and flitter around the room greeting and talking to everyone. But Cassian was becoming a courtier in ACOSF already & lucien is their current emissary, but I know he’s not going to hold that position for long.

I know that Elain is pushed to the background to have Nesta’s story and we’ll get more of her when it comes to her book. But from what I have seen so far, I don’t think Elain would stay in the night court. When she’s described Elain is known to be a flower but she’s also know to be described with light. She needs light. She needs sunshine. When in ACOWAR, it stated, “The suite was filled with sunlight. Every curtain shoved back as far as it could go, to let in as much sun as possible. As of any bit of darkness was abhorrent. As if to chase it away. And seated in a small chair before the sunniest of the windows, her back to us, was Elain. (Page 154).” & “What can I get you Elain?”. But Elain shook her head once more. “Sunshine” (Pg 302)

The night court is the opposite of what Elain needs and want. And since she is described as a flower, what do flowers need? Sunlight.

But I also don’t think that Elain is going to be in the spring court. I know I’ve seen theories that oh Tamlin and Elain are actually mates or that Tamlin is going to die and that Elain and lucien will be high lord & lady of spring, yeah no. I think Elain would love to visit the spring court but it’s obvious that Elain likes getting her hands dirty and actually likes the work of creating gardens, what’s the point of her living in spring where there is already gardens and she can’t do the work that she loves?

But I am excited for Elain’s book, whenever we get it and to see all what she has to offer when it comes to her powers and personal growth.

#elain archeron #acosf #acosf theory #acowar #acofas #acomaf #acotar #pro elain #pro elain archeron

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anastasiaskarsgard · 1 year

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YES! Please continue the marquis x cop story. There is so much opportunity for angst. What was the story like from the readers POV? How did they find out he is the marquis?how does the marquis manage to convince the reader?

“So he just handed you his card and all it says is “the Marquis”? How do you even find these people?” Your best friend asked as she examined the aforementioned card. “We’ll call him! He was dressed nice and had a driver so at least he’s rich.”

You loved your best friend, but she was so reckless. She was the same age as you (27) yet she’d already been married four times. Rolling your eyes and snatching the card back, you threw it into the fire to kill the temptation, and save her from herself.

“WHAT?!?! You are no fun! There goes your castle. What if he is nobility or whatever? What if he spends his time and millions on making the world a better place? What if there’s a library or orphanage with his name on it?” With that your best friend mock fainted into a large chair.

Huffing out a sigh, you made your way over and poked her in the ribs. “I doubt he’d even remember. He gave me the card like 2 weeks ago.”

Eyes popping open, she groaned as though your words were physically painful, “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you’ve been sitting on this that long, or the fact youre oblivious to how disgustingly gorgeous you are. Let’s go eat you silly woman.” Standing and taking your arm in hers, you both made your way to a fun new cafe, the papers couldn’t seem to shut up about.

1 week later

Even though today was your day off, for the past few months, you have been volunteering at the hospital. In spite of the fact that you were already a public servant, you found joy in helping others. You felt like social media wasn’t as good as real people, especially in a nurturing setting.

Today was your day working with the children. Once a month, the volunteers and some of the doctors and nurses were dressed up as various characters in their favorite stories. So far, you have been Tinker Bell, the goddess Aphrodite, and a mermaid. Today you are a princess and you are not sure where they got these costumes, but they were extremely realistic and detailed. You really felt like a friggin princess right now! your dress was an ice blue, sparkly, chiffon number with a fitted bodice that had your girls so mushed together, when you looked down, you could nearly rest your head on them. The voluminous layered skirt was going to require hypervigilance to avoid knocking things over, but was breathtakingly pretty with color shifting fabric and hand sewn beading down the train. There was even a navy blue, velvet cloak, that had fur trim that felt real.

“Here’s the finishing touch!” Michelle exclaimed as she burst into the break room. “Oh you really look like you’re royal! Can I put this on your head?” She asked, holding out a beautiful tiara.

“Wow! Yes! This dress is so amazing! The kids are going to love it. I can’t wait to see their faces!” You enthused. You truly were excited to see their reaction. Children always had the most pure reactions.

“Not only that, that mysterious benefactor that just paid for the new pediatric cancer wing will be here today! From what I hear it was totally out of the blue. They’ve been trying to get that built for years, scraping and begging and then this guy comes along and just pays for the whole thing! He’s from old money and royalty, so it probably doesn’t even register how important this is to us…” she mused, as she secured the tiara to her head.

“I’m sure even a prince realizes the impact. Probably has a sick child he is close to, that needs treatment and he actually has the means to make it happen.” You stated. “Not all the wealthy are out of touch.”

“Yes your majesty.” She giggled. “Now come on, the kids are beside themselves, there’s a few you’ll need to make personal appearances for.”

Making your way out into the main area where everyone had gathered, you dramatically swept into the room, as Michelle swept your cloak away and you barked out orders in your most imperious tone. The next hour flew by, and everyone agreed you’d made an excellent princess.

You were still having a lot of fun, but your comfort was beginning to faulter. The dress was gorgeous but you didn’t know how women wore these outfits everyday! You couldn’t quite breathe properly, it was quite heavy, and several parts of it were rubbing you raw.

“Shall we go see the remaining children together?”

Turning, you found Dr Rete holding out the list of children unable to leave their rooms out to you. Taking it from him, you scanned over the list as you attempted to think of a reason you could decline. It wasn’t that he was a bad guy, he was actually a catch by most people’s standards, but he gave you the creeps for some reason.

All the other women on the floor encouraged you to give the gorgeous doctor a chance, since he made his interest very obvious, but you just couldn’t get past your instincts. When your instincts told you to get away from something, you listened.

Unfortunately, nothing came to mind that wouldn’t seem rude so you smiled and welcomed him to accompany you. Luckily two other volunteers were with you to help keep your dress from knocking over, or hooking any expensive medical equipment.

You were nearly to the end of the list, when you saw him. The Marquis. He was standing at the end of the hall, dressed in an impeccable suit, surrounded by people. You wondered if he was the new donor.

You debated going and saying hello, but decided against it. It’s not like you knew him, and you’d never called. You doubted he even remember you. He’d most likely felt bad that you fell and never would of actually taken you to dinner. You knew you were attractive, but a man that looks like him, with that kind of money and pedigree, isn’t allowed to date some random girl he ran into.

Dr Rete was really trying to impress you. You’d found out he’d actually gotten off hours ago, and was strictly here to spend time with you. He was tall and good looking, and he hung on your every word like you were the most interesting woman alive… maybe you were wrong about him.

Suddenly, the little girl you were reading to, looked like she was so happy she was going to explode. “Princess! Your prince is here!” She exclaimed excitedly.

Turning to Dr. Rete, you frowned a bit before you caught yourself. “I suppose he…”

“No not him!” She interrupted. “Him!”

Turning around, your eyes met cool green ones smiling down at you. At a loss for words, you turned back around and continued reading.

For the remainder of the story, you could feel his presence, and could have cut the tension between the two males with a knife. When it came to the end, and you had to sing and do your little routine, you couldn’t bear to look at the Marquis. You weren’t about to sell this girl short though, so you gave it your all.

As you made your way out of the room, you nearly ran into the Marquis, but Dr. Rete was there to be a buffer between the two of you. You sounded amusing at the normally overly polite. Dr was quite stand offish with the Marquis.

“Will you go get me some ice water, Doctor? I am parched and wish to get to know our Princess here.” The Marquis asked with a certain edge in his tone.

You nearly thought he’d refuse, but the Marquis smile never wavered, so he finally conceded and you were semi alone with the gorgeous mysterious man. “So it’s nice to see you again. Sorry again.”

“Do not apologize, it was the best day of my life so far.” He stated matter of factly.

Smiling, you rolled your eyes, “flattery will get you everywhere.”

He cocked an eyebrow and did a quick scan up and down, “is that so?”

“Mind out of the gutter sir! I am a lady after all.” You said in your best scarlet O’Hara imitation.

Chuckling, he stepped closer, and took your hand, before kissing it with those full lips, and looking up into your eyes. “May I take you to dinner Princess?”

Your breath caught in your throat from the intensity in his eyes. Nodding your head, before you even realized what you were doing, you couldn’t help but smile brightly. You were going to go have dinner with the single most attractive person, you had ever seen in your life.

“Keep the outfit on. You look perfect.” He said, eyes sparkling.

You scoffed. “Even the tiara?”

“Especially the tiara. It once graced the empress of Russia, and I doubt she wore it as well as you.”

Your stomach dropped and eyes went wide. “It can’t possibly be real! That would make it worth-“

“Millions. But it’s good to get them out now and then. See them on a beauty, rather than rotting in a vault with all the rest.”

“This is yours? Are you a royal?” You asked astonishment clear on your face.

He chuckled, “no. My title is one of the lowest, but during the revolution, my family was able to avoid the cleansing by the peasants, and attain considerable wealth from those in higher stations, wishing to save their treasures from falling into those dirty hands.”

“So your family were scavengers or bandits?” You asked not caring if it came off offensive.

“No nothing so dark. Everything we were given was by the owners own accord. No force or deception. They just wished to live on in some way. For example, your tiara belonged to a duchess that could never have children, so she was cast aside by her husband who moved to the city with his mistress and they had several bastards. She lived in their estate, since most of the money they possessed had been hers. She adopted many children and was said to have been very happy until the day they came to retrieve her for trial. She had been warned they were coming and dressed all her children as servants. Two of them were killed attempting to rescue her. Her husband had been so unpleasant in her name, she was executed at his side, while his mistress watched from the crowd.”

“What a terrible story. And this was hers?”

“One of her many jewels. Their family had been jewelers for all the European aristocrats and royals. They also collected, which I am sure is how they attained that.” He said pointing at the tiara playfully.

You reached up to touch the priceless piece of jewelry, “do you think she’d be pleased it was used in this way?”

Nodding his head, he offered his hand. “Shall we go eat your grace?”

Giggling, you took his hand. “I can’t imagine where we could go with me dressed this way. Won’t you be embarrassed?”

“We can go wherever we please, and lions don’t care about the opinions of sheep.”

“What if I’m not a lion? Maybe I’m something else.”

Looking at you thoughtfully, the Marquis smiled slyly at you before stating, “I know exactly what you are.”

Maneuvering your dress into the backseat of the waiting Rolls Royce, you burst out laughing at the Marquis, peeking over the side of your gowns considerable skirts. “Are you comfortable over there?”

“It’s like I’m riding in a cloud.”

“So what animal am l?” You asked.

“Oh I will not tell you so easily. You must guess correctly.

Folding your arms you pouted a bit, unaware of the Marquis watching you with adoration. “Fine. You can keep your secrets.”

“Hn.”

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgård #my writing #marquis de gramont #the marquis #vincent de gramont #Marquis x cop

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galactia · 2 years

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@dilucisms | Kaeya’s birthday - very much accepting!

a birthday gift for a dearly-loved baby brother: a fine new cloak, meant to keep him warm and comfortable when he's out on patrol ... and a brand new leather belt with a vision clasp attached to it; to look at the craftsmanship of it, it's rather ... amateurish, which suggests exactly who made it by hand.

there is, of course, no note. and diluc won't necessarily hold his breath hoping that kaeya wears the belt he's so lovingly ( albeit imperfectly ) crafted ... but he will be waiting and watching with a hopeful gaze ...

There’s no note on this wrapped package, tied in a simple red ribbon, that is left for him a day or so before his birthday. It doesn’t need one for him to know who it is from, and he closes his office door to untie it. He coils the ribbon, tucking it away into a drawer, before unfolding the paper. There, in the folds of brown paper, is the finest cloak he is certain he has ever owned, next to childhood brocades he had long grown out of.

It isn’t gaudy, clearly meant for regular use and stitched of sturdy fabric to withstand the day-to-day of his work. The trim of fur around the hood to cut the wind draws his hand, and he runs his fingers over it, a wistful smile pulling at his lips.

It is a better cloak than any he currently owns, and beyond his means to have tailored without going hungry for a spell, and he draws it up, swinging it around to slip over his shoulders. The dark blue compliments his hair well, and its as warm as its appearance promises.

In a rush of giddiness, he wishes he could thank Diluc right then and there.

Kaeya finds the belt beneath the cloak, examining its detail, and noting the hand that had crafted it was meticulous, if a trifle inexperienced. Diluc’s own hand, he was certain.

A letter of thanks was hardly in order for these, so it is after work when he appears in the Angel’s Share threshold, dressed in his new cloak, a familiar belt just visible beneath with his vision glowing crisp and bright from its clasp.

“Good evening, Diluc.” He greeted, taking up a perch at the bar. “Adelinde made mention of dinner, a few nights ago. Might I impose on the hospitality of your table tomorrow?” They both knew tomorrow was his birthday itself. “And do not worry, I will not catch a chill walking to the Winery.” He leaned forward, elbow on the bar, tone a low, conspiratorial whisper though his eyes were warm, “A thoughtful gift-giver has ensured I will stay warm.”

Thank you, brother.

#dilucisms #answered//dilucisms

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grimmwulf-a · 2 years

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unprompted . @paradisecursed asked: good hunter, you should have known better - this was not your forest; these were not your halls. to lay down your arms at the wolf's bed, latch unlocked for him? & the lord decreed that only pride could be blamed, should you find yourself startled when he found you. when he touched you.

by your side, then, loomed the beast. black framing white in the mirror, faux raven’s feathers dangling as matted fur over a one-eyed porcelain mask. the blue iris unreadable, glancing over the frayed ends pinched ‘twixt his fingers. rubbed together, gently, with idle bemusement.

"…your hair is the color of moonlight,” so saith the wolf king, in a tone that borders the interpretation of interest. “comb it more.”

he lets go, then - watching with his man’s eye as chosen locks fall back in place over cloaked shoulders. & his gaze may have lingered there, perhaps. too briefly to say - he’s left cain’s side too quickly. black boots clicked across the floor; paws against marble.

“i will have neige send for you,” he said at once, without looking back, “though i warn you once more - do not expect much.”

his hand reached for the doorway, gripping the frame to the crackle of leather gloves.

“there is little for anyone, these days.”

& as suddenly as he appeared, he is returned to darkness. to patrol as a ghost in his own castle, with the phantom touch of his claws still lingering in strands of church-white mane.

The Lord was not here in these halls. He did not look within the windows, did not grace the candlelight, did not speak in the wind as it scratched at frozen over walls. He was not here at all, bleach white eyes cast away to whatever depravity walked within this den of iniquity. You could not tell if He was here before and left, or if He’d simply chosen to never grace this place to begin with, whatever scriptures you could get your hands on all proclaiming the only lords here were human.

Fallible.

The you obsessed with the future and the you frozen by the now did not communicate, ‘Belos’ placed by the wayside only briefly to read a bit more comfortably, ‘Phillip’ tensing up at the sensation of the noble’s presence. The touch was too much to focus on, whatever demands to stop you could’ve made feeling like ice in your throat - no, you were grateful. You would not be here if it weren’t for your control over any given situation, mental forts put in place to drown out whatever weaknesses might’ve tried to bubble up outside of your control.

Actions taken by ‘Belos’ were not to be judged in the same manner as those taken by ‘Phillip’; you knew He would understand the actions taken for the greater good would not count in the tally against your place in Heaven. ‘Belos’ could let this colleague’s touch linger for as long it was necessary. Progress was progress, no matter the steps taken.

That was why you didn’t say anything at the expression of care violence softness hate.

That was why, the instant you could no longer sense him nearby, you remembered to breathe.

That was why you couldn’t focus on the book in front of you, handwritten text blurring together.

That was why you reached over to card a hand through your hair, mentally noting the parts that would need special attention when you returned home. Why you thought it’d be a good idea to send for some new conditioners. Why you thought it was due time to trim those split ends. Had to look your best for the crowds on that special day, after all.

#paradisecursed #belos [ ic ask ]#v2 #datura yellow gazing through my mind [ darcia iii . paradisecursed ]#// repressed bc youve never kissed a man huh.

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queenfinehair · 3 years

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The thorn in your side

Chapter six

Warnings: None, just a meddling Halfdan.

Song mood

Disclaimer: gif isn't mine but it's linked

The following week you wake to another gift; a beautiful dark blue hooded cloak with fur trim. No note was left this time but you smile at Harald's thoughtfulness all the same. The days were growing shorter and the nights colder, this item would come in handy.

After washing up from the small basin near the door you dress and get ready for another grueling day. Harald had been to watch you daily, conversing with you well after sunset. He had hoped for an immediate answer regarding you becoming his queen but you still weren't sure. Of course, it would be a far grandeur situation than your current state, but he also insisted you give up the horses to someone "in a lower position". Whenever he talked down on your profession you couldn't help but to grind your teeth and turn away.

Today, though, was a special day. A mare was heavily pregnant and due to give birth at any moment. That particular moment happened just after putting Baldur back in his stall. You scarcely begun to prepare his food when the mare began huffing and knew then it was time.

Throwing your new cloak on top of a barrel of hay you quickly go to the horse, shushing her gently as she prepared to welcome the new foal into this strange world.

"Is she ready, then?" Both Harald and Halfdan had appeared at once, but it was Halfdan who spoke. Harald looked on with some disdain, not enjoying you getting even dirtier with the task. You had come to know the King as a very clean person, but why he continued to pursue you was a mystery. You loved the dirt, the dust, the smell of hay and the handling of birthing horses. It was a passion you held deep within your heart.

"Yes, she's ready," you answer Halfdan, "without complications the babe will be here anytime. Will one of you get me a fresh bucket of water, please? I have some bits of cloth as well, just there." You point to them and Halfdan takes it upon himself to perform the task. He hands you the items needed and after a quick thanks you turn back to the mare.

"What a beautiful cloak," Harald says, finally finding something with beauty around, "is it new?"

"Oh, yes, it is new. I should thank you for such a wonderful and needed gift, my King. In the coming months I'm sure to stay much warmer. You're a very generous person, how can I repay you?"

Stunned on the spot, Harald takes a minute to answer. "Yes," he begins, "I am generous, although I should have gotten the red one. It would have suited you better." He turns to Halfdan who only shrugs, "I think you did alright."

You only half pay attention as the mare whinnies. "That's a good girl," you say softly, "it'll all be over soon. Then you'll have a beautiful little one to look after."

Harald rolls his eyes and continues on with his brother, "What do you think you are doing?" He whispers through gritted teeth, his eyes shooting icicles at the younger man. "I'm doing what I thought you wanted. She needs warmer clothes so I thought, and knew, might I add, she'd think it from you. I was right, so, you're welcome."

Biting the inside of his cheek and inhaling loudly, Harald continues, "Never do it again. You're lucky you got away with it this time. I might add though," he sneers, "red would have been a better color."

"Red, blue, does it matter? She thinks it's from you. Get over it, brother." Halfdan says in a harsh tone, turning his attention back to the horse. As angry as Harald is, he finally cools down enough to let it slide. After all, you had given him thanks and didn't know any better.

Guiding the mare to lay down onto the straw, you rub her stomach, ready to help. "Ya know," you tell her, "I've never done this before, give birth I mean, but you're doing a great job." Halfdan smiles at how you speak to the horses as if they were humans who could talk back and he opens the stall. "Can I watch, or help?" He takes off the fur stole from around his shoulders and places it on your cloak.

"Brother, we have things to do today." Harald says peevishly, clenching his fists. Harald had made his claim, had marked his territory with you and was furious that Halfdan kept interfering. Halfdan had suggested previously that they share you but Harald immediately halted that thought.

"I don't, you're the one with a kingdom to run, brother."

"How long will this take?" Harald asks you, turning his back to the scene. He was annoyed, again, and you weren't sure how to handle these moods anymore. One moment he was sweet as can be, the next moment he showed his jealous temper. You think that sleeping with Halfdan was growing to be a bigger mistake than you thought.

"Hard to say. Could be an hour, could be all day."

"Just... just come and visit me when you're cleaned up. Please." Harald says finally and leaves in a huff.

You sigh and shake your head, taking the bucket of water and placing it to your left side. Halfdan hands you the cloths and sits down next to you. There was so much he longed to say, to warn you of Harald but he had already tried to in vain.

"So," you say and make yourself comfortable, crossing your legs and leaning against the stall, "when were you going to tell me it was from you?"

Halfdan's eyes widen and he shrugs after a moment, "I wasn't. I was happy enough to know you'll be warm this winter. Happy enough to let Harald think it was from him. Although in hindsight red should have been the color I chose."

"I don't have time for this right now. We'll just let it be."

-----

It's hours later before the actual birth begins, the mare going through a rough labor and you begin to think it won't happen until finally, it does. "Okay, I may need to help her so have that bucket ready. Things can get dirty so I like to keep as clean as I can."

Halfdan gets to his knees and watches you get closer to the mare, sensing a struggle. He can't tear his eyes away from the process, fascinated.

"Atta girl, just keep it going."

Both of you look onto the mare as she stands up suddenly and both of you roll out of the way before joining her. She snorts in your direction and then do you see the foal coming out. "There you go, almost done." The horse whinnies some more before you stand closer, words of comfort placed to the animal who can't talk back.

The foal is finally born, with you helping so as to not let the poor thing drop to the straw and you set the babe down, still in its sac. You hurry and ask for Halfdan's help, "we need to get the baby out of there. Help me tear it off."

Unlike Harald, Halfdan doesn't mind the mess and he busies his hands with the birth sac, tearing it open to reveal the small horse. "Is it... alive?"

You bend down and pet the animal before it shakes itself and you smile with glistening eyes. "Yes, it-"

"He." Halfdan says, pointing down with gooey hands.

"Yes. He is very much alive. Good job, Halfdan. Let's get cleaned up." You grab the cloths and put them into the water bucket, picking it up, "Let's also leave the mother and baby be."

You both exit the stall and begin to get cleaned up, Halfdan watching you amazement, "you were remarkable, Y/n..."

Smiling, you nudge him with your shoulder, "wasn't my first time and that was an easy birth. It's you who should be commended. Thank you for the help and wanting to stay."

Once cleaned up and without thinking, Halfdan takes your face into his hands and kisses you deeply. Your eyes close as you kiss the man back, pulling away a second later.

"Halfdan... why? Why are you doing this?"

He looks around before shrugging, "I guess it just came over me, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, "We cannot been seen together alone anymore. I already walk on eggshells around Harald, if this gets back to him I fear what mood it'll put him in. Please, Halfdan, no more. No more gifts, or kisses or... generally wanting to be with me."

"Is that what you really want though? I can make you happy, I can-"

You hold up a hand to quiet the man, "Halfdan. Enough. In another life during another time, maybe. Right now though, you cannot."

Halfdan exhales loudly before he nods his head, "as you wish. You won't see me anymore." He leaves but not before placing a final kiss to the top of your head. He grabs the fur stole on top of your cloak and with one last glance at you, he leaves.

Tags: @naaladareia, @inmyfxith

#halfdan the black x reader #harald finehair x reader #vikings fandom #vikings fanfic #i enjoy Halfdan in this chapter #Harald is starting to get darker though #ope #vikings fanfiction #fanfiction #my writing #my fic #next chapter to be posted soon #i may do another bit of smut to heat it up but not sure yet #scheduled post

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Hue and Cry IX

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), mild violence, male-iinduced anxiety

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The first day of the tournament arrives.

Note: My pupper had surgery yesterday and it was my longer day of work for the week so lots going on. Also had some bad Chinese but managed to get this out before it came back up. Feel better now and I'll have a shorter day today.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Lord Barnes’ mood did not improve in the days leading up to the first of the tournament. It grew colder in the capital and many feared the events would be cut short by an early winter. You didn’t care much either way. You had no interest in the sport or much of anything. You just abided the duke and in those times he left you alone, you laid in a void.

His want of you didn’t wane nor did your despair or the disgust you felt when he touched you. It was one thing to be a servant, to be a tool, a means to an end, but what he used you for now seemed little more than torture. He delighted in what he did, in how he made you suffer. Those times you remained unmoving and unfeeling angered him the most.

You dressed in yellow that morning. The horns announced the beginning of the tournament as you made your way to the stand amid the sea of guests. The wives, daughters, sons, mothers and fathers of those who would compete. You were out of place as you climbed the wooden steps between the benches and a green sleeve shot up to wave to you.

“Dearie!” May brushed past her husband to stop you at the end of their seat, “here, with us,” she insisted, “we did save you a place.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly. You hadn’t seen her or her family since the night of the feast. Since Barnes had…

“I can’t have you sitting alone,” she trilled as she pulled you along with her and sat beside Lord Benjamin who bowed his head and issued a gentle greeting. “And I always longed for a daughter, you know? Peter’s a good boy but so troublesome. I did try to persuade him not to enter the lists but he just never stops.”

“The boy’s old enough,” Benjamin said, “when I was his age--”

“You married me,” May cut in, “a foolish decision indeed. He is on the roster for today. Sparring. I fear he might not make it past the early rounds but so long as he is not hurt.”

You nodded and covered your hands in your sleeves. Even with the fur-trimmed cloak Barnes allotted you, it was crisp. Your matching cap barely kept the cool air from your cheeks. Your leg shook from more than the cold as you recalled that Barnes was set to compete with the sword as well.

“A fine cape,” May commented as she touched the edge of your cloak, “with sleeves even.”

You looked down at the fawn-coloured garment that only allowed a peek of the canary yellow beneath. You fidgeted and kept your eyes on the field, “a gift,” you lied, well, maybe it wasn’t a lie, or maybe you’d bought it in sweat and tears.

Another horn blew and she quieted and clapped as all looked to the center of the arena. The wooden stands were hung in all shades of silk, the banners of each house, high and low, covered the rafters. By the end of the day, only one would remain. Lord Barnes’ blue and ivory flapped opposite your side and Benjamin pointed out his family's slender red and black crest amidst the panoply.

You were thankful for the distraction, not for you but for them. You didn’t know how many lies you could conjure or if you could keep the false smile on your lips. You clamped your hands together and watched a man in gold stroll out to the centre of the stadium with a cone to project his voice. You stood with May and Benjamin and the rest of the onlookers

“Fine ladies and gentlemen, princes, paupers, and everything in between, we welcome you in name of King Samuel to the Games of Goblets. For each competition, the victor is to be prized a goblet to bear as a symbol of his prestige. For the ax-throwing, bronze inlaid with amber, for the bow-and-arrow, silver set with citrine, for the melee, gold set with sapphire, and for the joust, a fine piece in gold set with opal and ruby.”

The crowd applauded and shouted. The man waited for them to quiet again, “This day, we begin with the melee, on the morrow, the axe, the next day, the arrow, and on the final day, we ride!”

Again, the audience grew rowdy and you were deafened by the cheers. The man laughed at the excitement and held up his hand for a final lull.

“Without further delay, let us begin. In our first round, the lower lords and the untested, before the second where they shall meet our season veterans, and so on…” he gauged the fervent tension of the people, “you will see me again upon the finale and perhaps you will be surprised by whoever stands with me.”

Again, the stand quaked with the energy of the people. You would have liked to sit but you stayed on your feet, afraid to draw unwanted attention. The first pair was announced but you didn’t watch. You stared at the sky or a rippling banner but had no interest in the games.

You only stopped to look as Peter’s name was called out and May grabbed your arm. She squealed as her nephew came out decked in his used armor, beaten out from its former user’s wear, and he unsheathed his sword to face his opponent. When the handkerchief was dropped, you were as stunned as his fellow competitor and the crowd by his swiftness. You’d never seen anyone move so fast, and in at least twenty pounds of armor.

The crowd awoke from their awe and cheered as his sword beat against the other man’s suit with tinks and tunks. It was like a bell, ding, ding, ding. It wasn’t until the other man was on his knees that the spar was ceased. Peter was declared the plain winner and sent on to wait for his next engagement. May wiped away tears of joy and Benjamin grumbled his approval.

You smiled, just a little. You were happy for Peter. You’d seen how joyful he was, he was likely dancing behind the curtain right now.

🏰

It wasn’t until the second round that Lord Barnes was introduced. He walked out fully armoured like any other combatant but his left arm was permanently bent, a shield strapped to it as he gripped his pommel in his right hand. He showed his steel and faced his match. He dealt hard and heavy blows until his opponent was on his back.

You shuddered at his unboasting victory as he wasn’t even patient enough to hear himself declared the winner. You touched your cold cheeks and puffed into the bitter air. The bodies around you warmed the stands but you were chilled to the core.

Peter appeared again in the second, then the third, fourth, and to his aunt and uncle’s delight, he soldiered onto the final. To your fear, he was to meet Lord Barnes. You tried not to squirm, not to show how nervous you were for Peter. You thought of running down and begging him to withdraw but what could you say? If anything, you’d both be worse for it.

As the last two banners were presented to the crowd, you sensed movement to your right. A familiar head of blond hair approached and the tall duke pushed past the row of people along the bench. Lord Rogers smirked as he came close, his sweaty hair drooping down his forehead from his last bout, the one he’d lost to his closest friend.

“Ah, I found you,” he said, “lady.”

You felt May peek past you and you gave a meek “my lord” as he stood close. He looked around you at the older couple.

“You have friends,” he stated, “please, do introduce us.”

You looked down and chewed your lip. You turned slowly to May and Benjamin, the latter peering past her only as he was torn from his fixation on the field.

“Lord Benjamin and Lady May Parker, baron and baroness,” you rubbed your hands together nervously, “Lord Steven Rogers, duke of Astrens.”

“Oh, we’ve heard of him,” May chirped, “my lord, it is an honour.”

“Indeed,” Benjamin agreed, “my lady, you did not inform of us of your lofty friends.”

“She is modest,” Rogers intoned, “we met by chance, really, through a common acquaintance.”

“You were skillful on the field, it is a pity you were bested,” May said.

“Very pitiful, I did put some gold on you, Lord Rogers,” Benjamin added, “alas it was a fine showing.”

“Wasn’t it?” he turned to stand with his arm pressed to yours, much too close for your liking, “however this one should be intriguing.”

“It’s our boy,” Benjamin said, “and your friend, my lord.”

“Perhaps you’d take another bet?” Rogers countered.

“I’ve lost enough this day,” Benjamin snorted, “I’d rather watch and be pleasantly surprised than paupered.”

“Prudence is wise but always so boring,” Rogers mused.

As the lower of the lords, Parker was announced first and you were saved from more uncomfortable banter by the man in grey. Rogers nudged you and bent as the introductions went long as the man with cone went into detail about the day’s fights all the way to the present match.

“I did look fine out there, didn’t I?” he whispered, “good form, even if I did lose. Barnes is in a mood and we both know that makes him… unpredictable.”

You lowered your head, “my lord.”

“You are quiet since last we met,” he remarked, “perhaps your thoughts linger on how else to use your mouth?”

You squirmed and stared at the competitors as they awaited their signal. Rogers laughed and stood straight as he focused on the field in kind. He played with your sleeve and tugged your arm down. He caressed the back of your hand and stepped even closer.

“When he wins, he might just be cheerful enough to share in his celebrations, hmm?” he said under his breath.

The gold cloth was dropped and the two men circled each other, eyeing their opponent cautiously. Barnes was the first to act but was evaded by the younger man. He didn’t not falter however as he swung again. Peter rolled under the strike and met it with his own steel, batting it away so that it nearly struck its holder.

Barnes dodged that time, then the boy spun again. They danced around each other, both swift, both calculating, both determined. Steel met steel but never that which clothed the fighters. May grabbed your other wrist as she held her breath.

Barnes laid a hit across Peter’s chestplate that made him stagger but he turned it into another lithe evasion. He snaked around the higher lord and hammered his false arm. The shield cracked in half and Peter ducked again.

Barnes was angry as he stabbed out. His blade was shoved away again and Peter jumped over the foot that tried to trip him up, a true achievement in armor.

You realised as Barnes laid a flurry of blows at the air that he was angry. The crowd silenced as the realisation fell over them and they watched as time seemed to slow. The duke was losing and he was enraged.

Peter jabbed the other man’s chest plated with his sword then hit his true arm. The sword bobbled in Barnes’ grip but he regained his hold on it. Too slow as Parker struck over and over, throwing him off balance, and sweeping him off his feet with a low lunge.

As Barnes clattered onto his back, the breath went out of him and every other person in the stadium. The man in grey shook away his shock and finally stepped forward.

“Our victor!” he grabbed Peter’s arm and raised it, “the Lord Parker!”

May hopped up and down and hugged her husband. Steve tutted and shook his head. Your eyes clung to Barnes as he sat up, forgotten in the dirt. His left arm was stuck at an angle away from his body and he reached up to force it back down.

Peter offered him his hand and was ignored. Barnes sheathed his sword and offered a curt bow before he exited. Rogers’ hand crawled up your arm and he gripped you. “Well, looks like we both will suffer his loss.”

For once, he spoke the truth.

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bellsarefun · 4 years

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𝕯𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈 (Dragon! Bakugo x Reader)

【ｓｕｍｍａｒｙ：(Y/N) (L/N) lives a surprisingly domestic life alongside her husband, the powerful hot-headed dragon Katsuki Bakugo.】

【ｐａｉｒｉｎｇ：Dragon! Katsuki Bakugo x Female! Reader】

【ｒａｔｉｎｇ：PG-13 — All characters featured in this story have been aged up over eighteen. Also, there is gore and blood in this, so if you are upset by that this isn’t for you.】

【ｗｏｒｄ　ｃｏｕｎｔ：2.6k 】

【Ｎｅｘｔ　Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ: Part 2】

(Y/N)’s hands kneaded soft, fluffy, pale dough on a stone counter top fitted in smooth grey stone, the flour falling like snow on her pale beige apron. Her mind wandered with the routine task; make the bread, let it rise, and then bake for one hour—she had done it all before.

Grabbing a nearby bread pan, she eased the freshly kneaded dough into the oak wood bowl. Her hands wiping the bits and pieces of stray batter on the fabric apron tied tightly around her waist. Once she had cleaned them in a nearby water basin, she laid a tea towel over the mouth of the bowl to rise for a few hours.

‘Finally, done. I can take a minute to relax.’ The woman thought to herself, untying the nice bow created by the laces of her apron. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get back early.’

Hanging the apron on a nearby hook near the entrance to the makeshift kitchen, she stretched her arms high over her head. Her neck muscles protested angrily as they were strained, but she smiled at the relief shooting across her form.

She looked around the kitchen, her (E/C) eyes scanning the beaten stone counter tops, the haphazardly hanging plants from the ceiling, and scratched wooden shelves for any sign of misplacement or grime. The rocky interior walls casted dancing shadows from the many flickering candles around the room.

Satisfied with her keen observation, she hummed to herself contently. Her feet spinning on their heels as she walked out of the kitchen, making a mental note to light the slab, stone oven afterward.

The kitchen lead into a larger room, large wooden support beams held up the ceiling in every corner. There was a large rounded bed pressed against the wall to her left, large furs and pelts were piled in a heap on the bed. On the farthest wall led a corridor where bright sunlight streamed through from the outside—a stairway could be seen in the corridor leading into a dimly lid spiral down.

(Y/N) noted a few of the candles had blown out in the room, presumably the breeze from outside had extinguished the weak flames. She sighed to herself, straightening out her white blouse and suspenders while she moved to a small table across from the bed.

A small green book embroidered with gold detailing waited for her on the scratched dark wood of the table. Her hands picking up the book she seated herself on one of the chairs, but she soon felt herself falling back onto the cold ground with a painful thud.

(Y/N) groaned, holding the side of her head carefully as the world spun around her in a warm blur. Her eyes managing to focus on the chair who had spitefully broken under her the moment she sat down.

“For fucks sake, of course.” She cursed under her breath, using her elbows to hoist herself up from her spot on the floor. Her hand searching for the book that had been flung from her hand, finding it a few feet away.

Looking at the chair, one of the legs had given out and the scratched up, claw-marked, and singed wood wasn’t able to hold weight any longer. It was a wonder how it didn’t break sooner.

“Fucker almost killed me.” (Y/N) voiced allowed to no one in particular, the stabbing pain in her head not receding and only increasing as she pushed herself to standing.

‘I really need to find other furniture that the ones he steals from his raids. A new set of chairs is something I’d pay money for.’ She thought to herself, running a through her hair and picking out pieces of dirt and splinters from her (H/C) locks.

A large roar shook the entire inside of the cave, the forceful vibration almost sending (Y/N) tumbling once again. The book nearly falling from her grasp, but this time she clenched it tightly in her fingers. The sound of scraping stone echoed wildly in (Y/N)’s ears, her face scrunching up at the unpleasant sound.

Her hand was quickly placed on the rocky wall beside her, watching the furniture, that had been fashioned to the wall with wires, to make sure nothing broke. ‘That bastard just had to come now.’

“Tiny! Where the fuck are you? I’m back if you hadn’t noticed.” The loud booming voice emanated from the corridor, the pissed of tone making (Y/N) roll her eyes. She scrambled to the doorway of the kitchen, her book forgotten on the table, and she checked to make sure the bread bowl hadn’t fallen off the counter—luckily, it hadn’t.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, you impatient bastard wait one minute!” (Y/N) called back to the voice, her eye brows narrowing as she noticed the plates and bowls that had fallen from their wooden shelves.

“Whaa? You calling me a bastard, you better watch your fucking mouth, human.” The voice responded sourly, the unmistakable growl that edged it’s way into the tone making (Y/N) chuckle lightly to herself.

She walked toward the corridor of the room, noting that most of the candles has blown out in the rumbling. The rocky hallway was rather small and led into a larger cave with a ceiling that stretched meters above her head. There were no stalactites, like they had been broken off purposely.

Sunlight streamed into the large cave from outside, giving it enough natural light to see around without any aid of candles or lanterns. In the corner of the cave sitting with his legs crossed, his hands tearing at the meat of a freshly killed deer, was Bakugo.

(Y/N) rubbed the back of her neck in defeat, seeing the blood already beginning to pool around the carcass of the poor animal.

“I’m here and already, you’ve made a mess.” She commented in disgust, walking over to the man as he turned around to face her—lips and cheeks smeared with thick red blood.

Bakugo swallowed the meat in his mouth, the hind leg of the deer had been ripped off the animal and was being held in his hands.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a fucking clean freak.” He retorted, his mouth opening and taking a large squelching bite of the raw meat. “Only humans would worry about shit like this.”

(Y/N) hummed, rolling her eyes as she scanned him up and down—he would definitely need a bath after he was done his “meal.” The blood soaked into his pants and the beautiful white fur of his long red cloak around his shoulders. The red sticky ooze seeped over his toned, muscled body.

“If you’re eating all of it, just give me tender loins to cook please.” (Y/N) sighed defeatedly, the smell of raw bloody meat hitting her nostrils in an unrelenting attack of metal and gore.

“You humans and your risk of worms.” He grumbled under his breath, his hand reached toward the back of the deer and shoved his hand into the back—through the pelt. (Y/N) winced at the sound of his hand pulling out the two strips of meat, his other hand shoving another mouthful of meat into his mouth. No matter how much (Y/N) has seen him rip flesh from bone, it still made her nauseous sometimes.

“You’re looking green, Tiny. Go back inside, if you’re going to vomit your insides out again.” Bakugo said, his crimson eyes scanning up and down (Y/N)’s pale face. His hand threw over the two pieces of tenderloin, the meat landing on the ground with a splat.

(Y/N) nodded her head silently, crouching down and delicately picking up the strips of deer. The blood was still warm in her palms and she groaned at the thought of getting the red stains on her nice blouse.

“If any of this gets on my shirt, I’m slipping laxative in your water.” (Y/N) threatened, hurrying toward the corridor once again and she heard the outraged exclamation of Bakugo behind her.

“You better not, fucking tiny ass human. I will rip your precious books to smithereens.” Bakugo shouted after her with a growl, the woman rolling her eyes around her skull in response.

“Okay, dragon boy, let’s see you fucking try. I’ll bleach your cape pink.” (Y/N) jabbed back, calling over her shoulder at Bakugo who continued to munch on the meat. She could hear him grumbling curses under his breath and she giggled softly to herself.

(Y/N) hurried through the corridor, through the room, and into the kitchen. She could see a drop of blood preparing to fall onto the floor she zoomed toward a clean bucket and dropped the meat into it. Her palms leaned on the counter for support, for some reason the smell of the fresh meat made her feel sick to her stomach.

She sharpened a knife and began trimming the meat on the counter. It wasn’t long after she heard Bakugo come stomping through the corridor and she leaned out of the door to see the muddy tracks behind him.

“Clean your shoes off next time, I swear you lived in a barn.” (Y/N) called out, her lips frowned at the sight of the freshly mopped floors being covered in brown muck. Bakugo paused, turning around to look at the mud he was dragging through the room before he smirked deviously.

“I was raised in a cave.” He said, continuing to stride toward (Y/N) with an evil glint in his eye and her frown turned down into a scowl. “What’s wrong, Tiny? You’re looking a little pissed off.”

(Y/N) sighed and shook her head, looking at the blood still wet on his body.

“Don’t take another step, clean off the blood. We have bathing pools for a reason, dipshit.” (Y/N) demanded, pointing her sharpened bloody knife toward him. Bakugo faltered for a moment, a dangerous frown forming on his face.

“I’m not fucking that filthy. I washed yesterday, just like you asked, remember?” Bakugo retorted, his arms crossing over his chest. (Y/N) hummed at his rather adorable expression and continued flaying the strips of white fat from the meat.

“You’re covered in blood, Katsuki Bakugo, and that means your washing.” (Y/N) said, her eyes glanced down where she was happy to see that her work was pretty much finished.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and grumbled his way back toward the corridor, she was pretty sure she heard a imitation of her own voice. She simply giggled and packaged the meat in parchment paper to save for stew later and dropped any dirty dishes in the sink-bucket.

He returned a few minutes later, dripping wet and clothes in his arms. Bakugo wasn’t wearing a thing and (Y/N) noticed right away, her face turning a lovely shade of rose red.

“Okay! That’s- No clothes- Your other shirts are in the dresser!” (Y/N) said, looking away from the spectacle of a naked Bakugo. She heard his footsteps approach her and felt strong arms wrap tightly around her waist, pulling her snugly against him.

“I’ll get changed later.” He muttered against her skin, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin of her neck. “Nothing happened while I was gone?” (Y/N) was frozen in her spot, the feeling of the water dampening in her back, and her face flushing with a beautiful color of red.

“N-Nothing, the den’s been quiet as ever.” (Y/N) answered, her voice stuttering at the beginning but she managed to focus on the cutting board in front of her. “No one’s touched your precious gold horde.”

Bakugo hummed, his chin resting on top of her head, and he snuggled his face into her hair. His hands wandered about her waist, his toned chest pressing against the small of her back.

“I wasn’t worried about the gold.” He muttered quietly, the growl at the end of his voice made (Y/N)’s arms explode in goose bumps. “You smell different, tiny. Did you use the milk soap you bought a while ago?”

She paused for a moment.

“No? My smell changed?” (Y/N) asked, she had never really gotten used to the draconic abilities of her husband. Bakugo nipped at her earlobe absentmindedly, he’d always held this animalistic quality that he brought everywhere in their relationship.

“Your cinnamon smell is just different, alright? It smells like milk mixed with cinnamon.” Bakugo said, his eyes watched her hands move rhythmically as she finished up ridding the meat of any fatty tissue.

“I still don’t know why you humans are so picky.” Bakugo scoffed, shaking his head as let go of her waist and walked out of the kitchen in order to hopefully put some pants on.

“The fatty parts make the meat chewy.” (Y/N) said honestly, her eyes glanced over to Bakugo’s form but she refused to look for long—the blazing warmth in her cheeks forcing her too.

The conversation continued for awhile, (Y/N) was busily hurrying around the kitchen and chopping vegetables for the stew. Bakugo was making himself useful and watching her whisking around the kitchen from his spot sitting on one of the counters.

The stew shimmered on top of the stone oven, the bread was baking in the rocky blazing insides happily. The smell permeated the air and the warm smell making (Y/N) sigh contentedly.

“Shitty hair and pink bitch want to come over for dinner, they want to taste human cooking.” Bakugo started, the subjects of his yapping changed like the wind—it could go from hating Midoriya, to how great he is, or how he caught the deer earlier.

“Of course, I said no-”

“Why don’t you invite them over? They haven’t been over since fall, the winter’s been tough on them.” (Y/N) said, stirring the stew in the pot and sprinkling in a few herbs and spices into the shimmering pot. Bakugo scoffed.

“Hell no! They’re messier than me. That shitty hair is really fucking annoying.” He retorted, his posture straightened to a stiff board, and he muttered quietly under his breath. “He’s always touching you.”

“What is it with you dragons? Always so overprotective of your ‘mates.’“ (Y/N) sighed, looking toward her husband who huffed and shoved himself off of the counter. His shimmering ruby eyes glaring darkly in her direction, stalking over to her.

“Mates are a big fucking deal, tiny, I’ve told you this before.” (Y/N) nodded her head, her lack of listening made Bakugo snatched her wrist and pulled her roughly against his body.

“Dragons mate forever. You are mine, forever, you fucking idiot.” He growled, her smaller body was pressed flush against his. (Y/N)’s eyes widened at his serious tone, he usually wasn’t this sentimental and she expected a scoff from him instead.

Her heart fluttered in het chest, a large smile crossing her features

“I understand, Katsuki.” (Y/N) simply said, embracing her husband close to her and enjoyed the peaceful moments that followed. Two years ago, she didn’t expect to find herself here and married to the dragon that had quite rudely crashed through her house—hurting himself in the process.

For months, she nursed him back to health and somehow managed to love him in that time. Now, there they are, two years later and married. If (Y/N)’s younger self had a conversation with older (Y/N), she was sure that younger her would call her insane.

“I love you, dragon boy.” She said softly, her hand running through his spikey blond hair. Bakugo huffed and he laughed cockily.

“Who doesn’t love me?” A swift jab to the ribs made him cough and he nipped at her neck in retaliation. “Heh, I love you, tiny human.”

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sabraeal · 3 years

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Desert & Reward, Chapter 12

The last of the Holiday Gifts, which won by one vote in the poll, nearly tying with The Most Perverse Creature in the World 🤣 With an early lead it pulled through to victory, and I’m quite pleased, since I had been waiting to do this chapter for a good long time...😈

[Read on AO3]

Obi faces the grand doors like he would his own gallows.

He lives on borrowed time; he cheated death that night in the barrel, the first of a hundred other close calls, a thousand other poor choices, at least a dozen times where he made his own bed and refused to lay in it. His hand reaches up, fingers digging into the aching muscle at his shoulder. By all accounts, Obi shouldn’t even be alive to stand at the altar, instead just another body in the gutter, a bloated unknown found down river.

Or a corpse rotting beneath a tree, in some godsforsaken forest, never to be found. Might have saved some people some heartache, if he did. A better man would regret it more. Obi just waits with the noose around his neck and longs for it to pull tight.

His Majesty shifts, just the barest lean toward his ear to be heard over the blaring of the horns. “A groom is supposed to look happy on his wedding day.”

His mouth schools into a smile as he turns to his king, too tight for his face. “Most men want to be married.”

One elegant brow lifts, saying without speaking, don’t be absurd. Obi can admit, it’s a weak tack to take with a man who married for queen and country, literally.

“I didn’t realize--” His Majesty’s drawl pulls each word to it most incredulous degree-- “that you objected to the institution.”

It’s hard to speak eloquently through grit teeth, but with a liege like this one, Obi’s got the feeling he’ll get used to it. “I didn’t say that.”

“A man in your position might choose to be grateful,” the kings suggests, in the sort of tone used for commands. “Not every man gets to marry the woman he loves. At least, for the first marriage.”

Obi stifles a sigh. “Is it too much to ask to have my wife love me back, too?”

There is a stillness in His Majesty that makes him turn, that makes him meet night-dark eyes. Once, Rugilia called the Seirans kissing cousins of the royal line-- a fact Obi had kept in his back pocket for months before springing it on Master-- but it seems less a joke now when he’s getting déjà vu of glares past. And it’s not just because beneath it he feels like an utter idiot. “I had not realized that making a week’s trip in three days implied reluctance.”

Every muscle in his body locks. “What did you--?”

An elbow stabs him, right where a well-placed blade might perforate a kidney. “Shut up.” Zen prods him again for good measure. He doesn’t even deign to turn his head, just keeps that prince-white smile aimed towards the crowd. “She’s coming.”

Obi nearly asks “who?”-- a bout of temporary idiocy he’d be hearing for as long as he lived if he managed to get it out-- but he’s saved by the thunderous swing of the doors, nearly drowning out the horns blaring in the choir. That’s right, he’s getting married. And now--

Now he’s about to so see his wife.

There’s a knot in his throat, a painful bit that makes each swallow like a stone going into a chicken’s crop. Still, he manages a hard gulp, so loud the whole room would have heard the thunk. That is, if the trumpets weren’t rolling hard into their trills. His gaze jostles up to the door, clumsy, like it’s being elbowed by every one it passes just to be the first to see--

Lata. Or rather, not just Lata, but the old man’s the only one he can bear to look at. He’s got a cape on now-- no, a cloak trailing down his back, more green velvet trimmed with the fur of some creature he’s probably call a weasel before people better bred than him rushed to say it was stoat or ermine or...beluga, whatever that is. It’s fancy, that’s what; fancier than anything he thought a curmudgeon like him would own. It’s certainly not practical, not with the way it trails on the floor; something only made for carpets, not cobbles.

He would have stared at Lata all day, if their eyes hadn’t met by chance, a solid stare over a hundred well-bred heads. The old man scowls, the deep, consternated sort that means Obi’s got a lecture in his future, probably about the way knights should shine their shoes or genuflect, whatever that is. But instead, his gaze pointed cuts toward his side, the one where his arm is held in its most courtly attitude as Miss--

Obi swallows, fire licking down his throat. As Miss stands, looking every inch a princess.

She takes a single step, and she scintillates, the gold lace of her gown glittering under the lights like a thousand candles. No, fireworks-- each spark lasts a blink before another takes its place; an ever-changing golden sky that remakes itself every breath. At least it would, if he could breathe.

He’s not alone in that. Master-- Zen gasps at his back, and-- and--

It shouldn’t be him standing here. In any world but this, the second prince would be at this altar, awaiting his radiant margravine, and he-- he would be where he belonged, outside with the rest of the rabble, watching from afar. Maybe it would have been better to suffocate from apples or a knife in the ribs; at least then he wouldn’t stand here, a body between them, an obstacle to the happiness they were meant to share.

It takes days for Miss to cross the aisle, or seconds. One minute it seems like she’ll never reach him, and then she does, smile so bright it puts her dress to shame.

Fondness is a watery shimmer in her eyes when she turns to Lata, brilliant even in her confusion. If Miss wanted Mukaze here, there’s not a bit of her that shows it; it’s all gratitude that shines out of her as she dips her head, the barest nod to the service the old man’s done her. That’s no surprise, at least; Miss always gives what she gets in spades.

What he doesn’t expect is to see the whole thing reflected back in Lata’s eyes. Confusion, gratitude, fondness-- if Obi thought him capable of tender emotions, he’d be tempted to say the professor looked moved.

Lata shifts on his feet; the sort of half-shy scuffling men his age do when they’d like to be seated already but can’t quite figure out the timing of it. Miss must think so as well; her fingers loosen around his elbow, smoothing the pleats they left in the velvet. But--

But the old man catches her, a hand clasped over the last touch of her fingers. Wide eyes blink up, catching both him and Obi in their question, but it’s Lata who answers, bending down to press a kiss to the smooth edge of her hairline. The way a father might.

A murmur flutters through the crowd, volume buoyed by their approval. It’s just the sort of story these nobles lap up: a secret birthright, a member of the peerage who saw their worth even through the common muck, a hasty happily ever after with an appropriately titled suitor. As hush-hush as His Majesty might like these nuptials, Obi would bet money that before the day was out, there’d be hand-carved plates in the paper, depicting the very moment Forzeno’s wayward heir gave away his ward.

Miss would complain-- she was Ryuu’s apprentice, not Lata’s, and she has never been anyone’s ward-- but for right now, her eyes close and finger clench, holding on as if he might disappear if she let go.

It lasts less than a breath. Lata steps away, as stern and unyielding as always, the only sign of anything more is the blush he’s left behind on Miss’s cheeks. It’s her who lets go first, the hand on his coat reaching out as she takes the first stair, hovering right in front of--

In front of him. Obi’s breath catches, trapped tight in the cage of his ribs, held hostage for whatever sense he had left. Her certainly can’t find a single scrap now, not when she’s so close, a temptation wrapped in lace, a hundred of those little pearl buttons chasing up the back of her dress, begging him to think of a similar number of ways to undo them.

The horns begin their final trill, the last hurrah before groom and bride stand before their king, and they make the best of it, blaring long and loud enough to rattle what’s left of the thoughts in his head. His hand is bare, not a scrap of cloth to protect him or his heart.

Grooms don’t wear gloves, Kiki had told him, plucking his from his grasp. Her smirk curled up on her lips like a cat on a cushion. No secrets in a marriage after all.

And Miss-- Miss never made a habit of anything but mittens. Not even those shiny silken evening gloves would tempt her, no matter how cold those Lilias soirees promised to be.

“Obi...” she breathes, the warmth of her fingers teasing his skin, an appetizer to the full course of her touch. When it finally comes, it’s not--

Not hers.

In his heart of hearts, Obi can admit: he never expected to get to the vows. The room’s packed wall to wall with people who can trace their bloodlines to kings and conquerors, and no matter how much pomp and circumstance His Majesty has covered this whole farce in-- Clarines is populated by persnickety peers, and it only takes one mouth to object. Obi can count five people alone that might do it, and that’s just in his wedding party.

But Lata wasn’t on that list.

“A moment,” the old man murmurs, his large, broad hand shoved between them. “There is something else.”

It better not be a grant proposal. Miss had complained at length in her letters about the three she’d written for him-- all out of the goodness of her heart, and not at all to do with the modifications she’d planned for the next generation of phostyrias seeds, oh no. If the flushed tide creeping up her neck is any indication, she’ll have a choice response for him if he thinks the at the altar is a good time to demand a fourth.

It’s Zen who reacts first, turning his body to shield their hands. “What do you mean by this?” he hisses harshly, every inch a prince. “This man is getting married.”

Lata turns to Clarines’ heir, long-suffering. Apparently not even the divine right of kings can ward off his scathing disappointment. “I am quite aware, Your Highness. I mean that there is another matter that must be settled before this all can continue.”

With more grace than Obi’s even given the professor credit for, he steps back, sweeping the cloak from his shoulders. “You’ll be needing this.”

Obi stares. “I’m not cold.” He glances at Miss. “Are you?”

Her head gives a small, anxious shake.

“That isn’t what it’s for.” Lata’s eyes roll towards the ceiling. “And Forzeno’s future rests in your hands.”

“It’s a wedding cloak,” Zen supplies helpfully, his fingers falling boneless by his side. “You’re supposed to wear it. And then, er, Shirayuki does.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen, meeting Miss’s over Lata’s firm grip. “Oh.”

“Perhaps you might consider,” Lata strains, hand giving a pointed waggle, “putting it on.”

Obi reaches out, but it’s His Majesty that takes it, long fingers curling around the soft border of fur. “My, my,” he hums, mouth curling with a sly sort of pleasure. “How traditional. Quite unexpected.”

With his reputation, those eyes of his should be ice, only the slightest hint of color, but instead they’re almost dark with blue, like the deepest part of the ocean, or the darkest part of night. “Should it not be you, Lord Lata, who puts it on?”

For once, it’s the professor who’s left squirming. “I would. But since I already walked her down the aisle...”

“Ah, I see.” His Majesty’s mouth twitches. “That would perhaps seem...gauche, to so quickly assume the position of both the groom’s and bride’s father.” He fixed him with a pointed glance. “Though it can’t be helped, in some circumstances.”

Lata grimaces. “As you say, Your Majesty.”

“Well then.” The king stares down at the cloak in his hands, thumbs rubbing over the collar. “As your liege, I suppose it falls to me--”

“No.” Zen meets his brother’s cool gaze, jaw set grimly. “He was my man. Is my man. It’s me.”

“Oh,” Obi hums, as his hands clasp over the collar. “Are you sure you’ll be able to reach?”

Zen spares him a glares. “You’re not that much taller.”

“If that is what you wish...” Izana’s fingers fall from the fur, coming to rest easy at his sides. “Far be it from me to stand between you.”

With a flick of his hands, Zen settles the cloak over his shoulders. It’s heavy; all that weasel makes it look airy, like a cloud, but with it yoked across him, he feels it: the responsibility that comes from bearing a name as old as Forzeno. No wonder that grouch ran all the way to Lilias to escape it; Obi can barely breathe.

“You need help?” He asks, watching Zen’s fingers fumble with the clasp. “Should I hold it or something?”

“Oh, shut up.” Zen casts a baleful glare up at him. “I know how to pin a cloak.”

“Really?” He composes his most innocent expression, wide eyes and all. “I thought princes have people for that.”

“Technically,” Izana interjects, before Zen can do much more than open his mouth. “So do marquis.”

His Majesty might have hit him if he wanted to knock the air out of him; it would have hurt less.

Zen squints and sighs over setting the pin, but the moment’s lost its shine. There’s no joke in this, no funny punchline where this all turns out all right. He’s getting married, and Miss--

Miss is waiting for him.

The cloak settles, and for one, ridiculous moment, Obi worries about whether it matches his costume. Kiki picked it out, but she hadn’t known there would be outerwear involved, and he--

He glances beside Miss, and there she is, brow raised. While they’ve all been muddling around up here, the rest of the procession has come out, taking their places with ease that spoke of a half dozen weddings. Everyone here knows their part today, except him.

With a steeling breath, he holds out his hand. Miss stares for only a second, and then it’s like dawn over the water, her smile making the golden gleam of her lace only an accessory.

She takes it, warmth engulfing his palm as she steps up beside him. For the first time since he stepped into the palace, it seems like things are finally going to work out right.

The feeling only lasts as long as it takes for Lata to cross to his right, stepping up the dais to stand on the stair above him. The place a father would, if he had one.

Miss’s smile fizzles to a befuddled frown. “What--?”

It’s His Majesty who saves him this time, clearing his throat to quiet the hall. “We have come here today to once more join Clarines and Tanbarun in the most joyous of unions, the one between a man and his bride.”

At the word bride, Miss’s mouth pulls thin, a quiet grunt of protest huffing from her lips. His Majesty only smiles beatifically in response, teeth and all. So it seems Lata wasn’t going to be the only traditional one today.

“I am sad to announce that Lady Shirayuki’s father is unable to stand for her--” on account of him being a man wanted by at least one crown-- “nor has any of her family been able to make it in his stead--” since they weren’t invited-- “and her king had not the time to send a proxy--” as the wedding he missed was supposed to be months ago-- “so it has fallen to us to provide her with another in their place.”

Miss’s gaze flickers to Lata, but Obi-- Obi is the first to see her father’s proxy stand, the blood draining straight from his face.

“Marquis Haruka,” His Majesty intones, the barest shade of amusement hiding behind the shadow of his station. “Will you accept the honor?”

“With pleasure,” he says, sounding as if he’s unacquainted with the feeling. “So long as the lady has no objection.”

“I...” Miss blinks, her mouth closing with a snick. “No. Please. The, um, honor is all mine. Your Grace.”

Much as he hates to give His Majesty credit, the king can spin a good yarn when the occasion demands. Obi hardly remembers any of what’s said-- just just nice, fluffy bits about countries and peoples joining, in the mixing of goals and land and other things nobles liked to think about when it came to putting money on a match. But nothing seems quite so important as standing upright, a thing that grows harder by the minute with the Marquis’ glare bearing down on him.

“Lord Obi.” His Majesty gazes down at him with lifted brows, amusement plain on his face from this little distance. “Do you take this bride into your house, to serve as her lord and master, to tend and be tended for the days to come.”

Miss lets out a grunt again, but he can’t look at her, not when it’s taking all his attention to say, “I do.”

He hasn’t been to many of these fancy marriages, just the few up in Lilias his men have invited him to, or the ones between scholars when Miss takes him, but he knows what to expect now: he does his bit, she does her bit, and then there’s-- there’s--

His Majesty’s voice interrupts the thought. “Then Clarines is happy to--”

There’s a bit missing in there. The one Miss does, but before...other things. A fact that hasn’t escaped her, by the way she’s glaring at His Majesty.

Ah right. Traditional. “Wait.”

The king of Clarines grinds to a stop mid-sentence, brows raised in question. By the look in his eyes, if he put it into words, it wouldn’t be nicely.

“Er, I mean...excuse me.” Obi coughs, rooting his feet to the dais to keep from shuffling. “I’d just like to hear if Lady Shirayuki takes me as well.”

Haruka, to no one’s surprise, frowns. “Your Majesty, that isn’t”-- traditional-- “necessary.”

“Of course it is. She’s my equal, isn’t she?” He finally dares to glances at Miss, grinning into her wide eyes. “Not like I’m marrying a commoner, right?”

The marquis advances his frown to a glower. “That is besides the point.”

“No, no.” The king’s gleeful gleam should bother him more, but he can’t make it, not when Miss looks at him with such hope in her eyes, such trust. “I find myself quite curious. Do you, Lady Shirayuki, take this man into your house, to be his lady and mistress, to tend and be tended for the days to come?”

She does not look away when she breathes, “I do.”

His Majesty nods. “If you would, Lord Lata.”

Lata steps down, releasing the pins at each of his shoulders. “This cloak,” he says, too serious, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “has been passed through Forzeno for decades. My mother wore this on her wedding day, and my grandmother before her. And now it passes to your wife, as much a shield for her as for every bride before.”

“Lata.” Miss reaches out, brushing the velvet of his sleeve. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No,” he tells her, quieter. “I’ve done it all exactly as I ought. Now put it on her and get on with it.”

The fur tickles his palms where he holds it, but he’s old hat at a move like this. With a swift flick of his hands, it settles over her shoulders, as neatly as any of his capes ever did. It’s too long for her-- Forzenos must take tall brides-- but with the gold of her dress, and the green of the cloak, she looks just as a lord’s wife should.

“The contract,” Izana announces, loud enough to make him jump, “may now be sealed.”

Obi sways on his feet. His wife.

It’s Miss’s grip on his tunic that keeps him upright. He stares down, first at her small hands, and then, when one of them lifts to cup his cheek, her eyes.

“Obi.” Her eyes are too warm to be looking at him like this. “It wouldn’t hurt...”

Right, this isn’t about-- about what’s right. They need to sell this. They are two lovers swept away, married before titles even arrived. He needs to kiss her.

But Zen stands at his back, no cloak to keep his glare from boring into him. He can’t, he can’t.

His hand covers her, so small where he grips it, and brings it to his lips. When he can bear to open his eyes, she’s staring right at him, almost...disappointed. But it’s gone in the next moment, her hand twisting around in his to bring it down to her lips.

“Stand witness!” Izana booms out behind them, jolting them apart. “Two houses have been joined.”

“Lord Obi Conti--”

Obi frowns, mind still muddled. “That’s not my name.”

“Ah yes, of course.” Izana’s mouth twitches in the barest smile. “Here stands Lady Shirayuki Forzeno, Margravine Entaepode, and Lord Obi Forzeno, Marquis Conti, joined in the bonds of joy and matrimony.”

It’s not until they turn, horns rising before them, that he realizes Miss is staring. “Obi Forzeno?”

“Ah, Miss...” He stifles a cringe. “I can explain...”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #desert and reward #ans #I have been trying to get to this part for AGES #i think the last 3-4 chapters have all ended with this scene #AND FINALLY IT IS HERE #i have another one i've been waiting on coming up in two chapters #and i am EXCITED #thought who knows when i'll actually get to it 🤣#at least 13 should be soon

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aidanchaser · 3 years

Text

Waterloo Station

Several folks said, “I would love to see more of Regulus and Sirius shenanigans!” after Chapter 18. Well, lo and behold, I actually have a deleted bit of Chapter 18 showcasing just that. The second draft was from Sirius’ perspective, but since Sirius lent his voice to In Memoriam, and we’re about to hit a short run of non-Harry chapters, I brought the chapter back to Harry in the third draft. (the first draft was an entirely different Harry chapter about breaking James out of prison, but that got pushed back in favor of some character development; we’ll get back to it, I promise.)

So here’s a short bit, taken out of my scraps. It’s headed with “MY DARLING” because it is one of several darlings I have killed while writing Deathly Hallows, but it’s the only one to earn the all-caps title. Thanks to the magic of fanfic, I can still share this darling with you. (the alternate title for this chapter should be: Sirius Accidentally Outs Himself as a Furry)

Padfoot hated the city. It was loud and there were so many people, each with their own scents and emotions. He supposed he should count himself lucky Harry had bled so much, or the trail would have been harder to follow.

He recognized the wizards on the platform easily. Their attire of slacks combined with hoodies or rain slickers paired with thick rubber work boots marked them easily as incompetently dressed Ministry employees. Sirius supposed they were keeping an eye open for someone stupid enough to come to the platform in search of Harry, someone just like him.

The platform had been scrubbed clean, but Padfoot could still detect Harry’s scent through the bleach. He didn’t board the train that pulled into the station, not yet. He waited, sniffing the entrance of the car carefully. He didn’t smell Harry or bleach. So he sat back and waited. A few Muggles scratched his ears as they passed or before boarding the train. Sirius let them without protest.

He had learned that Muggles, by and large, enjoyed dogs as long as those dogs were gentle, still, and quiet. And if he was anything else — too loud, too quick, or too threatening — they were eager to chase him out or worse, catch him. It was a lesson he had learned early in his life, long before he had become Padfoot; it was just an easier lesson to follow when he was Padfoot. Something about a thick coat of fur, the eyes and ears of a predator, and four paws to run with made him far more comfortable and settled in his own skin than being a young boy in the middle of a war ever had.

Another train pulled in, and this one, too, didn’t smell of Harry, but the third one did. He followed the Muggles into the carriage, and noticed a small black shadow slip in after him. It hid under the seat, and Sirius pointedly ignored it. He took a post at the door and waited, ready to check each stop this train made until he found Harry.

Regulus had tried desperately to talk him out of this, but Sirius had ignored him. Between him, Lily, and Remus, Sirius was the only one who could track down Harry, and if he didn’t, Lily and Remus would. Lily was far more likely to be recognized on the platform than Padfoot was, making Sirius not only the safest choice, but the most efficient choice, given Padfoot’s hunting instincts.

The first stop didn’t have even a whiff of Harry, but the second one did, though it was no longer paired with bleach. Sirius could only surmise that Harry had healed any open wounds before exiting the train and he felt both relieved and proud.

That relief vanished almost as soon as he stepped off of the train. This station was enormous. It wasn’t just another Underground station; it was the biggest train station in London. Crowds hurried past, chasing after trains. Others clustered around kiosks and maps. Sirius’ heart sank. Harry could have boarded a train to practically anywhere from here, even Paris.

The small black shadow slunk out of the carriage behind him and slipped into a tiny space beneath a nearby bin. Padfoot put his wet nose to the ground and followed Harry’s faint scent to a ticket station. From there it was difficult to determine where to go next. He thought he had a faint trail of Harry’s blood but it was unusual, mixed with something else.

“Pardon me, sir,” a nearby Muggle said, “but you need to have your dog on a lead at all times —”

“Oh,” a man looked down at Padfoot. “He’s not my dog.”

Sirius decided to follow the scent of Harry’s blood. It led him out of the station and away from the Underground service workers. The last thing he needed was for a well-meaning Muggle to try to help him find his owner. The few times it had happened in the past, he had always had James to bail it out.

Sirius shook off the stab of grief that came with the thought. It was always easier to shake off grief as Padfoot, as if the same abilities that heightened his physical senses dulled the sharper edges of his hurt. Besides, he reminded himself, there was nothing he could do for James right now, not until they were able to find whatever Death Eater prison he was being held in — and they had to believe he was being held. What Sirius could do was find Harry.

Though it had been less than twenty-four hours since Harry had passed through here, London had a way of making people invisible, of burying passersby in the scent of automobile smog and endless eateries. Sirius had to work hard to discern the scent of Harry’s blood through it all, but he managed to follow the trail south for less than a mile until it disappeared into a tall, brown-brick residential building.

Padfoot sat down on the pavement and evaluated his options. It would not be hard to sniff out Harry, if he truly was in this building, but a large dog was likely to be chased out of a private building. As Sirius, it wouldn’t be hard to charm his way into the building, but it might be harder to find Harry.

Padfoot barked softly at the bushes. The black cat that had been tailing him crawled out. He knew Regulus had no interest in helping him, and had only come along as emergency backup in case of a duel, but Padfoot gestured his head towards the building anyway.

The small, black cat stared at Padfoot, then back up at the building. Reluctantly, he slipped up the stairs and into the building on the heels of an unsuspecting resident.

Padfoot sniffed the stone retaining wall. Plenty of people had passed through here, but he didn’t smell Harry, not exactly. He definitely smelled the blood trail he had been following, but that wasn’t the same thing as Harry’s scent. He wondered if it was Greyback who had come through here, but Sirius was fairly certain that he would recognize Greyback’s scent if he came across it.

He wondered, briefly, if Regulus had been right when he had said that Sirius was better off staying with Remus and Lily, rather than hunting down Harry. The full moon was just two days away, and he knew Remus was nervous. Brewing the Wolfsbane Potion had been impossible this week. They had been moving too frequently to get together the ingredients, and they still hadn’t figured out where Remus was going to transform. Lily would need to be somewhere safe but on hand in case of emergency, and they couldn’t be anywhere too open that might put others at risk. Tonks had, kindly, suggested hers and her mother’s home, but that had only sent Remus into another downward spiral. Remus was wary enough of transforming around people he loved when he had the Wolfsbane Potion to keep his mind. He was never going to allow himself to lose control with Tonks so close at hand.

Sirius tried to shake his worries off. Remus was tomorrow’s problem. Harry was today’s.

Regulus returned from his investigation surprisingly quickly. He hurried across the street and over a low wall, into some plants. When he stepped out as himself, Sirius reluctantly followed and also used the wall as cover to return to his human form.

“What did you find?” Sirius asked.

Regulus smoothed the front of his cloak. “Harry isn’t there.”

“I know.”

“Then why did we come here?”

Sirius swung his legs over the wall. “Because someone here has information about Harry. Did you follow the blood trail?”

“It’s going to be a dead end.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t use that word.”

“The trail is cold, Sirius. We have no way to know where Harry has gone.”

“Give me a flat number and I’ll go myself.”

Regulus hesitated, but Sirius knew he would give in. They were stubborn, the both of them, but Regulus had never built up the tolerance for conflict that Sirius had. Sirius could thrive in the center of chaos; he’d had to in order to survive. Regulus, however, invested too much effort in fighting chaos. It was always going to be a losing battle.

Regulus crossed the street, back to the building. He pointed his wand at the lock, but it didn’t budge.

Sirius looked over Regulus’ shoulder. “Oh, it’s one of those keypads? Alohomora is no good.” He dug his own wand out and aimed a hot white spark. It fizzed and sputtered and then the lock clicked.

Regulus pulled the door open. “Did you break it?”

Sirius shrugged. “They malfunction all the time. Keeps the Muggle maintenance men employed.”

Regulus led Sirius upstairs to the top floor and gestured at a door near the stairwell. “The trail leads here. But I didn’t see, hear, or smell anything to indicate that Harry might be here. I can’t imagine Harry would have stayed in London.”

“No, but if whoever lives here had Harry’s blood on them, they might be able to tell us something.”

“And if that person is a Death Eater?”

“Then I guess we’ll duel them.” Sirius knocked on the door.

“We aren’t even going to try to disguise ourselves?” Regulus hissed at him, but Sirius couldn’t answer, because the door opened.

The gentleman in the doorway wore a fine Muggle suit. His skin was dark and he had a neatly trimmed beard and shaved head. He looked about Sirius’ age, and was about as tall, though definitely rounder in both face and build.

He looked over the two of them and raised a thick eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Sirius held out his hand. “I hope so. My name’s Sirius.”

“Nigel Brooks,” he said, and shook Sirius’ hand warily. His eyes drifted over Sirius’ shoulder to Regulus, but Sirius had a feeling Regulus would not be keen on an introduction.

Sirius reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph. “We’re trying to find someone, and we think you might have run into him.” The picture of Harry was from Remus’ wedding. He had folded it over so that Ron and Hermione were hidden, along with most of the movement in the picture. Harry still blinked and his smile moved slightly, but Sirius hoped the Muggle would just think it a trick of the light.

Brooks took the photo to examine it more closely, then shrugged. “Might’ve seen him around.” He looked Sirius and Regulus over again. “You don’t look like police.”

Sirius glanced down at his worn jeans and leather jacket. “Hardly,” he said. “I’m his godfather. His mother’s awfully worried. We’re just trying to get some information.”

Brooks returned the photograph. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Best of luck, though.”

He started to close the door, but Sirius wedged his foot in the door. “We know you saw him, and at the very least, got his blood on you. We’re just trying to find out where he might have gone. There are dangerous people after him.”

Nigel straightened, and Sirius recognized a familiar determination in his dark eyes. “If what you say is true, and if I really did run into a young man, injured and running for his life, then what makes you think I would tell the first strangers who knocked on my door anything about him?”

“We’re his family.”

“Family can’t be dangerous?” Brook’s voice was cold, and Sirius, while he appreciated the man’s desire to protect Harry, felt outmatched. He didn’t feel outmatched very often.

“His name is Harry,” Regulus said, “and all we want is to know that he’s alive. You don’t have to tell us where he went, just tell us that he’s safe.”

Brooks stared at Regulus for a moment, then opened the door so it was no longer pressing on Sirius’ foot. “He’s alive, as far as I know. There was a lot of blood, but his injuries weren’t as bad as they looked. I thought whoever was chasing him had torn his wrist open, but when he showed it to me, there wasn’t even a scratch. He refused to go to hospital, just said he wanted out of the city, so I put him on a train. That’s the last I saw of him.”

“Has anyone else come asking for him?”

“No. You’re the first.”

“Thank you for your help.” Regulus inclined his head. “Sirius, we’re done here.”

Sirius did not think they were done. He wanted to know exactly which train Harry had gotten on. But Regulus was already leaving.

“Reg — wait —” But Regulus did not wait. Sirius eyed Brooks, but he supposed Regulus was right. They weren’t going to get anything more out of this man.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Sirius —” Brooks hesitated, and Sirius waited, hopeful.

But Brooks gave them neither a train nor destination. Instead, he handed Sirius a small business card. “If you find him, I’d like to know he’s alright.”

Sirius looked down at the plain white card. It had the man’s name printed on it and the contact information for an art gallery.

“I’d find him faster if you’d tell me more.”

“He told me he was going to find his aunt and uncle,” Brooks said. “If you’re really his family, it shouldn’t be hard for you to track them down.” And he closed the door.

Sirius walked away, more confused than when they had arrived. He met Regulus at the bottom of the stairs.

“Did he tell you anything?” Regulus asked.

Sirius handed Regulus the business card. “He said Harry went to stay with an aunt and uncle. Do you think he meant Tonks and Remus?”

“I suppose that would be a simple way to explain their relationship to a stranger. Why would Harry go to Remus?”

“Maybe a fight with Greyback scared some sense in him.” Sirius found himself hoping it was true rather than believing it was true. Harry had been pushing them away all summer, and Sirius thought one duel unlikely to have changed Harry’s mind. Harry had his mother’s stubbornness, after all.

Regulus handed the card back to Sirius. “I suppose there’s nothing else to do. We’ll just have to trust this man Brooks’ word that Harry is safe.”

“We’re hardly done.” Sirius was already walking back to the station at a brisk pace. “Now we show Harry’s photograph on the platforms. We start with the line headed for Tonks, and pray he didn't actually board a train to Paris.”

An unusual anger sparked in Regulus’ cold gaze as he hurried after Sirius. Not that Regulus never got angry, but he usually tempered it so well. “Harry is wanted by some of the most dangerous people in the world and you think it's a good idea to flash his picture around to every blasted Muggle in London — you’re also wanted by those same people! You can't just spend a day on a platform where they're surely to be looking for Harry — it’s absurd!”

Regulus' general frown of displeasure twitched with his outburst. His nose scrunched the tiniest bit and his already thin lips seemed to disappear. He looked so much like Narcissa. Sirius looked away, wishing his brother could wear someone else’s face. He wished, more often than not, that he could wear someone else’s face, too. Perhaps that was just another reason it was so much easier to be Padfoot.

“We’ll wear disguises.” Sirius surprised himself with the “we.” He had never wanted Regulus to come along on this hunt in the first place, but suddenly he was not keen on Regulus leaving him to it alone. “Hell we could even pretend to be Hit Wizards, deputised with hunting Harry down, if any wizards question us.”

“But the Muggles, Sirius! You’ll have to Obliviate every single one of them that you talk to, or else the Death Eaters or Hit Wizards or Muggle-born Registration Commision or Snatchers or any other group of wizards that want you and I dead could interrogate them and track it back to us — or worse back to Harry.”

“That will take us forever —”

“Why can't you just let Harry go? You know he got away from Greyback. Brooks put him on a train, helped him, made sure he wasn’t injured, so he must be safe somewhere. Isn’t that enough?”

“No. Not for me, and not for Lily nor Remus.” It wouldn’t be enough for James, either.

“You can't protect him from everything, Sirius. He’s seventeen now, and whatever Dumbledore’s asked of him —”

Anger flared hot and bright in Sirius' chest as he whirled on Regulus, and there was no Padfoot to soften the edges as he snarled Regulus words back at him. “‘Whatever Dumbledore’s asked of him’? Harry’s told us you're in on it so don't give me that hippogriff shit acting like you don't know. Like you're not keeping all the same secrets from us as Harry is. Like this is somehow less your fault, just because you slink away from arguments whenever you damn well please.”

Regulus’ temper faded from his face, replaced with an unusual, stricken expression that Sirius was not sure he had ever seen on his brother. Blacks felt many things, and usually felt them strongly, but fear? That wasn't something Sirius had seen in any of his cousins before, nor his brother.

But to Regulus’ credit, he did not transform into a cat and run away. He carefully schooled his expression back into its traditional calm and proud with a dash of disdainful form.

“I’ll help you find Harry,” he finally said in a quiet, almost apologetic voice. “But we Transfigure our disguises, no Polyjuice. It's too unreliable. And we Obliviate every Muggle we meet — don’t argue with me on this, Sirius! Yes, it will take longer, but it will keep Harry safer, and I trust that wherever he has run off to, he is indeed safe. We would have heard otherwise if he wasn't.”

Sirius took in several deep breaths to make sure his anger was cooled, at least enough that it would not attract the attention of those passing by them on the pavement, before speaking again. “Fine. Let’s do what we can today. And I want to put a word in the paper to Tonks, just in case he really did mean that he was on his way to her and Remus.”

“The paper? Sirius —”

“Not the Prophet. I’m not an idiot. Tonks, Remus, and I have a code we use for personals in the Times. Her idea. Said her dad used to use it in the first war to communicate with some of his Muggle-born friends, at first just after he and Andromeda eloped and had gone to ground to avoid her family, then as part of the war effort.”

Regulus shook his head. “It’s still risky —”

“It’s a war. There’s risk. Accept it and move on. The longer you whine about it, the longer nothing gets done.”

Regulus studied Sirius, and Sirius did not care for the intent look on Regulus’ face, almost like Regulus was trying to peer directly into his thoughts. It reminded him too much of their mother, trying to parse just how much trouble Sirius was in, just how much damage he had done.

But Regulus did not scold Sirius, nor criticise him. “I’m sorry,” he said instead. “You're right.”

Had Sirius been in a slightly better mood, he might have had a joke ready, made Regulus repeat his apology. As it stood, Sirius had trouble accepting it at all. Perhaps it was no real wonder he and Regulus had grown so far apart. Even when one reached out, the other couldn't bother to reach back.

He zipped up his jacket, suddenly cold, though it was only the middle of the afternoon, and kicked his boots against a nearby wall. It didn't lessen his frustration.

And after a full day walking up and down train platforms, talking to and Obliviating every Muggle they met, Sirius was no less frustrated. The task ahead of them was enormous, and with each passing day that left them with no leads, it seemed more and more futile.

But there was nothing else to do. Lily and Remus did their part connecting with the Order, hunting down rumors of sightings of Harry, while Regulus and Sirius plodded on through Muggle after Muggle and Memory Charm after Memory Charm.

It was two full moons more before, finally, a Muggle woman frowned as she looked at the photo.

“I think… Goodness it’s been a while, but I think I did see him. Or I saw a boy who looked like him. Had red hair. I thought it odd with his complexion, but it was a dark sort of red, I suppose. The glasses… I can’t remember if he was wearing them or not. He was a twitchy lad, though, rather unhappy face. Is he in some sort of trouble?”

“No,” Sirius said, though it was not exactly true. He spoke quickly, anxious to get every detail out of this woman. “I’m his godfather, just trying to track him down. Can you tell me where he went?”

She pursed her lips. “I think… it must have been the rail line that goes out to Portsmouth — yes, I was visiting my sister that day, and I remember he had a large pack. I thought he must be on his way home from a walking tour.”

Sirius could not fathom what might have attracted Harry to Portsmouth. He wondered if it had something to do with Dumbledore. Maybe Regulus would know, but Regulus said nothing, mere stood at Sirius’ side, waiting to Obliviate this poor woman as soon as she was done talking.

“Do you know where he got off the train?” Sirius asked.

She frowned and handed the photograph back to Sirius. “I don’t know… he tripped over my bag on his way out. I felt awful. It… oh! It was Guildford. Yes, I remember, because —”

“Thank you so much for your time,” Regulus interrupted. Then, her eyes glassed over. She blinked at Sirius and Regulus, slowly, uncertain.

“Er — can I help you?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” Sirius grunted, and as soon as she was gone, he whirled on Regulus. “She might have had more information!”

“We needed to know where Harry had gone. Now we know. What else could she have told us? It’s not as if she followed him off the train. Besides, Sirius, she saw Harry over a month ago. There’s no way Harry’s still in Guildford, no reason he would stay in one place for so long.”

“Are you sure?” Sirius lowered his voice and tried to keep the threatening tone out of it, but he found it difficult. “You don’t know of anything in Guildford that might keep him there? Nothing to do with Dumbledore or You-Know-Who?”

Regulus’ stare was even, but that didn’t tell Sirius much. “Nothing. And if you can’t think of anything that would keep him there, then all we can do is go down there and see if some other Muggle happens to remember him passing through months ago — there’s just no sense in it. We know he got away safely. Let that be enough.”

Sirius was no longer listening to Regulus. He had plucked a map from a kiosk and was staring at Guildford on the network of spider web lines spiraling out from Waterloo Station, trying to make sense of why it had appealed to Harry.

“I’m an idiot,” he finally said.

“That’s nothing new,” Regulus said.

“Brooks told us where he was going from the beginning and I was too stupid to understand.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He was going to see his aunt and uncle, is what Brooks said. Not Tonks and Remus — his mum’s sister. Her Muggle family.”

“Does Harry even know them?”

“He knows they’re in hiding, and he knows their house will be empty — bloody hell I can’t believe I’m that thick.” Sirius balled the map up in his fist.

“Should we tell Lily and Remus —”

“Let’s make sure he’s there before we get their hopes up.” Sirius fought down another grunt of frustration. He had not felt this stupid in a long time, but how was he supposed to connect Harry to Petunia and Vernon, whom Harry had met perhaps twice in his life? He did not even wait to slip away to a hidden corner of the platform to Disapparate. He turned on the spot, in the midst of a crowd of Muggles, ignoring all of Regulus’ protests, and disappeared with a crack.

#sirius black #regulus black #hp everyone lives #hp everyone lives au #everyone lives au #hp fic #one shot

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 79: The Rites of Blood and Knowledge

Chapters: 79/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13(Blood)

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),Thor(Marvel) Wanda Maximoff, vision, Bruce Banner

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, In Reference To Blood Mixing Mentioned In The Eddas

Summary: The great ceremonies begin.

The dreams were powerful that night, whisking you off to far away places, off to the increasingly familiar form of the gargantuan space artist. There was a strange nostalgia out here that you were slowly coming to recognize as being not your own. How could it be? You had never physically been here, only visited in dreams.

With green and blue sparkling at your right and left, you drifted along in their orbit, yet another asteroid in a primordial star system.

First Wielder.

The concept filtered through your mind, trailing a warm and wistful longing behind it.

Peace. Eternity. Creation.

Before battle. Before separation. Before imprisonment.

Before all.

The star system was strange: every time you came here, the sun was a little different. A variable star, its brightness oscillating, it was still young and new.

There was only one planet in this system, located fairly close to the star. The presence of the colossal giant perturbed the asteroids and gas around the star, but their great mass prevented them from coalescing.

Comets formed in great numbers from the gas and ice beyond them, whizzing past them, inspiring new drawings. Asteroids clumped up against them; a brush of their great hand sent them flying, to collide into one another, to spin away from their unstable orbit, and join the comets on their cross-system journey, to crash into the singular planet.

The colossus watched with the patience of true immortality, as the planet burned and erupted, filled up with water, and clouds, and sky.

Thoughtfully, they regarded an asteroid they held in one hand, then, with their color-stained fingers, they began to draw.

The wistfulness and regret reached their peak, and you woke up in the empty bathtub, with a thought ringing in your head.

The Wielders always came to a bad end.

******

Loki was somewhat disgruntled to discover that you'd been having these dreams without him. He didn't scold, but his concern was clear. You described them in as much detail as you could, but, to your dismay, he didn't have any explanation for what you'd been seeing while you slept.

It would just have to remain a mystery. The upcoming day was going to be far too busy to dwell on it.

Both you and Loki had dressed in your absolute finest, your armor polished bright, your skirt covered in embroidery, your chest and neck festooned in beads of carved gold and pearl. You still felt a little bit like you were so buried in finery that you became invisible, but you tried to carry it with pride. All of this had been put together especially for you, and that hard work deserved to be shown off.

Loki was so magnificent in his fur-trimmed cloak, and elaborate helmet, you had to firmly tell yourself not to spend the whole day just staring at him all moon-eyed.

Maybe just a few hours.

Today, the Second Feast, was really the main event, as far as this Buridag was concerned. At noon, you would participate in the Blood Taking ceremony, wherin you would 'mingle blood' with the royal brothers, in order to be formally adopted into Asgardian high society. This would cement your status as high enough to advise Loki as one of the most important members of his personal entourage. And before the evening feast, you would perform the ritual that would confirm you as an official Seidkona.

But before that, you would have the time to run around and enjoy the festival.

It was set up like a combination job fair and reenactment fest. Stalls lined the streets and filled courtyards, peopled by the crafters of Asgard. Smiths, armorers, and carpenters, goldsmiths, lapidaries, scrimshanders, and glassblowers. Weavers, spinners, leatherworkers, and dyemakers, artists, musicians, chefs, academics, mages, stonemasons, construction workers, scribes, dancers, and cheesemongers. All the sights, and sounds, and scents, and flavors that made up Asgard were being demonstrated and celebrated.

Your Father and Tara joined you in the streets, and Loki reluctantly released you into their care, having some preparation left to do.

Tara, flouncing around in an apron dress and domed brooches very much like your usual style, gushed over how beautiful you looked, and your father, rather sheepishly dressed in an Asgardian greatcoat and cowl, agreed openly.

“You look like a princess.” he said. “A real one. You...You walk different now. Talk different. You look so strong.”

“Is it me, or are all these people following us?” Tara asked, not very quietly. A few chagrined people in the crowd that flowed in your wake down the street peeled away, and wandered in different directions. The rest either had less shame, or had orders to keep watch over you.

You spared the group a glance. There appeared to be a solid mix of Asgardians and humans, several of which had their phones out. You surmised there would be a new wave of photos of you on the internet over the next few days.

“Keep your cowl up dad.” You advised.

“Want me to run them off?” he offered.

“Nah. I don't really mind if they take pictures of me. Can't really hurt anything.”

“Wasn't so great last time.” Tara pointed out. “I spent a lot of time stanning for you.”

“Well, last time was sensationalized bullcrap. This time is a nice festival. I mean, check out that guy!”

That Guy was a glassblower in his stall, spinning a huge, bubble thin amphora of rose pink glass. You had seen its like before, but never seen one made.

“Oh, they age crystal mead in those! The pink lets in the right wavelengths of light that give it it's shimmering quality.”

“What's crystal mead?” your father asked.

“Don't try more than a few sips, if anyone offers.” you warned. “Asgardians have iron guts. Their booze is way too strong.”

“Yeah, they warned us about that on the plane.” Tara said. “And yesterday, it looked like they had everything divided up by species, so no one got the wrong thing.”

You took them around to various demonstrations: spinners spinning yarn, brewers preparing several of Asgards many alcoholic beverages, apothecaries showing how basic medicines were made, a cobbler putting together a nice pair of boots.

“So, Asgard's really advanced, right?” Tara asked. “Why is everything like Ye Olden Times?”

“Asgard's never had that big a population, even at it height. There just isn't that much demand for mass production. Most things are bespoke, or self-made. Quality depends entirely on the maker, so that, of course, becomes a competition. And that, in turn, becomes a matter of cultural pride. Also, they have thousands of years to get good at what they do, so Asgardian made goods are super high quality, and they judge personal worth by that. I don't think they'll ever automate; it would go against a lot of what they stand for.”

You snagged the three of you a traditional Asgardian snack; fat sausages, wrapped in savory pastry. You thought it might be good to have something else in your stomach before the first ceremony.

Tara called them Asgardian corn dogs, which you couldn't wait to share with Loki, if only to watch his nose wrinkle with disdain over the undignified term.

“So when do we have to let you go?” Tara asked.

You checked your phone for the time, stuffing the last of your sausage into your mouth.

“Eh, I've got a few minutes left. Better start heading over though.”

Your winding path through the courtyards took you past minstrels, impromptu dances, and games, to a large, tall dais that had been put together as a temporary mirror to the throne room. It towered over the City Hall courtyard like a ziggurat. You'd be up there soon enough, but currently...

“Who's that?” your father asked, pointing at a man standing at the top. “Doesn't look like Thor.”

You squinted up at the figure, his bright armor shining in the rarefied sunlight.

“Ah, That's Heimdall. He's the Guardian of Asgard, and god of...uh, sight? I think? Vigilance? It's not quite that neat and simple, you know? The whole 'God Of' thing is a bit more complicated than that.”

“So that's a god?” your father asked. “How can you tell? Are they all gods? What does that even mean?”

“All good questions. Mostly because they are very hard to answer.”

Your father and Tara jerked at the sudden new voice, and, not for the first time, you found yourself amazed at how easily a man of the sheer size and importance as the king of Asgard could sneak up on people.

“Your Majesty.” you said calmly, inclining your head. Your father and Tara dipped into awkward bows, a little awed by the mythical figure before them. Thor didn't necessarily demand obeisance, but he didn't exactly discourage it either; he let people act as they felt appropriate.

“Not every Asgardian is a god.” Thor explained. “Those that are go by the term 'Aesir', a common name through most of the realms for beings of that type. You are born Aesir; you cannot become one by outside influences. However, Aesir nature doesn't always become apparent at birth, it often doesn't manifest until adolescence. As for what it means to be Aesir...that doesn't have so straightforward an answer. I leave it to the philosophers, who, incidentally, are in booth seventy-eight.

Anyway, I have come to collect your daughter for the ceremony. There isn't much time left, so we'd all better get in place. If you go through those two poles there right now, you can get very good seats.”

“This could get a bit weird.” You warned. “It's a ceremony more ancient than any recorded human practices, so it's probably going to seem archaic.”

“Oh, it's not so bad.” Thor said. “It's been updated and refined over all those years. For instance, everyone remains clothed now, and there are at least seventy percent fewer entrails used.”

Your father coughed, and you rolled your eyes. Thor's sense of humor was difficult for you to understand, considering how serious he was about everything. The thing about Thor's jokes was that he might have been joking about something that had really happened, or he might have been joking about something he'd completely made up, but he would never specify which.

“On that note, I've got to go.” you said. “Entrails to sort, and all that.”

Your father coughed again, Tara patting him compassionately on the back.

“Good luck!” she called to your receding back.

******

“Now, you've been fully briefed on what will happen during this ceremony, correct?” Thor asked, as the two of you loitered near the back stairs of the temporary dais. People were filtering in to seats and standing room around the courtyard, waiting for things to start.

“I think so.” you said. “If I've got this right, there's going to be a special dance-”

“The Alignment of the Celestial and Worldly bodies, yes.” Thor said. “It symbolizes everything that must come together to bring the 'adoptee' to the greater 'family'. In this case, it will tell the story of how you came here to join our family.”

A soft warmth crept up your neck, and heated your ears beneath your helmet. You knew it was all socio-symbolism, but the notion of 'joining the family' hit differently now that you were on intimate terms with Loki.

“And then all the braziers will have some kind of incense thrown in, and in the smoke, we'll all go up the stairs like we're magically appearing. Honestly, it sounds like it'll look really cool.”

“All ceremonies contain a bit of theatrics.” Thor agreed. “Perhaps that is the most important part. Or that's the part that makes it important. I wish we still had some of the traditional ceremonial incense, but we just don't have access to the materials anymore. You would have liked it; it was much more floral than most of what you have here. We did manage to get some lavender though. That should be nice.”

“Maybe one day, when the Bifrost is more stable.” You said. It did sound very nice. “Loki said that you, and he, and Heimdall will sing a blessing song?”

“Yes, a divine blessing from a trio of Aesir. It's got to be three. And then...”

“Yeah. And then.” Loki had told you about the bloodletting. He had been very frank about it. “I know. I'm nervous, but not afraid.”

Thor nodded. “Sometimes there are unforeseen effects, but never anything bad. You'll be perfectly safe.”

“I know. The nervousness just comes from knowing it'll hurt. Even if just for a short time.”

You buckled under Thor's hand when it came down on your shoulder, enveloping the whole thing.

“Loki would rather slice out his own guts than draw your blood, trust me. He's been trying to figure out how to get around it for weeks. Unfortunately, the blood is the most important part of the magic. It carries all of the power. It's very old magic: according to him, this is practically the only part of the ritual that has remained unchanged from the beginning.”

“Did there really used to be entrails and naked people, or was that a joke?”

“Ehhh, well, yes and no. This ceremony originated with the Vanir, and they are not opposed to nakedness under certain circumstances. In this case, everyone who attended was expected to leave the clothes they came in at the door, and wear a special loincloth instead. This was actually to prevent violence, by barring hidden weaponry from being brought to ceremony grounds. So rather than pure nudity, everyone was dressed as scantily as was possible.

As for entrails...unfortunately yes, that was also a part of it. A seer would perform a divination using the entrails of a slaughtered animal. That practice was going out of fashion, even before the war, and I don't think anyone today even remembers how it was done.”

You shuddered. Yes, it was a different culture, and a long time ago, but it still grossed you out.

“I'll have to remember to thank Loki for trying to get me out of it, even if he wasn't successful.” You said. He really did put in a lot of effort behind the scenes. If only he were more open about some of that effort, so you could appreciate it more.

“He was adamant about the bull.” Thor said. “Demanded a private ritual the night before. Put your helmet up on the pillar, then sacrificed and butchered the beast himself. Insisted on it. Did our ancestors proud, but you know he knows his way around a knife.”

“I wish he'd told me. I was really stressed about that whole thing. I'm glad, in the end, that he was thinking of me, but I really wish I'd known. I wouldn't have lost so much sleep!”

“It was a little last minute.” Thor admitted. “I approved it the instant he explained, but we had to do it pretty much immediately afterwards. He really should have told you, but I fear my brother is usually more invested in the making of plans, rather than what to do once they come to fruition. I feel you will be a positive influence on him, though.”

Even though he was wearing his eyepatch, rather than the mismatched prosthetic, his one blue eye was open and sincere.

“I think so too.” you said. You already were influencing each other. It was impossible to live so close, to sleep in the same bed, without doing so. But Loki did have a bad habit of assuming things, a by-product of his upbringing as a leader, you supposed. You would simply have to speak up more.

Perhaps you had gotten too comfortable. But perhaps you wanted to be too comfortable. It might be a holdover from your year of struggle, but having someone who wanted to do so much for you was very tempting. You knew it would be better to strive for a balance, but you also knew that, unless Loki somehow diminished himself severely, the two of you would never truly be equals.

But you admired that greatness, and somehow, those all too common flaws in him made him easier for you to love. They made him so real.

An ambling drum beat started up, accompanied by the brassy ting of zills, and a flute. Loki joined you and Thor in peeking out around the dais, just as a group of dancers spread out around the courtyard.

You'd been told that the dancers represented personages from history and legend. You were pretty sure that the three women who orbited the dance stage equidistant from one another must be the Norns, and you assumed the cluster of people standing beneath a glittering tree branch and clanging their zills were probably meant to be the ancestors of the royal family.

The dance told a story of a woman dressed like you, and a man dressed like Loki, wearing silver bells at their wrists and ankles that jingled with every step. They made everything look so much more graceful and sensual than it really had been: Holding hands like the rune branding had been on purpose, dancing circles with each other, like everything had been friendly and not at all awkward from the very beginning. How elegantly 'you' swooned into 'his' arms, while the assassin was caught. How triumphantly 'you' defended 'him' against the Huldra. And how beautifully 'he' clasped 'you' in a romantic, yet properly chaste embrace.

There was none of the blood, none of the fear, or anger, or petulance, or confusion. No loss, or loneliness, or uncertainty.

But that was how it worked, wasn't it? None of those things could be shown to the general public. This was ceremony. This was spectacle! This was what would be remembered.

The pair danced away, out of sight, the ancestors retreated, and the Norns raised their arms in unison. All around the courtyard, attendants dumped incense into the torches and braziers, sending thick smoke and mysterious perfume wafting over the entire area.

“Show's on, darling.” Loki said, grasping your shoulders, and leading you up the stairs. A new wave of anxiety washed over you as you rose above the sweet smelling clouds like a legend. Heimdall stepped aside to let you pass, Loki and Thor leading you right up to the edge of the elevated platform, where waited a podium, upon which rested a brass bowl. An unfamiliar rune was stamped on its bottom. So that was where the magic would happen.

Thor held his hand out over an unlit brazier just in front of the podium and concentrated. Scarcely a moment later sparks danced between his fingers and jumped to ignite the fuel. The light illuminated the clouds of incense, obscuring the audience. Cut off thus from every other person out there, you didn't flinch as the trio of gods each placed a hand on you, and began to sing.

You couldn't help but wonder if they had done this before. It was a complex song, with rising and falling harmonies, parts layered over one another, something that couldn't have been easy to learn. As their voices dipped and flowed, you felt the power rising, just like out in the camp, months ago. Why could you sense divine power? Was it because of your magic? Was there anyone out in the crowd that could feel it too?

Thor's good eye had begun to sparkle with crackling white energy, the power of the blessing he was singing into you. You assumed Heimdall, behind you, was lighting up orange, and when you turned your head to glance at Loki, you were suffused with the gentle glow of the blue light from your dreams.

All of the anxiety drained out of you at the touch of that light, your arms dropping to your sides as relaxation took over.

Everything was all right. Loki was right beside you. Thor and Heimdall were with you, their voices reverberating through you, their blessing upon you. The rare winter sun filtered down over you like a blanket, as the last notes of the Aesir's song filled your head.

Loki gently took your hand, gazing earnestly into your face as the calming light faded from his eyes.

“Forgive me, my love.” he whispered.

A sudden, painful jab, ripped you out of your cocoon of sunny calm. With a sharp cry, you turned to stare at your fingertip, pierced deeply by the tip of one of Loki's knives.

Loki held your hand over the brass bowl, letting the blood drip, enough to cover the rune at the bottom. Then he tenderly bandaged the tiny wound, lines of regret around his eyes. Thor held his hand out for a slash, and then Loki turned the blade on himself. Blood slowly filled the little bowl, as a light throbbing started in your head. Every drop that rippled its surface was like a giant heartbeat within you.

Once it was full, Thor and Loki began singing again, lifting the small bowl between them. They held it up to the sun, and then poured it onto the burning brazier. The fire sputtered, sizzling, sending a huge cloud of smoke directly into your face. You gagged on the scent of burning blood, practically bathed in it, a layer of death-scent on your skin. The song cut through it, thrumming in your ears, an echoing promise of cherishment and fidelity.

The blood burned down into nothing, the smoke slowly clearing. All of the people in the courtyard came back into view, the upturned faces solemn. The dancers below picked up the chorus.

And you understood them.

Loki took your hand and lifted it up, flourishing to the crowd. They cheered, while you stood there, stunned. You understood what they were saying, their enthusiastic calls, their songs. The blood smell lingered in your nose, the throbbing swiftly receding from your head.

He led you to the stairs down as you wobbled, but you never made it all the way down. Dizziness overcame you, and you collapsed into Loki's arms.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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