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phoward89 · 12 days

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Based on this ask

Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x Nurse!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is in himself his own warning. Obsession, stalking, slight self-harm, cussing, manipulation, allusions to murder - getting rid of a body, allusions to panic attacks, allusions to anxiety attacks, allusions to mental breakdown, obsessed!Coriolanus

After ‘taking care of’ his once lover, Lucy Gray, and dumping the guns in the lake- to sink to the bottom and never be seen again, Coriolanus returned to base. He looked like shit whenever he entered the clinic, seeking treatment for the snakebite to his inner forearm. A snakebite that he's convinced himself is poisonous; is slowly killing him.

You just happen to be on duty that day, so the Matron of Base D-12’s clinic (who's in charge of the Nursing Core and Medic Unit), sent you to take care of Private Coriolanus Snow. She even went on to tell you how it was such an honor to tend to him since he was the son of the legendary Capitol war hero General Crassus Snow: the fallen Commander of 12.

You honestly didn't give a fuck who's son he was. In fact, your father Colonel Javani Halvir served underneath General Crassus Snow until his untimely death at the hands of rebels in the woods outside of 12. Like who cares who his daddy is. Your Colonel dad made you sign up for the nursing core after you graduated as punishment for being ranked 25th in the Academy and not being able to be a mentor in this year's shit show of the Hunger Games.

You're glad that you didn't have to mentor one of those poor kids. Mentoring seemed to be bad for Capitolite kids’ health since a handful died.

So…

Yea…

You and the other kids that weren't in the top 24 came out safe, but try telling your dad that.

Mhm…

Your dad even went on and on and on about how his old comrade's son was the top of your class, so why couldn't you have made one of the other 23 spots. Blah, blah, blah…

You hung around different circles then Coriolanus Snow did. In fact, you hung around Odysseus Odair, Livinius ‘Vinny’ Cardew, and Hilarious Heavensbee’s cousin Hector ‘Heccie’ (who had to repeat his senior year at the Academy 4 times, but at least he graduated this year with passing grades at the bottom of the class) and a couple of girls that weren't in the A-list clicky ass bitch squad.

That disappointed your father, the Colonel, as well.

So, yeah, that's why you're a nurse in training aka a nurse’s aide currently sliding open the curtain to Private Snow's bed in the large one room infirmary that could hold at least 2 dozen men- easily.

“So, according to the sign in form you've been snake bit?” You ask Coriolanus, reading his impeccable handwriting off of the form that's on the clipboard the Matron gave you.

“Yes,” Coriolanus frantically nodded. “I think it's poisonous; that I'm dying.”

Oh God, the son of the Almighty General Crassus Snow’s a dramatic baby boy. Oh, wouldn't your dad just crack up laughing if he knew that.

Obviously, if his snake bite was poisonous he'd be dead in the woods right now. If it was a coral snake he'd be shit out of luck since they're one of the most potent venomous snakes in Panem. And if it was a rattler his arm would be swollen 3 times its size and it'd be puffy and oozy, he'd probably be drooling and bleeding from the mouth and wheezing too.

If it was a water moccasin…well…he'd be utterly fucked. His arm would swell and become discolored, he’d have immediate and extreme pain, and he'd have rapid; difficulty breathing, and decreased blood pressure. Most likely would be dead before he made it a few yards away from whatever lake he found while hiking in the woods. And if it was a copperhead, well he would've gone into shock right away; his lymph nodes would've swelled up along with the arm he was bitten on. His arm would also be numb, so would his mouth, tongue, scalp, and feet- all from the poison.

Hey, that's what you read in that District 12 first aide book you were forced to read for the Nursing Core. According to that book Private Snow would be dead before he got out of the woods cause you need to get those poisonous snake bites treated right away with anti-venon or you'll croak. And you're not even sure if the infirmary even has that stuff.

Anywho…

Idiot was bitten by a damn garter snake. A harmless slithering thing, but he thinks he's going to die.

Placing the clipboard down on Coriolanus' bedside table, you go over to the counter and grab some gloves. “I'm going to take a look at your arm, okay?” You tell him while putting on the gloves.

Instead of saying something normal like ‘okay’ or ‘yes’ or even ‘thank you’, Coriolanus Snow asks, “You look familiar. Do I know you, Nurse?...”, as you round his bed and reach for his bitten forearm.

“I’m a Nurse's Aide since I still have a few weeks left of training.” you tell Private Snow while you hold his forearm in your hands and inspect the bite. “My name's Y/N Halvir, we went to the Academy together.” You tell him, noticing that he doesn't have fang marks but deep, jagged teeth marks in a circular shape on the inside of his forearm.

“Oh, that's why you look familiar.” The platinum blonde smiles a bit too wide, too toothily, at you. Goddamn, his pearly whites are on full display with his manic smile and it's a bit unsettling.

“I shouldn't look that familiar to you, I was ranked 25th and hung out with a different crowd then you did Mr. Golden Boy.” You dryly tell him, while going over to the cabinet behind his bed to grab some antiseptic wipes, ointment, and bandages. “Oh, and you're not going to die. The snake bite’s not poisonous.”

“Are you sure it's not poisonous? I felt like I was going to die. My heart's been racing, I'm sweaty, I even saw things.” Private Snow objects, so desperate to be right about having been bit by a poisonous reptile, as you place all of your supplies on his bedside table.

“Trust me Private Snow-” You begin only for him to interrupt you with, “Please, darling, call me Coryo.”, as you're tearing open the alcohol wipe pack.

Coriolanus thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen. Much prettier than that lying, sniveling, singing whore that was going to rat him out to the mayor to save her own ass; who he shot in the woods. Oh, how could he have overlooked your beauty for so many years? You attended the Academy with him; had classes with him and he never noticed you until now.

Now!

Now that you're both in this hellhole of a backwater bumfuck district.

“Anyways, you weren't poisoned and I believe you had a panic attack due to stress and high adrenaline.” You honestly tell Coriolanus, grabbing his forearm in your hand and cleaning it with the antiseptic wipe.

“Are you sure, darling?” Coriolanus asks, watching you discard the wipe and grab the tube of ointment.

“Yes, Private Snow, I'm sure.” You respond, opening up the tube. Squeezing some ointment on your finger and rubbing it into his wound, you explained, “Venomous snakes have bites that leave two fang marks while non venomous snakes, like harmless garter snakes, leave ragged teeth marks in a circular shape when they bite.” Grabbing the bandage roll, you unravel a piece long enough to wrap around his forearm. “You have circular teeth marks for your snake bite, but I'm afraid they're deep and will leave a nasty scar.”

“Of course, it'll leave a nasty scar.” Private Snow bitterly sighs to himself as you bandage up his wound.

When you're done you tell him, “You're all patched up and ready to go, Private Snow.”, while throwing away the trash from the antiseptic wipes.

You didn't wait for his response, you just took the clipboard and left his curtained off area in order to file the report on his treatment.

You seem to have had an effect on Private Snow. The platinum blonde found himself obsessing over you. Yes, he was obsessing and not daydreaming when it came to you.

He was so desperate to see you that he began getting ‘hurt’ as an excuse to go to the infirmary and make small talk with you. Oh, you lost track of the twisted ankles and sprained wrists Private Snow claimed to have. But every time it turned out to be nothing.

He was just faking it to see you. To have your touch on his skin. Even if you were just feeling his wrist or ankle for an injury, Coriolanus still felt that your skin touching his was intimate.

And talk about Coriolanus faking injuries just to see you…

“Is Nurse Y/N in? I need her to look at my finger; it's cut really bad.” Coriolanus asked the clerk at the check in desk. He’s hoping you're on duty today, otherwise he ripped his finger open on a knife during KP duty for nothing.

“I'll get you to a bed and then I'll send her to tend to your finger.” The clerk at the check in desk told Private Snow before bringing him to the beds in the treatment center.

It only took a few minutes for you to be briefed on Snow's problem and sent back to treat him.

“So, Private Snow-” You began and you pulled back the curtain around Coriolanus' bed, only for him to interrupt you with, “I passed my officer exams and ship out soon for training, so my paperwork should say Officer Snow or Petty Officer Snow.”

What? He's leaving this shithole for training? “Why aren't you being trained here?” You ask, scanning thru his clipboard to find his rank. Low and behold he's now marked as Elite Officer Snow. “Never mind, don't answer that. You're marked down as Elite Officer Snow on your form.”

“Oh, yes, did I forget to mention that I passed the Elite Officer's Exam?” Your accident prone patient cheekily asked as you set your clipboard down on his bedside table.

“I'm an army brat; my father's a Colonel, so if you're trying to impress me with your bragging about your new Elite Officer's ranking and soon to be departure then save your breath- it's not working.” You tell Coriolanus while grabbing some medical grade gloves from a nearby cabinet and putting them on.

Coriolanus quirks a brow. “Your father's a military man?”

“Yep.” You pop your tongue. You pick up his hand and start to examine his cut finger. “Enough about me, let's get a look at your cut finger to see if it needs stitches or not.”

The cut doesn't seem to be too deep. In fact, it looks more like a surface wound. A simple knick.

“Your finger just needs cleaning and bandaged, Private Snow. Lucky for you, stitches aren't needed.” You tell your patient before going to the cabinet to grab the supplies you need to tend to his cut finger.

“Please, call me Coryo.” He puts, watching you head over to him with antiseptic wipes and a bandage.

“What can I say, Nurse Halvir, I’m a very clumsy soldier.” The platinum blonde peacekeeper shrugged with a lopsided smirk painting his lips. “But, since you're calling me Coryo now it's only fair that I call you Y/N.” He says as you open an antiseptic wipe and start cleaning his finger with it.

“I guess I can call you that, considering you're in here every other day.” You relant, placing the items in your hand on Coryo's bedside table.

"Of course you'd rather call me Y/N then Nurse Halvir." You shake your head while bandaging up his finger.

Coriolanus was transfixed by your name. He adored how it sounds. So beautiful, so sophisticated, so fitting of a Capitolite girl. It'll sound perfect with the Snow surname as well. Yes, Y/N Snow has a ring to it.

“It suits you.” Coryo compliments with a beaming smile.

A smile that sends butterflies soaring in your tummy.

Too bad he's heading out in a few days for 2, otherwise- well, no use in going there.

The following day Coryo showed up with a bouquet of beautiful flowers bound by a lace ribbon. You knew that the florists cost a fortune in 12, so you didn't take his gift lightly. In fact, you gasp and take them from his outstretched hand while telling him, “Coryo, this must've cost you a large chunk of your pay. I-I don't know what to say.”

“Well, usually a thank you is enough, darling.” Coryo quips, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smirk.

Looking between the platinum peacekeeper and the bouquet of mixed flowers in your hand, you smile. “Thank you, Coryo.” Sniffing the fragrance of the flowers, you announce, “They're beautiful and smell lovely.”

“They're nothing compared to the roses my Grandma’am grows in her rooftop garden. I'd like to give you one once we're both back in the Capitol.”

“I don't think that'll be for a long while, Coryo.” You tell him, cradling your bouquet of flowers.

“The Matron told me that you just got off duty, perhaps I could escort you back to your bunk?” Coryo asks with impeccable manners and a charming smile.

“Oh, I'm not at the barracks. I live with my brother in an apartment in the officer's housing unit.” You inform him while leading the way out of the infirmary.

“Your brother's an officer?” Coryo asks, keeping in stride with your steps.

“Yep.” You pop your tongue.

“So, the military’s a family affair for the Halvirs then?” The platinum peacekeeper asked as the two of you continued to walk along the path that would eventually lead to the area of officer apartments.

“My brother's the one that wanted to be a peacekeeper like our father; I was tossed into the nursing core because I ranked 25th in our Academy class and my father was ashamed that I couldn't be a mentor.” You honestly tell the man by your side. You probably shouldn't, but something about him has you opening up. Something you just can't put your finger on.

“How did you rank 25th? You seem very intelligent to me.”

“I don't know and I really don't care, to be honest with you.”

A couple of days after walking you home Coriolanus is set to depart for 2. But he can't leave you. So, with his duffle slung over his shoulder, he tracks down your older brother. It wasn't hard, in fact he was directed to your brother's office right away.

“Officer Halvir, I want to talk to you about your sister, Y/N.” Coriolanus announced as soon as he walked into your brother's office.

“What about her, Snow?” Rein asks, sitting up straighter behind his desk. Don't ask him how he knows, but he's positive that whatever Coriolanus has to talk to him about concerning you’s going to end up with him pulling some strings. He just has a gut feeling that this talk isn't going to be simple.

No, not with the look of infatuation plastered on the platinum blonde's face.

But what your brother thinks is a look of infatuation on Coriolanus' face is actually much darker than that. In fact, the young man didn't have a simple crush on you, but was obsessed with you. Yes, Coriolanus has a deep, soul consuming obsession with you and in his delusional mind you're his girl. His sweet Capitolite girl that he must possess and protect.

Coriolanus stands up straighter as he bluntly tells your older brother, “I want to take her with me. She deserves more than this backwater district. She's too innocent for the likes of this shithole and you know it, Officer Halvir.”

Your brother's face is neutral, but his head is spinning. He agrees with the young man standing before him about you being too innocent, too sweet for life in 12. Some of the things he's seen and had to turn a blind eye to in the coal mining district makes him cringe. He can't imagine what some of those images will do to your disposition.

But your brother knew something that Coriolanus didn't. He was told by Commander Hoff, since the man knew that your father and General Snow were best friends back in the day, that Coriolanus was being sent back to the Capitol as a special request by Dr. Gaul, the Head of the War department herself. So, Rein knows that if Coriolanus takes you with him that he'll be taking you back to the Capitol.

Back home to safety.

“My sister's off today, but if you can convince her to go with you then I'll pull some strings with Hoff.” Your brother tells Coriolanus. Rein only wants what's best for you and in his opinion being in District 12 isn't what's best.

“Thank you, Officer Halvir.”. Coriolanus salutes your brother before taking off to get you.

You're sleeping in whenever a loud banging on your apartment door wakes you up. You groan and roll out of bed, only to slip on your slippers and put on your robe before dragging your groggy ass to the door. You hope that you're not being called in; having your day off revoked.

When you answer the door you're met with the sight of Coryo in his dress uniform, “Come to say goodbye?” You gather from the duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“No.” He shakes his cap covered head. “I've come to take you with me.”

“What the hell? I can't just go with you.” Was the reaction you had to his answer. One that you thought was crazy.

“I talked to your brother; he agreed to pull some strings for us.”

Of course Rein told Coriolanus that. Your brother didn't want you in the Nursing Core let alone in 12. It put a damper on his lifestyle. With you living with him on base he couldn't spend all of his free time with that girl of his from the Seam. He also had to cut back on his drinking and how much he snuck off base to get plastered at the Hobb, the black market/bar his girl slings drinks at.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I’m sorry, but I can't leave.”

“Darling, you'll have a much better life if you come with me. We'll be stationed at The Nut and I'm sure the med bay there'll be more than happy to have you on staff.” Coriolanus tells you, his baritone dripping with finesse and delicate craftiness. Bringing his hand up to cup your face, he asks, “Wouldn't you rather come with me and make your father proud that you've been promoted to a nicer district then being stuck here in this backwater shithole to rot and die- to wither up and grow old in?”

“Coriolanus-” You begin to protest only for him to press an unexpected kiss to your lips. A kiss that was hungry and passionate. His lips were eager as they glided over yours. And you, well, your body instantly responded to his kiss. Your lips move in sync with his, a tiny moan escaping your mouth as your hands fist his uniform jacket as an anchor.

You're breathless as he pulls away from the kiss. You've never been kissed like that. In fact, it has your head spinning.

“Please, my sweet girl, come with me.” Coriolanus begs between placing open mouth kisses along your jaw. He stops kissing you, only to press his forehead against yours. “You're my everything, Y/N. I've lost so much in my life, but I can't lose you. Not when I just found you.” His icy eyes looked so vulnerable, like a puppy dog's.

Those words play at your heartstrings. If only you knew that Coriolanus chose them carefully just for that reason; to manipulate you into saying yes. And the look in his eyes, oh that really gutted you too. Another ploy of the platinum blonde's; one you weren't aware of. The boy was quite the actor when it suits him and what he wants.

“Okay. I'll go with you.” You find yourself telling him before you can think better of it.

And in what feels like a whirlwind, Coriolanus is shoving your things into your travel bag while you're getting dressed in your formal Nursing Core uniform. And then he's dragging you down to the station (well, you're literally sprinting so you won't miss the train) to meet Commander Hoff for the send off.

But Commander Hoff tells the two of you that plans have changed that instead of going to 2 you're going home, to the Capitol. Coryo's being happy hearing that, but you're not sure if you're happy about returning to the Capitol. Your father wanted you to serve your country in the Nursing Core in the districts, so returning to the Capitol would surely upset him.

Coriolanus didn't even ask you how you felt about the news. He just kissed you and shoved you onto the train. If only you knew that his sweet manipulations just ball and chained you to him for the rest of your life. Your career as a nurse would never be; you'd be the socialite wife of the man that would become the most dark, cruel, tyrannical leader that the country's ever known.

Too bad he had to be your patient the day he got snake bit in the woods, huh?

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lz-didyounotice · 3 months

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Simplement Humain [Part 1]

Those gifs don't belong to me

Heyyyy! How are you lots? Following up the episodes of "Human Nature" and "The Familly of Blood", this fic will be in 2 parts. As in the original, Martha will be part of the trip, but will only consider the Doctor as a friend. Next up, will be a time paradox episode. Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

Froggit-

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Part 1 , Part 2

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Warnings : English is not my first language. Angst on some parts, but mostly fluff. Martha is not in love with the doctor. Preheastablished relationship.

Translations : "Simplement humain" : Merely human.

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Two months had swiftly passed since you had started your role as a nurse at the Farringham School for boys. Martha diligently fulfilling her duties as a maid to Mister John Smith, while you navigated the halls alongside Joan Redfern, the school matron.

Despite the woman’s kindness, your heart ached witnessing the unfair treatment Martha had to endure from her. While recognizing the societal norms of the era, it pained you deeply to witness your friend being the subject to such remarks. Though you longed to defend her honor, the fear of jeopardizing your employment forced you to a silent support, offering her solace whenever possible.

In the bustling corridors of the school, your presence remained veiled from the Doctor's awareness. To him, you were merely the assistant to the school nurse, a captivating woman with (H/C) tresses whose charm had begun to catch his attention. Concealing the depth of your feelings had proven to be challenging, each interaction with him reigniting what had been lost for several weeks now.

Your initial encounter had him wondering how someone he could have met for the first time could possibly feel so familiar. There was definitely something more to you, yet he couldn’t quite place it. This mystery made him want to know you even more, pry into your life in a more private way. And with each smile, he barely could hold his heart in place anymore.

With the passage of weeks, casual conversations evolved into a daily rendezvous, as if fate conspired to draw you closer. Martha, attuned to the subtle cues of affection between you and the Doctor, became a confidante in your clandestine courtship. Like two lovesick souls navigating the maze of emotions, your longing for one another grew palpable with each passing day.

—---------------------------

In the present moment, the confines of John's study provided quite the intimate setting as you meticulously sewed his scalp back together.

Upon discovering him struggling with an armful of books, you had extended your assistance, seizing the opportunity to learn more about the other. However, a casual mention of an upcoming dance at the vintage hall precipitated John's inadvertent tumble down the stairs, necessitating your immediate attention. As you deftly maneuvered the needle, John winced in discomfort, lamenting the pain.

"Stay still," you chided gently, your fingers working deftly to complete the final stitches. "You'll reopen the wound if you keep fidgeting."

"It hurts," John grumbled, his features contorted in anguish.

Acknowledging his discomfort, you offered reassurance, " I'm almost finished, just bear with me a little longer, Mister Smith."

Before you could secure the final knot, the door bursted open, admitting a visibly distressed Martha. Focused on your hands, John barely registered her arrival, his gaze flickering upwards momentarily. "Is he alright?" Martha inquired anxiously.

Completing the task at hand, you turned towards Martha, a reassuring smile adorning your lips. "He'll be fine, just needed a few stitches. No signs of concussion, if this was your concern."

“Thank you for taking care of him.”

Returning her gratitude with a wink, you snipped the thread with precision, signifying the completion of your task. Martha's relief was immense, by you attending his care there was little to no worry. In a bid to make amends for her abrupt intrusion, she volunteered in tidying the study, suggesting a reorganization of the many books strewn across the tables.

Observing your meticulous actions from his vantage point, John couldn't help but marvel at your grace and competence. "Perhaps you should rest for the remainder of the day, Mister Smith," you suggested, concerned for his well-being. "We wouldn't want you getting worse by tomorrow."

“Thank you again for dealing with this.” John acknowledged while pointing at the back of his head.

"It's all part of my duty," you reassured him, a sense of satisfaction permeating your demeanor.

Turning his attention toward his maid, John resumed their earlier discourse, starting to rumble once more. “So… I was just telling this Noble Matron, about my dreams, they are quite remarkable tales, hum”. As he continued he wasn’t even looking at Martha anymore, his gaze drifting once more toward you. “I keep imagining that I'm someone else and that I'm in hiding.”

Of course, in your little talks after school days, Martha had told you about him getting those weird ‘Dreams’. As if his memories began to bleed through, despite the chameleon arc.

“Hiding in what way?” You inquired, wanting him to take his attention off the stitches going down his skull.

“But almost every night” A smile formed on his lips. He was grateful for you to listen, and yet he couldn’t help but think that perhaps those crazy stories should be kept secret. “This is gonna sound silly” Shucking his head from side to side, he wondered if you would even be interested in this madness.

“ Please, tell me,” Gently placing your hand on his shoulder, you encouraged him to continue, to let loose what seemed to have been eating at him.

“I dream quite often that I have two hearts.”

“Well, I could be the judge of that, let’s find out.” Taking your stethoscope, you placed it on his first heart. Slightly bending over him, you felt yourself getting dangerously close to his face. Checking for yet another pulse, you only were met with silence. “I can confirm the diagnosis, only one heart.”

Standing up, you took the chance to put away the stethoscope, while John continued about his dreams. Looking over at his desk, at the small notebook neatly folded on it, he wondered about sharing his work with you. “I’ve written some of these dreams in the form of fiction, not that it would be of any interest”

“On the contrary, I would be very interested.”

Standing up from his seat, He started to go toward his desk, putting some paper covering the book away. Finally fishing it out, he handed it over to you, indulging you into opening it. “ I’ve Never shown them to anyone before.”

Passing through the different pages, you could only smile as you saw his handwriting. The small drawings, making it even more endearing, for each story had its illustration. “Look at these creatures, such imagination, ” You complimented.

“Yeah, quite a hobby”

“That’s wonderful.” Turning to the next page, you pointed out the beautiful face of a blond girl in the middle of text. ”Quite an eye for pretty girls”. John felt his cheek flare up as he told you about who he had remembered to be Rose. Looking into her wonderful eyes, you could only see why the doctor seemed so distraught the first week you had spent traveling with him. That blond girl was a sight for sore eyes.

As you stared at the next page, you thought your mind had been playing tricks on you. Pictured on the whole page, was the perfect portrait of your younger self. He had remembered her to be called Louise, yet didn’t seem to know who she was. He had come across her once and had managed to remember her every trait. Looking behind the girl, an army of what you had assumed to be sontaariens, seemed to follow.

Turning your attention to the next page, you came across a peculiar frame, he seemed excited to show you the drawing he had made of the TARDIS. “Oh! That's the blue box, it always seems to be there” Stars shining in his eyes as he explained. “Like a magic carpet, this fun little box seems to transport me to faraway places.”

“She’s beautiful...” You whispered with a slight smile. Fingers softly drifting on the colored paper.

“Sometimes I wonder how wonderful life could be if any of this was true”

“If it ever was true, could I perhaps get away with you?”

John seemed to be surprised by your wonders. “Why would you want to get away?”

Giving him a soft yet shy smile, you answered with an open heart. “I don’t know, the stars seem too beautiful to be explored alone.”

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Gun practice constituted an integral component of the boys' curriculum, a fact that left you unsettled as you observed John, the Doctor, instructing them in firearm usage. His usual aversion to violence starkly contrasted with the scene unfolding before you. In your mind, he was supposed to be the embodiment of pacifism, relying on his trusty screwdriver to resolve conflicts, always giving a second chance even to the most vile creatures. Yet here he stood, imparting lethal skills to impressionable young minds.

Your concern peaked as you witnessed Timmy's unfortunate mishap, prompting Redfern to spring into action, orchestrating medical aid for the injured boy. Following Tim from the corner of his eyes, John had soon remarked on your presence on the small elevated platform.

Coming your way, he seemed to be holding the brightest smile. “Ahh! Nurse Noble,”

“Hello, Mister Smith.” You replied with a small smile. Rearranging some hairs behind your ear, you felt a soft blush creeping its way up your cheeks. “I have finished reading your journal. I have to admit I quite liked it. I- I was wondering if you could tell me more about them?” You started a little hesitant. “Perhaps on a walk after school?”

His initial surprise soon gave way to enthusiasm, and he readily accepted your proposition. "Let me fetch my coat," he offered, eager to spend more time in your company.

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Walking alongside him through the tranquil streets of town, you savored the rare moment of intimacy shared between you and John. Discussing his drawings and the visions he hoped to capture within them, you found yourself captivated by the melodic timbre of his voice.

As John delved into his dreams, you were taken aback by his unanticipated honesty regarding your presence in some of his sketches. His admiration for you, evident in his words, caused your heart to flutter with a mixture of delight and bashfulness. Blushing profusely, you remarked, "I never imagined I'd be inspiring such dreams, Mister Smith..."

With a sheepish expression, John appeared equally flustered, attempting to divert attention from this unwanted revelations. "I... I tend to ramble, don't I?" he mumbled, his cheeks tinted with a hue mirroring your own.

“I found it rather charming.” You confessed, edging closer to his side. Trying to see what had caught his attention, you didn't have the time to react. He had already taken the cricket ball of a small child's hand, chucking it into a pile of metallic pipes. This had them fall onto a sort of catapult, sending a leftover brick to knock over a rather large barrel. This all stopping a stroller from getting crushed by an originally pristine piano.

Uttering a single word—"Lucky"—John's incredulous expression diminishing the pride he felt in his accidental heroism. Observing his clueless demeanor, you couldn't help but marvel at his innocence, even in moments of unexpected bravery.

“Miss Noble, may I invite you to the village dance this evening- As my guest” He finally let out as if he did not come to wake up a third eye.

“You, extraordinary man.-”

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“Tell me Miss Noble, you’ve never really talked about your interests. You seem to like astrology, but I can’t help but wonder about those small songs you’ve been humming in the hallway the other day.” Inquired John as he leaned closer to you, sitting beside you on the sofa.

“I didn’t think someone was listening.” Looking over at him, you felt the tips of your ears burn.

“It was quite charming.” He complimented, with a small smile. “Perhaps you could share some of your writings with me.”

Bewitched by his pleading gaze, you found yourself unable to resist his request, even if the songs you were singing were only expressions of your feelings for him. His sincere curiosity drew on your sensitive cords and you only could indulge in his wish.

Thinking back to one of those songs, you saw yourself hunched over his face, slowly stroking his hair as sleep had fallen upon the both of you. A rare occurrence you could only have cherished, softly singing into his ears, a song you had written for him, a candid reminder of your love.

“Promise me to not laugh. I think it’s one of the silliest songs I could have written. It’s not even in English.” You confessed, feeling a flutter of nervousness.

Gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, John's gaze intensified, his heart quickening. "Why would I laugh? You've listened to me talk about some rather unlikely adventures. It couldn't be as bad."

While trying to find your voice, you discovered in his eyes the will to stop doubting. In a sweet but powerful voice, you found the courage to address every word to John as you did with the Doctor. It seemed easier to think that he was always there, by your side. While the Doctor knew all the languages of the cosmos, John could barely grasp any of them. It intrigued him. The knowledge you seemed to carry, made him want to know you in even more intimate ways.

“J'avoue j'en ai bavé pas vous, Mon amour Avant d'avoir eu vent de vous, Mon amour Ne vous déplaise, En dansant la Javanaise Nous nous aimions, Le temps d'une Chanson”

As the sound of your voice reached his ears, his heart skipped a beat. If he wasn’t already drunk with your sent, the melody you shared made him lose all his means. His breath, cut off by the beauty you were holding.

“À votre avis qu'avons-nous vu De l'amour? De vous à moi vous m'avez eu Mon amour Ne vous déplaise En dansant la Javanaise Nous nous aimions Le temps d'une Chanson”

And as the next lyrics came to you, you could only look at him like you did the first time you ever sang to him. Your eyes, softening, love spilling out of every and each breath you took. Getting closer to him, your most beautiful smile making it's way on your lips.

“Hélas avril en vain me voue À l'amour J'avais envie de voir en vous Cet amour Ne vous déplaise, En dansant la Javanaise Nous nous aimions Le temps d'une Chanson”

Your bodies, getting closer to one another each passing seconds. His hand, reaching out for yours as he got lost in your eyes. You, trying to lean in on his chest, hand gently brushing the fabric of his suit. Eyeing his lips more and more, contemplating the feeling of them again yours.

“La vie ne vaut d'être vécue Sans amour Mais c'est vous qui l'avez voulu Mon amour Ne vous déplaise En dansant la Javanaise Nous nous aimions Le temps d'une Chanson”

As your singing came to an end, you could feel the other so close, noses almost touching, while a small space was given for the one who wanted to escape.

Looking at him for approval, you only had time to take a small breath, your lips getting captured by his, in a passionate yet timid kiss. His hand resting on his thigh, he seemed so afraid to break you, seeing you in this exact moment as the most fragile thing he’d ever laid his eyes upon. Closing your eyes, you finally got lost in one another. And had you barely left his lips, you could see how shy he had become.

“I have never-”

Without saying a word, you got closer once more, capturing his lips in a much fierier kiss. It was as if you wanted to enter his vital space, your hand gently reaching his cheek needing to keep him under your sway for a moment longer without having to worry about what might well happen around the both of you.

But as he began to lean further into you, that damned door ended your ministration. His lips moving away from yours, you had finally heard him raise his voice against the poor Martha, trying to get her out of the office.

Looking over your shoulder, you felt your heart squeeze, her apron disappearing behind the door in pure embarrassment. But as your attention was spiked by this intrusion, you felt your cheeks become a different shade of red, the intense gaze of John’s eyes slowly returning to you.

Trying to get out of this uncomfortable state, you let out what seemed to be a poor excuse at first. But seeing the time getting dangerously close to the one you were to attend the dance, it didn’t seem as far-fetched as you thought. “I do believe it’s getting late. I better go get something to change into.”

“Good idea” Hearing the sad undertone to his words you gave him a gentle smile before kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

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

Hidden away in the dim confines of a small shed, you found solace in the company of the TARDIS, her interior a sanctuary despite her slumbering state.

Perusing the array of dresses adorning her walls, you marveled at their beauty, eventually settling on a stunning (Y/F) Greek-inspired gown. Adorned with delicate embellishments and layers of luxurious fabric, the dress exuded an ethereal charm that complemented your figure flawlessly.

With meticulous care, you selected the perfect accessories—a pair of comfortable shoes and an ornate headband—before hastily arranging your hair and applying a touch of makeup.

When you finally got back, only half an hour had passed, and as John appeared in the frame, all you could see was how wonderful he looked in his brand new suit. Showing him the bag containing your dress, he led you to the bathroom, leaving you to change into your evening attire. Thanking him, you quickly disappeared,swiftly donning the exquisite attire, even adjusting some of the bottom ruffles to make them look a bit more voluminous.

Struggling to fasten the buttons at the back of your dress you could only feel more frustrated by the seconds. Knowing you would probably be struggling for a few more minutes, you knew you needed John's assistance. Venturing through the corridors in search of him, you stumbled upon his partially open door, the soft glow of light emanating from within.

Knocking gently, you entered cautiously, holding your top even closer to your chest. "Mister Smith? I seem to require your assistance..."

Meeting his gaze, you were met with a mixture of concern and curiosity as you struggled to conceal yourself behind your dress.

“I can’t seem to reach the back… Could you perhaps help me out?” Your bare back now facing him, you were almost scared to feel his fingers on your skin. The cold yet warm touch of his fingers gently and efficiently buttoned up the back. Hearing the soft shift of the couch, you finally felt his hands, sending your back shivering as his breath tickled your neck.

“You look beautiful tonight Miss Noble.” He murmured, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Oh, please I told you to call me (Y/N)” you chuckled softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

“Then, in this case, you may as well call me John.” John replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he completed the task.

Facing him, you couldn’t help yourself but get lost in those deep brown eyes. They were the eyes of a man you had sworn to love until your very last breath. A man you couldn’t even resist, who would have you wrapped around his fingers as long as he would exist.

Bringing you back to earth, you felt his fingers brushing against your cheek, and lean into it, even reaching up his hand with yours to keep it against your skin. This moment could have lasted an eternity, you wouldn’t have minded. You, kissing the palm of his hand with the softest lips, him getting hypnotized by your endless (E/C) eyes.

As you started to get closer, you couldn’t help the gut feeling of something bad only awaiting to happen. As much as you wanted to kiss him, you couldn’t stop it from invading your mind. Perhaps this night would be the last you would spend with him.

“John, I-” This couldn’t have been a worse moment, the loud sound of the door getting in the way of you both being so close. Martha tried to not panic, as much as it was difficult, practically out of breath. Looking up from her knees, the girl stared at you in distress, giving you a look you knew too well.

John seemed lost. Martha could have been forward in the past, but not to such an extent. “Martha-” Stopping John from giving her yet another lecture, you tried to keep calm and gave her directions. “Not now John. Martha, look in my bag, it’s under the sink. The key (Sonic) is under a fake layer at the bottom.”

“(Y/N) What’s going on?” Ignoring his request, you gave a reassuring nod to Martha before turning around to face John, letting the girl get out of the room. “What’s going on? You're scaring me.”

Taking a deep breath, you tried to find your words, not knowing how to tell him what was going to happen. “John…” You took his hand in yours. “My beautiful John… As much as I would like to pretend, I am as scared as you are. I had hoped to have a better moment to tell you this, but I don’t have that much time left.”

Trying to make sense out of your words, John could only think of you, having to go somewhere far away. “Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”

“I only found out about it this morning. They are sending me to an abroad school. Martha had been helping me get the paperwork together.” Trying to disguise the truth, you didn't mention the distressed look Martha bore as she exited the study.

The teacher felt his heart shatter “Is this our last night together then?”

“I’m afraid it is.” As much as you wanted to control the tear going down your cheek, you felt your heart break when his hand got to the side of your face. “I’m sorry to have not told you this earlier. I just… I just wanted to have one more normal day by your side.”

“It’s okay…” Leaning forehead to forehead, you passed your hand on the collar of his suit, straightening the already perfect fabric. Not wanting to give in to the tears, John tried to lift the spirit: “ We still got a few hours together. What do you say? Should we go now?”

“I think It’s a wonderful idea.”

#the doctor x reader #doctor who x imortal reader #doctor who x reader #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #noble family x reader #doctor who #Platonic Martha #Spotify

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spiderwarden · 5 months

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MY THOUGHTS ON PALADINS IN MENZOBARRANZAN, ESPECIALLY IN REGARDS TO THEIR DUTIES & TRAINING.

So from my understanding there is little known about how the Paladin ranks and what it is exactly they do within Menzobarranzan and that under their original Oath to Lolth. And from my understanding of the tidbits dropped by Minthara herself, there is the indication that their duties fall in line with a sort of religious soldiers and societal enforcers. There is a sort of FORCED PEACE that is enacted by Lolth's word (Peace is a stretch, I'd even say a forced AMICABLE existence because Lolth cannot afford all of her personal society slaughtering one another again) And with that said, she needs a force that can enforce her law and word on the ground because she cannot reach down herself every time she senses doubts within the hearts of her own Lotlh-sworn. Thati s where Paladin's come into play, Minthara often notes how it was her duty to ensure that Lolth's will was not only enacted, but respected, and honored. She fought against heresy of Lotlh.

"This was a warning against heresy, I was not content with the warning though. I intended to wage war on their insolent god, and the rest of its followers. Even as the flesh sagged and sloughed away from their eyeless skulls, their audacity infuriated me. I had to know where they came from. And whoever sent them was counting on my curiosity overcoming my caution. All it took was a simple act of necromancy, and the corpses told me where I needed to strike - Moonrise Towers."

She also has made note that she has been the peace keeper of Menzoberranzan (as close as one can be in a warrior society such as Drow Culture) as she notes in the epilogue when the party around her naturally makes her on edge and she doesn't know what to make of everyone being so ... nice.

"I have hosted gatherings of House Matrons and High Priestesses who wanted nothing more than to murder one another before the night was done. I have negotiated the hand over of hostages and smiled politely while sensing a dagger at my back. I thought I was equal to anything ... but this.. is all so pleasant?"

WITH THAT SAID! I am also led to believe that the training to become a PALADIN OF LOLTH is EXTENSIVE and equally hard as is any branch of military in existence, because in Menzobarranzan. To become a PALADIN OF LOTLH in itself is a military branch in Lolth's service.

I always said that I treat her Early Access versions of herself as her younger selves and that is primarily because of her first appearance confirms that [x] THIS TRADING CARD is indeed OUR BG3 Minthara. This implies that before she was a Paladin she was a cleric first (makes sense if her mother was a High Priestess Sos'umptu Baenre, and later Matron Sos'umptu Baenre), because that implies that in order to become a Paladin of Lolth there are MANY schools of practice that need to be mastered before you can even be CONSIDERED for the training of Paladin of Lolth.

(This also implies that Minthara could have pursued the path of the wizard if she so wished to, but learning first the lessons of her would be uncle Gromph Baenre - she had a soured opinion of them very early on.)

With that said, I believe that it is only after the MASTERY of their Cleric class, could they be considered, and then that combined with EXTENSIVE weapon mastery and weave spells surrounding the mastery of said weapon mastery and this is just to finish the already extensive training required to even START the road to the Paladins.

(this is also another reason I believe the House sigil on her neck is meant as a dog tag of sort, an identifier of who's house she belongs to, because I imagine all of the Paladins on duty are dressed the same as per a military order and can be identified on the spot of their ranking and who they are.)

And Minthara HERSELF notes how much authority she held when she was in her home (for many reasons I believe that her other was Matron upon her leaving, and so she was even higher in rank than I think we all realize), so I do believe that Paladins are among the more elite forces.

ALL IN ALL, there's a reason Minthara can stand next to Lae'zel and Karlach and be equal in fighting capabilities and she DOES have a right in her confidence and saying she is the most valuable asset because she certainly has the training to back it up - much like the other two lovely lady tanks in the companion line up.

#[ 🕷️ ] —— headcanons #[ 🕷️ ] —— musings #[ this woman is baseline 17STR and maxed out at 20STR with a 120+ damage done per hit when she's levelled up correctly DO NOT FORGET THAT!#[ but IN WORLD she can stand next to them not just in gameplay because her training was fucking RIDICULOUS ]

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mnemo-li · 1 year

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Gosh, I have so many thoughts about Gromph Baenre. Maybe I’m reading too much into things lol, but here we go. Spoilers below for Starlight & Shadows, War of the Spider Queen, Companions Codex, Homecoming, Generations, and parts of The Way of the Drow.

Imagine literally being the most powerful man in a city, potentially the oldest (non-undead) man of a race, and still being limited in what you can do just because you’re born male. You have so much power, and yet in the end you are not free. People may fear you and perhaps even respect you, but no one cares for you. You, no matter all you have done, are replaceable and will be discarded the moment you are deemed a liability.

There’s this quote in Tangled Webs:

But no matter what powers he might command, what information he possessed, Gromph needed someone like Shakti. The archmage was tied to Menzoberranzan by the task of enchanting Narbondel—an honor that was also a chain with links forged anew with the coming of each midnight hour.

The so-called honor of being the only one allowed to enchant Narbondel is a double-edged sword. It’s a symbol of his status yet, because he has to do it daily, it means he can’t be away from Menzoberranzan for more than a day. It’s a chain that binds him to the city, to the control of the Matron Mother. It’s a leash.

I also find the mention of Narbondel in Extinction to be interesting:

Despite the toehold the enemy had gained—and lost—in Tier Breche, Menzoberranzan seemed untouched by war. The stalactites and stalagmites of the noble manors still sparkled, and a ring of magical fire was creeping up the great spire of Narbondel. Gromph frowned, wondering which of the wizards of House Baenre had been keeping it going in his absence. It seemed that he was not quite as irreplaceable as he would have liked. He’d have to speak to Triel about that.

That’s what I was referring to. The lighting of Narbondel — something that is meant to be performed only by the Archmage of the city — is in actuality a role that anyone could do, really. Logically, I’d agree with Triel too. The city needs Narnondel to tell time and if Gromph was missing, it was more pragmatic to have someone perform his duty in his stead. And yet, all of this goes to show how if someone else could do what Gromph does, then that means he isn’t irreplaceable.

I also find this exchange between Guldor and Gromph to be intruiging (and funny— I always love when Gromph is his good old surly and sarcastic self).

“Archmage!” cried Guldor Melarn. He was supposedly without peer in the realm of elemental magic, though it couldn’t be proved by his performance thus far that night. “We were worried about you!”

“I’m sure,” said Gromph, striding closer. “I noticed all the search parties you sent out looking for me.”

Guldor hesitated. “Sir, the mistress of the Academy commanded—“

“Shut up,” said Gromph.

The small interaction is also very telling. None of the other mages seemed to care about Gromph enough to go look for him, or it could be that what Guldor said was true, that Triel forbid them from doing so. It’s either that Triel believes Gromph is capable enough to get out of whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into by himself, or she too couldn’t be bothered (or has other pressing matters to deal with— and considering the state of Menzoberranzan, that’s understandable).

Whatever the reason, it still must be harrowing for Gromph deep down. To learn that he is replaceable, and to not have anyone he concerned about his disappearance enough to look for him. Of course, the concept of caring for someone is arguable something alien to the drow in the first place. Still, it would be interesting to see how Gromph would react should he realize that his position as Archmage isn’t secure.

As much as I sometimes joke about RA Salvatore being a shit writer — at least compared to the likes of Elaine Cunningham and Paul S. Kemp (whose Star Wars books I’m a huuuge fan of, whose contribution to the War of the Spider Queen series I absolutely adore) — Salvatore did manage to sprinkle bits and pieces to make Gromph a sympathetic villain or at least a villain whom we can partially sympathize with and feel pathos towards.

Take for instance, this excerpt from Vengeance of the Iron Dwarfs:

It is about embarrassing Matron Mother Quenthel, Kimmuriel said in Jarlaxle’s thoughts, and he looked from the psionicist to the archmage, trying to sort it out. Or perhaps it goes even higher than her. Jarlaxle snorted at that, for who could be higher than Quenthel, who served as the Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan? Then he figured it out, and he stopped snorting.

He looked at Gromph, only then beginning to appreciate how wounded his brother had been by the betrayal of the Spider Queen. Lolth had gone to the realm of arcane magic, had tried to dominate the Weave itself—and indeed, by all reports, she had made the magical strands encompassing Toril take on the aspect of a gigantic spider web. Gromph had dared to hope that Lolth’s move would elevate his standing, that he, as the greatest drow wizard of the age, as the greatest drow practitioner of the Art, would become more than a mere male in the matriarchal City of Spiders.That was Gromph’s error, Jarlaxle realized, and he nodded knowingly as he considered his brother.

Poor Gromph had dared to hope.

I feel pity for Gromph reading that. As an aside though, I really love the dynamics between Gromph and Jarlaxle throughout the series. I wonder too if Gromph is secretly jealous of or resentful towards Jarlaxle for his relative freedom.

Also, there’s this bit from Archmage that really makes me feel for Gromph:

His sly taunting of his sister did little to improve Gromph’s bitter mood. Even if he toppled her, even if he destroyed every matron mother and high priestess in the city, what would he accomplish?

He was a male, nothing more, and even when Lady Lolth had turned to the Weave, to a domain he had come to dominate more than any dark elf in centuries—in millennia, in perhaps the entire history of the race—Lolth’s gratitude had not reached to him, nor his fellow male wizards.

Sorcere, the drow school of arcane magic, the academy under the control of Gromph, had counted among its students almost exclusively male drow, with only a few notable exceptions of priestesses looking to enhance their magical repertoire by adding arcane spells to their divinely inspired magic. Yet as soon as the Weave had become a web, as soon as it appeared that Lady Lolth would steal the domain of the goddess Mystra, the noble Houses had flooded Sorcere with their daughters as students.

The matron mothers, with Lolth’s blessing, would not suffer the males of Menzoberranzan their position atop the ranks of Lolth’s arcane disciples. Would Gromph’s ultimate title of archmage have proven secure? But Lolth had lost her bid for the Weave, so Gromph had learned, though the details were not yet known to him. The Weave was no longer in her spidery claws and the city and school would return to normal, perhaps. Gromph would remain the archmage, and, he now even more poignantly understood, would remain a “mere male” in Menzoberranzan.

I’d like to argue that it isn’t Gromph’s ego or arrogance that is the reason behind his hunger for power. But rather, it’s Gromph deep rooted desire for security— not just in his position as Archmage, but security in the sense that he is quite insecure deep down. After all, excessive arrogance is often a mask for hollow confidence. Look at the scene here leading up to Gromph’s accidental summoning of Demogorgon.

“Your demon led the defense,” the matron mother spat. “This failure falls upon your shoulders. Be cautious, wizard, for Tsabrak Xorlarrin will surely survive this, and he remains in the graces of the Spider Queen.”

She spun and swept out of the room and Gromph fell back in his seat, his fingers tap-tapping once more. He tried to dismiss Quenthel’s overt threat, but he began to see some troubling possibilities. Would his sister cut a deal with Matron Mother Zeerith to absorb House Xorlarrin into House Baenre? Where might the Xorlarrins go if the dwarves gained an unshakable foothold? They would not be welcomed back into Menzoberranzan as a rival House, particularly not now with so many backroom alliances being formed among the ruling matron mothers.

And perhaps Quenthel would spread the whispers that Gromph had failed, that the archmage had, in fact, been the cause of the loss of Q’Xorlarrin. In that event, would Quenthel be in a stronger position to offer Zeerith one of her most coveted trophies: a Xorlarrin as Archmage of Menzoberranzan? Nay, this was not a threat Gromph could easily dismiss, and in that realization, so came his outrage.

His “outrage” was a reaction to being “threatened”. Sure, it was his anger and ego that overruled his common sense, the sense of caution that he should’ve had when summoning a powerful demon… but the root of it all was the fact that Quenthel threatened his position as archmage.

This all harkens back to the fact that Gromph is replaceable and will be replaced should he no longer be useful. Hence, his insecurity and the constant need to prove himself.

Additionally, I also find Gromph's interaction with Catti-brie in Maestro to be incredibly fascinating from a character perspective.

First though, I should put a disclaimer saying that I think their relationship is weird as fuck, and Salvatore's way of writing Gromph thinking of Catti-brie in a horny way is just... ew. The whole 'mind-rape' thing is not something I condone, the bit where Gromph uses his psionic abilities to impart a vision of him and Catti together into Catti-brie's mind. However, it does hint a lot at the way men are treated in Drow society and how Gromph's sexual relationship with women usually go.

In Daughter of the Drow, there is this quote:

Perhaps even more than his obvious wealth and famed magical power, Gromph's ability to select his consorts was a testament to his status. In this matriarchal city, males had a decidedly subservient role, and most answered to the whims of females.

I might be reading into it too much, but if men are suggested to be unable to choose their wives, then it is implied that they wouldn't have any experience in romantic courtship either. It's like their entire notion of what a relationship is for men, is that they are meant to be pickedby women and forced to marry or have children with women without any say in it. Men getting to get to know someone, to flirt with them and court them, before making the mutual decision to enter into a relationship doesn't seem to be a thing in drow society. Starlight & Shadows goes to explain more about how male drows don't even get to be a part of their children's lives either, which is why Gromph's decision to murder Sosdrielle Vandree and "adopt" Liriel Baenre to be such a major powermove and a violation of societal norm.

Anyhow, the point I am trying to make about Gromph and Catti is that, of course Gromph would "flirt" with Catti in such a fucked up manner. He doesn't know anything about courtship, doesn't have any other frame of reference for what a healthy courtship or relationship between males and females is like.

“I forgive you,” she repeated. “For your telepathic intrusions. I understand now that you were not even there in my thoughts, and that it was only a suggestion placed for me to find.”

“And to enjoy.”

Catti-brie’s expression went cold.

“Then I am no rapist,” Gromph smugly replied to that look.

“You are a scoundrel and a fraud,” the woman said. “But I expected as much from the outset. I forgive you because now I trust that you will not hold me in lust, in body, in mind, or in hatred.”

Gromph wanted Catti to "enjoy" the image of him and her together. In other words, that really is his way of initiating a sexual relationship, that is what he thinks flirting or courtship is. In real life modern day terms, Gromph's telepathic intrusion would definitely be a form of sexual assault... but Catti-brie is right in the sense that Gromph hadn't meant to rape her. Let me be clear though, I am not justifying any of his actions. I just find Gromph to be so fascinating from a narrative perspective. If the Drizzt series wasn't what is was, if it was more like A Song of Ice and Fire for example, then I'm sure the author would explore more about how Gromph's actions and attitudes probably stems (at least partially) from his women-related trauma.

Look at this scene in Archmage here for example:

She dared look up, to find Gromph glaring at her.

“You know nothing of what I know or do not know, Minolin of House Fey-Branche.” His reference to her lesser House, instead of naming her as a Baenre, was a clear and sharp reminder.

“You are not a woman,” Minolin Fey said quietly. “There is nothing more … personal.”

“I am not a woman,” Gromph echoed. “A fact of which I am reminded every day of my life.”

Gromph definitely has a sore spot about not being a woman, and thus being beneath a woman in terms of societal status. This resentment and emotional wound of his shows up again in Maestro, in this interaction of Catti-brie.

“You have no power over my free will, and that is the measure of intimacy,” Catti-brie pressed on against his sheer awfulness. “You’ll not get back into my thoughts, nor will you ever get beneath my robes.”

“Truly?” Gromph asked slyly. “Dear human, you will be amazed by the things I can accomplish, particularly when a woman tells me that I cannot.”

I find the latter half of the sentence to be poignant. It's as if he's taking Catti's resistance as a challenge, or an insult. Mind you, Gromph is still a monster for many of the things he does. But he has such a potential to be a multifaceted villain (who then becomes something of an anti-villain), something I believe Salvatore is working towards. I believe Salvatore’s attempt at a pseudo redemption arc for Gromph is very... lacking. The scene at the end of Maestro where he bows down to Catti also gives me weird vibes too ngl.

Yet, I still wouldn’t dismiss his attempts to soften Gromph recently. Take this scene in Boundless for example:

“And your friend in Ship Kurth?”

“Any who should concern us are in no danger,” the archmage assured her. Caecilia gave a little snort, but tried to cover it when she saw the scowl on Gromph’s face and realized he knew she was mocking him.

“Such a drow thing to say,” she admitted. “If all of Luskan other than those you deem valuable to you were to be slaughtered, would you even care, Archmage?”

“Should I?”

Caecilia blew a long sigh and let it go. Curiously, though, as she walked through the door leading to her extradimensional mansion, she realized that she actually didn’t believe Gromph. Had he been so battered by the distorted culture of Menzoberranzan that he thought it a sign of great weakness to admit compassion? How many others? the cloud giantess wondered. How many other dark elves had been similarly broken?

Gromph has spend pretty much the majority of his long, long life in the Underdark. Menzoberranzan is all he knows. Which makes me curious about the direction Salvatore plans to take Gromph’s character in the The Way of the Drow. Take this scene for example:

“To the Nine Hells with that ugly spider,” said Gromph from the tunnel.

Drizzt turned to watch the sour archmage come forth, and took great pleasure and great hope in seeing the man verily transform at the sight, as if the tension and anger were suddenly simply falling away from him as he looked upon the wonder of Callidae.

“It was worth the journey, yes?” Jarlaxle asked him, and Gromph couldn’t respond, and he didn’t have to.”

Callidae, a place where drow may live in peace upon the surface, is a symbol of hope-- a hope so strong to the point where Gromph is willing to throw away his allegiance to Lolth. I know Cunningham is unlikely to come and write for the Drizzt series, but damn... I wish Gromph could meet up with Liriel again. I wonder what she’d think of her father now. I wish we could one day see Gromph fully embody his role as the Archmage of the Hosttower, shedding the former identity of Archmage of Menzoberranzan, both in name and in heart. Speaking of Liriel, a part of me wonders too how much Gromph actually cares to her (yes--- she is a tool to him, but Liriel seems to be capable of activating a strange sort of fatherly instinct in him, something very vulnerable and pure and hopefully enduring). We have this scene of their first proper meeting, in Daughter of the Drow:

"Look down," advised a lilting, melodic voice, a voice that rang with mischief and childish delight.

Incredulous, Gromph shifted his gaze downward. There stood a tiny, smiling female about five years of age, easily the most beautiful child he had ever seen.She was a tiny duplicate of her mother, whom Gromph had recently left sleeping in a nearby suite of rooms. The child's face was angular, and her elven features delicate and sharp. A mop of silky white curls tumbled about her shoulders, contrasting with baby skin that had the sheen and texture of black satin. But most striking were the wide amber eyes, so like his own, that regarded him with intelligence and without fear. Those eyes stole Gromph's annoyance and stirred his curiosity.

This, then, must be his daughter. For some reason that thought struck a faint chord in the heart of the solitary, evil old drow.

(Of course, I won’t disregard how he then goes on to murder her mother / his wife in the next scene... so lol. Gromph is still a ruthless drow, after all. But even monsters can love, or so I wish to believe.)

There’s also certain tiny details that stuck out to me:

"So, drowling. I don't suppose you can read?"

It was a ridiculous question, for the child was little more than a babe. Yet her brow furrowed as she considered the matter.

"I'm not sure," she said thoughtfully. "You see, I've never tried."

She darted toward the open spellbook and peered down at the page. Too late, Gromph slapped a hand over her golden eyes, cursing under his breath as he did so. Even simple spells could be deadly, for magic runes attacked the untrained eye with a stab of searing light. Attempting to read an unlearned spell could cause terrible pain, blindness, even insanity.

See what I mean about fatherly instincts? His immediate instinct was to protect her eyes, her sanity etc.

As Liriel grows up, her relationship with Gromph also seems almost... cordial. She seems relaxed with him, not holding back her tongue too much. At times, Gromph is seen chuckling and seemingly enjoying her presence too (unless he’s in a bad mood or she crosses a line somehow). Gromph is more lenient with her than one would expect, but also knows how to be strict when necessary, as befitting his station.

"Have a good time," Liriel mimicked bitterly as she and the archmage strode down the hall. "This, from someone whose idea of fun involves whipping people with snakes!"

Her blasphemous remark drew a shocked chuckle from Gromph.

"You must learn to guard your tongue," he admonished. "Few of the Academy's mistresses are burdened with a sense of humor."

"Don't I know it! Father, do I really have to become a priestess?" she demanded. "Can't you do anything to stop this?”

Liriel knew the words were a mistake the moment she spoke them. No one stayed healthy for long by pointing out to proud, frustrated Gromph that there were limits to his power. The expected rage did not come.

"It is my will you become a priestess," the archmage said coldly.

The scene continues with Gromph granting Liriel the means to go wherever she wish.

The archmage reached into a hidden pocket of his cloak and drew out a small book.

"This is yours. Learn it well, for you would surely go mad in Arach-Tinilith without the escape this book offers you." He paused for a grim smile. "I had this compiled for you—a task that spanned several years and cost the lives of a number of wizards—knowing this day would come."

That was quite a pitch, even for melodramatic Gromph, Liriel thought with a touch of wry humor. She took the book and opened it to the first spell. She skimmed the page, and the meaning of the symbols came to her with a rush of excitement and disbelief.

"This is a spell for summoning a gate!"

"And so is every other spell in the book," he agreed. "With this knowledge, you can travel where no priestess can follow."

Liriel leafed through the spellbook, her excitement growing by the moment. Magical travel was extremely difficult in the Underdark, and those who tried it often ended up as a permanent part of the landscape. This gift would give her greater freedom than she had ever enjoyed. Best of all, her father had foreseen this day, and prepared for it! Liriel hugged the precious book to her chest.

"I can't begin to thank you!" she cried joyfully.

Gromph Baenre smiled down at her, but his amber eyes remained cold. "Not yet, perhaps, but when the time comes I will tell you how you can properly express your gratitude. Become a priestess and seize what power you can. But never forget you are a wizard first and foremost. Your loyalty belongs to me."

The warmth fled from Liriel's heart. She held the arch-mage's hard gaze, and her golden eyes mirrored his. "Don't worry, Father," she said softly. "Lloth forbid I should ever forget what I am to you."

Gosh, this is why I love Cunningham sooo much. Much like Gromph’s scene with baby Liriel where the two have somewhat of a cute father-daughter moment, throwing faerie fire at each other etc.. the heatwarming scenes are always proceeded by an emotional whiplash, reminding the readers that this is Gromph Baenre we’re dealing with. In the first scene, Gromph murders Liriel’s mother right after having a cute moment with Liriel. Here, Gromph grants her what is one of the most valuable grimoires she’ll ever own, right before reminding her that she belongs to him as his tool.

A part of me could not help but wonder too though... does Gromph see himself in Liriel? The natural aptitude for magic, the fact that by their gender they are being forced into a role they did not want (Gromph being subservient to females as a male, Liriel being forced to become a cleric as a female despite wanting to be a wizard etc). The parallels are definitely there. I wonder if, through Liriel, Gromph may be unconsciously wishing to give her the opportunities he never had: freedom.

True freedom.

A part of me would like to think that Gromph, deep down, secretly wants Liriel to one day flee Menzoberranzan--- just as Jarlaxle did, to an extent at least.

I could go on and on about this forever, but I’ll stop here. If anyone is reading my rant this far, thanks! Feel free to hmu if you want to talk to.

#legend of drizzt #gromph baenre #war of the spider queen #Starlight & Shadows #the way of the drow

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throughtrialbyfire · 11 months

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TESFest Day 4 - Sanctuary

the humble keeper spends one last moment in his old sanctuary word count - 882

Eight years could putrefy and wither before your eyes, here in the dark.

Eight long, stolen years. Cicero breathed them in and out. He'd found purpose in this place. A Sanctuary and its last survivor, a chapel and its sole priest, a corpse-god and her last apostle.

Did anyone on the outside think of the Night Mother, did no one call on her, did she hear no prayer? Surely, that couldn't be right. Her influence, far and wide, spread long before his birth and would continue to spread long after he joined her and the Dread Father in the Void. He grasped the wooden handle of a broom and swept at the floors, idle chores, dull things that kept him from his work, the ever-present seating beside the remains of his Mother. His amber eyes gazed at the stones and counted the cracks in their surfaces. He muttered to himself in the silence, droning and intoning and quietly atoning for the lack of attention he'd paid today to his Mother, his only confidant, the space behind his eyes straining in the dark. He'd need to light more candles soon.

No, he reminded himself, this was the last time.

He inhaled. The sweet scent of cedar spread through his lungs. He tasted it on his tongue. One of the oils he used to tend his Mother, her funeral shroud clinging to the mummified remains. Oh, but that, that body was a vessel still-living, if only she would speak! She could and would but hadn't, she could and would but didn't, she spoke only to the Listener, and Cicero, ever-dutiful Cicero, he had done everything to be her Listener!

But the fact remained, he wasn't.

He squeezed his eyes shut, then returned to the task at hand, humming. Joking to himself, tiny words that felt smaller still. This was the last time he'd sweep these floors, pack up his belongings, set out. He had made the proper arrangements, wrote the letters to Astrid in Skyrim - so official, so polite - and prepared the coffin for transport. A wooden crate, unceremoniously, swaddled the coffin of stone. He'd spent days hammering the wood himself, fixing it into place, inspecting every corner and angle and cooing softly to his Mother over the details, what this entailed, the future ahead and laid bare for possibility.

"Mother," he called into the chamber, her shrine packed and ready, "Cicero's nearly done here, then we're off!" As cheerful as his voice reverberated through the halls, the echoes back just reminded him of the permeating silence. That silence, in his head, what he'd said so long ago, how did it go? The words, lost to memory, relegated to records unknown, to a Void of his own.

The silence could make a man feel empty.

No reply, as always, which only made the sensation worse. But no, he reminded himself, lonely Cicero was the Keeper, ever-honored to be given this position. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his Matron, even if it involved acceptance of bitter truths.

He inhaled. Chest rose. A reminder that there was blood in his body, air in his lungs, soul wrapping his bones.

And as long as that were the fact, he was the Keeper, and he served his Matron.

Tidying the Sanctuary was a useless thing. Cheydinhal was the last in Cyrodiil, there were no more brothers or sisters to call to in this province. Yet, he did so. It felt… Wrong, to leave it in disrepair, to leave the air unperformed by the holy oils and incense, the scents that he breathed deep, a place to keep the world at bay. Knocking on the door long-gone.

He couldn't explain the harrowing cold in his head, the hammering in his chest, as he gazed to the door. The last one alive, and to leave, to leave this place, to abandon its face, it made him shiver. Palpitation in the sternum, like the first kill. He knew that what lay beyond this door was uncertainty. But his Mother needed a Listener, the world needed a Listener, and if loyal Cicero did not find one, then what son of hers was he?

Gingerly, he began the process of moving her coffin. The wooden crate creaked, and he cooed softly, "oh, I hate to leave home, too, but soon we sail the sea, sweet Mother and me!" He ran a gloved palm over the crate's surface. He managed to shift the box to the door, awkwardly pushing and shushing the sliding and gliding along the fresh-swept floors, his belongings ready, his life behind him and his life ahead.

The transferring to a wagon took much longer than anticipated, but he managed to get the coffin situated neatly, ready to take her to the lands beyond this Sanctuary. He knew this would be the last time he was here, and so he turned around. One last look.

Empty. Quiet. Just as always.

He pushed a palm to the door, the scent of sweet, blooming flowers pressuring him forward. Slowly, he moved the wagon, wheels gliding along the floor, then the grass, then off onto the roads. This was it, the beginning and the end, and he would face it for his Matron.

#tesfest23 #cicero skyrim #the dark brotherhood #the night mother #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fic #tes v #tesblr #my writing #cicero my deranged little man <3 i love him

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ironfey-42 · 3 months

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This is how Tony lets the world know that he married Stephen. Not to worry, their friends were there to witness the wedding.

Imagine Thor being happy as the flower girl/boy. Peter was the ringbearer. All the other Avengers are part of the wedding crew, either as security or officiating the wedding, or part of the main crew like groomsmen, but doubled or something. Pepper is the matron of honor and matron for her since she married Happy. Rhodey, I feel like I would share duties with Pepper since they’ve been friends with Tony the longest, like they were the OG trio.

#ironstrange #ideas/concepts

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madcatlad · 11 months

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Ru'aun Culture HCs

Charms

Charms are a common practice in which a small trinket that symbolizes status, character, and accomplishments is worn by the receiver as a symbol of their growth.

All of Ru'aun as well as all of Galruk have some association with charms in their society.

Tu'la does not have any culture involving Charms specifically.

It is not uncommon for a Ru'aun local to be covered in jewelry.

Charms are usually expressed as an accessories (commonly jewelry), but can also take the form of a tattoos or (in the case of the more unhinged) carved out skin. These are referred to as "blood marks", these kinds of charms are considered to be more permanent, and are well respected in the region. A Blood Mark is considered sacred, an intimate vow under the religion of The Matron (Irene), and are heavily encouraged to be upheld by the reciever, often under threat of scrutiny.

Most people only recieve am average of five charms in their lifetime. They are VERY expensive to make, and can be extremely time consuming if you decide to make one yourself.

The idea is to be as unique and identifiable as possible.

Occasionally Charms will be the marker to an unrecognizable body.

Blood Marks and Charms are not always chosen by the reciever. Occasionally a charm will befall a reciever as a punishment and are purposed to bring shame. In the worse cases Blood Marks will be put upon a reciever via forced tattoos or permanent incisions into the skin. Unfortunately despite the nature of a Blood Mark the "vow" is still expected to be honored, regardless of the receiver's sentiments they too will be under threat of scrutiny if they fail to comply to the conditions of their charm.

Occasion for Charms:

Personal Accomplishment - if a reciever or anyone feel that the reciever has overcome a feat worthy of such a gift. Common for milestones, recovery, and aging. However this depends on the receiver's access to martial to make such trinkets. Wealth, energy and time all go into Charm making, it is not to be taken lightly.

Baby Bands - Baby Bands are the most common Charm. It is to celebrate mother and child after labor and ward off disease and malicious spirits from the vulnerable new mom and her babe. Traditionally, lord, guard, farmer or otherwise it is the duty of the father to personally craft this Charm as a show of his loyalty to his family. Baby Bands are made to be bent and trench so that babies can wear them into adulthood.

Familial Charms - These are Charms that represent the family you are either born into or adopted into. Blood born children are given their familial Charms at an age where they are less likely to kick the bucket. Adopted members are given their Charms immediately upon their adoption ceremony. If siblings, cousins, uncle/aunt, or any other familial unit feel like they have a significant bond with the reciever then that would also facilitate a Charm. Sibling Charms are traditionally facilitated and commissioned by the parents, but siblings can make all sorts of Charms between one another.

Casual Charms - low steaks Charms. These are usually inexpensive, and resources conscious. Can be simple trinkets repurposed into accessory. Common among children.

Relationship Charms - similar to familial Charms, but between relationship that aren't defined by a familial bond. Common in dating/exes, between mentor and student, between familiar and witch/warlock, between close friends, and guardships of a village.

Marriage Charm - Instead of rings married couples wear golden or sliver bands around their neck in a choker like fashion. This is the only Charm worn in this way. This, in the majority of the population, will be the most important Charm in a receiver's life. Some, if they are truly committed to their partner have the permanence of their bands tattooed around their neck. This is very serious, and the practicer of Blood Marks will not tattoo young marriages, the couple has to be able to stay together for life (under threat of tarnishing their vows), and after the passing of their spouse they cannot seek a new lover.

Examples (angst)

Travis cannot get Blood Mark. They refuse to appear on his skin.

Travis only had two Charm when they found him. A necklace of beads from his mom. And a baby band, made to celebrate mother and child after birth. It wasn't gifted from his mother. And it wasn't gifted from the Enki Warrior Tribe either.

Donna and Logan have their bands tattooed.

Aphmau adult adopted him and, because she also didn't start out with many Charms or show of affection she then continued to shower him in as many Charms as she could get away with.

Vylad got very few Charms before his death. He keeps pieces of the ones he did get on one gaudy looking chain. He never wears it. But he has it.

Vylad does not have a Baby Band

Malachi only recieved a Baby Band as he did not grow past the point in which he would recieve a familial Charm.

When Aphmau was found she had no Charms of any sort. The "MCD Rebirth" markings are assumed to be strange tattoos. Maybe of religious origin?

For a while she goes without any Charms. Even her ceremony to lordship was skipped because of the urgency of the situation. So the concept of a Lord's vow ceremony was absolutely knew to her.

Charms had to be explained to Aphmau, like all things usually are. She very quickly became completely enamored by the idea and very badly wanted Charms of her own.

In the earlier days when she met someone with very flashy Charms she became very invasive/obsessive/jealous. (Insert Laurence here) *poke, poke, poke*

Laurence, has an unusual amount of Charms when they first meet. The children of lord's usually had more than their peers, but Laurence was out of the norm even for that. Comparing the size of Meteli and O'kasis, Garroth had 17 Charms, Laurence had 20. Bracelets, necklaces, earrings, hair bands, even an ankle bracelet. Our boy was bedazzled.

Aphmau then proceeded to ask about EVERY SINGLE piece of jewelry on his body. He doesn't mind the very throughou attention

Lords are tattooed with Esmund's sigil of protection on the day of their ceremony, vowing them to protect their people against all threat

Aaron was given a similar tattooing, his failure to uphold his end of the vow leaves him as a social outcast, assumed damned by Irene herself (ironic). This also led to the immediate assumption that he murdered the entirety of his village.

Guards use a smaller scale tattoo when they knighted, usually on the wrist. A simple form of the symbol they serve under (I'll get into that in a later post).

Laurence's Knighting Charm was the sigil of Irene. A symbol of love in this case.

Laurence had a mysterious plain silver band around his tiny fist as a child, this is assumed to be a hastily made Baby Band.

Laurence also received a Personal Charm from his superiors who all chipped in to buy him a set of earrings. The gift was made fondly out of respect for Laurence's advanced progression and his achievements as a remarkable protegee. But also it is a departing gift from his time in the achedemy, as Laurence was always a class favorite. The symbol is that of the two brightest star in Kul'zack's Constellation (I'll get to that in another post also).

He recieved this symbol because of his adventurous young spirit, and reputation as a desired Casanova. But also it was a symbol of insisted encouragement for Laurence to travel and invest himself farther than the little village of Meteli as he "could well be a candidate for the jury of nine". This insistence was in opposed to Laurence's desire at the time of his graduation, then he wanted to be grounded, close to his family, and settle...eventually. This teenage sentiment was very quickly scrapped as Laurence along with his ego grew outside of the predicted small shell of Meteli.

Laurence saw Garroth wearing only one earring once, and thought it was a fantastic fashion statement so he copied it with his own.

As a joke by the fellow Meteli guard Laurence was given a Charm with a chicken design to symbolize his relationship with the Chicken Shaman. He unironically loved that thing.

Laurence, in his bond with Ungrth created a Charm. It was the first he'd made himself, a milestone of high esteem, especially for a loved one. Luckily the wyvern understood the importance of this human ritual, and was kind enough to help. Ungrth's magicks eased the struggle of the craft, and it actually ended up being quite the looker. A sliver band with give rubies enfused which each face, Ungrth's favored treasure, between each ruby was a square of designs, small gaps that were supposed to make up the shape of thorns and roses, but ended up being pretty little swirls....and what was supposed to be a bracelet ended up being a ring, and Laurence wasn't a big fan of wearing rings, but he was very proud of himself. He proceeded to show off the Charm for weeks... on a chain of course, because he did not like to wear rings.

Cadenza is VERY jealous of this piece of jewelry. And she insisted that Laurence create a similar charm for the both of them...despite their already established Familial Charms. He tried, but he could not create the same flawless look. Cadenza was disappointed, but still, after nearly twenty years she wears her gold bracelet with messily scattered emerald stones.

In his transformation to a shadow, under Gene's order Laurence was stripped of his Charms. This is a common practice in The Nether, but usually is done of free will. But Gene knew that Laurence wouldn't follow this practise. And he knew that the forced removal of the physical symbols of the young guards humanity and former life would cause the man great distress. So Gene not only took Laurence's Charms, but he melted them down in front of him with his blade (shadowknight metal is HOT guys). He made an ugly looking dagger out of it, and returned the distorted Charm as a gift for his "rebirth ceremony". Laurence cried.

Warning - Sadness: After his return Laurence tried desperately to restore his ruined Charms. He tried all sorts of methods to repurpose the jagged gold tinted metal. But nothing he did could even dent the dagger. He cried. He cried a lot. He still held on to it, obsessively, like one day it would suddenly change back and grant him his hard earned humanity. (He eventually did get rid of it - left it at the foot of the nether end of season 2)

Gene allowed Laurence to keep Ungrth's Charm. Not for any particular reason other than the fact he thought, "the color looks pretty" on Laurence. But because Gene is- Gene he ruined that too. He didn't melt the sliver, but he heated it enough to permanently char the ring black, distorted to match the black and red colors of The Nether.

When Laurence buried Ungrth, unlike his dagger, he buried that ring with him.

Laurence is now Charm-less. He's made many more achievements, relationships, and has risen in status and title multiple times. Occasions that would warrent the recieving of a Charm. But he outright rejects new Charms, or the suggestion of them. He's been fairly honest about why, Laurence has always been able to give the closed case answer of "The Nether" as an explanation, and has never been asked to elaborate further. But he'll never really get into how watching as his identity was destroyed before his eyes and simple it down to... a weapon. It was all too symbolic, too close to a truth he didn't want to see. In Phoenix Drop, alongside companions and family he knew he was allowed to live under the illusion of picking his old life back up, and has been able to ignore the fact that in summary, like his Charms, he had to start all over. And that is a reality he refuses to accept.

He jokes that he'll finally accept a Charm when he and Aphmau get wedding bands. This is a half truth.

Laurence's shadowknight body is too resistance to keep tattoos. His initiation tattoos had long fizzled out of his skin, to his dismay. And he recieved a knighting tattoo for his guardship in Phoenix Drop, but to his disappointment it soon faded as well. He could no longer use his body to show human commitments. Nothing he did would be permanent in that intimate way again.

Laurence has recieved only two Charms since his transformation. The first was a mear ribbon, an uncommon form of Charm, it is his guardship Charm between himself, Garroth, and Dante before the Irene Dimension. This Charm was tied around his sword. The second was from Levin. The young lord never asked if he wanted one. After being in the Yaggdrasil forest for so long he wasn't completely accustomed to the unspoken contract of Charm-gifting. But he was desperate to finally get to practice the culture of his people (he'd already covered Malachi in whatever metal he could bend into a bracelet in their childhood and teens). He was so excited, Laurence couldn't bring himself to tell the boy "no", so he took the Charm with grace. He made matching ones for himself, Dante, Laurence and his mommy because Levin is a sweet boy 😊.

The Chicken Shaman himself gave Laurence a Charm... of sorts. The Shaman was not too unfamiliar with the practice of Charms, but he saw it as lowly and pathetic... so perfect for Laurence. He was given a green dyed Chicken Feather. A VERY unique taste. Laurence didn't wear this item a lot, like one would other Charms, but he'd rock it on occasion. He'd thought he'd lost it after he went to The Nether, but in reality Cadenza has it in her inventory. She was so proud of herself when she found it. An untainted Charm from her brother's past, one he could touch and feel and look at without the remainders of The Nether. And with any luck he'd wear it. And with even more luck he'd move past this refusal to create new Charms. She'd planned to return it to him. To surprise him. And she waited to do so, for the perfect moment. And she waited. And she waited she waited. And she waited. She's been starring at it blankly for the last 15 years.

Garroth was given the tattoo of his family sigil placed at his shoulder. He was "gifted" the charm at an unreasonably young age (7ish) in order to ensure his obedience to his family. This did not work. When Garroth started a new life his first course of action was to remove himself from all previous vows. This resulted in Garroth having to remove the Charm on his shoulder....

Secondly Garroth removed all of his other charms as well. Both to hide himself from O'kasis, and as a show of guilt of being now unable to fulfill any of his vows, or live up to any of his previous characteristics as a son of O'kasis (but he had more fun removing his Charms of Status). He ended up having to sell the majority of them in order to fund his undercover journey from O'kasis to Phoenix Drop. Out of all 17 of his Charms he kept only three.

Garroth's Charms:

One of which was a personal gift from his mother, a necklace of Irene's sigil, intended to keep The Matron's love close to his heart (ironic). It's not too special as this is a common charm, set apart only by the encrusted Lapis Lazuli, he was given the charm as a child, just after his tattooing, not for achievement or status, but for simply existing. He now where's it under his armor.

The second was from Vylad... an earring his youngest brother had forged himself out of steel in their teen years, it was originally a pair but Vylad messed up the other in his amateur attempt. It's the terrible design of The Wanderers sigil, and it looks more like an ugly snowflake, but it showed how much Vylad knew his brother, as he knew he wanted to be free of O'kasis. In his grief Garroth dare not wear the charm, even after Vylad was revealed to be alive, to him this charm is a symbol of brotherhood, and after Vylad, then Zane, and Zenix... that too has become an identity he feel too distant from to claim. He wore it for a short while when he became closer with Laurence, but even that was squandered when he was so rudely reminded of his past when Zane waltz in like the Queen of England. He wore them again for another brief period after his return from the Irene Dimension, but after Laurence left.... he felt alone. He felt farther from the brother he was once raised to be than ever. He truly considered throwing the thing in a river never to be seen again to which he broke down in sobs :'( he now wears it consistently as a symbol of failure and shame.

And lastly the third. Another personal gift. From Zane... this was the only sentimental gift that Zane had ever given him. Ever. It was truly thoughtful, and seemingly unprompted. In their childhood whilst playing they manged to completely shatter their mother's expensive porcelain vase. The decor meant a lot to Zianna, she never disclosed why. But in a desperate effort to stray from disappointing or even worse upsetting their mother (something they commonly tried to avoid since Garte had picked up that hobby ten fold) the two brothers collaborated to repair the vase. It was terrible, they did not succeed. When Zianna found out she was distraught of course, but seeing what her normally estranged sons had done together was a far greater gift than any ancient vase. She showered them in praise, but in no uncertain terms lecture them to stop running in her personal chambers. But she was happy, very happy, possibly the happiest she'd ever been. In their teens, like Vylad, Zane gave Garroth a unique charm, though he had it commissioned instead of making it himself. It was a sliver ring, encapsulated in glass covering was in fact a shard of the long discarded vase. A piece Zane had kept. Behind the shard was a single petal to an orchid, the flower housed by the shattered vase. Their mother's favorite. Garroth was stunned, he's still stunned. The gesture confuses him to no wits end. When he looks at it makes him angry. It makes him sad. It makes him sick. When he looks at that accursed ring he feel so unbareably lost and alone. An once good memory now turned cold and lifeless...But he wears the ring. Everywhere he where's the ring. He has never once taken it off. Not once. He's never mentioned it, nor it's importance, and he never plans to. It's of no purpose to him, not a reminder of shame, nor honor, nor duty, or even happiness. It brings him nothing, and if he somehow lost it he wouldn't bat an eye. But he has never put himself in a position to lose it, or got rid of it himself. It has been years now... too many years. The Ring itself was grimy, dented by battle, the smooth surface now rough, crevices filled with unknown crust, but somehow, after all these years the orchid petal never seemed to wilt...

Bonus:

If you asked Zane about this charm now he'd claim that it gesture of severance. The final 'piece' of his childhood removed from himself. But not even he I truly certain of that answer. In truth he cannot say why he gave Garroth such a gift. The action confuses even him, and frustratingly he can't recall the sentiments he had at the time.

So no one really knows the intentions of this gift. An neither brother can truly identify its meaning.

I don't know if these hcs will be anything more than implied within my continuation, but I've thought about them enough to post them somewhere. But y'know...don't go and read it or anything 👀...

"Minecraft Diaries: Sons and Daughters"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46724815

#aphblr #aphmau #mcd #minecraft diaries #fictional cultures #angst #headcanon #mcd rewrite #fanfiction

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tragedybunny · 2 years

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A Different Kind of Trial - Obi-Wan Kenobi X Female Reader

Obi-Wan Kenobi has come to a Courtesan House shortly after his Knighthood looking for his first carnal experience. Reader is the Courtesan that is hired for the occasion.

NSFW Content (18+) , Submissive Obi-Wan, praise kink, gentle femdom

There’s a certain bit of opulent indulgence that everyone on the upper layer of Courscant knows about, but few speak about outside whispers. It isn’t a topic considered fit for polite conversation. The Courtesan Houses, one might be tempted to call them brothels, but that’s a word for the underworld, where these things are less elegant. Down there, anyone can sell themselves for credits, but up here, one must be refined and polished, a fact that has come to define much of your life. You were trained for this, educated for entertainment, companionship, and seduction. Time in the Courtesan Houses isn’t cheap, for most customers anyway, and clients expect to get their credits worth.

The House you’re employed in is particularly highly regarded, its location guaranteeing the highest levels of discretion, and some of the best trained workers, as it is the House located closest to the Jedi Temple. You were given an introduction to this fact first thing when you started here. Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments, and therefore they often avoid intimacy, some shunning it altogether. When they do find themselves in need of release, many find it preferable to have it in the form of a detached transaction to keep things as emotionless as possible. It isn’t uncommon that they even avoid visiting the same Courtesan too often. They’re easy clients though, for the most part, kind and genial, never arguing costs, which they do receive quite a discount on as their presence is considered an honor for you all, and they never have forced any of you into anything you didn’t agree to. Every so often, one will see the same Courtesan one too many times and disappear for a while. It’s always a fun bit of gossip to indulge in.

Today so far has been slow for you, appointments and even walk-ins are incredibly few. The word is there are a number of important things happening in the Senate with the new Chancellor and all, and everyone must attend their duty, or at least make an appearance of doing so, and many more will be trying to make a name for themselves. It all leads to dull times with large stretches between customers for you, but you know they’ll be back when things settle. It comes as a shock when you hear your door slide open and the House Matron enters your private entertaining room. You’d been lounging around, watching an old holovid, idly glancing at the never-ending stream of ships entering and leaving the planet, bored despite the fact that you could just enjoy having some downtime for once.

Sitting up straight in the divan you had pretty much flung yourself across, you give the House Matron your attention. She looks more like a bland Senator’s aide than a purveyor of the decadent; conservative, and official seeming in her attire. The position is mostly that of a supervisor and administrator but she does book the appointments so being respectful never hurts, and she is for the most, a friendly sort. Today her presence can only mean your day is finally about to get interesting. “Up for a client?” She asks, already knowing well the answer. Courtesans of your stature enjoy a certain lifestyle that requires a fair amount of credits to maintain. Work on days like these wasn’t to be denied.

“What have you got?” You stand, beginning to clear some things away to make your space pristine.

“A Jedi.” The answer comes with a tantalizing grin. “A younger one, never seen him before.”

“Hmm.” Focus already turned to your wardrobe, you begin the process of picking the perfect costume for this encounter. “What are his interests?” Clients usually come looking for a certain experience.

“He doesn’t know.” You pause your search, already having an inkling of where this is going. “I think it’s his first time, he seems nervous enough. That’s why I thought of you. Gender, age, species, mood, he really was in over his head. Figure you’re the soft type, you can be delicate with him, and he’s also human, so it won’t be too overwhelming for him.”

It’s not the first time you’ve been given one who’s a bit newer to carnal matters, you’ve become known as a safe, guiding presence for those that are unsure of themselves. “Alright, send him up.”

From the wardrobe, you pull a light pink, satin negligee and matching panties, something that’s the sweet and alluring sort, the less intimidating the better. You stop to lower the lights in your entertaining room, letting the mellow glow and the blues and golds you’ve decorated it in make the atmosphere nice and cozy. Every Courtesan in the Houses has an entertaining room they decorate and call their own, your’s has a bed, the divan, a small bar, and even a fireplace. Turning off the holoprojector, you hurriedly change into your selected outfit and pour a couple of glasses of wine. You’re sure your new client will be grateful.

Moments later, there’s a buzz at your door, perfectly echoing the mental countdown you’d had going. House Matron’s timing is almost as good as any computer. After a last quick glance in the mirror, you press the button for your door, admitting this curious new client. It’s undeniably a Jedi, a young man with auburn hair that is growing out from a much more close-cropped style, and what could be called an attempt at a beard. Blue eyes dart around making it clear he’s not even sure what he’s doing here. “H-hello there.” He stutters and you give him a genial smile encouraging him over the threshold.

“What’s your name sweetheart?” You ask, shutting the door behind him.

“Obi-Wan.” The answer is quiet as he occupies himself studying your room.

“Very pleased to meet you, Obi-Wan. If you could, boots and cloak over there.” You gesture to an open closet, admiring the outline of his form as he obeys your request. “Lightsaber as well.”

The removal of the items only seems to increase the anxiety he’s been displaying and you wonder why he’s pushed himself into this. Once he turns back around, you take his hand, lightly, and lead him to sit on the divan, catching his eyes roving over you. At least maybe he’s starting to get interested in this. Settling down close to him, you pass him a glass of wine and take the other for yourself. “So Obi-Wan, what is it you want from this?”

“Just to try it, I guess, I don’t really know. This is new for me.” So unsure, and clearly inexperienced, and you can tell both are bothering him. It doesn’t take a Jedi’s abilities to recognize, after dealing with people at their most vulnerable as much as you have.

Taking a sip out of your glass, you encourage him to do the same. “Then why did you come?”

Frustratingly, he shrugs. “It seemed like something different, and different felt right, less like me.” Was he rebelling or frightened of his future? From his looks, he was very recently made a Knight, so that would make sense, but there was a sadness about him too you thought. Reaching out, you run your fingers through his hair quickly, nails lightly dragging over his scalp. “What was that for?” There’s a little bit of indignation to his tone.

“Checking you don’t have a hidden braid, you know we don’t allow Padawan’s.” You tease him, but keep your tone playful. “Since you’re so unsure I had to make certain.”

For a second he huffs. “I am too a Knight,” and then his posture deflates, “for a little while now anyway.” That confirms all your suspicions.

Scooting right up next to him, you rest your hand on his thigh. “Well then, Obi-Wan, Jedi Knight, let me help you do something very unlike you.”

The rising blush in his cheeks is very fetching. “Could we take it slow?” It seems almost pleading, as if he wasn’t the one who came here.

“It’s your credits.” And you really don’t mind letting him experiment at a comfortable pace.

With a soft hand, you tilt his chin up, and lean in to give him a tender kiss, and feel him grip your waist. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him in to deepen it, and feel fingers tentatively begin to wander your skin. Letting him explore, your lips traverse from his down to his neck, feeling a slight tickle from that newly grown stubble. Finally, he works himself up to palming one of your breasts, a sigh escaping him like he’s relieved getting that far. It’s time to push him just a little.

Rising, you give him a gentle order. “Stand up.” He complies, eyes glossy, skin even more flushed. Gripping his belt, you start the work of undressing him. Jedi garments are simple and uncomplicated and it’s not long before you leave him standing before you in nothing at all. Quickly he turns away when he notices you studying him. Well-muscled and nearly flawless, as though he were sculpted by a master artisan, he’s beautiful. You’d be willing to bet he doesn’t even know it.

Guiding his grasp to the hem of your negligee, you prompt him to take his turn with you. Fidgeting nervously, he takes a breath before he guides the silky bit of material over your head, leaving nothing between the two of you but one pair of pink panties. “That’s it, very good.” His eyes go wide for just a moment, and you think you may have a clue to figuring out what it is that he needs. Taking a step toward the bed, you gesture for him to follow, and lay down amongst the plush covers. “Come here.” Obediently, he settles down next to you, and pauses, waiting for your lead. As you pull him in for another kiss, you feel the growing hardness between his legs.

Reaching down, you lightly rub him a bit, feeling out his reaction. “Please.” He whispers, asking for more already.

“We’re getting there dear.” Continuing to play with him, you feel his touch traverse your body, growing bolder until a thumb brushes across one of your nipples. The sudden pressure sends a jolt of pleasure through you and draws a sigh from your lips.

Emboldened, he captures it between his thumb and another finger, twirling slightly just as your lips brushed along the lobe of his ear. You gasp, surprised by the unexpected pressure. “Is that alright?” His tone is full of apprehension, thinking he’s misstepped.

It’s endearing, that naive concern, he’s quite the sweet one. “Perfectly, keep going.” You nip his earlobe to punctuate your remark. Lips wander over your neck and onto your breasts, exploring every inch shyly with tongue and teeth, all the while hands now hungrily accompany them. Your nails dance across his back, lightly caressing his skin as he finds all the right places for his now eager attentions, the occasional stroke of his cock keeping him encouraged. The two of you become a tangle of limbs and rising passion, soft sounds of bliss accenting each new sensation for him.

Suddenly, he sits and glances down at the underwear still covering you. Hesitantly, he reached out and hooks his fingers in the waist of them. “May I?”

You nod and gingerly he removes them before gazing at your fully unclothed form. “You’re doing so well.” There it is again, a tell, a perceptible shiver of euphoria. That’s what this one is about, he’s eager to please and to be praised for it. Freshly made Knights sometimes have lingering insecurities, you’d be willing to bet this one’s run deeper. Backing up, so you’re sitting up on the pillows and have a nice view, you command him. “Touch me.” Legs parting, you give him room to explore.

Shifting, he kneels between your legs and runs a curious finger along your slit. Two then spread open and after a few seconds of trying he finds your clit with an inelegant graze along it. Still, you hum in approval at his efforts and he hurries to continue his delectable endeavor. As he caresses it, now more confidently, you soak in the sensation, eyes traveling to his enticingly hard cock, a small pearl of precum glistening at the tip.

Switching away from your already swollen clit, he gently pushes a finger inside you, then another, eager now for the delights of the moment. With delicious fervor, they move inside you and you reward his efforts with an ardent moan. “Both at once.” You instruct and without hesitation, he follows, thumb circling your clit and fingers hasting their maddening motion. He won’t last long once he gets that untried cock in you, may as well get yours now. The zealous work he’s done has already brought you close to the edge. “Good boy.” You sigh and a strangled groan answers you, all decorum gone as his pace increases. Letting go, you climax, clenching around him and soaking his fingers.

He’s panting more than breathing and you can see even more wetness has dribbled out of him. Time to finish up with him before you make him senseless, even if he is achingly adorable to watch like this. “Do you think you can fuck me, darling boy?” Despite your honeyed tone, you’re ordering him, just like he needs.

“Y-yes Madame.” In his haste for obedience, he doesn’t even seem to realize the word the came uttering forth from him.

“Come on then.” You draw your legs up and give him ample access.

Trembling slightly, he brings his cock in line with your wet and eager sex. Gripping it for him, you guide him until he’s sheathed deeply inside you. Almost immediately, he begins to thrust at a frantic pace. “Slow down, savor it.” Your words are law and he instantly slows, hips taking on a more languid motion. Even so, you can tell he’s already struggling. Rolling your hips, you meet his rhythm, ensuring he goes as deep as possible each time. Hands on his backside, nails gently clutching his skin, you continue to guide his speed. His mouth is on yours again, and then your neck, and collarbone, and anywhere he can reach, even if he loses momentum from it.

It’s not long before his breath is coming in desperate gasps, and you know he’s close/ Reaching down, you begin to rub your clit, keeping yourself moist for him, while a wave of pleasure builds for you again. The size of him is nice, even if he doesn’t quite know how to use it. Playing with yourself and feeling him inside you, hearing the delightful sounds he’s making as he reaches his climax, you can’t help but finish for a second a time.

“I’m going to…” His voice cracks.

“Go ahead a cum Obi-Wan, you’ve been so good.” As soon as you say it, his eyes roll back in his head and you feel him pump his seed into you.

He’s sweaty and disheveled and looks a bit overwhelmed as he pulls out from you, not sure what comes next. “Come here, dearest.” You gesture to your lap and nimbly he nestles himself there, letting you pull his head down to rest against your chest.

“I really did alright?” Tiredly he murmurs and you decide to give him a few minutes even if you should technically get him dressed and out the door.

“You did fantastically.” You coo, kissing his cheek.

You like this one. Maybe he’ll come back you’ll get to continue teaching him.

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #f!reader #obi wan kenobi fanfiction #star wars fanfiction

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lizartgurl · 6 months

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Wedding, we're going to have a wedding A wedding! Let's all get out and cheer cause The bride is getting married today Hooray!

Wedding doodles for the lovely @queenquazar and the Whispers of Ghosts series.

1. Hunter and his Bright-Eyed girl sharing some cake. (the ceremony/reception takes place in the Archium on Pabu)

2. Phee and Tech both taking their respective duties as Matron of Honor and Best Man very seriously, and looking fabulous while doing it.

3. Crosshair escorts the Genoa Baby down the aisle as the ring bearer.

#lizart #my art #techphee #crosshair #clone babies #sergeant hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #tbb hunter x oc #sergeant hunter x you

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swan-of-sunrise · 1 year

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A Spellbinding Wedding (Spellbinding-Verse Interlude)

Summary: (Y/N) and Loki’s big day has finally arrived, but will mischief and superhero shenanigans succeed in derailing the happiest day of their lives?

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 10.9k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Almost 11k words of pure, tooth-rotting fluff lol

A/N: We’ve finally arrived at the wedding of Loki and the Cosmic Sorceress! If you haven't already, I recommend checking out the Spellbinding Playlist; I added a bunch of wedding/romantic songs I imagine they'd choose for their special day and they're all great, so go ahead and give it a listen!Thank you all so much for reading and for waiting like six months for this thing lol, and I hope that you enjoy!

A Spellbinding Wedding October 8th, 2016 Stark Mansion New York City, New York (Previous One-Shot)

“So, (Y/L/N), in just a few short hours you’re gonna be officially – pause for dramatic effect – off the market! Can you tell us what exactly’s going through the beautiful bride’s head right now?”

(Y/N) briefly paused her mascara application and pretended to ponder Clint’s overly-exaggerated question. “Whether or not it would be rude of me to drop that camcorder through a portal to Muspelheim and lock you in the basement until after the ceremony.”

The archer snickered before jumping up to sit on the dresser behind her and turning the camcorder around to directly address the camera. “As you can see, your mom gets a little cranky when she has to wake up early. Not sure if that’ll go away in the future or just get worse, so…either way, good luck with that, kiddos!”

“When you volunteered to film the ceremony and parts of the reception for us, I really should’ve questioned it more.” (Y/N) resumed applying her mascara while fighting back a smile. “At least any future children of ours will watch this, see just how ridiculous their Uncle Clint is and know that we weren’t exaggerating. Oh! Speaking of children, are Peter’s friends here yet? Tony was supposed to send Happy into Queens to pick them up an hour ago, but I haven’t heard anything about them since.”

“Yeah, they’re all hanging out in the old lab downstairs and Tony’s helping ‘em prep their sound equipment as we speak; you and Loki do know that there’s literally thousands of professional DJ’s living in New York you could’ve hired to run your wedding reception that aren’t sixteen and can actually drive themselves to their venues, right?”

“Says the friend of ours who practically begged to be the videographer even though he’s a professional archer by trade…” She mumbled under her breath, twisting the mascara wand back into its tube just as someone knocked on her suite’s door. “Come in!”

The door opened and Natasha popped her head into the room, her long red hair still wrapped in curlers, a clipboard in her hands and a comm link secured in her ear. The spy was taking her many duties as Matron of Honor very seriously, treating the day’s celebration as if it were a highly-classified mission and not a mid-sized wedding located at Tony’s family mansion; each of their teammates had been assigned specific duties and responsibilities and throughout the morning, Natasha regularly checked in with them to ensure that their tasks were going smoothly, which explained why she was shooting Clint the trademark glare she normally reserved for Hydra agents and invading aliens. “Last I checked, Barton, you’re supposed to be overseeing the florists in the garden and not raising the bride’s blood pressure right before the wedding.”

Clint jumped down from the dresser and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, no need to go all Black Widow on me, Tasha.” He crossed the room and pressed a chaste kiss onto (Y/N)’s cheek before winking at her through the vanity’s mirror. “I’ll see you at the altar, (Y/L/N)!”

Natasha gave the archer one final glare as he hurried out of the suite while whistling ‘Chapel of Love’ and shook her head when the door closed behind him. “I swear, I’m gonna have to start using my Widow Bites on these people if they don’t start being more helpful…” The spy turned her attention to (Y/N) and her concentrated frown morphed into a smile. “Aw (Y/N), you look stunning and you haven’t even put on your dress yet! I’m serious, it’s like you’re glowing or-” She cut herself off and held a hand up to her ear to listen to a voice in her comm. “Wait a sec, Bruce says that the caterers just arrived. Did you want me to get you anything before I check in on them?”

“Is it too early in the day for a glass of champagne?”

“Not if there’s a splash of orange juice in it,” Natasha answered with a mischievous grin. “I’ll be back before you know it!”

The door closed behind the spy and for the first time that morning, the room fell silent. (Y/N) sat back in her seat and let out a sigh of relief; she loved her friends and teammates dearly, of course, but all she wanted to do was prepare for the wedding in peace and with as little stress as possible. The wedding was slightly larger than they’d originally anticipated, with over a hundred guests from Midgard, Asgard and Alfheim all gathered together at one of Tony Stark’s family mansions in the heart of New York City, and with the ink still drying on the three realms’ fledgling peace treaties, handling the guests and ensuring that they remain peaceful would be a difficult task to carry out on a day already filled to the brim with difficult tasks. So far, her friends were doing an excellent job with ensuring that everything was running smoothly but after living the life of a superhero for over a year, she knew just how quickly a situation could shift from calm to catastrophic.

“I wonder of Loki’s feeling just as anxious about all this as I am,” (Y/N) murmured to herself, giving the photograph of her soon-to-be husband she’d tucked into the edge of her vanity’s mirror a smile before setting her sights on her un-styled hair, hoping that the intricate task would serve to distract her from the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Brother, what exactly is this gloopy green substance?”

“It’s an avocado and green tea mud mask.”

“…And why have we applied it to our faces?”

“It removes impurities from the skin while unclogging pores and absorbing excess oil.” Before Thor had a chance to ask another question, Loki brusquely continued. “Yes, it’s meant to relax you and no, you cannot eat it.”

Instead of becoming annoyed by Loki’s shortness, his brother chuckled. “In that case, these mud masks must be defective because you’re anything but relaxed, brother.” With a defeated sigh, Loki removed the cucumber slices resting on his eyelids and sat up, tossing the slices into the nearby trashcan and making his way into the suite’s bathroom to wash the half-dried mud mask off; he was halfway done when Thor entered and leaned against the door-frame, a look of concern visible even beneath his own thick mud mask. “Loki, are you all right? You haven’t been yourself all morning, and it’s beginning to worry me. You’re not having second thoughts about the wedding, are you?”

“No! No, of course not,” Loki emphatically shook his head. “I’ve been waiting for this day for quite a long time, believe me, but I…well, it’s an awfully significant life change, isn’t it? I know that what I’m feeling is only a natural reaction to such a change, of course, but a part of me can’t help but wonder if I’m even deserving of this life I’m about to embark on with (Y/N).”

His brother nodded in understanding. “I believe that Wilson refers to them as intrusive thoughts; unwelcome, involuntary thoughts with no basis in truth or fact that can manifest as a result of several forms of trauma.” When Loki raised his brows in surprise, Thor sighed and rolled his eyes in mild exasperation. “Believe it or not, brother, I do listen to what others say when they’re around me. The important point to be made is that they’re wrong; as your designated Best Man, it’s my duty to ease these irrational worries of yours and I believe that I have just the thing!”

Thor disappeared into the bedroom and quickly returned with an ornate bottle and two glasses, and Loki’s jaw nearly dropped at the sight of the familiar flagon. “That’s one of Asgard’s last remaining bottles of the great Hoder’s spiced mead. It’s to be drunk on the most special of occasions and only with the Allfather’s express permission…”

“I took a page out of your book and simply borrowed a bottle on my way out of the palace.” The older man grinned proudly at his uncharacteristic act of subterfuge and Loki couldn’t help but chuckle. “The Allfather might not agree, but my brother’s wedding and all the happiness it will surely bring him is a special occasion.”

As Loki’s throat burned and he fought back the sudden tears brought on by his brother’s support, he watched as Thor poured the amber-colored liquid out into the two glasses and pressed one into his hand, the corner of his mouth curving upwards while he raised the glass. “Well then, to happiness.”

“To happiness,” Thor echoed, and the two brothers clinked their glasses together before downing the spiced mead in one go. “Another!”

There was a gentle knock on the suite’s door and Frigga’s voice called out, “Loki? Thor?”

“Oh, Hel!”

Both men scrambled to hide the evidence of their treasonous transgression, shoving the spiced mead and glasses unceremoniously under the sink and rushing out of the bathroom to open the door for their mother; the Queen of Asgard was dressed spectacularly in a pale turquoise dress and matching wide-brimmed hat, looking just as elegant in Midgardian clothing as she always did on Asgard. Frigga was beaming as she stepped into the suite and reached up to hold Loki’s face between her hands. “Oh, I can hardly believe that my darling little one is getting married today, and to such a wonderful young woman as well! How are you feeling, Loki? Have you eaten anything at all?”

“I’m fine, Mother, just a little anxious.” Loki matched her infectious smile with one of his own. “After all, it’s not every day that three realms of the cosmos come together to celebrate a wedding.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about, because your brother and your friends are doing such an excellent job at keeping everything running smoothly.” Frigga gave them both a knowing look. “Perhaps another glass of Hoder’s spiced mead will soothe your nerves? Now, be a dear and make mine a double, please.”

Loki and Thor exchanged a wide-eyed look of surprise as their mother crossed the suite and began brushing the stray pieces of lint off their suit jackets hanging near the window, humming a cheerful tune to herself as she did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pulling back to admire her handiwork, (Y/N) smiled brightly and twirled Cassie’s chair around to face her vanity’s mirror. “There, all finished! What do you think, Cassie?”

Their flower girl-slash-ring bearer squealed in joy and turned to her with the widest smile on her glittering face. “It’s so pretty! I love it!” She threw her arms around her middle and tightly hugged her. “Do I look like a fairy from Alf…Alf…?”

“Alfheim? I’m not sure, actually, I’ve never seen a fairy there before.” Shrugging, (Y/N) glanced over at Elora, who was preoccupied with unzipping the large garment bag containing her wedding dress. “Elora has, though! Haven’t you, Elora?”

The General of the Alfheimian Army looked up from her task with a small shudder. “Unfortunately. The little beasts possess needle-sharp teeth and use their woodland magic to mask their presence right before viciously attacking any who dare trespass into their domain.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in alarm but before she could chastise the Alfheimian for her bluntness, Cassie clapped her hands together and let out a delighted laugh. “That is so cool!”

A knock on her suite’s door drew (Y/N) away from Elora and Cassie’s animated discussion of the various magical beasts that lived on Alfheim, and she opened the door to reveal Sam and Bucky; both men were already dressed in their suits, minus their floral boutonnieres, but her calm demeanor vanished when she caught sight of the panicked expressions they were desperately trying to mask. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong, doll-”

“Yeah, everything’s goin’ according to plan, (Y/L/N), promise-”

“Nat had us come up here to…um…”

“To see if you needed any help with…anything.”

She arched an unimpressed brow that almost instantly silenced both men. “Do I really have to ask you two again?”

“…Scott lost the wedding rings!” (Y/N)’s jaw dropped and Bucky let out an indignant noise as Sam raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, Buck, but she’s got the same death glare my mom used to give me! Yeah, Scott put the rings down and now he can’t find them anywhere, and he can’t even use the ants to help ‘cause he didn’t bring his suit along.”

The super soldier hastily added, “Nat’s trying her best to jog his memory, but…well, you know Nat. I think she might end up making the poor guy faint before finding out where he might’ve lost the rings.”

“Okay, okay…” Rubbing her temples in an attempt to quell the rapidly-growing headache, (Y/N) took a steadying breath and forced herself to remain calm as she began formulating a plan. “All right, my hair and makeup’s already done, so let me find some slippers and we’ll go find Nat and Scott. I might be able to use my Alf Seidr to try and find them-” Both Sam and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. “-But not a word of this to Loki, okay? The last thing he needs today is any added stress…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arching a curious brow, Loki examined the items laid out on the coffee table before glancing up at his teammates. “This is a Midgardian tradition? It seems a little silly that these random objects can determine the outcome of a marriage.”

“Yeah, it’s a good luck thing here on Earth, Lokes, like that old Saints jersey Sam wears during every football season.” Clint held up the camcorder and pointed the lens at Loki as he continued. “Your dad’s a pretty smart guy, kiddos, but don’t let that fool you; he once thought your mom was dying when she was only having a little brain freeze. Remember, Lokes?”

“Children, if you’ve ever wondered why your mother once attempted to hit your dear Uncle Clint over the head with a coffee-table book, then now you know,” Loki snickered as the archer flushed pink and rolled his eyes.

A reluctant smile played on Steve’s lips while he finished fastening his cuff-links across the suite. “I hate to say it, but Barton’s right about it being good luck here. ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue.’ Your mother gifted you a set of cloak clasps for today so that’s your ‘something old,’ your tuxedo counts as your ‘something new,’ Tony’s lending you one of his nicer Rolex watches for your ‘something borrowed,’ and your ‘something blue’ are the navy blue suspenders you’re wearing.”

Loki hummed in interest. “I suppose that a little extra luck wouldn’t go amiss…”

Just as he slipped the borrowed Rolex onto his wrist, a visibly panicked Thor burst into the suite and made a bee-line to Steve. “Captain Rogers, there’s an urgent matter that I must speak to you about!”

“If it’s that Tony wrote a borderline explicit speech to read at the reception, then we all know and Nat already took care of-”

“No, no, it’s not that, but we really should discuss this matter out in the hall-”

“What is it, Thor?” Loki asked, tilting his head in confusion as he took in his brother’s unusually pale face and arching a disapproving brow when he proceeded to badly explain away his concern. “Brother, surely you haven’t forgotten that I’m the God of Lies? Whatever it is, I’m sure that we’ll be able to handle it before the ceremony begins.”

Thor swallowed and anxiously bit his lip before blurting out, “A wizard is currently battling a space worm out on the lawn.”

“What?!” Loki, Steve and Clint all exclaimed in unison.

“It just appeared out of nowhere and started wreaking havoc across the grounds, but then a wizard stepped out of a portal and started fighting it! Stark and Rhodes are already on their way to help but it seems that the beast is indestructible!”

With his jaw clenched tight in mounting agitation, Loki stood from his seat and summoned his emerald-green magic. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” A shimmer of light enveloped his body and in the blink of an eye, his wedding attire morphed into his Asgardian battle armor and daggers appeared in his grasp. “The beast and this so-called wizard will soon regret the very moment they dared to step foot on this property.”

Steve shrugged off his tuxedo jacket and reached for the red, white and blue shield propped up beside one of the suite’s armchair. “Barton, keep the caterers and florists away from the lawn, and make sure the guests stay inside and away from the windows.”

“On it.”

“And not a word of this to (Y/N), all right?” All three men nodded in agreement and Loki’s grip tightened around the hilts of his daggers. “The last thing she needs today is any added stress…”

As the trio of men hurried outside, a part of Loki wondered if he’d been tricked into believing that a cosmic monster was in the process of battling a sorcerer and that it was all some sort of elaborate prank concocted by his brother and friends to ease his pre-wedding jitters. However, that spark of hope was quickly extinguished when Steve threw the back door open and was forced to jump back to avoid being struck by Rhodes’ flailing body falling from the sky.

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna feel that one for a couple of days,” Rhodes groaned in pain and allowed Steve to hoist his armor-clad body to his feet. “Either of you guys wanna tell me what an ugly-ass space worm is doing here in New York? ‘Cause it’s definitely not here to wish the bride and groom its best!”

The familiar sound of repulsor blasts intermingled with the booming roars caused all four men to turn and watch as Tony darted around the tentacles of an enormous pink creature and a dark-haired man wearing a burgundy cape conjured orange-hued magic to counter its vicious attacks. “Earth has second-rate sorcerers now, how delightful…” Loki rolled his eyes and turned to the others. “It’s an Abilisk, a cosmic creature that feeds off significantly-sized energy sources, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if that cheap magician down there summoned it here out of pure incompetency.”

“Let’s deal with the Abilisk first, brother, and then we’ll confront the wizard later!” With a burst of lightning, Thor flew off towards the enraged creature and attempted to slam Mjolnir against its skull, but he was quickly swatted aside by one of its flailing tentacles.

Loki and Steve exchanged a look with Rhodes before joining the battle; the Air Force colonel attempted to shoot it with one of his suit’s many guns but was unsuccessful due to the creature’s impenetrable hide and no matter how twisted its own tentacles became due to the super soldier’s impressive athleticism, the beast remained standing and overwhelmingly angry. After throwing a handful of emerald-green magic at a tentacle to stop it from slamming into Steve’s back, Loki looked over to see the bearded sorcerer performing a spell nearby. “Care to introduce yourself and explain why you’ve brought an Abilisk to my wedding?” He yelled over the creature’s deafening roars.

“My name’s Doctor Stephen Strange, I’m a Master of the Mystic Arts, the guardian of the New York Sanctum in Greenwich Village and I most certainly did not summon an Abilisk here!” The sorcerer shouted back as he threw two semi-circular protective shields at the Abilisk’s face, where they exploded on impact and disoriented the enraged creature further. “Someone here at this mansion opened an inter-dimensional portal and let this creature come through, and as soon I arrived to send it back, my sling-ring was stolen from me by an unchecked summoning spell!”

“Sling-ring?”

“Yes, it’s what allows me to channel the magic needed to open inter-dimensional portals between any two points within the universe and without it, I can’t send the Abilisk back to where it came from!”

Loki was quickly filled with a sneaking suspicion about the whereabouts of the sorcerer’s sling-ring, but he prayed to the Norns that he was wrong as he called out to the others, “Does anyone here have access to Romanoff’s comm link? I think she may be able to shed some much-needed light on the situation!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air around (Y/N) crackled and hummed with magical energy as she used her Alf Seidr to sense her surroundings and a familiar tugging sensation in her stomach preceded a strange weight in her outstretched left hand. She opened her eyes and her excitement instantly turned to annoyance when she was met with the sight of yet another unfamiliar ring; the one resting on her open palm looked different from the rest, almost reminding her of a pair of brass knuckles but with strange etchings across its bronzed surface. “Well, this definitely isn’t what I’m seeking…” She tossed the object into the basket of other rings she’d inadvertently summoned while searching for the lost wedding rings and sighed. “Do any of you have any bright ideas?”

Scott, Natasha, Sam and Bucky all shook their heads from their spots across the laboratory, and the ex-convict was the first to speak. “I-I’m really, really sorry about this, (Y/N), I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay, Scott, I know you didn’t mean to lose the rings…” (Y/N) rubbed her temple in an effort to quell her raging stress-induced headache as she considered what to do next. “I’ll just have to try the spell again, then maybe it will-”

“Tony?” They all looked over to see a frowning Natasha listening to her comm link. “Okay, slow down, I can’t hear what you’re…wait, what wizard ring? Yeah, Scott lost the rings and (Y/N)’s been using her magic to try and find ‘em, but…” The spy’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped at whatever the billionaire was saying through the comm. “Oh shit.”

(Y/N) frowned. “What is it, Nat?”

Before Natasha could answer, the wall nearest to (Y/N) suddenly exploded and she had just enough time to summon a protective bubble of magic to encase them as chunks of stone and debris began raining down. The dust was beginning to settle when she flicked her wrists to remove the shield, her brows rising in surprise as she recognized her future brother-in-law extricating himself from the rubble. Thor’s blue eyes widened comically when he spotted her standing before him and he swallowed nervously before giving her a small wave. “H-Hello, Lady (Y/N). Shouldn’t you be off preparing for the ceremony?”

“What’s going on, Thor?”

“Nothing, nothing, just an intense arm-wrestling match with your delightful Alfheimian friends; for one so small, Myriani has quite the arm!”

“Thor.”

Natasha stepped forward and gestured towards the comm link in her ear. “According to Tony, there’s a giant space worm wreaking havoc on the lawn that you unintentionally summoned here with your Alf Seidr, and the only person who can get rid of it is a wizard-doctor who lives in Greenwich Village but you accidentally stole his magic ring.”

“God, just put me back in the damn ice…” Bucky groaned as he dropped his head into his vibranium hand.

Sam reached into the basket of rings and withdrew the odd-looking shape made of engraved brass. “I’m no expert on wizards, (Y/L/N), but this kinda looks like it could be magical to me.”

(Y/N) took the ring from Sam and with a wave of her hand, she transformed her silk robe and slippers into her Cosmic Sorceress uniform and marched through the hole in the laboratory wall. There was indeed a towering pink-skinned creature flailing its many tentacles as her friends and teammates fought their hardest against it; Tony and Rhodey were firing their suit’s repulsors and dodging its tentacles in the air while Steve, Loki and an odd-looking man wearing a red cloak tried all they could to draw the creature’s attention away from the mansion. Ignoring the guilt beginning to eat away at her, (Y/N) strode across the lawn and called out over the deafening roars, “Doctor, catch!”

The wizard-doctor looked over and raised his hand just in time to catch his ring, quickly slipping it into his fingers and rotating his hands in a circular motion to create a sparking orange portal directly beneath the creature; it released a final roar as it dropped down into the portal and disappeared, leaving the grounds of Stark Mansion silent. The stranger closed the portal he’d opened and breathed a sigh of relief before setting his sights on an embarrassed (Y/N). “Your royal highness, would you care to explain what’s going on and why you took my sling ring?”

(Y/N) fidgeted with her finger-less gloves and attempted to smile, but it appeared as more of a grimace. “First of all, I’m very sorry for all the trouble this has caused you, Doctor…”

“Strange. Doctor Stephen Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts and the guardian of the New York Sanctum.” They shook hands and she silently took note of the unique magical energy radiating from him. “You’re (Y/N) (Y/L/N), former trainee librarian turned Cosmic Sorceress, the Crown Princess of Alfheim, daughter of the Alfheimian Layeia Tilasdottir and the very-human David (Y/L/N), descendant of the esteemed Lady Astrid, designated representative between the Light Elves and the Nine Realms of the cosmos, and the Defender of the Realm of Alfheim.”

Taking a step back, (Y/N) arched a questioning brow and fought the sudden urge to summon her magic or even her sword. “For someone I’ve never met, you certainly know an awful lot about me.”

Doctor Strange shrugged. “I make it my business to keep an eye on beings that pose the largest threats to this world and I have to say, you’re quite high on my list.”

“Well, like I was saying, Doctor, all of this has a very simple if not embarrassing explanation-”

“(Y/N)!” They both turned to see Loki and their friends hurrying towards them; their tuxedos were covered in grass stains and an odd multicolored slime, and her fiancé’s emerald-green eyes were filled with worry as he gently held her shoulders and leaned down to meet her gaze. “Darling, are you all right? What happened?”

As the rest of their friends and even some of their guests began making their way across the lawn, (Y/N)’s embarrassment grew and she brought a hand up to partially hide her face. “Scott misplaced the rings and I thought I could use my magic to find them, but my anxiety must’ve led to me opening a portal and then the strength of my spell accidentally took Doctor Strange’s sling ring, and…well, you know the rest. I still have no idea why I wasn’t able to summon our rings; it’s almost as if something was blocking my magic…” Loki paled at her words and it was (Y/N)’s turn to be concerned. “Loki?”

“This situation, um…it may not entirely be your fault, darling.” Her fiancé chuckled awkwardly and rubbed his neck as he glanced over at where Scott, his girlfriend Hope Van Dyne and Cassie were all standing near Elora. “You see, I assumed that Lang might misplace the rings so before I started getting ready, I placed an enchantment on them and as an added precaution, I instructed Barton to give Lang an empty ring box and give the real ones to-”

“Hey, guys! Cassie had the rings the whole time!" Scott shouted and gave a giggling Cassie a celebratory fist-bump. “Either my little peanut’s becoming a better thief than her old man, or someone didn’t trust me with ‘em in the first place. Probably the second one, huh?”

With an incredulous laugh, (Y/N) allowed a chuckling Loki to pull her into his arms and shook her head in disbelief. “Does that mean we ruined our own wedding?”

“My dear, you both haven’t ruined a single thing,” Frigga reassured her as she walked up to them and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Your friends and guests are still here, all of them safe and unharmed, and the sun is shining brightly in the sky. Why shouldn’t your wedding continue as planned?”

A stern-looking Doctor Strange raised a hand and answered, “Because Miss (Y/L/N) here nearly caused the destruction of New York with her unchecked magic and a mass hysteria the likes of which hasn’t been seen since his invasion. Such an act, even one as accidental as you claim this one to be, cannot go unexamined and unpunished.”

(Y/N) bit her lip while Loki rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to counter his words, but his mother’s hand on his arm silenced him as she turned to Doctor Strange with a brilliant smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor Stephen Strange of Midgard; I am Frigga, the Queen of Asgard and mother to Loki and Thor. My dear future daughter-in-law has recently obtained an extraordinary amount of Alf Seidr that she’s still training to control and seeing as today’s her long-awaited wedding day, it’s quite understandable that her focus was shaken.” Frigga sympathetically rubbed (Y/N)’s back and took a moment to adjust her uniform’s purple-hued tiara before returning her attention to the sorcerer. “Now, I’m sure that a highly-skilled Master of the Mystic Arts such as yourself would be honored to utilize the Time Stone hanging around your neck and repair the damage caused by the creature, so as to ease Lady (Y/N)’s frazzled nerves and prevent any other unfortunate accidents from occurring.”

Doctor Strange blinked in surprise. “Um…”

“For your valiant defense of this realm, Asgard recognizes you as one of its trusted allies and speaking as the mother of the groom, I would personally be honored if you joined us for today’s celebration of Loki and Lady (Y/N)’s nuptials.”

“That’s, um…thank you, Queen Frigga, for extending an invitation to me…I-I’d be honored to attend…” The sorcerer’s cheeks flushed pink and he tried his hardest to avoid making eye-contact with the beautiful goddess in front of him. “I’ll start on the repairs right away…”

While a flushed Doctor Strange started using the power of the Time Stone to reverse the damages to their friends’ tuxedos first, (Y/N) turned to look between Frigga and Loki as her stunned expression morphed into a grin. “You really did inherit your Silvertongue from your mother, didn’t you?”

“So it would seem,” Loki replied and leaned down to press a kiss onto his mother’s cheek. “Thank you for intervening on our behalf, Mother.”

Frigga’s blue eyes twinkled with some mischief of her own as she gave them a conspiratorial wink. “Of course, little one. I was raised by witches who taught me many invaluable lessons, among which was that diplomacy and deceit are two sides of the very same coin.”

After the Queen of Asgard went to supervise the sorcerer as he repaired the lawn and floral arrangements surrounding the white gazebo that they’d soon exchange their vows within, (Y/N) spotted Clint filming the aftermath of the battle and giggled. “This’ll be a fun memory to share with our future children: How Mom and Dad’s magical shenanigans nearly wrecked their own wedding.”

Loki laughed. “After listening to Stark read me an online article chronicling several common wedding day horrors, ours was relatively tame by comparison.” He gave her forehead a lingering kiss before meeting her gaze with a tender smile. “Are you ready to get married, my love?”

“More than ready, sweetheart.” (Y/N) slipped her hand into her fiancé’s and swung their arms as they made their way into the mansion to finish getting ready for their wedding ceremony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour and over a dozen magical repairs later, Loki and Thor stood outside on the mansion’s veranda with Cassie Lang, keeping the flower girl-slash-ring bearer entertained and patiently waiting for (Y/N) and Natasha to finish their last-minute preparations so the ceremony could begin.

The guests were all seated and talking amongst themselves while they enjoyed the late afternoon sunlight breaking through the fluffy white clouds; the only people not seated in the rows of benches were General Elora – who would be officiating the ceremony, as it mainly drew from ancient Alfheimian customs – and Peter, MJ and Ned; the young woman graciously volunteered to play the guitar while they walked down the aisle, and her two best friends were keeping her company as she perched herself on a wooden stool beside the gazebo’s steps. Floral arrangements comprised of green and lavender Dahlias and branches of fern lined the aisle and hung gracefully off the ends of the sculpted wooden benches, while vines of green ivy and lilacs wrapped around the gazebo’s posts and railing. The interior of the gazebo was illuminated with dozens of twinkling fairy lights that were set to brighten as the sun started to set, and lanterns of battery-powered candles hung from each nearby bush and tree.

Embracing a mixture of Asgardian and Midgardian traditions, Loki was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo with an emerald-green cloak fastened to his jacket by the engraved golden clasps his mother gifted him, and he wore a floral crown of blooming laurels and leaves. On Asgard, one’s future spouse chose the flowers that best represented their intended and after much deliberation, (Y/N) picked the laurel for its many symbolic meanings; the laurel symbolized nobility, intelligence and an acknowledgement of the new phase he was entering by marrying her. Quite a flattering choice on her part, he thought with a reserved smile as he conjured another tiny burst of fireworks for Cassie’s amusement.

“Perhaps one day, young Cassie, my brother will show you how he can transform into any animal one could imagine,” Thor remarked to Cassie as he took a moment to readjust his green pocket-square.

The little girl’s eyes widened in amazement and she quickly turned to face Loki. “Can you turn into an ant?!”

Loki blinked in surprise as Thor stifled a chuckle behind his hand. “Um, well…now that you mention it, I haven’t actually tried.”

“Oh. I like ants. The ones that my daddy works with are really nice!”

Watching Cassie suddenly switch from talking about ants to twirling around in her soft green dress, a part of Loki hoped that his and (Y/N)’s future children shared the little girl’s quirky enthusiasm and unapologetic sense of wonder. The sound of the veranda’s glass door opening caused Loki to turn around and when he did, he was met with the jaw-dropping sight of his fiancée. (Y/N)’s off-white wedding dress – impeccably designed for her by Luke Jacobson – was relatively simplistic, with a fitted bust that cinched at the waist and flared out into a flowing skirt that reached the floor, but what elevated the entire look from simplistic to enchanting were its unique details; a lace overlay of hand-sewn floral designs was fastened onto the bust, branching out into fluttering sleeves that hung down to her biceps, and the only jewelry she wore besides her engagement ring was a delicate pair of pearl earrings she inherited from her late aunt. Her hair was arranged into one of her favorite styles and on the top of her head, she wore a floral crown comprised of white Camellia blooms; he’d picked them for her because they symbolized admiration, respect and everlasting love and devotion. A veil of lace-trimmed white chiffon was attached to the back of the floral crown, hanging gracefully down her back and barely brushing the floor. The finishing touch was the bouquet she was clutching in her hands; it was comprised of laurel, white Camellia blooms, lavender and lilac-colored roses and dusty green foliage.

“Darling…” Loki approached her almost reverently and stood before her with a dazed smile on his face. “I truly am the luckiest man in all the Nine Realms, to find myself marrying such an ethereal goddess as you.”

(Y/N) shyly ducked her head before reaching a hand up to straighten one of his cloak clasps. “You must be a mind-reader, then, because I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

His lips chastely caressed her knuckles as Natasha stepped onto the veranda with a small basket of multicolored flower petals and a small bouquet of her own; the Matron of Honor was dressed in a simple lilac-colored gown, with her long red curls pinned up in an elegant style by a single white Dahlia and glittering silver heels on her feet. “Save the kissing for later, lovebirds, we’ve got a wedding ceremony to begin.” Mindful of her gown, the spy bent down and held the basket out for Cassie to take. “Okay, Lang, just like we practiced.”

“I’m on it,” Cassie replied, toothily grinning and giving Natasha a thumbs-up before taking the basket from her and allowing the spy to quickly adjust (Y/N)’s veil.

“Are you two ready?” After Loki and (Y/N) nodded, Natasha held a hand up to her comm link and spoke lowly into it, “All right, kid, let’s do this thing.”

Across the way, MJ nodded and gestured for her friends to take their seats, spending a moment adjusting her guitar’s shoulder strap before beginning to softly play. The guests’ conversations started to dim down and with a nod of confirmation from the spy, Cassie walked across the lawn and started to slowly make her way down the aisle, scattering flower petals along the way while her father beamed with pride from his seat.

Thor leaned down to give (Y/N)’s forehead a chaste kiss and clapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness as he allowed Natasha to loop her arm around his. “See you in a minute.”

Natasha winked at them and with that, the Best Man and the Matron of Honor began their walk down the aisle; when they ascended the gazebo’s steps and took their respective places, (Y/N) slipped her hand into Loki’s and he squeezed it tight as they crossed the lawn to stand at the end of the aisle. Once the guests all stood and turned to face them, Loki and (Y/N) exchanged a smile before starting down the aisle hand-in-hand; long before they knew it was Alfheimian tradition that the bride and groom walk themselves down the aisle on their wedding day, (Y/N) pointed out that since they’d both be entering into marriage with one another, it only made sense that they’d choose to walk down the aisle together.

While they slowly walked down the aisle as MJ played a gentle love ballad on her guitar, Loki looked out at their friends, teammates and colleagues standing amongst the guests to distract himself from the butterflies beginning to flutter around his stomach. Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Everett Ross and Doctor Helen Cho stood alongside everyone they invited from S.H.I.E.L.D., the director giving them both an approving nod as they passed by; Steven Grant – the quirky man they’d met while on vacation in Egypt and to whom (Y/N) was a devoted pen-pal – stood beside Layla El-Fouley, his alter Marc Spector’s stunning wife, and for the briefest moment, Loki could even see the skeletal figure of Khonshu lingering by one of the distant trees; their new and reluctant friend Doctor Stephen Strange, now dressed in a simple black tuxedo instead of his sorcerer’s robes, stood beside his fellow sorcerer Wong and attempted to not look as uncomfortable as he presumably felt amongst so many superheroes; Peter Parker and Ned Leeds were trying their hardest not to seem too excited to be sharing a row with Doctor Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, and Loki could hear (Y/N) stifle a giggle when the eccentric woman winked and fired finger-guns at them; Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne’s attention was caught between watching Loki and (Y/N) make their way down the aisle and keeping an eye on Cassie standing on the gazebo beside Thor, while Bucky and Sam both smiled widely at them as they passed; Bruce stood beside his cousin Jennifer Walters, who was already flirtatiously eyeing an embarrassed Rhodey standing across the aisle, while Pepper elbowed a snickering Tony; Steve and Clint stood at one of the front rows, the super soldier beaming with happiness and the archer filming their procession with his camcorder.

At the front of Loki’s side of the aisle stood their Asgardian and Alfheimian friends and family. Fandral winked at him and Sif grinned widely as Volstagg toasted them with the chocolate bar he was snacking on and even the ever-stoic Hogun gave them an atypical smile. Queen Amirah of Alfheim stood beside her guards, Hagen and Myriani, and the afternoon sunlight make her blue opal tiara sparkle almost as much as her smile, and at the end of the row stood Frigga, who was dabbing at her tear-filled eyes with a handkerchief as they walked past and ascended the gazebo’s steps.

Elora patiently waited for all the guests to take their seats to begin. “We are gathered here to witness the union of Crown Princess (Y/N) Layeiadottir (Y/L/N) of Alfheim and Midgard and Prince Loki of Asgard, two halves of the same shining soul, in blessed matrimony. Do both parties stand here of your own free will to acknowledge the eternal bond shared by the both of you?”

“We do,” Loki and (Y/N) replied in unison.

“Then you may face one another, join hands and recite your written vows.”

After (Y/N) handed her bouquet over to Natasha and placed her hands in Loki’s, she took a steadying breath before smiling up at him. “Loki. Through all the tears and all the struggles we’ve overcome together, a part of me always knew that we were destined to make it here. My heart was yours the moment I first looked into your beautiful eyes and as I look into them now, I can see every ounce of the passion and devotion I feel for you reflected in them. Sweetheart, you’re my greatest love and the brightest light in my life, and I promise to love and cherish you from here to eternity as your wife.”

Loki swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself not to cry as he started speaking his own vows. “(Y/N). Not a day goes by where I don’t count myself the luckiest man in all the Nine Realms to have the love of someone as utterly magnificent as you. In the beginning of our romance, I feared that you were too good to be true, that I couldn’t possibly be deserving of someone so pure and loving as you are. But here we stand, surrounded by our friends and family, and I feel proud and incredibly blessed to become your husband. My darling, you’re my lover, my best friend and my eternal soulmate. All I am is yours, and here before our friends, our family and the Norns themselves, I vow to be until the end of time.”

(Y/N)’s eyes were filled with unshed tears and although Loki’s gaze never left hers, he could hear the sniffles and rustling of Kleenex packages amongst their guests. “(Y/N), do you take Loki to be your husband, to cherish in love and in friendship, in strength and in weakness, in success and disappointment, to love him faithfully today, tomorrow and forever?”

“I do,” (Y/N) vowed and smiled widely up at him.

“Loki, do you take (Y/N) to be your wife, to cherish in love and in friendship, in strength and in weakness, in success and disappointment, to love her faithfully today, tomorrow and forever?”

Loki solemnly nodded as he vowed, “I do.”

“And now, for the rings.”

Cassie nodded, handing one ring to Natasha and the other to Thor before giving her father an excited wave, causing a ripple of giggles through the rows of guests; the spy handed (Y/N) the ring and her eyes flicked between his and the thin band she held as she recited the ceremony’s next words. “I present to you this ring as a symbol of my devotion.” She slipped the band onto his ring finger to rest above his gold engagement ring. “My body, my soul and my everlasting love I share with you always and forever.”

Accepting the ring that his brother handed him, Loki gave (Y/N) another smile before reciting, “I present to you this ring as a symbol of my devotion.” He slipped the band onto her finger above her sparkling engagement ring. “My body, my soul and my everlasting love I share with you always and forever.”

“May these symbols of your devotion serve to always remind you of your everlasting bond.” Elora’s golden-colored eyes were slowly misting over as she spoke, no doubt wishing that (Y/N)’s late mother and father could be there to witness their only child be married. “And now, by the power vested in me by my rank as General of the Alfheimian Army, it is my honor to declare you both married. Go forth and live each day of your lives together to the fullest. You may seal this declaration with a kiss.”

Beaming with happiness, (Y/N) stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Loki’s in a brief but passionate kiss that he was quick to reciprocate. For one singular blissful moment, everything and everyone around them faded away and they stood alone on the gazebo, sharing a sweet and loving kiss that symbolized their long-awaited unification as husband and wife. The cheering and applause from their guests brought Loki back to reality sooner than he would’ve liked but after reminding himself that they’d have plenty of time to be alone later, he ended their kiss and gave his wife a mischievous smile before scooping her up in his arms and spinning around while she burst into joyous laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say that the wedding reception was one of the liveliest parties (Y/N) had ever attended would be an understatement. From the moment they were declared husband and wife, she felt as through she’d been whisked straight into a dream that seemingly had no end to it; once they finished having their wedding photographs taken, they spent a half an hour by themselves in one of Stark Mansion’s many living rooms, enjoying several slices of pizza (and lots of kisses, of course) and taking time to relax for the first time that day while the guests filtered into the ballroom for the reception.

After (Y/N) and Loki snuck into the beautifully-decorated ballroom and made their rounds around the tables to greet their guests as they enjoyed their dinner, the trio of teenagers they’d allowed to be their DJ’s took their places behind their equipment and announced the bride and groom’s first dance as husband and wife; they both had fun watching their guests’ reactions when, instead of some sort of romantic waltz or ballad, they danced along to the fast-paced disco hit ‘You’re The First, The Last, My Everything,’ spinning and twirling so much around the dance floor that (Y/N) was thankful she’d removed her floral crown and veil and that Loki had dressed down to just his black tuxedo.

The guests took to the dance floor once dinner was cleared away and while Loki danced with Frigga, Thor asked (Y/N) for a dance. From there, (Y/N) danced with every member of the Avengers and their off-realm guests to a wide variety of music; she requested Big Band tunes for Steve and Bucky and slower songs for Bruce and the Warrior’s Three, while Tony, Clint and Sam happily danced along with her to some faster pop numbers. Natasha pulled her into a ladies-only group dance with Jane, Darcy, Helen and Maria, and after a brief dance with Everett Ross, (Y/N) had their trio of DJ’s pause the music so she could reveal her surprise for Loki.

“I’d like to start out by thanking you all for being here with us today,” (Y/N) began as she stood before the crowded ballroom. “As I’m sure some of you know, I had a difficult road to recovery after the Battle of Boston. Sam suggested that I take up playing the piano again as a form of musical therapy, but I was hesitant at first; you see, my aunt taught me to play when I was a child and I stopped when she died because I couldn’t enjoy the music without her. Loki…” Her voice momentarily caught in her throat at the unexpected emotions welling up within her, but spotting her husband standing amongst the crowd helped her to steady herself and keep going. “Loki stayed with me every single time I sat myself at the piano. With him by my side, I found the strength to enjoy the music again and slowly but surely, I started to heal. Loki’s always been there for me when I needed him the most, which is why I’d like to dedicate this next song to my new husband.”

Peter and MJ plugged in the last chord as (Y/N) sat down at the electric keyboard they’d set up for her, both teenagers ducking out of the way with a whispered “break a leg!” while she adjusted the microphone and straightened her posture; seeing the curious expression on Loki’s face and the eager anticipation filling his emerald-green eyes, (Y/N) gave him a smile and a little wink before she began to play.

“Sweet, wonderful you, you make me happy with the things you do. Oh, can it be so, this feeling follows me wherever I go. I never did believe in miracles, but I’ve a feeling it’s time to try…I never did believe in the ways of magic, but I’m beginning to wonder why…” A widening grin played on (Y/N)’s lips as the guests took to the dance floor and started to dance to the spirited Fleetwood Mac tune while she sang. “I never did believe in miracles, but I’ve a feeling it’s time to try…I never did believe in the ways of magic, but I’m beginning to wonder why…” While the guests continued to dance, Loki approached the electric keyboard she was seated at and watched her fingers fly across the keys with an unreadable expression on his face. “Don’t, don’t break the spell, it would be different and you know it will. You, you make loving fun, and I don’t have to tell you but you’re the only one. You, you make loving fun, it’s all I want to do…you, you make loving fun, it’s all I want to do…you, you make loving fun, it’s all I want to do…you, you make loving fun, it’s all I want to do…”

When the song finally came to an end, the crowd burst into applause and their three DJ’s were quick to select another pop song that kept everyone out on the dance floor. (Y/N) thanked the teenagers for their help and crossed the makeshift stage to where Loki stood but before she could say anything, his arms were around her and he was dipping her low as his lips captured hers in a reverent kiss; when they were finally forced to separate for air, her husband straightened them both up but kept his arms wound around her waist and gave her a tender grin. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you sing, darling, and you sang that beautiful song just for me. Rest assured, I’ll treasure that moment for the rest of my days.”

“Thanks to our archer-turned-videographer, you’ll be able to watch it over and over until you get sick of it,” (Y/N) chuckled as she glanced past Loki to see Clint filming Natasha and Thor reenacting the famous lift from Dirty Dancing to the amazement of the dancers nearest to them.

Loki’s fingers gently took hold of her chin and guided her to look at him, and his love-struck gaze remained trained on hers as he slowly shook his head. “Never, my love. Now, how about a slice of cake and some Asgardian mead?”

Everyone gathered to watch (Y/N) and Loki cut their three-tiered wedding cake with one of his intricate daggers and after they’d indulged in their dessert, four of their grinning and slightly-inebriated teammates took to the makeshift stage; Natasha and Clint’s cheeks were tinged red, Sam’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his bow-tie was missing, and Tony couldn’t contain his giggles as he stepped up to one of the microphones.

“Hey, guys! Great party, huh?” The crowd cheered and Tony nodded in agreement. “Well, you better hold onto your hats ‘cause it’s about to get even greater!”

(Y/N), who was standing beside Loki and catching up with both Pepper and Helen, looked over at her husband with eyes widened in horror. “He’s not about to give a speech, is he?”

“Not if he doesn’t wanna spend tonight sleeping on the couch,” The CEO replied before taking another sip of her champagne. “Trust me, he and I already had a lengthy discussion about what constitutes as appropriate wedding reception behavior.”

“In my experience, Mr. Stark tends not to retain information told to him in less than three sentences or in any tone other than pleasant.” The world-renowned geneticist let out a long-suffering sigh and watched the four Avengers setting up several more microphone stands. “Hence why he’s permanently banned from my laboratory.”

While Pepper gave Helen an understanding nod, Loki wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “I’m sure that whatever they’re planning will be very touching…also, Romanoff stole Stark’s intended speech and vaguely threatened bodily harm if he attempted to improvise one; he may be an impulsive Midgardian, but he knows better than to find himself at the mercy of the Black Widow.”

(Y/N) chuckled as the lighting dimmed and all of a sudden, a spotlight landed on the two of them. “You see, the four of us up here got together and decided we wanted to do somethin’ special for our two good friends here. Like (Y/L/N) here mentioned earlier, she used music to help her out during her recovery and she’d play for all of us in the tower; so, we got together and figured that it was time we were the ones to play something for her…or rather, sing something for her. Hit it, adolescent DJ’s!”

The teenagers began to play an instrumental track of Frankie Valli and the Four Season’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,’ and Loki offered her his hand. “Shall we?”

With a smile on her face, (Y/N) nodded and allowed her husband to lead her to the empty center of the dance floor, slow-dancing along to the song’s pleasant introduction and biting her lip to keep from giggling when Tony and Sam started singing and Natasha and Clint provided their back-up vocals. “You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you. You’d be like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much. At long last love has arrived, and I thank God I’m alive. You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you…”

“Did you tell them that I like this song?” (Y/N) suddenly asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she examined Loki’s overly-cheerful face. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned to any of them that I like this song.”

Loki merely arched a brow and his emerald-green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now, why would I do such an odd thing as that?”

“Pardon the way that I stare, there’s nothin’ else to compare. The sight of you leaves me weak, there are no words left to speak. But if you feel like I feel, please let me know that it’s real. You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you…”

As the small instrumental revved up for the chorus, (Y/N) was twirled around in tight circles and before she could question her husband further, his voice suddenly echoed throughout the ballroom and sang, “I love you, baby!” (Y/N) gasped in disbelief when she looked over at the makeshift stage to see Loki standing at one of the microphones, and she laughed when she realized that her dance partner was a clone created from Loki’s magic. “And if it’s quite alright I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night, I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…” Loki was grinning widely as he sang and when his eyes found (Y/N)’s, he gave her a sly wink. “Oh, pretty baby! Now that I’ve found you, stay, and let me love you, baby, let me love you!”

“You really are a trickster,” (Y/N) remarked to Loki’s smirking clone, who merely shrugged and continued to sway them across the dance floor.

“When our friendship first began, my darling (Y/N) took it upon herself to introduce me to all of Midgard’s greatest literary creations and being the dedicated bibliophile that she is, she more than succeeded.” The real Loki onstage smiled as he held onto the microphone. “Each and every novel and play she recommended provided me insight into her beautiful mind but when it came to watching the filmed adaptations of her favorite literary works, I was able to observe just how they affected her…which is how I know that (Y/N) adores the scene in a certain modern Shakespearean adaptation when the handsome lead surprises the heroine with a public show of affection.”

(Y/N) felt her face warm and a reluctant grin spread across her face as she glanced back at the clone she was dancing with. “10 Things I Hate About You was the first movie we watched together when I joined the Avengers. I…I can’t believe you remembered that…”

The clone leaned down and pressed a kiss onto her forehead while the real Loki onstage continued to sing. “I love you, baby! And if it’s quite alright I need you, baby, to warm the lonely night, I love you, baby, trust in me when I say…Oh, pretty baby! Don’t bring me down, I pray, oh pretty baby, now that I’ve found you, stay, oh pretty baby, trust in me when I say…”

When the song came to an end, the clone vanished in a shimmer of green magic and as the crowd clapped and cheered, an impressed-looking Darcy leaned towards (Y/N) and yelled over the din, “Geez, is there anything that guy can’t do?”

“If there is, then I’ve certainly never seen it!” (Y/N) chuckled and when Loki finally made his way through the crowd, she looped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. “That was beautiful, sweetheart!”

“It was a challenge to keep our rehearsals a secret and I might’ve downed a shot or two of liquid courage beforehand, but I’m glad that you enjoyed it.” He pressed a kiss onto the tip of her nose and grinned when she laughed at the ticklish sensation. “You surprised me with a beautifully-performed song, and I surprised you with a slightly-less conventional performance; I suppose that great minds really do think alike.”

“Okay, here’s another oldie for all you oldies out there!” Ned Leeds’ amplified voice announced and the opening notes of The Village People’s ‘Y.M.C.A.’ filled the ballroom, causing the guests to eagerly take to the dance floor.

Nearby, Jane frowned and turned to Darcy standing beside her. “Wait, did that kid just call us old?”

“Join the club,” Both Steve and Bucky quipped as Natasha and Jennifer Walters dragged them past towards the center of the dance floor.

“Oh, I love this song!” (Y/N) grabbed Loki’s hands and started to sway along to the catchy beat. “It was in The Office, remember? It’s the song that plays towards the end of the Café Disco episode!”

“You’re right, but I’m still confused as to why a song about a worldwide youth organization inspires such a visceral reaction in Midgardians.” Loki studied the dancers around them in curious amusement. “And what about it has anything to do with weddings?”

She ducked under his arms and spun so that her back was pressed against his front, craning her neck so that she could meet his gaze with a grin. “It’s a catchy, cheesy song that has the easiest dance moves in the world to perform. Doesn’t that make it the perfect party song?”

Loki shrugged and spun her back out to face him. “Only if one has the perfect dance partner to go along with it.”

“Then I suppose we’re in luck,” (Y/N) quipped, pressing a kiss onto her husband’s knuckles before manipulating his arms along to the song’s iconic chorus and dissolving into a fit of giggles at the absurdity of the God of Mischief dancing along to ‘Y.M.C.A..’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the moon was high in the star-filled sky and the reception inside Stark Mansion was beginning to wind down, Loki and (Y/N) snuck off to the gazebo they were married in and swayed to the slow music playing in the distance, surrounded only by the beautiful flowers and twinkling fairy lights that decorated the structure. (Y/N)’s head rested on Loki’s shoulder and his eyes were closed as one of his hands held hers against his chest, directly over his heart.

“Do you think that we’ll see Doctor Strange again?”

Loki thoughtfully hummed and nodded. “I’m sure we will, but not for a long while; I believe that the superhero lifestyle unnerved the poor fellow and I doubt he wants to incite the anger of any of our friends. As long as you continue to train and master your abilities, there won’t be a reason for that second-rate sorcerer to bother you again.”

(Y/N) lifted her head so that she could meet his gaze, a single brow arched as her (Y/E/C) eyes sparkled with delight. “So, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going on our honeymoon?”

“And ruin the surprise I’ve spent two months meticulously planning? Where’s the fun in that?”

“Loki, I have to know what sort of clothes to pack!”

“Darling, I don’t imagine we’ll be wearing any for the majority of the honeymoon.” Loki’s teasing snickers quickly transitioned to laughter when (Y/N)’s fingers mercilessly tickled his neck in retaliation. “All right, all right, I surrender! On Monday, you and I will travel the Bifrost to Karapiro, New Zealand and spend ten days at Lakeview Lodge; we’ll have the opportunity to visit Rotorua, the Waitomo Caves and even take a tour of-”

“Hobbiton,” (Y/N) gasped and Loki’s grin widened as her face lit up with excitement. “We’re going to see where they filmed The Lord of the Rings movies?!” When he nodded, she flung her arms around his neck and nearly tackled him to the floor with the force of her embrace, but he was quick to catch her and hold her up against him while she laughed in delight. “I have the absolute best husband in the world!”

Loki’s heart leapt in his chest when she called him her husband and when she moved her hands to cradle his face, he tenderly smiled up at her and replied, “Well, the best wife in the world deserves everything I can offer her and more, does she not?”

(Y/N)’s expression softened into a look of loving adoration, and the feather-light touch of her thumbs caressing his cheekbones nearly made his eyes flutter closed in bliss. “You know, I think about that day we first met in the library from time to time. I replay the entire scene my mind – how I stumbled and how you were by my side in an instant to catch me, how our eyes locked and my breath was nearly taken away by the way you looked at me, how my heartbeat sped up when I realized how much I enjoyed having your arms around me – and when I do, I thank the universe for sending a mischievous and misunderstood trickster to steal my heart that day.”

“When I think of that fateful day, I find myself thanking the Norns for sending a kind and passionate lost princess to spellbind me, body and soul,” Loki huskily replied as his eyes stung with the prickling of tears. “And I pray that she’ll never set me free.”

(Y/N), her eyes sparkling with unshed tears of joy, gently shook her head and leaned forward to ghost her lips over his. “As long as the trickster holds her heart, she never ever will. So…” She held her hand up and stuck her little finger into the air with the hint of a playful grin on her face. “Pinky-Promise?”

Loki laughed and adjusted his hold on her so that he could wrap his little finger around hers. “Pinky-Promise.”

Their lips finally met in a passionate and unhurried kiss and Loki sighed at the heavenly sensation of (Y/N)’s fingers carding through his hair, holding his beautiful wife in a tight embrace and smiling through the love-filled kisses they exchanged beneath the gazebo’s twinkling lights.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I honestly loved writing this and indulging in some of my own personal wedding dreams lol if anyone would like to see the different reference pics I used while designing the wedding, just shoot me a message and I’ll send ‘em to you! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk?si=5fcb3ef04de544e7

Three’s Company (A Spellbinding-Verse Interlude)

“Spellbinding” Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie99 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @a-laufeyson @outoftheregular @itscomplicatedx @0-artemis @vivloki @crowleysqueenofhell @groovy-lady @mostclevermiss

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inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 · 1 year

Text

what if the jasper family existed? (part 2?)

NOTE: First of all, I wrote the basics of these headcanons in 2018. For some reason, I like Jasper (maybe because I feel Jason had a ton of potential and because I'm woc, specifically mixed native Peruvian). Kinda self-insert. oh, Percabeth mentions.

I did a lot of research on the Cherokee culture, I hope the Native Americans agree on certain things.

As I mentioned earlier, the first to be born was the tiny blonde named Regina (one of Juno's most updated epithets) along with a big offering of goats. Jason expected to get blessing from her matron, and so it was, Jason was always Juno's honored hero. On the other hand, the little chocolate-haired boy like Piper, was named Waya (a cherokee name meaning: wolf) Romulus (a Roman name that was an obvious reference to the builder of Rome) McLean.

On the first of March, as roman custom dictated, Matronalia was celebrated. Piper was happily holding her son when she noticed the sadness of Annabeth who had hidden herself well as a greek, but not well enough as Piper in her troubled teenage days. She moved a little away from the other wives and girlfriends, inadvertently she had adopted certain roman customs. She found her with watery eyes, Pipes had always been her greatest confidant and Annabeth confessed her misfortune to her, having offended the goddess Juno/Hera in her youth had brought her consequences. A demigoddess always has to remember her rank as a being inferior to a god. Having been blinded by her pride, her fatal flaw, the process of becoming pregnant was made difficult. Percy intervened for nothing, Juno was tough, but Hera, vengeful. Juno more sensible got her husband to relent in her favor and not even a hero of Olympus could change her mind.

Piper was always good with words, she made Annabeth cheer up enough to dry her tears and laugh a little. The gods sucked, but they had to be obeyed like the mortals they were. She had her hold little Waya for her to feel some additional comfort and invited her to be her guest at her house with Jason. As she prepared for such an event, she remembered a custom of her culture; she went into the woods asking for a deer, to her good fortune, Frank Zhang lent her assistance and with her soft voice persuaded them to make the offering. In her culture, deer were messengers of fertility, and if she could make it work, perhaps the goddess would listen to her prayers.

When the time came, it felt like a reunion of the team they had been: seven teenagers struggling to survive while having a snack on the Argo II. Hazel along with Frank took the day off after overtaking their duties and sending the second rankers to lead so as not to miss the event. Hazel had matured in her early adult years, she was no longer short but of medium tall stature, had a stocky body and looked nothing like the fearful girl of her past; Frank, her ex-boyfriend, had become even more muscular and moved with the grace of a full governor. Leo emerged from the Vulcan forges looking flawless as ever, when he came, Pipes embraced her platonic soul mate who loved to create messes and he reciprocated her embrace with strength, acting as if they were siblings without having seen each other in years. As new news was told, Piper inevitably thought of her Greek siblings: Lacy became a successful model and professional manicurist, while Drew Tanaka, her old enemy, became a media journalist, unfortunately, some greek siblings had passed away at a young age, which made her nostalgic and grateful to have a family.

Finally Percy and Annabeth arrived, holding hands and with a look of mutual love in their eyes. After Juno's call was made by Jason, and Percy avoided making any commotion, an answer was achieved: Annabeth would be fertile as long as she knelt before the statue of the goddess and made stern offerings to Juno, the mother goddess.

After the message, a more animated Percy hugged his girlfriend while everyone with light anxiety and quite joy ate what Jason prepared for dinner, who wanting to make his wife proud, had prepared typical cherokee dishes of pumpkin, corn and beans. Pipes smiled proudly at him, as she showed them her seven-pronged necklace made by her beloved blond, while Waya played with it.

Ten days after the Great New Moon Ceremony, the Atohuna was taking place, which was a friendly cherokee celebration that Piper herself had organized with other cherokee descendants in New Rome, when Annabeth came running and practically giving her the most intense hug of her life, confessed to her that she was pregnant at last, in strict compliance with Juno's orders.

The club of seven (ft Nico + Thalia) congratulated the young couple and soon the news spread like wildfire.

As Jason babysat his little Regina, she demanded to have a puppy with her slight stutters and soft kaleidoscopic blue eyes, but she failed to endear Jason, who had practically been raised by wolves and fake innocents. A few months passed, when Regina said her first word: "dad", that emotioned Jason so much that he didn't realize he was levitating and got her a beautiful wolf pup, as the romans used to do, as crazy as it may seem. On the other hand, months later Waya said his first sentence, "I want to be a girl".

They both looked at each other confused, they were open minded (Piper knows Jason is bi romantic+asexual and Jason knows his wife was never straight), but still they didn't know what to do, one more challenge for the McLean family.

@demidork

@fbfh

@half-bloodies

@housemartius

@hyllaarellano

@itsjustoctavianhere

@jupiterspraetor

@jasonandhisbrick

@perachelsource

@perachel-heretic

@pjo-hoo-toa-freakazoid

@jasongrace

@jasongraceless

@jasongraceappreciation

@jasongracedefenseattorney

@pipermcleant

@pipermcleanthebeautyqueen-blog

@jiperlove

@jipercabeth

@demidorks

@pipermclan

@pipermcleansed

@pipermclean

@pipermclean-ing

@percyjacksonfanfiction-blog

@percyjacksonheadcanons

@jiperlove

@jiper-and-thalico-blog

@jasonpiperbergillustration

@jasongraceisace

@jasongrace

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eldridgecandell · 9 months

Note

🕯️ Use a Ouija board

House Ashvane may have been near sent to ruins thanks to the machinations and work of their former lady Priscilla, but there's a curious thing about memory. It's only as long as the coin stays quiet.

Despite the set back of the initial months after the disgrace of their matron, the years had eventually regained the little power they were allowed to keep over the docks and yards. With the death of Priscilla, the younger members of the house rose to meet the challenges of regaining the honor they had kept for so long. The other houses had been less than keen to give it but they could not deny the power they still held over the trade that kept Boralus alive.

The party alone this fine Autumn eve was clear enough as members of Waycrest, Stormsong, and Proudmoore found rubbing elbows among the island kingdoms elite. To be clear you would not find Lady Proudmore or Waycrest themselves and most definitely not Stormsong himself. All had been plagued with dangers, traitors, and dark tides since the Fourth War but that did not mean minor nobles or family members would not jump at the chance to deal and shake hands to benefit each other's status.

It's just business.

"Hatch, you ol sea dog, you are not one I would have expected to see here tonight," came the gruff notes of a man in a fine seal skin suit as he extended a hand to another gentlemen in deep green.

Jerimiah Hatch, Captain of Daelin's Gaze, took the extended hand with an air of what appeared to be indifference but his eyes spoke warmer than his cold voice. "Master Finley."

"Pff, Master. Cut that carp, Phil does fine," Finley laughed as he shook with his massive paw of a hand, his other as was usual cradled a half full goblet of fine Stormsong mead. "How ya been there?"

Hatch would shake easily, accepting the strong grip of the Drustvar native before releasing it to stand at his usual ready with his hands behind his back. The captain unlike many of his fellow partygoers did not imbibe, choosing to his keep his focus much like his liver intact. "I have been very well, Phil. And yourself? I heard that your nephew had recently come into quite a cache of silver in the mines near Corlain."

"Kurt, oh aye the boy's doin wonders for the business. Wonders! Wish my own sons would be as much a blessing to our enterprise," Finley chuckled again loosely as he lifted his goblet to take a deepr drink. His thick walrus mustache twitched a bit before reaching up to wipe the crystal embers of the honey wine from the hair before speaking again. "How is my boy doin?"

"Geoff is doing quite well on the ship, he does our Lady's armada justice and your own house proud in his duties," Hatch informed the giant of a man, the conversation reaching the awkward lull when people go through the usual first greeting motions. Fortunately, rescue was only a loud gong away.

"My lords and ladies," a deep baritone rose above the final ringing of the gong as all eyes turned to the front of the parlor and what appeared to be this evenings host. A short man with a grey fringe of hair stood at the front, his suit black as an orc to match his rotund belly while the trimmings of red did little to hide his place among the 'upper decks.'

"Ashvane," Hatch practically spit the name as he adjust his stance, his voice low in his disdain.

Finley was hardly one to put much in the 'traitor' house, but he was not one to be an ungrateful guest. Giving an eye over to his companion with a soft shrug and whisper to follow. "Easy tha, Hatch. It's been years now, ol Kehvin was hardly involved with her too much."

A snort was all Captain Hatch would reply as he tried his damnedest to not break his own hand as the held them so tight behind his back.

"Thank you all once again for joining us this evening," Kehvin Ashvane continued, no longer a lord or master in anyone's eyes but doing his best to keep civil and accept his role as just Mister Ashvane. It was hard at first for the once wealthy and proud to accept their new place in the hierarchy of the isle. Luckily putting wealth before pride seemed to be suiting them at this point in time.

"We are so grateful that this olive branch has been accepted by our brethren of the island," Ashvane continued as he did his best to let his brown eyes lock onto each guest and give them his attention. Years of practice still paid off as he spoke more. "Our past has always been troubled waters, but it is our hope as much as yours I'm sure to sail into bright and calmer tides. Though we are far than more aware of how well wishes can be but time is still needed for all hurts. And we continue to be grateful for your forgiveness and trust in our patience of someday being fully accepted back into the court of Kul Tiras and that of our lady admiral."

Ashvane would raise his glass on high in a toast. "If you would all be so kind as to raise your glasses. To Lady Proudmoore, to Kul Tiras, and to the future."

Glasses were raised and voices repeated the toast in turn. Finley added his own cheer of 'here here' to the chorus of well wishes and oiled acceptance of Ashvane hospitality.

Hatch was silent.

"Now as for tonight's entertainment, we have brought an exciting spectacle all the way from our kinsman in Drustvar," Kehvin spoke again as he slipped back among the crowd who parted for him gingerly. Some with interested looks, many with distrust, and others just enjoying the free refreshments.

A curtain was drawn aside to a drawing room off to the side of the parlor, the red curtains pulled by bronze ropes by the housemen of the chateau. Already the crowd was beginning to file forward with interest at something from their 'spooky' cousins to the west.

The drawing was warm and inviting with dark stained floors to match the wood walls draped with curtains that for old visitors would remember of paintings of the previous matron of Ashvane. Kehvin was wise to dispose of them quickly if not for the basic decoration of his house. But the walls were not really of so much interest but of the large round table in the center of the room and it's sole occupant.

White, bone legs of driftwood supported the massive circle with emphasis of allowing the natural dried wood to be evident in it's creation. Odder than the bone white wood was the top of the table. Black, dull slate gave nothing of decadence of the house of Ashvane but it was the matching colored writing upon it's surface that made it all the more intriguing. Chalk lines had been drawn and crisscrossed about with letters mixing from old Alteri to common and what appeared to be elvish or troll. All built in a circle that if stared at in the right way almost felt like their were moving a stomach twisting nausea. Chairs to match the table sat open and cautiously inviting, a count of seven though one was already filled.

"Allow me to introduce, Louise Wincott," Kehvin continued now as he turned to the side offering his hand toward the sole occupant who now rose. Finley gasped softly beside Hatch, who in turn hadn't foggiest who the woman was at the table.

Louise Wincott was tall and willowy, her dark hair streaked with white much like the chalk on the table did not match the lack of lines on her face. Her hands were held in front of her in a docile manner of a young woman in waiting, but the line of her mouth did nothing to bring joy or comfort. Her eyes, much as the streaks of white in her hair matched the chalk, matched the dark black of the slate of the table. Her thin lips would part than as she spoke softly and directly to the small crowd. "Calm tides and pleasant nights to you all, please come in and have a seat. Welcome to my table."

Hatch frowned as the gasp of Finley finally registered in his brain as he turned to the once bawdry man. The red nosed face of a man deep into his cups was now pale as a ghost as he stared. "Finley, are you alright?"

A quick shake of his head as he downed his cup, already turning around toward the exit. "I'll have no part of this."

"What do you mean? You were just going on about the future and bygones," Hatch still confused as he began to follow the larger man, the main crowd already starting to edge into the drawing room. The captain grabbed the merchant lord by the shoulder to stop him as he spoke again in more of his captain voice than that of a friend. "What's going on? Who is she?"

Finley stopped and turned back to Hatch, though his eyes strayed beyond the sea captain toward the dark entertainment. "A Nightspeaker."

"A what?"

Finley leaned in close, his breath reeking of wine and fear. "A witch damn it. He brought a bloody witch here!"

#ask answered #ouija board #louise wincott #the wincott sisters #the nightspeakers #the coven #kul tiras #ashvane #waycrest #stormsong #proudmoore #world of warcraft #wyrmrest accord #moon guard #roleplay

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anewnewcrest · 1 year

Text

From Lily Miller's Diary

I was worried about planning a whole wedding without my husband-to-be or my matron of honor, but all the lovely ladies of my family stepped up big time! My mom, my sister Rose, my grandma Gwen, my aunts Abilene and Donna and my uncle Nathan's wife, Kayleigh (it's still weird to call her an aunt, too, after all, she's two years younger than I am!) all helped me deal with the venue and with the myriad of tasks that go with planning a wedding! They all have so much experience, the married ladies from their own weddings, and my grandma recently had her vow renewal with grandpa, and I truly couldn't have done it without their experience! A woman's wedding day is the one day in her life when she can have the spotlight on herself, and it's so lovely to be the one who's pampered and fussed over for once. I can't believe my luck in having found such a wonderful husband in Baker, and I can't wait to be married to him!

Later that day...

"You can't marry Baker!"

"Rose, what has gotten into you...?"

"You just can't! You can't leave me alone! It was so horrible when you were visiting Daisy, and there's so much work, and there's nobody else mom can blame when things don't go well, Acklay is horribly angry at you, Adair and Acacia always cry when you're not around... you can't go!"

"But, Rose, I love him, and it's a woman's duty to get married..."

"I don't care! You have to stay!"

"I can't, Rose."

"Then I hate you!"

#millerfamily #abner and candice #rose miller #grahamfamily #baker and lily #a new newcrest #strangerville home church #gen 2 #spring3 #fundie sims #fundie simblr #ts4 fundie #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 fundie #quiverfull sims

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sabraeal · 2 years

Text

If You Dare, Chapter 1

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @krispy-kream’s birthday! Sharon wrote the first obiyuki fic I ever read, and truly sealed the deal on this being one of my forever OTPs-- and she was also one of my first friends in this fandom...after I replied to a reply she made on someone else’s review, telling her than if she needed ideas for a Knots continuation, I certainly had some...She was also one of the few Hakizana shippers in fandom at that time, and so it’s only fitting that she’s my #1 Hakizana fic requester when her birthday comes around 🤣

When Izana wakes, it is alone, in a bed that is hardly his, with the fire all gone to ash.

He can hardly expect anything else; an outpost is not an inn. There is no kindly matron to oversee its running, no servants who know how to keep a king in the way he has become accustomed. No, in places such as this he is an interloper, a man whose very presence demands upheaval-- starting with this room, stolen from the post’s own commander.

A request he would have rather not made, but it is expected, an insult if it was not offered-- and an even for unforgivable one if he refused. But such sacrifices must be made if he wishes to arrive at Wirant in good time, or at least long before its lord can anticipate him. Any more advanced notice and he might as well be serving Makiri Arleon the upper hand on a platter.

Which is the last thing he needs, considering just who brings him breakfast this morning.

“The pickings are slim,” she warns him, cheeks rosy from the checkpoint’s chilled halls. “But I do believe I managed to convince the soldiers on duty to make us something edible.”

In Wistal, Haki is every inch a king’s betrothed, her skirts artfully folded to fall just so, the fabrics both restrained in ornament while still the highest of quality. The very same sensibilities that had drawn him to her as a potential bride when he visited Lilias all those years ago: both luxurious while not ostentatious, practical without being prudish.

The only hint of that woman here is the attention to details. There may be no exquisite embellishments, but her costume is well-kept, not ragged even if it is travel-worn. It is not unlike the dignified practicality his brother’s precious herbalist has come to be known for, though no discerning eye would ever mistake his betrothed for anything like a commoner.

“If they are anything like the guards in Wistal,” Izana drawls, taking in the porridge and dry toast, a generous rasher of bacon beside it. “I will keep my hopes moderate.”

“Come now,” she murmurs, setting it on the desk that serves as his table, a smile curving her mouth. “You can do a little better than that. Any cook in Wirant is due to be twice of one in Wistal, just from the seasoning.”

Izana huffs, smoothing out the twitch at the corner of his own. “You Northerners put far too much stock in your spices, and too little in the quality of your cooking.”

“Spoken like a true Southerner.” Her foot darts out, as if she might hook a chair’s leg like one of the guards-- but she stills, retracting her boot before she can do anything so unladylike, glowering at the seat with a mouth so knotted up in consternation he has to smother a laugh.

“Allow me,” he murmurs, sweeping the chair up behind her, letting her settle into it as if it were a formal dinner instead of a hasty breakfast in a commander’s commandeered quarters.

“You have my thanks.” Her legs cross neatly at the ankle, tucking up beneath the seat. A proper position for a young lady, though in clothes cut as her are now, he cannot help but find it...charming. Unexpectedly so.

“My pleasure,” he assures her, oddly warm, before he sweeps back into his own seat. As Haki leans in, serving herself from the plate of bacon between them, he must admit that as humble as these quarters may be, the view he has across this table is as pleasurable as any he might have in Wistal.

More so, when she smiles up at him through the first bite, hand lifting up to curl over her already pursed lips. Haki has always been a pretty girl-- inoffensive, he’d once sniffed, after Earl Arleon’s carriage had rolled away-- but now that he knows her, that she’s lived among the castle for these few months, she is more than just a handsome face. She has become, quite against his will, a welcome one.

Ah, how it rankles that not all of his Father’s ideas had been bad ones.

The porridge is hardly appealing, but a lack of lumps and a few speckles of spice give him hope that it might be the best of what the post offers. At least, the best thing that is not a cooked cut of an animal, dripping in its own fats. A dish he’ll work his way around to, once his stomach wakes, but for now he wants something palatable, even if it is not quite appetizing.

It is, of course, when the first spoonful is halfway to his mouth that Haki ventures, solicitous as always, “I trust you slept well, Your Majesty.”

It had taken years-- long, hard years of raw knuckles and bruises beneath his clothes, of pain so great he could not lift his arms into his jacket and made a fashion of it instead-- to train him out of spontaneous reaction. There are no rogue smiles for Izana, no brows he does not hoist himself. Not a single muscle twitches when he does not tell it to, and today--

Today, Izana has never been more glad of it, for it is only that iron control that keeps the spoon in his hand and the porridge safely in it. That his jaw snaps shut instead of dropping like a fool’s is already miracle enough for one day.

“As well as could be expected,” he manages, his drawl catching like silk on splinters. “A place like this can hardly be expected to have all the amenities of the palace. Or it’s--” he allows his words to hang while he busies himself with selecting a piece of dry toast-- “comforts. But then, there are few places on the road that can claim them.”

Haki may lack his immaculate control, but still, she gives no more than a short, stilted breath. “Perhaps if you had patience to wait for your entourage, you would not have such lean service.”

He lets his lips part in grin, one that is not quite impish but has certainly not graduated to devilish. “Ah, but then your brother would anticipate me, and he is so much more amenable when he cannot make plans.”

There is a a certain satisfaction in watching the way his betrothed’s mouth cants, both amused and irritated both. “Makiri would be so glad to hear that you find pleasure in his service.”

With a sincerity he hardly means, Izana drawls, “I’m sure.”

He expects to fall into a companionable silence; one in which they both consume a breakfast that tends more towards filling than satisfying, but still are careful to pass along their compliments to the chef, preferably through his displaced commander. There is no reason to be leisurely, and neither of them are of the type that need to fill the air to be sure of themselves. And yet--

“You are sleeping though, are you not?” It’s concern that creases her brow, her gaze tracing beneath his eyes. “You are not...having troubles when you lay down at night?”

“No.” His stomach churns as he pushes the porridge around in its bowl, moving it more than he consumes it. “I am fortunate that our journey has been so...demanding. I dream just as soon as I fall to the mattress each night, and do not wake until I am roused.”

A convenient little truth, so long as he does not say what by. Even so, more mornings than not he has woken with the dawn, not his dreams.

“I will admit,” he says, so lightly, as if each word isn’t being pulled from him like a tooth. “I wake far warmer in Wistal than I have since we left.”

Haki may be as pretty as a child’s doll, but her face is not made of such stern stuff as porcelain. That delicate flush of pink should not please him so, but it does; a small victory, won before he has even finished his toast. “And you...miss it?”

It is with a careful evenness that he replies, “I do. I have grown...quite accustomed to such comforts. But,” he hurries to add, a smile stretched across his lips, “I suppose I will have to do without for a while yet.”

“Will you?”

“I...” The sharpness of her words strikes him silent before their meaning makes itself plain. “I had assumed so?”

One elegant brow arches, a challenge. “Do you think so little of the comforts Wirant may provide?”

“Not at all.” The platitude flies from him before he can quite think it through, a reflex rather than a reply. “It is only...”

“Only...?” There is a sly tilt to her mouth as she informs him, “You might be surprised by what comforts could be found, should you only think to ask.”

“Ah...” His palms prickle where he lays them on his lap, heart drumming out a discordant beat beneath his breast. “I see. Well, then we should speak plainly--”

“Why?” A woman should not seem so innocent asking such a question, and yet his betrothed is every inch the wide-eyed maiden, eyelashes batting becomingly against the round of her cheek. “It is so much more amusing to speak in circles, is it not?”

If there is one reason for Izana to be grateful to his brother, it is this: he had practice aplenty for pretending patience. No sigh escapes him, just a simple exhale as he forces his shoulders to keep their casual slope. “Your brother would not appreciate it if he were to hear that you were overnighting in my chambers.”

“What business of it is his?” That troublesome mouth curves, framed by a casual brush of her fingers. “We have done nothing he could possibly take offense to.”

Spoken like a beloved younger sister indeed. Izana smothers a grin, ducking his chin to take in another bite of barely seasoned porridge. In his experience, there are few things he can to right in Makiri Arleon’s eyes, and none of them include anything that an attentive husband might do to his wife. At least, so long as the woman meant to fill that role was his sister.

“I think he might take exception enough to finding you in my bed, no matter what happened beneath the sheets.” He lets a laugh escape him. “And I doubt he would be moved by any evidence to our innocence.”

Haki waves her hand, as if she could clear his concerns like smoke from the air. “There’s no need to be worried about Makiri. He’s as tame as a housecat.”

“To you perhaps.” His mouth twitches, threatening a smile. “But he does not have the same affection for me. And I do not mean to give him any reason to call his banners and force me to say my vows at sword point.

“Ah,” she hums, mouth wrapping around the sound with deliberate care. “I see. So you are scared of him.”

“I am not afraid of Makiri Arleon,” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair, ignoring the unsettled sensation in his stomach. “I do not fear any lord. But poor relations with your brother could lead to tension among the northern earls, and that is a state of affairs we can ill afford to have.”

It is easy to forget that Haki is her brother’s sister, she is fair where he is dark, and poised where he is passionate. But as the humor drains from her face, it leaves only the steady intensity for while her brother has become known, her mind working quick as a mill wheel during the rains.

“Touka,” she says tonelessly, her knuckles white where she grips her knife. “You mean you are worried about Touka’s coup.”

“I am less worried about Bergat’s plans--” especially since his brother had seen to charming the fool’s heirs so thoroughly-- “and more concerned that some of these lords were simply looking for a pretty face to pin their hopes.”

She nods, a curt gesture, more at home in a war room than a bed chamber. “They made him a figurehead instead of a cause, you mean.”

Izana blinks, his carefully constructed explanation collapsing behind his teeth, utterly unnecessary. “Just so. And though Makiri has no great love for me, I trust that he is loyal. But if I were to flaunt my station beneath his own roof...”

“Ah.” Her mouth cants, curious. “You mean to say that the other lords might find opportunity in your argument.”

“In his displeasure,” Izana informs her, stern enough to earn a smile. “I have no intention of being disagreeable.”

A flash of her teeth peek through her lips as she muses, “I suppose one could hardly question a king.”

“I do not plan to make myself an issue, regardless.” He dares a glance at her before fixing his attention back on his porridge. “A strong king does not need to make a show of his power to remind his people that he wields it.”

“Of course.” She sounds sincere-- but too much so, enough that he suspects she find more excuse than explanation in his words. “And I suppose it has nothing at all to do with my brother defeating Sir Mitsuhide in the yard only a few weeks ago.”

“Sir Mitsuhide is distracted.” His grin is real as he recalls their spar; the big man had gone down like a sack of potatoes the moment he remarked at how fine a pair Kiki Seiran and her little traitor made. A pity he won’t see how that little drama ends in its final act. “But that’s neither here nor there. I have no intention of doing anything so base as meeting either of them in the yard.”

She hums, neatly stacking her spoon and fork over her empty bowl. “If you are finished, my lord, should I see to it that the carriage is readied for us? I know you’re eager to be off.”

He waves her off, leaving his silverware stuck in a half empty one. “No, no carriage for me today. I think I would rather ride into Wirant.”

A carriage was an announcement, a statement of class. But to ride in all unnoticed, to make it nearly to the lord’s office before he is announced-- that says something too. A message Makiri will hear much better than any formal meeting can make.

“Is that so?” Something sparks in her eyes, quickly extinguished. No, not extinguished, banked. “Then I will tell him to saddle my mare as well.”

Izana blink. “You wouldn’t rather the carriage?”

Haki sweeps to her feet, cheeks flushed with vigor, and-- there is something to the way her joy fills the room, inviting him into it, that is more intoxicating than any perfume, more alluring than any stretch of skin. His heart gives a single, terrible thud, and, ah, so this is what his brother sees in his herbalist.

“Of course not,” she hums, lifting his dishes into her arms. “I have always said: the North is best experienced by horseback.”

The yard is not empty when he arrives in it, a mere hour later. Or rather, it is not just the handful of horses and men he expected but instead--

“Your Majesty.” Makiri is not a man who smiles, not in the same easy way his sister has, but oh, he is grinning now, ear to ear and so satisfied Izana’s teeth ache. “You’ve finally arrived.”

“Lord Makiri,” he does not grit out, letting his own mouth spread into a smile. “How pleasantly unexpected.” His gaze drifts just over Makiri’s shoulder and-- “Ah, and brother. You are here too.”

Miserably, Zen replies. “Yeah.”

“Since you are always so keen on getting to business, I thought we might get the jump on it.” Makiri’s smile is all teeth. “It’s a lovely day for an inspection, isn’t it?”

#hakizana #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #ans #listen this was supposed to be a smutty one shot #but as we all know it's impossible to do a hakizana fic without POLITICS #so now it's gonna be a multichapter with smut 🤣#i'll probably finish this up before i get back to The Sword Between #but we'll see! maybe i'll make room to squeeze in both updates at some point #in any case i get to make Izana suffer so it'll be great

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