#my poor foot was sacrificed in the making of this chapter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

makeste · 3 years ago

Text

BnHA Chapter 324: Is There a Force Field Around Him??

Previously on BnHA: Flashback!Rat Principal was all “please tell Midoriya that I spent a concerningly small amount of money upgrading U.A. into a wacky physics-defying funtime grid so as to make the final battle much more confusing for everyone.” Present Day!Mic (or Present!Mic, if you will) and Jeanist were all “if only somebody could deescalate this dangerously unhinged mob, we’ve tried nothing and we’re all out of ideas.” Ochako was all “LISTEN UP PEOPLE.” The mob was all, “god??” Ochako was all, “NO, IT’S ME, OCHAKO. I’M REALLY HIGH UP ON THIS BUILDING AND THE VISIBILITY IS LOW DUE TO THE RAIN, SO I CAN SEE HOW YOU MIGHT MAKE THAT MISTAKE. ANYWAYS, DEKU WAS OUT THERE RISKING HIS LIFE FOR YOU CLOWNS EVEN THOUGH HE’S JUST A KID, SO I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IF YOU COULD ALL REMEMBER HOW TO BE DECENT HUMAN BEINGS, THANKS.” Let’s see if her Big Scolding Energy has any impact.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “so I have this speech planned out, and it’s really good, but it also only really needs about 6 to 8 pages, but I’m gonna see if I can stretch it out to 17 pages so I can kill time before we get to the next volume cliffhanger two weeks from now.” Anyway but it really is a good speech though. There are feels, and tears, and more talk about how Deku is so in need of a shower that just looking at him requires a tetanus booster, and more feels, and more tears, and bonus ship drama, and an iconic callback to the very first chapter which reframes the entire series in a new context in a totally epic and moving way, and it’s all very good. Except that Horikoshi is determined to never let anyone actually give this kid a hug. Who hurt you, dude.

omg we are opening on a callback to chapter 212, a.k.a. the chapter with by far the cutest flashback that doesn’t involve any baby Todorokis

baby Ochako is lethally cute. she could literally murder someone with her cuteness. I just want to scoop her up and play airplane with her until she accidentally activates her quirk while we’re spinning around and we both helicopter up into the air never to be seen again

“a child’s insistence” huh well that’s all well and good, but I sure hope this doesn’t mean we’re going to drag out the whole “sternly lecture the obnoxious citizens” plot for another whole chapter. no offense but I think we’re good

so page 2 is just continuing the whole happy/worried faces monologue, which of course is very important to Ochako’s character as it provides the context for why “who protects the heroes” ended up becoming her thing. and this is making me think we actually are in for a whole second chapter of this sob. when will my boy finally get to rest

OH MY GOD SUDDENLY THESE PEOPLE HAVE EYES IMAGINE THAT

HORIKOSHI: [reaches for a box of tissues while tearfully penning an homage to his beloved Spider-Man 2, specifically the train scene where the crowd sees Peter without his mask and they suddenly realize just how young he is]

HORIKOSHI’S HOMAGE SCENE: “COME TO THINK OF IT, I GUESS IT WAS KIND OF MEAN FOR US TO PICK ON THIS TEN YEAR OLD KID WHO WEIGHS 75 POUNDS AND LOOKS LIKE HE LOST A FIGHT WITH SATAN’S MOLDY OLD BASEMENT”

lol at this one guy who can feel the mood of the crowd shifting and is all “WAIT, NO, I WANTED TO KEEP BEING AN ASSHOLE DAMMIT”

as many pointed out last week, this man is wearing an All Might shirt. that’s some fantastic irony there

-- SDKFJWIGKS

“LITTLE GIRL, I HOPE YOU’RE NOT SUGGESTING THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE WALKING AROUND DRESSED LIKE A SOVIET-ERA BUS STOP.” heh. last week I said I was ashamed of BnHA being my favorite manga. that was a lie, actually

(ETA: in the original Japanese Ochako’s next two lines are basically “the only ones covered in mud will be us heroes!” followed by “please give us some time to get rid of the mud”, with that second line basically being the single funniest thing I’ve ever read rdslkjl. Ochako thank you so much for supporting my running gags. “YEAH WE KNOW HE’S DIRTY. WE ARE GONNA TRY AND CLEAN HIM UP, BUT IT MAY TAKE A WHILE, I’M JUST SAYING. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM. HE LOOKS LIKE AN ASBESTOS COSPLAY.”)

doesn’t the megaphone kind of look ever so slightly like an axe that she’s wielding maniacally here

easy there Lizzie Borden

also that’s a really bold claim to make there. and not one she necessarily should have to make, either. but as we all know, there’s nothing that shounen manga likes more than having its heroes bravely hoist heavy burdens of responsibility like good self-sacrificing citizens

p.s. lowkey loving how Kacchan is positioned here standing slightly behind Deku. not presuming to stand in front of him all overprotectively (because he would hate if anyone ever did that to him), and kind of being unobtrusive and letting others take center stage -- but still being close enough to Deku that he can catch him if he stumbles or passes out again

(ETA: or maybe not lmao.

DEKU: [falls to his knees]

KACCHAN: [glancing up from his phone a few minutes later] “someone just sent me the stupidest meme about milk crates -- oh. uh. you good...?”

really, son. “the burdens you can’t carry, we’ll carry them for you. ...later, I mean. right now it’s late, and we’re all cold and wet.”)

also lowkey loving this OchaTsu moment here

I was going back and binging Ochako chapters this past week for reasons, and I gotta say it really stuck out to me just how often these two are paired with each other. they do everything together. it’s a really sweet friendship that often goes unappreciated but it’s very cute

meanwhile, not to be outdone by the OchaTsu, Iida is staring at Ochako with open admiration talking about how she’s fighting too. it’s been so long since we’ve had any IidaRaka you guys. I was starving and I didn’t even know it

oh my lord IT’S FINALLY HAPPENING

THE LIGHT IS BACK. he finally looks like him again. what a cathartic fucking moment omg

ffklkdw

“I KNOW YOU ARE ALL SCARED, BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS, WE DEFINITELY CANNOT GUARANTEE YOUR SAFETY AND WE ARE ALL SCARED TOO!” good pep talk there kiddo

BUT, jokes aside, truth be told this is the exact right approach to take imo, and something that’s long overdue. I’ve said this before, but this new generation of heroes is shaping up to be much more transparent than the All Might generation. they’re basically abandoning the almighty, untouchable Superman “heroes as gods” concept in favor of the more nuanced “heroes as people” concept instead. and that’s a good thing. seeing their heroes as humans, with human limitations and weaknesses and flaws, will hopefully not only lead to more scrutiny and accountability, but also more awareness of how hard some of them are working and how much they’re sacrificing. that’s something All Might never quite grasped back at the start of the series -- that the weak, vulnerable, injured him could be just as inspiring as the mighty, invincible him -- perhaps even more so. there’s a power in seeing otherwise ordinary people show extraordinary bravery and compassion. it inspires others to try and do the same

SSDLHK AIZAWA SIGHTING AAHHHHHH

so he was still back at the hospital this whole time?? smdh at this disrespect. that feeling when your sexy self-insert character’s powers of rationality are too strong, and so you have to nerf him so that he doesn’t ruin your Deku Angst arc twice over by (1) immediately talking some sense into Deku and making him come home Right This Instant Young Man, and (2) not allowing him to leave U.A. in the first fucking place. excuse me, you want to do WHAT now, Midoriya?? that’s it, go to your room

also living for Katsuki and Hawks’s soft expressions. Shouto’s too, although his is tinier and harder to see. and Jeanist’s 12-foot-long neck. imagine Jeanist’s head with Mic’s hair. maybe Jeanist had a mohawk back in the day and that’s why U.A.’s doors are so big now

speaking of soft faces, Enji’s is also excellent

what could this random close-up possibly imply?? hell if I know. but Horikoshi truly fears no discourse and that’s what I love about him

OMGGGG

“smh my child is so dumb.” poor Ochadad. your child is cute af count your blessings

SDOFFHSMH

I’m telling you guys. lethally, catastrophically cute

this speech is still ongoing lol. Horikoshi you’re doing so good but I think we get the point now my dude. you gotta learn how to transition out of these things

UNEXPECTED TOGA WHAT

“there we go” Horikoshi says, crossing off the last line on his list of Ochako ships. “that’s all of ‘em”

poor Ochako is just repeating the same “LET HIM REST, PLEASE, WITH EVERYONE’S COOPERATION, IF YOU DON’T MIND, WE APPRECIATE IT” talking points over and over again hoping someone will throw her a bone and acknowledge her already. SOMEONE PLEASE HELP HER

literally they’re all just staring up at her silently omg. work with me people!!

now she’s saying it for the 56th time but more dramatically all of a sudden

they got so dramatic that for a minute I thought she had suddenly leaped off the building or something

look, not to rush you or anything Horikoshi, but I’m starting to get the feeling that this is yet another one of those “the volume is ending soon so I need to either hurry things up or slow things down in order to make sure we end it on my perfect cliffhanger ending” chapters where you go to ridiculous lengths to drag things out much to the exasperation of your week-to-week readers

(ETA: ftr, volume 31 ended on chapter 306, and I’m predicting that vol. 32 will end with chapter 316 (a.k.a. “you’re next!” [explodes]). I’m guessing vol. 33 will follow suit and likely end on chapter 326, so keep your eyes peeled for a big cliffhanger in two weeks’ time. Deku’s dad?? All Might in peril?? U.A. traitor at long fucking last?? we shall see.)

is Deku straight up falling in love with Ochako right on the spot lol what is happening

I know I just said that I enjoy when Horikoshi gives zero fucks about discourse, but shipping discourse is a whole different beast lol. I hope he’s prepared

(ETA: and for the record, I have no interest in shipping discourse either, as always. and I think this scene can be interpreted as platonic, tbh, with the context being that Ochako was literally introduced as someone who was willing to help him so casually without a second thought, and now here she is saving him again.

I don’t think it really fully hit Deku until this moment how much he needed saving. like I said in another meta somewhere, selflessness is basically just selfishness on behalf of others. and Deku is selfless to a fault, but that’s okay, and it doesn’t mean he needs to change -- he just needs friends who are willing to be be selfish on his behalf in turn. and I think the full emotion of what it means to have friends like that just hit him at last. everything his friends have done for him, how much he needed it and didn’t even realize, and how grateful he is. anyways what a terrible day for rain.)

-- son of a --

is he apologizing?? or pleading?? please tell me that’s not the case, because what the actual fuck. Deku you beautiful precious radiant selfless child, this is the exact opposite of how this should be. all these motherfuckers should be on their knees apologizing to you

DEKU WHY

I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS FREAKING BOMBARDMENT OF EMOTIONS GODDAMIT. OUT HERE ARMED WITH YOUR FREAKING TREBUCHET OF FEELS TO LAUNCH AT ME UNPROVOKED. WHAT’S WITH THAT

FREAKING CHRIST. THIS BOY IS CRYING HIS EYES OUT AND HORIKOSHI IS JUST ZOOMING IN WITH THE CAMERA, LIKE CAN WE JUST CUT HIM A BREAK ALREADY. ENOUGH OF THIS. HE’S SO YOUNG AND HE TRIES SO HARD AND I JUST NEED HIM TO FEEL SAFE, HORIKOSHI PLEASE CAN YOU JUST GIVE ME THAT ALREADY WHAT IS THE FREAKING HOLD UP!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY!!!

GIGANTIC FOX LADY PLEASE BE MY HUGGER BY PROXY!! SERIOUSLY GIRL IF YOU JUST HOLD YOUR UMBRELLA OVER HIM OR SOMETHING AND DON’T GO THE EXTRA MILE I’M ABOUT TO LODGE AN OFFICIAL COMPLAINT. THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS NOW

!!!!

A KOUTA IS GOOD TOO!!! oh my god if Kouta hugs him I will seriously 100% straight up cry. go on and test me

FOR THE LOVE OF --

is this man expressly forbidden from drawing hugs in his contract or something. DO YOU DO IT JUST TO SPITE ME?? this is tyranny, sir

AND I KNOW, THIS PAGE ACTUALLY CHALLENGED THE VERY PREMISE OF THE SERIES ITSELF, AND HERE I AM COMPLAINING ABOUT HUGS, OR THE LACK THEREOF. “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes.” and just like that, he waves a polite middle finger at all of the Strongest Greatest Chosen One shounen protags of old, in favor of something much less conventional, much more interesting, and much more suited to Deku’s character. because if that one sentence doesn’t just sum up Deku to a T. he gladly relinquishes his Greatest Hero status in favor of acknowledging the hero in everyone. what a class act. that’s my protagonist

I love this kid so fucking much I swear. only just PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. GIVE HIM HIS HUG

#bnha 324 #uraraka ochako #midoriya izuku #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

229 notes · View notes

the-al-chemist · 3 years ago

Text

Artemis Hexley and the Portrait of the Vault

Chapter 7: Knockturn Alley

A/N: The Curse-Breaking team go on a trip off school grounds, and Artemis learns the hard way not to trust Tonks with scissors. Warnings: poor choices, bad haircuts.

Artemis couldn’t say that she had enjoyed meeting the ghost of her brother’s former best friend, but Duncan had given her and Bill some very useful information. They went straight from the prefects’ bathroom to Professor Rakepick’s office, a room on a mezzanine level that overlooked the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, and told her what they had learnt.

Rakepick’s face was a mask of composure, not giving away any emotion she may have felt at the news. When they finished their story, she smirked.

“I know of this Mundungus Fletcher,” she said, slowly. “Granted, it’s only by reputation, and it’s not the best reputation at that, but I do know him.”

“And? Do you think we might be able to make contact?”

“I might,” said Rakepick.

“Duncan said that Artemis’ brother believed the portrait to be some sort of entrance into the Vault,” Bill looked as if he were thinking hard. “Could it be that the Cursed Vault is inside the portrait somehow?”

“Perhaps. There are many ways in which the portrait could be used to enter the Vault. Perhaps you might be able to look into them, Mr Weasley.”

“Of course, Professor.”

“Miss Hexley,” Professor Rakepick stopped Artemis as she followed Bill out of her office. “A word.”

Artemis turned back and sat down in a chair in front of Rakepick’s desk. The Dark Arts Professor stood facing her, leaning back on the desk a foot or so to Artemis’ left.

“Meeting Duncan must have been an interesting experience for you,” she said, her tone less sharp than usual. Artemis made a noncommittal noise, and Rakepick regarded her from the corner of her eye. “Artemis, I am attempting to engage you in a conversation. I am expecting verbal communication from you. I am not a mind reader, after all.”

“I dunno what to say,” muttered Artemis. “Duncan wasn’t all that pleased to see me.”

“That surprises me.”

“Yeah, it surprised me, too. I mean, I wasn’t expecting… well, anything, really. I didn’t even know he was in the prefects’ bathroom, I’d never been in there before.”

“I was under the impression that you were a prefect.”

“I am, it’s just that Rowan isn’t and I don’t want to upset her by being in there all the time.”

The corners of Rakepick’s mouth twitched ever so slightly.

“That is very self-sacrificing of you,” she said. Artemis shrugged.

“Not really, it’s just a bathroom. A really nice bathroom,” she added, grinning at Rakepick. “I can see why Duncan chose there to haunt of all places.”

“You’re digressing, Miss Hexley.”

“Sorry. What was I saying before?”

“Duncan was surprisingly not happy that you graced him with your presence. You had yet to tell me why.”

“Right,” Artemis nodded. “He said that it was my fault he died.”

“I wonder what gave him that idea,” said Rakepick, her face neutral.

“He didn’t say. Just that Jacob betrayed him,” Artemis swallowed, hard, “killed him, even. It’s wrong. Jacob wouldn’t have done that.” Rakepick said nothing. Artemis shook her head, and continued, “Besides, I never met Duncan when he was alive, and I was only eight when he died. How could it be my fault? It couldn’t be, could it?”

Rakepick stood up straight, and walked across the room to the window, where she stood looking out at the snow falling from the sky, which was already dark in the late afternoon.

“Bitterness is a strange emotion,” she said. “It isn’t always directed at the correct person. I don’t know exactly what transpired between your brother and his friend, so I cannot comment on your brother’s involvement.”

“You mean you think Jacob did it?”

“He might have done,” said Rakepick. Artemis opened her mouth to argue, but Rakepick had already continued, “The Cursed Vaults are a riddle. A powerful riddle. Power corrupts, Miss Hexley. It may well have corrupted your brother.“

Artemis shook her head, and told Professor Rakepick, “You’re wrong.”

“Faith is endearing. Blind faith, however, is not.”

“I’m not blind, Professor. Jacob’s my brother. I know him.”

“No, Artemis. You knew him,” Rakepick turned away from the windowsill and faced Artemis, her hands on her hips. “People change. Not always for the better.” Before Artemis could protest, Rakepick looked Artemis up and down swiftly, and told her, “You are dismissed, Miss Hexley.”

Artemis left Professor Rakepick’s office, feeling her teacher’s eyes on her back as she walked across the darkening classroom towards the bustle of the corridors.

A whole week passed before Professor Rakepick said anything else about the Vault portrait. It wasn’t until the very end of the term, just before the start of the Christmas holidays, that she called Artemis to one side at the start of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws’ final Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.

“I’ve tracked down the thief Mundungus Fletcher,” she informed her. “A contact in Knockturn Alley has arranged a meeting with him. I thought that you might wish to accompany me.”

“You want me to come and meet Mundungus Fletcher with you?”

“Don’t ask pointless questions, Miss Hexley. You heard what I said.”

“Right. Sorry,” Artemis nodded. “Yes, I’d like to go with you.”

“Excellent,” Rakepick’s mouth twitched. “I shall meet you, Mr Weasley, and Miss Snyde in my office tomorrow evening. Six o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be.”

“No. Now take your seat, I have a lesson to teach.”

Artemis sat down in her usual seat between Tonks and Rowan, the latter turning to whisper to her as Professor Rakepick took the register.

“What was that all about?” Rowan asked, her eyebrows knitting behind the silver frames of her glasses. Artemis told her under her breath about the meeting with Fletcher, and the expression on Rowan’s face grew even more concerned. After Artemis had finished, she whispered to her, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Going off school grounds with Rakepick?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, remember what Professor Snape said last year? That Rakepick was dangerous and he didn’t trust her?”

“Yeah, but Dumbledore trusts her. Otherwise he wouldn’t have made her a teacher. And besides, Rakepick has helped me loads of times,” Artemis reasoned. Rowan sighed deeply, and Artemis gave her one of her most reassuring smiles. “It will be fine, Rowan. Bill’s coming, too.”

This seemed to pacify Rowan a little, but she wasn’t the only one with concerns. After the lesson finished, Tonks, Tulip Karasu and Andre Egwu all gave Artemis their opinions.

“I heard Knockturn Alley is full of Dark witches and wizards,” said Tonks. “I wonder why Rakepick wants you to go there with her?”

“I don’t know why you’d want to go there with her,” muttered Tulip, throwing a contemptuous look over her shoulder at the classroom door. “She’s awful. I wouldn’t be going anywhere with her, if I were you.”

Before Artemis had a chance to reply, Andre butted in.

“I think we need to talk about what’s really important here,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“What you’re going to wear, Artemis. You can hardly go to Knockturn Alley in your regular clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” asked Andre, and Artemis pulled a face at him. “All I’m saying, darling, is that as lovely as Penny’s hand-me-downs are, and as… comfortable as you look in the clothes you choose yourself, you are not going to blend in at Knockturn Alley wearing dungarees and a jumper with a panda on that Charlie’s mum made you for Christmas two years ago.”

“It’s a badger, not a panda,” Artemis muttered sullenly, but she had to accept that Andre had a point. From what she’d heard about Knockturn Alley, she didn’t think that its denizens would be wearing anything that Mrs Weasley might knit. “Well, what do you suggest I do?”

“You need to look more… edgy,” said Andre, pouting slightly. “Kind of punk, you know? Think about what Merula wears.”

“Or me!” Tonks chipped in, pointing to the ripped tights and black leather lace-up boots she was wearing with her school uniform. “You can borrow some of my clothes, if you want. I can help you choose.”

Tonks was as good as her word. That evening in the dormitory, she and Artemis raided her chest of drawers, and tried on as many items of clothing as possible, whilst Rowan, Penny, and Fergus the cat watched and gave their opinions on each outfit. Eventually, they found her a pair of black shorts, mottled grey jumper, and black jacket.

“I mean, they’re all a bit big on you,” said Tonks, puncturing another hole in one of her belts so that it would be tight enough to hold her shorts up on Artemis waist, “but I think the bagginess might add something to the look, you know?”

“Are you not worried about freezing to death?” Rowan asked, eyeing up a patch of bare skin visible through one of the holes in Artemis’ tights that Tonks had artfully laddered for her.

“She’ll be fine. It’s less cold in London than it is up here. Now, about your hair…”

“What about my hair?”

“Well, it’s not very punk, is it, Artemis?” Tonks screwed up her face, and her features changed to those of Artemis herself. “Now, if we changed the colour, it might make all the difference. Like this.”

Artemis watched her own face screw up, and her hair grow several shades darker, so that it was an almost bluish black rather than dark brown.

“I like my hair the colour it is,” she said stubbornly.

“Okay, what about if we cut it?” Tonks’s Artemis-like face screwed up once more, and although her hair became Artemis’ usual colour once more, it was noticeably shorter, only just reaching her shoulders. “Like this? And then we can backcomb it and Penny can put a load of eyeliner on you, and you’ll look great.”

Tonks-Artemis raised her eyebrows, and the real Artemis tilted her head. She actually quite liked the way the shorter hair looked on her.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Oh, but you have such lovely hair!” Penny sighed. “Don’t cut it!”

“It’s only hair, Penny. It’ll grow back. Anyway, it’s not going to be that short, and it’ll be easier to manage for Quidditch.”

“Who’s going to cut it?” asked Rowan, looking sceptically at Tonks. “Because I don’t think-”

“What? What’s wrong with me doing Artemis’ hair?” Tonks looked offended. “I’ve done Tulip’s hair loads of times. Are you saying that Tulip doesn’t have great hair?”

“No, I just think that-”

“Rowan, Artemis is not scared of a haircut, are you, Artemis?”

“No,” said Artemis, ignoring the look that Penny and Rowan shared across the dormitory. “Let’s do it.”

“Cracking. Now, where can we get some scissors?”

It didn’t take long for Artemis to regret agreeing to letting Tonks cut her hair. In fact, she had her doubts about halfway through the ordeal, when Tonks suddenly said:

“Oops.”

“Oops?” Artemis repeated, turning around to look at Tonks. “Why oops?”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s fine,” said Tonks, nonchalantly, though Artemis could tell from the look in her eyes that she was lying.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing that I can’t cover up, anyway.”

“Tonks…”

“I might have cut a little bit too short at the back,” Tonks said, with a grimace. “Like I said, I’ll cover it up, make the rest shorter to match, or something. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.”

“What do you normally do if you cut a bit of Tulip’s hair too short?”

“Dunno. I’ve never cut Tulip’s hair before.”

Artemis’ jaw dropped.

“But you said you’d done Tulip’s hair loads of times!” she exclaimed.

“I have,” Tonks nodded. “But only the colour. Not cutting…”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t think it would be that much harder,” shrugged Tonks. “But like I said, I can fix it. Let’s make the rest shorter to match, and-”

“No,” said Artemis, shaking her head. “No, just cut the rest like you meant to. If not, you’ll end up cutting it shorter and shorter. I’ll just brush the rest over the short bit.”

“Since when have you ever brushed your hair?”

“Since now, when you cut a chunk out of it!”

The two of them bickered for the rest of the haircut, but Tonks did as Artemis asked and finished up. The end result was a lot spikier and messier than she had modelled in the dormitory, but it would have to do. Besides, as Artemis told a horrified-looking Penny and Rowan, it would grow back.

The next morning, Penny, lamenting the loss of Artemis’ long hair, managed to brush and clip back the front section in an at least partly successful attempt at hiding the most uneven bit at the back.

Even so, as the day’s lessons went on, she couldn’t help but notice the questioning stares directed at her new, obviously amateur haircut. Andre Egwu even took one look at her in Transfiguration and turned away, telling her: “I can’t even look at you right now.”

“At least it’s the end of term in two days,” Artemis muttered to Rowan, after she handed in her essay to Professor McGonagall at the end of the lesson. The Transfiguration professor had pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows as her eyes swiftly swept over Artemis’ hair. “Hopefully it’ll grow back a bit while the school is closed.”

Artemis was the only one of the Hufflepuff girls staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. Penny’s parents were rightfully concerned about the toll the situation with Beatrice was taking on their older daughter, and had requested that she go home for the holidays to have a break from the castle. Rowan’s parents were worried that she may also need a break, and they decided that she should return to them so that they could make sure she wasn’t spending the entirety of Christmas revising. Mr and Mrs Tonks, on the other hand, didn’t trust their daughter to do any work at all over the holidays, and had called her home to supervise.

With Artemis’ great-aunt and uncle still travelling through America, Artemis had the choice of staying at school or going back to her mother’s house. Given the argument the two of them had the night before the start of term, Artemis had signed up to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, and a week previously had sent a letter to her mother notifying her of this decision, and politely asking if she could have a broomstick for Christmas. So far, she had not received a reply, but she hadn’t given up hope yet. Besides, she had other things to think about, namely, her upcoming meeting with the thief Mundungus Fletcher.

After the day’s lessons had ended, Artemis changed into the clothes Tonks had lent her, untied and untidied her hair, and allowed Penny to apply a thick layer of dark eyeliner to her lash lines.

She made her way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom just before the Clock tower bell chimed for six o’clock, and arrived at the exact same time as Bill Weasley. Bill had also decided to make himself look less inconspicuous. He was dressed in a pair of black jeans, black leather boots, and a dark grey woollen coat, his long red hair pulled into a low ponytail. At the sight of Artemis, he started to snigger.

“Look at you,” he grinned. “No one told me it was a fancy dress party.”

“I wanted to blend in,” Artemis shrugged. “You can hardly talk. Did Charlie help you with your hair?”

She pulled a face at him, and he did a double take, and reached out towards her head, his face wearing an expression of mingled horror and amusement.

“Did you cut your hair?”

“Actually, Tonks cut it.”

“What with, a butter knife?”

“No,” Artemis said sullenly, pushing Bill’s hand away, before admitting, “we took a pair of pinking shears from the Herbology greenhouses.”

“I’m not sure if that’s better or worse,” Bill said, and Artemis rolled her eyes and walked past him to open the door of the classroom. As she did so, she heard him start to laugh again. “For Godric’s sake, there’s even a bit missing at the back!”

“Sod off, Bill.”

Bill’s amusement at Artemis’ hair was nothing compared to that of Merula Snyde. As soon as she lay eyes on Artemis her face lit up like she’d been handed an early Christmas present.

“You look ridiculous, Hexley,” she sneered. “Honestly, it’s no wonder that you felt like you had to give Barnaby a love potion for him to-”

“I do hope that you aren’t bickering,” Professor Rakepick’s voice came from the mezzanine, where she stood with her hands resting on the parapet, looking down at them. She had made no effort to alter her appearance. “You know how I loathe your bickering.” Merula shot Artemis a withering look, but fell silent, and Rakepick turned away, calling out into the empty classroom, “Don’t dither. Follow me.”

The three apprentices ascended the stairs up to the mezzanine, and passed through the door that Rakepick held open for them to enter her office. Walking past her, Artemis couldn’t help but notice the brief upwards movement of Rakepick’s eyebrows as she looked at her hair. Everyone inside the office, Rakepick strode across the room to the fireplace, picked up a small metal pot from the mantelpiece, and removed its lid. The pot was filled with dark green powder.

“I presume that you have all travelled via the Floo Network before,” said Professor Rakepick, looking expectantly at her protégés, who nodded their heads in response. “Excellent. Mr Weasley, seeing as you are of age, perhaps you would like to go first.”

“Yes, of course, Professor,” Bill replied, with an earnest forced professionalism. Merula and Artemis exchanged glances, before each of them seemed to remember who the other was, and quickly looked away. Bill took a handful of the powder, stepped into the fireplace, and called out, “Knockturn Alley!”

He threw the Floo powder to the ground, and a flash of bright green fire surrounded him, blocking him from view. When the fire died down, Bill had vanished.

“Next,” Rakepick said, holding the pot out. “Either of you. It makes no difference to me.”

“I’ll go,” Artemis said, shoving her hand into the pot and pulling out a fistful of powder. She stepped into the fireplace, and shouted, “Knockturn Alley!”

The moment the Floo powder hit the ground at her feet, green flames erupted all around her, engulfing her entirely in a flare of light and smoke and a loud crackling sound. The fire was raging with such intensity that she couldn’t see past the blaze at all. She touched a finger to the flame, and instead of being burnt, felt a tickling sensation on her fingertip that brought a small grin to her face. She hadn’t travelled by Floo in a long time. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it.

As suddenly as the fire had sparked, it subdued, and Artemis’ surroundings became dark and dingy. Merula and Rakepick were gone. She had reached her destination.

She climbed out of the fireplace into a dimly lit and dusty room, with two small windows covered in a thin film of grime and soot. The room was full of display cabinets and various artefacts, and it was void of people other than Bill.

“Merlin, I hate Floo powder,” he muttered, coughing slightly.

“How can you hate Floo powder? It’s so flashy,” Artemis replied, and took another look around the room. She was distinctly reminded of the Room of Hidden Things, however the items she could see in this room were a lot darker and sinister than anything she had ever seen at Hogwarts. Inside a glass case nearby she saw a small collection of glass eyes, a disturbingly human-looking skull with a perfectly round hole in the centre, and the taxidermic body of a two-headed, five-legged piglet. “Where are we?”

“Looks like a shop,” said Bill, clearing his throat again and pointing to a wooden counter at the far end of the room. He squinted at the brand name behind the counter, and read aloud, “Borgin and Burke’s. Mean anything to you?”

Artemis shook her head, “Never heard of it.”

She and Bill started to meander through the shop, perusing the various artefacts on display: a severed hand, a pitch black crystal ball, a three-sided cabinet identical to the one in the Room of Hidden Things, several bottles whose contents were labelled as toxic, and an opal necklace with a sign in front of it that read: Do not touch! Cursed. Has claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners to date.

“Should that really be for sale if it’s that dangerous?” Artemis asked, peering at the necklace.

“I don’t think half of this stuff should be for sale,” replied Bill, turning his attention to a rolled up rug nearby. “Not legally, anyway. I mean, look at that. Flying carpets have been banned in this country for years.”

Before Artemis could respond, a thin man with a stooped posture, thinning hair and a pockmarked face entered the room.

“What’s it to you?” he snarled at Bill.

“Nothing, I-”

“I’ll have you know that this carpet is an antique. And there is no law against owning a magically modified Muggle item, as long as you don’t intend to use it,” as the man spoke, Artemis noticed that both his teeth and the whites of his eyes had a distinct yellow tinge to them. He looked between them suspiciously. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my shop?”

“They’re with me, Borgin,” Rakepick’s voice came out of the fireplace, and a fraction of a second later, she stepped out of the green flames, Merula appearing shortly after her. She arched an eyebrow at Borgin, whose demeanour instantly became submissive.

“Madam Rakepick. Of course, I did not know that you would be bringing company,” he said, bowing slightly and smiling subserviently.

“These are my apprentices. And you’ll find that it’s Professor Rakepick these days.”

“Of course, my mistake. And my apologies.”

“There’s no need to apologise, Borgin. I have no interest in niceties,” said Rakepick, and she glanced at the door. “I presume that Fletcher is en route.”

“Yes, yes. He should be here at any moment,” Borgin nodded. “I’ve offered him a decent sum for some… Ah, well, you don’t need to know what he’s-”

“If I don’t need to know, there’s no need to waste my time telling me. I dislike time-wasters. I hope, for your sake, that Fletcher arrives soon.”

“He shall be here anon, Madam… I mean, Professor,” Borgin bowed again, abut when he lifted his head, he was frowning. “What I don’t know is whether or not he will want to talk to you.”

“I am certain that he won’t,” Rakepick said with an insincere smirk. “However, I don’t doubt that he will come to his senses. Mr Weasley, I am relying on you to ensure that Fletcher does not run away before we have a chance to interview him.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Use the binding charm I taught you last year if necessary.”

Bill nodded, and the bell above the door rang. Through the main door of the shop, a very short man with a grizzly grey beard entered the room, carrying two large, tattered looking briefcases, and whistling to himself through his chapped lips. He closed the door behind him, looked up, and I turn gave Artemis, Bill, and Merula a look of perturbation. When his eyes settled on Rakepick, they widened. His eyebrows shot up, he drew a sharp intake of breath, and dropped his briefcases on the floor.

“You must be Mundungus Fletcher,” said Professor Rakepick.

The newcomer didn’t answer her. Instead he turned around, and made to run back out into the street, his briefcases still lying where he’d dropped them.

“Incarcerus!” shouted Bill, pointing his wand at the fleeing man. A mesh of ropes burst from the tip, and wound around Mundungus Fletcher.

“Thank you, Mr Weasley,” Rakepick said, and she stalked across the room to the front door of the shop, locked the door with a wave of her wand, and crouched down to talk to Fletcher. “Now, Mr Fletcher, I presume, you must know who I am.”

“Pat…Patricia Rakepick.”

“Correct. Now, if you know my name, you must also know of my reputation,” Fletcher said nothing, and Rakepick smiled at him, the smile itself much sweeter than the expression in her eyes. “So, Mr Fletcher, I am going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer them for me. Without making a fuss, I might add.”

“What if I don’t wan’ ta answer your questions?” Fletcher asked, scowling up at Rakepick. Rakepick’s eyes flashed dangerously at him, and he shuddered.

“That would be shame,” said Rakepick, her voice soft and dark, all at once, “for you, more than for me. I don’t think you want to find out what would happen if you don’t co-operate. So, tell me what you know about the Vault portrait.”

“You what?”

“You heard me, Fletcher. A portrait of a Cursed Vault. I have reason to believe that it fell into your hands.”

“I don’t know nuffink about no portrait!”

“Nor grammar, apparently. Now, I’m going to give you one more chance, and if you don’t tell me what you know, I am going to get very frustrated. I might even start to take out my frustrations on you, and I think we both will regret that,” Rakepick paused, and twirled one finger around the tip of her wand. “You are testing my finite patience, Mr Fletcher. I expect that I shall lose my patience in five, four, three, two-”

“Alrigh’, alrigh’,” Fletcher cursed under his breath. “Look, I ain’t lyin’. I never ‘ad no portrait. I dunno where you ‘eard that from.”

“But you have heard about the portrait, it would seem.”

“Yeah, there was talk about some portrait going around on the market a few years back, but I never ‘ad it! Last I ‘eard some geezer named Fiddler did.”

“Fiddler,” repeated Rakepick, her face blank.

“Yeah, Fiddler. Alastair Fiddler. Or somefink like that, anyway. Never met the bloke. But I fink ‘is name was Fiddler.”

Rakepick stared hard at Mundungus Fletcher, who shrank from her. After a few moments of silence, she stood up.

“Thank you for your co-operation, Mr Fletcher. That will be all.”

She stepped backwards, and with a flick of her wand, the ropes binding Mundungus Fletcher fell away. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed at his briefcases and ran out of the shop, muttering to himself.

“I’m afraid that you have missed out on a deal, Borgin,” Rakepick said as she watched Mundungus disappear into the narrow street outside. She reached into the pocket of her cloak, and drew out five gold Galleons. She placed on one the counter in front of Borgin. “Thank you for arranging this meeting.”

“It was my pleasure, Professor Rakepick,” Borgin replied, smiling and showing his yellowed teeth.

“I expect that if you knew this Alastair Fiddler, you would tell me,” she said, placing another Galleon on the counter.

“No, ma’am. I mean, yes, ma’am. I can’t say that I know him.”

“Or anyone by a name similar to Alastair Fiddler.”

Another coin was placed down, and Borgin stared at it with poorly masked glee.

“Of course. Unfortunately, I am unable to help you.”

“You know where to find me if that changes,” said Rakepick, placing the fourth coin on the table. Borgin bowed his head. “Your Floo Powder, please.”

“Right away,” said Borgin, reaching under the counter and bringing out a black metal urn. His eyes never left the last Galleon held in Rakepick’s palm. “Naturally, if anyone asks, you never set foot in here. You or your… assistants.”

Rakepick smiled, placed the final gold coin on the counter, and took the pot of Floo Powder from Borgin.

“It has been a pleasure doing business with you, as always,” she said, looking at the shopkeeper, but holding the Floo powder pot out to Artemis. “Miss Hexley, back to my office.”

Artemis nodded, took a handful of Floo Powder, and stepped into the fireplace. She took one last look at the room, and at Mr Borgin’s shifty-looking yellowed eyes. She couldn’t help but get the feeling that he was hiding something, but before she had time to consider the matter further, she was once more surrounded by the rising green flames.

#artemis hexley #patricia rakepick #bill weasley #merula snyde #nymphadora tonks #penny haywood #rowan khanna #andre egwu #tulip kasaru #hogwarts mystery #hphm fic #hphm

22 notes · View notes

poesparakeet-fics · 4 years ago

Link

The hurt/comfort fill from the prompt votes. (Accepting submissions re: names. The prompt Olympics? But you don't really vote for the Olympics. Idk. Help.)

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Summary:

After the Mighty Nein are saved by some of Caleb’s most dangerous spell craft, they’re left to nurse their repeatedly self-sacrificing wizard back to health. In the end, they give him everything he asks for and more. For his own good, of course.

This one’s SFW, so the whole text is under the break. Or go read it on AO3! You have options!

The Nuclear Option

For once, the Mighty Nein were ready.

They knew what the spell could do. They’d run drills on how to use it, this hair-trigger safety net of destruction. Caleb made them practice the dry-run over and over. So when it happened for real, this time, they were ready. Unlike most of the plans the Mighty Nein concocted, this one went off without a hitch.

They were a mile underground if they were an inch. More chittering voices were flooding in from all sides. Beau and Veth were down, balanced in a still-raging Yasha’s arms as she tore herself away from battle at the sound of Caleb’s voice.

“Nein! Gather!”

With Yasha carrying the two unconscious women, they all made it to his side, grouped carefully close with Caleb at the centre, hands pressed over their ears.

“Foris” The incantation was followed by a moment of vacuous silence, like all the sound had been sucked out of the air. Light seemed to collect on Caleb’s skin until he was a pillar of radiance, and then–

Boom.

The sound rattled in their skulls even as they were magically sucked away from it. All the air was gone, it was hard to breath, each heartbeat could be felt in their temples. Then relief. Breathing and tumbling onto soft carpet. Jester was crying. Caduceus was doing a headcount.

“We’re good,” He pants, “we have everyone. Here, uh, I’ve just got little stuff but we can rest now.” He started to cast, and Beau’s eyes fluttered open while Yasha kissed her hair.

“Don’t use them on Caleb!” Jester cried, “Don’t forget, they’ll hurt him!”

“No, no, just these two. Someone put the wizard in a bed, get the water boiling…” He cast on Veth, too, who popped up a moment later.

Mollymauk, perhaps the most hurt out of all those who made the trip conscious, collapsed on his back on one of the hearthside furs with a pained groan. Yasha crawled over a moment later, leaving a recovering Beau to gulp from a waterskin. She laid her hands on him, and a few of his smallest injuries healed up.

“Oh…” He groaned. “Thank you, love.”

“Might as well use them on someone.” Their eyes met in mirrored worry.

In the meantime, Veth had crawled over to Caleb and cradled his head. The problem with turning yourself into a planar bomb was really all in the side-effects. Caleb was unconscious. His lips were blue and frost gathered at the corners of his hairline and on his lashes. Arcane sparks were still shooting along his skin, following the path of his vascular system. Any additional magic now had a decent chance of stopping his heart, or worse.

Fjord started to build a better fire and boil water. Their little safehouse had a long, wide hearth surrounded by fine fur bedrolls and fluffy pillows. One large wooden bed lined the back wall, and a kitchen table long enough to fit them all filled the far end.

A fretting Jester dragged Caleb over to the large bed closest to the hearth, hurriedly pulling his coat off. Every piece of fabric she tugged away was frozen stiff, and when she got down to the last layers she grew gentle, worried for his skin.

Veth hopped up on the bed next to them, yanking the blankets down to make room. Together they bundled him in. Veth grabbed furs from nearest the hearth and piled them on top too.

Fjord appeared with several rubber-stoppered skins in his arms, each filled with hot water. He pulled back the blankets to place one on Caleb’s chest and arrange the others around him before tucking the wizard back in and pulling the still-sniffling Jester into his arms.

“All here.” He murmured into her hair. “All alive.”

Caduceus sat down on the opposite edge of the bed, his hands reaching for Caleb’s underneath the covers to press icy fingers between his warm palms. Caleb’s breathing hitched into what could have been a sigh of comfort.

The game was waiting, now. Something they were not used to, having travelled for so long with two powerful clerics. They ate, some of them bathed, and they fell into an exhausted silence.

Caduceus worked carefully, applying a balm to frostbitten fingers and toes, as well as Caleb’s nose and ears for good measure.

Veth helped Caduceus before curling up at the foot of the bed, just like the old days.

Jester and Fjord sat next to him on the bed, her entirely in his arms, both watching and waiting. Catching their breath.

Beau lay collapsed and half-asleep by the hearth, Yasha sitting next to her with one big hand slowly, rhythmically rubbing her back.

Mollymauk crawled under the covers with Caleb, fresh from a steaming bath with all of his already-plentiful infernal body heat. It earned them their first real sign of stirring when he tugged Caleb into his arms and the man mumbled in unintelligible Zemnian through a relieved sigh.

The little sound was enough to make them all look up. Something about it broke the heavy, cold feeling of waiting, and let the rush of relief that they’d all made it and they were all alive pour through.

Caduceus made tea.

Veth started to snore.

Jester wiped her eyes and crawled out of Fjord’s lap to take a bath. Then she put her warm self on Caleb’s other side, Fjord budging up behind her.

Yasha lay down next to Beau, letting the monk wrap around her while she pulled the furs across them both with a sigh.

Molly shivered for a bit in the burrowing embrace of a frozen, half-dead wizard before Caleb’s skin temperature evened out, as did everyone’s breathing. They slept.

The bed wasn’t actually big enough for four people, was the thing. It’s what led to Fjord rolling out of bed in the morning with a groan, one hand moving to support his back as he hobbled over to the dining table where tea and toast was starting to make an appearance. Jester followed, a healing word passing between them with a chuckle.

Mollymauk woke at the commotion and witnessed the fluttering of bright blue eyes from the wizard drooling on his chest. It took a second for Caleb’s eyes to focus, his gaze meeting Molly’s..

“Hello!” Molly murmured quietly.

“Hi.” Caleb returned, face twisting into a grimace the second he tried to move.

Molly supported him by the shoulders to help him get comfortable. He moved like a rusted Golem, every joint and muscle pulling a groan or whimper from deep in his chest. They finally got him onto his back, Molly helping him prop himself up with pillows.

“Did it work?” Caleb rasped.

Molly gave an irritated sigh. “Yes, your bloody martyr spell worked.” Then his face softened a little. “Thank-you.”

…

The point of the teleportation bomb was to let them escape, alive, while leaving a firestorm of damage in their wake. It had worked perfectly, no matter Molly’s bitching about Caleb’s ‘martyr complex’. He was alive, so if he was a martyr he was a bad one.

The spell was… unpleasant, for the caster. It collected every little bit of latent energy, most particularly heat, and used it to ignite an explosive force. He wondered if they could go back and see what damage they’d done to the caves. The aberrations there certainly hadn’t survived, but he was curious to know if the cavern did. Even if the Nein didn’t want to, Essek might help him check.

Caduceus had a theory that the Bomb spell also collected chemical energy, meaning it sapped all of Caleb’s body’s resources. It was his explanation for why every muscle ached afterward. It was also, Caleb suspected, a convenient excuse to force food on him. Which would happen momentarily, from the smell of Caduceus’ soup on the hearth.

In the meantime he was propped up on pillows, eyes closed with his head rocked back in ecstasy. His lips parted with a small groan. Fine-boned tiefling fingers held his hand, thumbs rubbing firmly at the small muscles and tendons from fingertip to wrist. The smaller muscles were always the most painful, and his fingers had suffered the cold as well. The massage ached and tingled, but the flood of endorphins that came from the relief provided drowned any unpleasantness out nicely.

“Does it hurt?” Molly asked.

“Yes.” Caleb sighed.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Molly chuckled, crawling over him to take his other hand and start the process over again. A kindness. If his hands worked he could read, write. Entertain himself for the few more hours that the magic was still battering his system, before Cad and Jester could heal him up safely.

Jester appeared at the foot of the bed with a pounce and a bounce.

“Oh, poor Caleb! Here, let me he– Hey!“

Caleb’s eyes shot open, his legs bending to snatch his feet away from Jester’s clutches.

“Nein– absolutely not–”

“But you’re letting Molly help!” Jester whined.

“I assure you I wouldn’t trust him there either.”

“But whyyyyy?”

Caleb’s face broke into an exasperated smile. “Because I am not fool enough to let a tiefling handle my feet–”

“Rude!”

“Fine then, how about ‘because I have long term memory’ and ‘I occasionally learn from past mistakes and experiences’, hmm?”

“Humph. Still rude.”

“Or…” Fjord walked up to join them, bearing soup for Caleb. He delivered it before turning around and swinging Jester up into his arms. “Completely reasonable and good thinking. He’s still hurt. You can tickle him after he’s better.”

Fjord carried a giggling and protesting Jester over to the table for dinner. If Caleb had the strength, he would have tossed a pillow at their backs.

Drinking the soup was a lot like the massage. He had it from one of Caduceus’ huge earthen teacups, so warm that it scalded his hands a little. The liquid itself felt molten, like it was cutting through his frozen insides. It hurt a little, but the near-instant relief from the bone-deep chill of the spell’s after effects made him savor it.

Molly’s hands– also hot against too-cold skin– started to work on the larger muscles at his shoulders as he drank, planting the occasional kiss on top of Caleb’s head. Once the soup was done and the world started to haze in the warm, bright way it only did around the Nein, Caleb gave up the cup to Caduceus and burrowed into Molly’s arms once more.

The tiefling shivered. “It really is upsetting that you’re still so cold. Like you’re dead and we just haven’t noticed yet.”

“It fades when the arcane disturbance does.” Caleb mumbled into his chest before shifting to hide a coy smile in Molly’s shirt. “Would a corpse do this?”

Admittedly icy fingers, now functioning for all of Molly’s hard work, started to spider-climb up Molly’s side.

“Ha! Heh. You do realize– hehe– that your tickle immunity ends the sehehecond someone can lay a heal on you?”

“Mhmm.” Caleb mumbled, his eyes closed in an entirely false show of angelic sleep while his fingers kept teasing Molly under the covers, “sounds like I better enjoy it while I can, ja?”

Molly still wasn’t quite laughing, just breathless and twitchy, still holding Caleb in his arms. “Oh me oh my, your future self is gonna– heh!– regret this grave you’re digging, dear.”

“If he had a ticklish tiefling who couldn’t retaliate, I think he’d do the same.”

“Heh– haha! Has it been so long? Are ya just aching to be tickled out of your keeheeheen little mind that bad?”

Caleb just gave him a smug little smile and tweaked his hips. The human man’s fingers started to slip and slow as his exhaustion took over, and soon he was asleep with his face buried in Molly’s chest once more.

He woke up pressed between two tieflings. It felt a bit like being wrapped in a sauna. He was drooling on Molly’s chest again, with Jester’s softness pressed against his back. Was he overheating? He sat up, pushing the many layers of blankets and furs away. The air felt refreshing, cool against his skin. His muscles still ached, but his skin was still, free of the arcane sparks.

“Do you feel better, Caleb?”

He quickly realized that both tieflings were looking at him, having interrupted the conversation they’d been having quietly over his sleeping form.

“Ja. Still sore, but the cold is gone. I think the sparks as well?” He extended his limbs to show her.

“Yeah, I think they’re gone! Here, let me take care of the rest.”

He looked around while she cast, catching sight of a card game over at the table that was getting a little rowdy as several bickering quips were traded between players. Caduceus was watching, looking very amused but without cards of his own.

The Heal spell done, Caleb tested his muscles and joints. “Much better Jester, thank you.”

“So, you’re all better?”

“Ja I think–”

Caleb cut himself off with a wince, not even making an effort to try and avoid the two-tiefling tackle that upended him. He wound up on his stomach, each leg pinned with a tiefling body while whip-quick tails took turns poking his sides and ribs.

“So, we obviously need to talk about how rude it was, when Caleb said we couldn’t be trusted!”

“Aye, that was mighty rude.”

The tails prodding at his back and ribs already had Caleb jittery. “S-so you’re going to prove me wrong, ja? By being very trustworthy and nice?”

“Sure we’ll be nice,” Molly said with a smile that was anything but, “we’re gonna give you exactly what you were askin’ for.”

One of Jester’s pointed nails circled his heel. “Can you feel that OK, Caleb? Any numbness?”

“Ha! N-no they’re fine!”

“And how about here?” Molly teased, one finger tracing an arch.

“Ah! No! I’m fhihihine, they’re fine, please!”

“We have to check them over carefully Caleb. To prove how responsible and trustworthy we are!”

“Nein!”

Then they were both tickling the balls of his feet, and Caleb’s attempts to hold it together collapsed into a mound of cackles. His upper body jackknifed and flapped, expressing the desperate squirming his pinned legs couldn’t.

At some point Molly’s tail had managed to slip up the loaner shirt Caleb was wearing (much too large) and start writhing underneath his belly like a snake. Caleb wailed like he was dying, trying to paw at the tail under his shirt without being able to roll over.

“Hey! Uh… you did heal him first, right?” Cad strolled over to them and away from the increasingly loud card game.

“Yes of course! Now we’re just making sure it worked!”

“It worked! Bitte, bitte! Pleaheeheese!” Caleb cried through his laughter, one hand reaching out to Cad in desperation before yanking the arm back with a yelp to try and block Molly’s tail as it tried to crawl into his armpit.

Cad watched Caleb laugh for a moment, seeming thoughtful.

“You know,” he finally spoke, directing it at the tieflings, “It’s really the toes you’ve gotta worry about, with frostbite.”

“Nein!” Caleb cried before they even started. “Mercy!”

“Ooh what a good idea Caduceus! Caleb, what about this toe, can you feel this one?”

The only answer was a squeal like a rusty door hinge and increasingly desperate laughter. The process continued with two more toes before they got bored and went to town.

Caleb was so busy burying his face in the blankets and beating his palms helplessly against the mattress that he almost didn’t notice Cad lower his large frame onto the bed beside him. He didn’t have the breath to talk, so he just mouthed “Why!?”

Caduceus chuckled, leaning in close to rumble in Caleb’s ear.

“You know I don’t approve of martyrdom.”

Then there were thick, soft, careful fingers combing Caleb’s ribs, and he was lost to hysteria.

At some point beyond the edge of Caleb’s conscious thought, Cad called the tieflings off, citing exhaustion. At some point they pulled Caleb back under the blankets. At some point he fell back asleep to the sounds of tea, a raucous card game and quiet conversation.

Lucky martyr.

#Critickle Role #Fic #Poes Prose #Hurt/Comfort #h/c #widomauk #The Poly Nein #All Tieflings Are Knismos #M9 #Tickle fic #TK fic

40 notes · View notes

realityhelixcreates · 4 years ago

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 78: The Great Provider

Chapters: 78/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: pg 13

Relationships: Loki x Reader

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

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Party Time, Alarr Is A Little Bitch Now And Forever, Seriously Bull Cults Are Super Old, And Super Important

Summary: You face the bull.

“There's a lot of people looking at me.” Your father whispered to you, fiddling nervously with a crumbling slice of dark buttered bread. “Your asshole beau got me good this time.”

Seated on the other side of you, Loki sighed. Of course he could hear, even with the din of the First Feast all around. You shook pepper onto a peeled, boiled egg.

“It wasn't planned like that.” You whispered back. “All of the humans are seated on this side, me included. The planners just thought you should be next to me.”

On the one hand, you were glad your father was acknowledging your relationship without major pushback. On the other hand, insulting a prince within earshot of that prince, and many of his vassals, was probably not such a good idea.

“I mean, I can ask them to change the seating order. Put you down at the farthest table, with a bunch of Asgardians you've never met.”

He shuddered. “You wouldn't. My own daughter wouldn't do that to me, her poor old father, who has so few years left to him. You wouldn't show such cruelty to a vulnerable old man.”

“Yeah, yeah, you've got one foot in the grave already. You could fall over dead any minute now. You're practically dust.”

“Well, that might be going a little far.” he huffed. “I've still got some vinegar in me.”

“You even talk like an old man.” you teased. “Besides, you don't get to pull the Old Man Card, and then complain because I play along. Make up your mind.”

You passed him a serving bowl full of bilberry porridge, and he dipped some out. One thing your father was always willing to do, was try new food.

“Speaking of, what counts as 'old' to these folks?” he asked. “You've been saying some stuff about that, but it seems unbelievable.”

“You gotta start believing this stuff, Dad.” you chided.” It's all real. I know it's hard. My head has been swimming for months. But it gets easier to accept the more you learn. Anyway, for an Asgardian, about five thousand puts someone firmly into the 'elderly' category, but for an Aesir, like the king, or Saga, or Loki, the sky is the limit. I can count the number of kings Asgard has had in it's whole history on one hand. They just live that long.”

“Five thousand? Damn. That's...That's like, pyramid building times, isn't it? Say...did they...?”

“No, they didn't build the pyramids. I already asked. And even if aliens did build them, it wouldn't have been Asgardians” you pointed out. “They would have been in the north, making, I dunno, runestones? Longships? Something like that. The people in the north never really did the large-scale monument building like they did in Egypt. But Asgardians sure did. You saw the paintings of the old palace?”

That thing that looked like a pipe organ? Yeah.”

“So, if they were building our monuments, they'd have looked like that, wouldn't they?”

“Okay, but what if it was different aliens? We know there's more than one kind of alien.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but...I never found out if the other gods of the world were aliens or not. But even if they were, I'm pretty sure the pyramids were built by humans, even if they were built for their gods.”

“They were.” Loki interrupted. “But they also made for interesting sight-seeing expeditions for many peoples across Yggdrasil, so yes, aliens visited Earth quite often in your distant past.”

Your father clammed up and glared. After a few awkward moments, Loki turned back to his plate, passing along a crumbly cheese that turned out to be similar to feta. You added some to your grain salad.

Just get through dinner, you thought to yourself. Why did the men in your life always have to be so difficult?

Time was left between courses for the making of toasts, and there was a lot of back and forth-between the Icelandic dignitaries praising the Asgardians for being such gracious hosts, and the Asgardians praising them for hosting all of Asgard in the first place. There were toasts for the Avengers in attendance, though they were somewhat subdued; the Maximoff girl was still a fairly controversial figure, Dr. Banner continued to be visibly uncomfortable with the attention, and the Vision was simply not as well known. But they were dutifully honored nonetheless, and then the humans of Trolerkaerhalla turned their adoration on you.

'The People's Seidkona', they called you. 'The bridge', and 'the Huldra shield'. Even 'the Sapphire Brand', a kenning Loki had invented for you, which made you wonder what he had been discussing with his worshipers when he was out working on the longhouses.

The dessert course was mixed dried fruit, cooked down into a compote and served over bread.

It was also the last course before the slaughter of the bull, for tomorrow's Second Feast.

You'd told Tara and your father about it, to mixed reactions. Tara was repulsed, but your father, who presumably saw more dead animals along the side of the road than you would be comfortable with, seemed to take it in stride.

“Someone has to do it.” he'd said, “They gotta get to the plate somehow. Sucks, I know. There's no way out of it?”

“It's tradition.” you'd sullenly explained. “And it's really old. Like, Proto-Indo-European old. Back when kings used to be worshiped and held responsible for everything. If the crops failed, they sacrificed him. So it was in a ruler's best interests to make sure his people were provided for. I think, eventually, the bull became a stand-in for the king. I don't know if the Asgardians influenced us in this case, or if it was the other way around, but there's a whole deep layer cake of symbolism involved, and I really do have to participate.”

The bull and the ruler. Symbols of power, fertility, plenty, and prosperity. It was poetic, in an ancient, rustic kind of way.

You had thought that you had it all together, but when you heard the bellowing sound of the bull somewhere close, and your heart clenched in your chest.

Suddenly dessert didn't taste so good.

******

There had been an arena built between tables for the bull to be driven into, with a raised platform that you were currently perched on, holding a goad with a trail of ribbons at the end. You would be enticing the bull towards you with the movement of the ribbons, and once it was within range, Loki would strike.

Then the beast would be butchered on the spot, to prepare for the next nights festivities. It would be very educational.

The human guests had been informed of what was about to happen, and of course, the Asgardians already knew, but they still cheered you on anyway. Skaldic students picked up a slow drum beat, that pulsed like a heart.

How many thousands of years worth of rulers and seidkonas doing this? Odin and Frigga had done it. Bor and Bestla had done it. Buri and Audhumla had not-the holiday hadn't been declared until after Buri's passing. But one had to assume that they all gazed out from Valhalla, within it's great black hole, and saw what their descendants were doing. Presumably, Buri could now see that two people who had no true relation to him, were now the ones honoring him. How would he feel about that?

The bull bellowed behind the gates, the sound echoing and distorting strangely. Loki lurked next to the platform, waiting. This wasn't going to be like a matador facing down an angry beast. This was going to be an ambush.

The gates slowly begin to open, and your adrenaline spiked into the sky.

Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes

The bull entered the arena and you froze in shock, almost completely forgetting what you were supposed to be doing.

The bull was...wrong. It was completely still, standing on a board on wheels. It did not walk into the area, but was pushed. It's head was oddly textured, almost shiny, and strangely shaped. It bellowed again, weird and distorted, but did not open it's mouth.

Its strangeness blended into your anxiety, becoming a potent cocktail of revulsion and dread. Loki patted the platform next to you, and you started, jerking your ribbons to and fro. The bull bellowed one more time before Loki strode up to it, and, with one smooth and elegant swing, beheaded it.

There was no blood. The wound was hollow, and the head sprouted the legs of a child as soon as it hit the ground, running around and mooing irreverently to the amusement and obvious confusion of the audience.

It was fake. It was a fake bull. Loki had mentioned to you that you need not worry because he had taken care of her bull problem, but hadn't had time to elaborate before you'd had to scramble up the platform. You would have never guessed he meant this.

With a flourish, Loki whipped the tanned hide off the bull, revealing a hollow armature beneath, within which was an ice-covered table, piled up with cuts of meat, bowls of organs, piles of stew bones, and a bucket of blood. The bull reduced down to its edible parts, all ready for tomorrow's feast.

The drums stopped abruptly, the child who had been hiding in the paper-mache bulls head discarded it to the side and ran off into the cheering crowd, as people came forward to carry away the bits of bull.

Loki draped the bull's hide over his shoulders and helped you down from the platform.

“Did I not tell you?” he said smugly. “I took care of it for you. Truly, the symbolism is the most important part, and this speeds the process along so that we may get to the dancing all the sooner!”

“That was freaky as hell!” you scolded. “You shoulda told me it was gonna be a fake! I spent that whole time all bent out of shape because of it, ugh, what a lot of wasted sleep!”

“In my defense, I didn't find out that you were troubled about it until yesterday. I had only a limited time to come up with something.”

“And you decided to stuff a kid in a fake bull's head? That's what you came up with?”

“That's Beli's youngest great-great-great-grandson, and he volunteered! My dear, what's wrong? I thought you would prefer it this way?”

“I do!” you huffed, irritated. “But I need you to start telling me when you do things like this! How am I gonna do my job if you already make all the decisions by yourself? Stop trying to surprise me all the time. I froze out there because of it! What did that look like to everybody else, huh?”

“I think they were too captivated by the bull to take notice...” he didn't sound so sure. “But yes, you are right, of course. It is a bad habit. I will be better.”

Somewhat mollified, you took his arm and allowed him to lead you to the dances.

*******

“It's an insult!” Alarr raged. “He reduces our history to mere spectacle!”

“It may have been for convenience.” his wife pointed out. “Our Midgardian guests need more frequent rest. It wouldn't do for his Highness' little seidkona to collapse from exhaustion.”

“Do not call her that!” he snapped. “She doesn't deserve the title! What part of her is a seidkona? The part that graces Loki's bed? Or the part that gets into cat fights with her betters? This is exactly what I am talking about though! The Midgardians are weak, but we are the ones expected to lower ourselves to their level? If they cannot keep up, they shouldn't be here! The prince is a fool, and the Allfather merely enables him. Together, they will reduce us to infants.”

“Watch your tone with me, Alarr. I tire of your temper.”

“And I tire of watching our culture and people be diminished for easier consumption by outsiders. When does it end? If even our holy days aren't exempt from foreign influence, then what part of us can we really expect to keep? How much can we be diluted, and still remain Asgard?”

“Alarr, this obsession has already cost you dearly. And not just you, the whole family has been impacted by it. You are so preoccupied with everything you're afraid we're going to lose, that you don't see the harm that you are doing to us yourself! Now you may sit here and let your rage rob you of your Buridag, but I'm going back out there to enjoy myself! Stars know, I've had precious few chances to do so lately!”

She stormed out, leaving him behind to seethe.

******

“That was so weird.” Todd said. “I thought it was going to be a real cow.”

“I'm glad it wasn't!” another camper exclaimed.

“Yeah, me too, but why did they go through all that rigmarole about what was going to happen, explaining the whole thing, telling us not to fear, and then wheel out a meat-filled piñata instead? Did they think we were gonna think it was real? Like, are we toddlers to them?”

“Maybe? They're all hundreds of years old, aren't they? Even the kids.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I feel like that's a problem though. I mean, think of the advantages they have over all the rest of us! I can't help but feel like they will eventually have a disproportionate amount of global influence, just because of the monumental projects that they can put together with that longevity. And like, I know the longhouse squad might not mind having alien overlords, but I'm sure not excited about it.”

“Global superpowers rise and fall. That's just history.” another camper said. “Are you sure you aren't just worried that yours might be overshadowed?”

“No need to be rude.” Todd chided. “People were rightly worried about super powered individuals before these guys even showed up. I mean, look at what happened to Sokovia! When I was a kid, that kind of thing was unthinkable! Now we've gotta worry about nukes, and terrorists, and school shootings, and climate change, and now alien invaders and supermen on top of all that? It's no wonder people are so worried. Did you know these people haven't even signed the Accords? What do you think that says about them?”

“Hey, I'm not disagreeing, man. I'm skeptical too. But they're refugees all the same, and it's only been a couple years. I figure they're just trying to get adjusted before they go committing themselves to anything big, you know?”

“And that's fair for the average Asgardian. As far as we know, they didn't do anything wrong. But Thor...you know, as much as I like him, he's been involved in some pretty destructive events. And the least, I mean, the very least he could have done to show some kind of good faith with Earth, would be to turn his brother over to some kind of justice. But he hasn't; he's just let Loki flaunt every authority. The man committed a felony, he kidnapped my girlfriend, and...nothing! He's not allowed on United States soil, but he did it anyway, and nothing has been done. I can't help but be resentful, who wouldn't be?”

“I know what you mean, but then why did you come to this shindig, anyway?”

Todd shrugged. “I just wanted to see that she was okay, you know? We weren't perfect, but we really had something, and I just want to make sure she's okay. She didn't look okay, up there with that fake bull, and I don't like it. I know her; she's kinda delicate. All this is gonna be too much for her.”

“You have a lot to say.” interrupted an unfamiliar, accented voice. The little knot of campers jerked to attention. A young man stood nearby, arms crossed, glaring.

“Uh, yeah...” Todd said. “To my friends. Who are you?”

“Fritjof.” the stranger said shortly.

“That's the mutant.” one of the campers whispered urgently. “We saw him out in that fight, remember? He throws fire!”

“Oh.” Todd held his hands up in front of him. “Hey man, we don't have any beef with you. No need to lose our tempers or anything...”

Fritjof snorted. “Somehow, I doubt this.” he sneered.

“Frit!” A woman cried, then rattled off a quick sentence Todd could not understand. Fritjofs intimidating stance softened, and he answered back.

“I'm going to dance now.” He told Todd. “Be a more gracious guest.”

Several of the campers let out the breaths they'd been holding, as he left.

“What a freak.” One of them muttered.

“Don't know what his problem is, but I think he could use a class on minding his own business.” Todd said.

“So, you wanna go dance?”

“Not really, but I suppose it couldn't hurt to go see what it's like.”

******

The dancing was energized and frenetic; stomping, clapping, twirling, leaping. It was full of laughter and celebration, messy and unchecked. The commoner's dances were danced by all, and you had thrown yourself into them with relish. From arm to arm you passed, jumping and shouting in time with everyone else.

You danced, and spun, and bounced, finally ending up panting back in Loki's arms.

“Come, sit with me.” he said. “You need a breather.”

He sat you down in one of the covered seats, wrapped you in his cloak for extra warmth, and pressed a cup of hot cider into your hands. The community continued to dance, some breaking off to rest, some jumping back in. You simply watched, sipping your cider as Loki twirled Sjofn, Thor kicked with Wanda, and a very tall Asgardian lady tried to entice an increasingly uncomfortable looking Dr. Banner. Even Gloa seemed to be having a good time, though you noticed Alarr was nowhere to be seen. Andsvarr, however, was dancing for all he was worth, and rarely let Saldis out of his grasp. It was cute, but not as cute as Tara, slightly drunk off buttered rum, flirting openly with several very confused Asgardians, or your father, trying hard to avoid Dr. Banner's fate.

Loki whirled his way back to your side, and plopped down next to you, but must have noticed you were fading.

“It has certainly been a long day, hasn't it?” he asked. “Would you prefer to return to our rooms?”

“Yeah. As much as I'd like to stick around, I'd really need some sleep.” you admitted. “Gotta be up bright and early tomorrow too.”

“Then shall we?” He offered his arm, and somehow the two of you slipped away without much notice.

“Are you going back out?” you asked, as he tucked you comfortably into his bed.

“Yes, for a little while longer. It's best that my brother and I be seen out among the people for as long as possible. I'll be back later. Sleep soundly, my dear.”

The rigors of the day caught up to you quickly, and you had no inkling of how much time had passed when you finally felt him slip into bed next to you, smelling of sweet crystal mead.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

12 notes · View notes

frostsinth · 4 years ago

Text

Royal Flush - Pt. 6

Part 1|2|3|4|5 - MasterList - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art

Shit, it’s already part 6??!! Ok, so this update is REALLY long, but I assumed you guys wouldn’t mind. I hope you will enjoy the dynamics bewteen the characters I tried to play on here.

I’m already working on the next chapter, which will be a bit juicier. And there will probably be more art, since I love drawing these two, so be sure to keep an eye out for both!

If you like this story, check out my others on my MasterList above. Feel free to BuyMeACoffee while you are there. As always, drop me a ask/comment/reblog if you have any questions or thoughts! I always love to hear back from you guys.

“Well…” Damjan wheezed breathlessly, then hoisted himself up into a sitting position, “It seems you are in peak form today,” He looked up at me from where I had just laid him low, giving me a lopsided grin, “I’m guessing you and the King worked things out then, Your Highness?”

I offered him a hand sheepishly. “Apologies, General,” I replied as I hauled him back to his feet, which took the majority of my strength, “I hope I caused no injury nor insult.”

“Bah!” He grunted, releasing my hand and slapping his own down the front of his trousers to release the worst of the dirt. “I’d be a rotten wassa indeed if I let a fancypants shiba Prince keep me down.”

I considered the strange words only briefly before he forced me back into my defensive stance with a soft lunge. It didn’t surprise me; the half-goblin General always seemed to be poised to strike. More than once he had caught me off guard. But I was a fast learner, and he gave me a toothy grin in acknowledgement of my successful block. I nodded, and he executed another series of attacks that had me dancing back on my toes. For his size, Damjan was very quick. I was less attentive to the spar, however, and more so to his constant peppering of goblinese into our conversation. It was certainly a change from our previous meetings.

“Well, Your Highness?” He called as he dodged my returning attack, sending me shooting past him and spinning on heel to prepare for the next onslaught, “Did you two manage to reconcile your differences after all? And keep your knees up!”

I raised the edge of one eyebrow at him, side stepping his feint and landing a solid blow on his shoulder. “My apologies again, General,” I shot back, hiding a blush as I loosened my stance to circle around his outside, “But I don’t believe that is any of your business.”

“On the contrary.” He argued, lobbing two heavy blows towards my middle. I dodged one, deflected the other, taking a skimming hit for my efforts. “As the General of his Armed Forces, I am responsible for protecting him from attacks-” He caught my swinging fist in his, yanking me towards him “-Whatever form it may take.”

I gritted my teeth, rolling my hand free and spinning to launch my elbow up towards his chin. I knew what he was doing. Just like his seemingly random attacks, Damjan used constant verbal assaults as well. Anything to give him an edge. Generally I could tune out his taunts. But he seemed to have found my weak spot, and I couldn’t help lingering on his comment. He dodged my elbow effectively, laughing and dropping low to swing a leg out at my feet. I leapt up and kicked out, sacrificing a balanced landing for a hard hit that had Damjan falling back a few steps. I staggered, breathless, but had time to fix my grounding as he righted himself and squared me up. We paced around each other.

“I haven’t seen him yet today;” he began, my only warning before he charged in. A flurry of blows followed before he and I found ourselves grappling in close quarters for the upper hand. “So tell me, Your Highness... was he still asleep when you left him this morning?”

My focus slipped in my absolute bewilderment of his implication, and just like that, I found myself flat on my back. Jaw dropped open, eyes wide and staring at the blue mountain sky overhead. Damjan’s loud guffaw rippled through the air, and I jumped when his face appeared in my line of sight. He placed his hands on his knees, bending over me and cocking his head to the side.

“Don’t let anyone in your head if you don’t want them there, Your Highness.” He advised. His big, grey-green hand came down, grabbing my shoulder and yanking me back up. “Not everyone will use their advantage quite so charmingly as I.”

I scrambled to get my feet beneath me properly, blushing furiously. And hot with anger at such an intensely personal attack. I didn’t wait for him to ready himself, shamefully knocking off two quick blows before I had even regained my own solid footing. Damjan slapped both aside easily. One quick feint and sweep later, and I was staring slack jawed at the blue sky again.

“Don’t let them ruffle your feathers either.” He suggested, smirking down at me knowingly. He tapped his temple. “You can’t think straight if your head’s burning too hot.”

It took me an extra moment until the wind returned to my lungs, and I gasped. The General helped me up more delicately, patting my back helpfully as I sputtered.

“How.. How dare-” I gasped, trying to form the words at the same time I tried to regain my breath. I pushed away his hand.

He raised his palms, patting the air soothingly. “Apologies, Your Highness. I know that humans are not so comfortable with intimacy as goblins.” His ears flopped as he tilted his head to the side to consider me as I shifted my stance warily. “But I would be a poor teacher indeed if I didn’t try to prepare you.”

My lungs finally having resumed their normal function of breathing, I straightened slowly. Considering him with a stony glare while rubbing at an errant rib. He grinned sheepishly in the face of my look, raising his palms again.

“... Prepare me for what?”

“The Goblin Court.” His toothy grin widened. “There isn’t a goblin alive who doesn’t love to mess with anyone they can. And you will be the main target, as not only our future King, but also a shiba Prince.”

“Shiba?” I echoed dumbly, staring at him. It was not the first time he had used that word in reference to me.

“Human.” He translated, then placed his hand on his hip. “Seems I’m going to have to teach you a little goblinese as well.”

“Hibik is already finding an instructor for me.” I shot back defensively, wiping my hands together.

The General scoffed. “Yeah, and they’ll teach you real good book goblinese. But what about when one of those creampuffs at court calls you a baka lo minsa? Or mumbles diavrit? Hmmm? How much faith do you have in a little eincha from the academy teaching you proper goblinese vulgarities?”

My mouth opened and closed slowly, and I blinked at him again. “I… I don’t think-”

He shook his head. “The Goblin Royal Court is more ruthless than any battlefield. They think it's all in good fun, but I doubt you’d much enjoy it, Your Highness.” His grin returned, and he walked over to pat me on the back good naturedly. “Tell you what, we can trade! You teach me some good human curses, and I’ll teach you the goblin ones.”

I felt my face flush even hotter, and he laughed amiably. “... May I ask, General,” I started, rubbing at the back of my neck as he started walking over to the wall of the ring, “.... Why are you…ah..” ‘Helping’ seemed like the wrong word to use, based upon my sore back and ego. So I let the question hang without definition.

He grinned, picking up his towel and dabbing at the sweat across his chest. “You are a member of the Royal Family now, Your Highness,” He explained, “Which means you’re under my protection too.” He tossed me my own towel, his grin growing. “So don’t make me work too hard.”

The notion he proposed… being a part of their Royal Family. It set my stomach into an acrobatic routine. It was a concept I hadn’t fully realized yet, despite everything else. That not just my living situation was changing, but my family was changing. Into a completely new world with its own dynamic and history that I had no part in until this very week... I stared numbly at the towel in my hands for a moment before I wiped down my own torso. A breath later I grabbed my tunic and slipped on my boots then followed Damjan back into the castle. My spine itched with nerves now that the spar was over, and I peeked nervously down the dark halls. He cast a glance at me out the corner of his eyes, lips still twitching.

“‘Baka lo minsa’ means something like… brainless, uncultured fool. But much cruder.” He explained, despite the fact I hadn’t asked. “And ‘diavrit’ is… well, literally it means to defecate, though it's more specific as to the manner of defecation.”

I cleared my throat, nearly stumbling over the carpeted hallway. Damjan laughed, wringing his towel in his hands. “I’m not sure this is appropriate-”

“Goblins don’t care.” The General interrupted. “Appropriate, inappropriate. Those words just have less sway with us. There is nothing off the table when it comes to an interaction; whatever you can use to gain the upper hand, you use.” He steered us up towards my tower rooms. “Proper einchak like Hibik may prefer what you would call a more “appropriate” attack, but even they aren’t above calling out your mother’s sexual partners, or your own natural bodily functions. Or standing uncomfortably close. The game, you see, is to do it eloquently. To attack your companion, set them off balance, gain the upper hand, and to do so with a delicate, poetic flourish.”

My head was spinning and I wasn’t sure if it was my heartbeat or footsteps echoing in my ears. I swallowed hard, checking the edges of my mask to make sure I had maintained it throughout our conversation. It seemed by some miracle I had; I wondered if it was enough.

“I appreciate your… candor, General,” I replied finally, feeling secure and confident in my form, and he turned to face me as we reached the door to my rooms, “However, I do not require such vulgarities to ‘gain the upper hand’ as you say.”

He nodded, crossing his arms over his still bare chest and leaning against the wall. “Fair enough, Your Highness.” He agreed. “I have no doubt you are clever enough to outwit anyone, human or goblin. But even if you do not need to use such topics or language, you should still find a comfort and familiarity with them.” His big head dipped to the side. “In order to maintain your composure under heavy fire… Which will include hearing talk of your sexual relationship with the King.”

I nearly cracked my jaw with how hard I clenched it, and I was certain my mask slipped a little. I stammered something uselessly incoherent, and felt my face flush even darker. I pulled at the hem of my newly donned tunic and shuffled slightly, glancing around. Thankfully, we seemed to be alone. I quickly considered a range of different methods of excusing myself from the conversation and ducking into my chambers.

“We are very comfortable talking about sex.” Damjan interjected before I could find the right method. “It is certainly not taboo to discuss our lovers and antics. I myself am currently entangled with a delightful woman… and sometimes her brother instead.” He grinned. “Goblins are very open and accepting of all things of such a nature. The King’s previous partners are well known, and such discussion is commonplace amid the court.” He looked me up and down. “They will expect you to be equally open, and if they find you are unsettled by it, they will never let it go unaddressed.”

I swallowed hard, giving him a curt nod and fixing my stance. “Thank you for the advice General,” I told him, then quickly continued as he opened his mouth as if to add more, “I do apologize, but I must take my leave. I have to prepare for the rest of my day. Until tomorrow then.”

I barely gave him a chance to formally nod and offer a farewell before I ducked into my chambers. I wasn’t able to completely ignore the amused smile on his lips, and his words lingered in my mind even as I closed the door heavily behind me.

By the Gods and all that was holy. I leaned against the wall next to the door and slowly sank to the floor, cupping my head in my hands. Trying to calm my racing heart. How was I supposed to be comfortable speaking about such vulgar and intimate topics when the mere thought of them made me break down into an incoherent mess?! I didn’t even know how I felt about the King, or where our private relationship was headed. Yet I should expect everyone ELSE to be constantly discussing it around me??

I groaned, letting my head fall back and hit the wall. Of course, obviously the general consensus for any level headed person was that we were to be married; which implied there would be some form of… intimacy… My head throbbed with the amount of blood rushing through it, and I tugged at my collar. My mouth went dry at the thought, but I couldn’t help but wonder about… such things. Especially what Damjan had said about Grier’s previous partners… Exactly how many were we talking about?? Not that it mattered, I reminded myself. We had only known each other for a week, and he was a King after all. Young, handsome… virile. I certainly had not shared my own romantic history with him (not that there was much of a history to share), and I found myself surprised to be pleasantly comforted by the fact that at least one of us would know what we were doing in… that department. It sent a chilly rush down my spine as I wondered what Grier himself expected for such matters of physical intimacy. My fingers came up to my lips of their own accord, and I felt the tingling ghost of his hand at my cheek. Certainly I had… enjoyed our interactions so far… I shifted, not unfamiliar with my body’s response to his advances, but never having needed to really assess such things before. I had only ever been able to… By the Gods, I couldn’t even think about my own intimate exploits in a coherent sentence. I had no words, no real thoughts I could describe it with. I settled for images. Memories of the one time I had slipped up, and let my emotions get ahead of my sound reasoning. It filled me with heat, and my breath became shallow.

There was also the lingering guilt, the stab of regret. Painfully twisting cruel fingers into my heart. I sighed again, rubbing my hand over the top of my head. This was not going to be easy. I gritted my teeth, then forced myself to my feet. I didn’t have time to linger on such things though. I was due to meet the Dowager Queen soon. And found it less daunting that she was a notoriously sharp witted and harsh Goblin Monarch than the fact that she was Grier’s mother… I swallowed painfully and headed over to the bathing room.

I wasn’t sure exactly when the introductions would happen, and wanted to be prepared as best I was able. Damjan had given me a little insight into the former Queen, mostly regarding her reputation as an indomitable force. But he had been frustratingly unhelpful in advice on meeting her myself. He had merely grinned and said something along the lines of ‘that’s a personal matter between you and Grier’. I kicked the soiled towel aside from where I had dropped it on the floor, scowling. So our personal intimate life was up for discussion, but not what I was supposed to do when meeting my intended’s mother? Hardly seemed fair.

I was scrubbed and polished clean by the time a light knock came on the door nearly an hour later, and I rushed to pull the fresh tunic over my head. My wardrobe options were becoming painfully repetitive; soon all my things would be soiled beyond respectable use. I wondered how to brooch the topic with Grier, which conjured a horrible image of myself in bright, lavish colors with ridiculous necklines, streaming lace and frills and… Perhaps I could send for my own things instead. Though I dreaded composing that letter almost as much.

A different goblin than the one on my mind stood at the door, and he bowed his head respectfully as I opened my chambers. Beside him was a silver cart filled to nearly unbalancing it with covered plates and bowls. I considered him briefly; I was certain it was the same goblin whom had been attending me since my arrival. Bringing my food the previous days, and walking with me and Hibik to the gardens the evening before those.

“The King has sent word that he will call upon you shortly,” He began, his voice quiet, “And requested your shared breakfast be sent ahead. If Your Highness would permit me?”

I nodded quickly, stepping aside to allow him into the chambers. “Of course, thank you.”

The goblin bounded lightly at my words, a small smile coming to his large lips. He barely came to my navel, and had dark curls that fell about his copper eyes as he moved despite an obvious attempt to keep them out of his face with some sort of grease and a hair thong. I followed him as he pushed the cart in, bringing it to the bed chambers where he had set the previous meals at the small table there.

I idled momentarily on the impropriety of dining in my private chambers, and felt a little flush to my cheeks at the thought. Certainly it was not commonplace, though I had heard that my father occasionally took counsel in his rooms when needs arose early in the morning… I assumed Grier had not given nearly so much thought to it as I was now, however, and didn’t want to be a bother about it. Perhaps it was not unheard of for goblins. It wouldn’t surprise me at any rate, given what I had seen of them thus far. I distracted myself by considering the dark haired goblin again.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” I told him as he began to set out the dishes, “I never requested your name. Might I have it now?”

He gave me a small grin, averting his eyes politely. “It is Seoc, Your Highness. I have been assigned as your personal attendant. In whatever capacity you have need of me.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” I replied graciously, “I beg your forgiveness for not having made an effort to do so sooner.”

Seoc bowed lightly, a small smile on his lips, having finished setting the dishes out on the small table before the couch. “Quite understandable, Your Highness. It has been an eventful few days for you.” He cocked his head to the side. “Can I be of any further assistance at this time?”

I paused, if only momentarily, thinking back to my lack of attire, but then shook my head. “No, thank you, Seoc. I appreciate your time.”

He grinned, nodding respectfully. “I will be within ear shot, should you think of anything, Your Highness. Please do not hesitate to call.”

Just as he bobbed out, Grier strode in through the open door, and I had to work hard to keep from starting at the sight of him. Not only because of his sudden, light footed and casual entrance into my private chambers, but also due to his overall appearance. He wore a tight emerald vest with yellow embroidery over a billowous, fluffy cream colored shirt that spilled out the edges of the vest as if unable to be contained and ballooned at the sleeves. His pants were a dark grey, and were equally tight all the way up to his navel with large gold buttons the size of his palm along the midseam. The vest reached just past the top of his trousers, but the cream colored shirt spilled out the back like a puffy tail. His hair seemed particularly wild, and he had a scowl set onto his lips. Hibik trailed behind him, babbling something and scrambling to keep the parchment in his arms from dropping.

“The sun has only been up for a few hours, Hibik,” The King grumbled, waving his secretary into silence, “Allow me time to fully come to my senses before you test them.”

I tucked my hands behind my back, squaring my shoulders and swallowing my nerves as the goblin turned to face me. “Good morning, Your Majesty.” I greeted him, though felt a tingle of unease that threatened to burst into a fully formed tension.

His scarlet eyes considered me, and he sighed heavily. “Don’t start with that again.”

“I’m afraid I do not know what-”

He waved his hand again, cutting me off. I pursed my lips as he turned to his secretary. “Another hour’s peace, Hibik, at least. Let me have some coffee, and hopefully some pleasant company. I trust your judgement on these things.”

Hibik nodded, bobbing nervously. “Of course, my King.”

Grier turned back to me as the other goblin darted out, closing the door behind him. “Did you sleep well?”

I blinked momentarily, confused by his switch. Eventually I nodded, though slowly. “... I did, thank you.” I noticed him looking about, the small scowl on his lips seeming to deepen. “Ah… did you as well, Your-”

“I will scream.” He threatened me curtly, narrowing his scarlet eyes. I clamped my mouth shut, my eyes widening slightly. Grier gave another deep sigh, shaking his head.

He strode to the bedroom without waiting for my invitation. I stiffened at that, but followed behind quietly. Again, I saw him look about, placing his hands on his hips. His brow scrunched, yet he said nothing, plopping down on the couch with a huff. My tongue itched to speak out against that, and I felt a tingling of insult at his behavior. But I settled into practiced temperance and withheld my comments. I reminded myself that it was likely just a simple misunderstanding… After all, I was his guest, and his future spouse. Perhaps it was not rude to assume such casual familiarity. I saw his nose twitch, and he looked over the plates and dishes before reaching for a decanter and cup. I too could smell the thick aroma of the hot brown liquid as he poured himself a serving. What had he called it? Yes, that’s right, coffee-

“HIBIK!” He shouted loudly, and I jumped in surprise.

There was a clatter and a crash from the hallway beyond the foyer. Then the small man quickly darted in, bowing repeatedly. I stared at him, a little taken aback.

“Y-yes my King?”

Grier waved his hand about. “Do I even have to say?”

“Ah, no, my King… Apologies I-”

“Who is his attendant again?” The King leaned back, his brow dark and his scowl somehow even deeper.

“Ah, that.. That would be-” Hibik scrambled through the parchment in his hands.

“Seoc.” I informed him, my voice a little tight. Both goblins froze, staring at me with surprise. As if they had forgotten I was there for a moment. I considered them both. “Is something wrong?”

Grier made a soft ‘tch’ with his mouth, sipping at his coffee slowly. Hibik glanced at him, then offered me a polite bow. “My fervent apologies, Your Highness, for the state of your rooms. I had intended to send up a designer for your consult as we discussed, but there was a delay in procuring the usual Royal decorators.”

I tried to puzzle together the implications of his response, but found I could not fathom what had them both in such a tizzy. “No apologies necessary, Lord Hibik-”

“It is unacceptable!” Snapped Grier, interrupting me. I felt my own temper flare, and clenched my jaw. “You, a Royal guest who is also my betrothed, to be treated so shamefully. No wonder you would think us uncivilized.” He started to turn back to Hibik. “No further delays. I want these rooms properly furnished before-”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” I interjected, a little louder than I had intended, taking a bold step closer, “But I will remind you that you have given me these rooms to do with ‘as I wish’, and as such, I will not be accepting any additional furnishings or decor at this time.”

The sharpness in my voice had him falling silent, and his slender brows shot up. Hibik glanced nervously between the two of us. I waited a breath, holding the goblin King’s scarlet eyes.

“... You mean, you like your chambers like-?”

“Lord Hibik, thank you, but we will not require your services at this time. You may go. I am sure you already have enough to keep you busy.” I informed him, ignoring Grier for a moment. I heard him begin to sputter behind me, but nodded to the smaller goblin who hesitated for a moment with a glance to the King before bowing and making his exit.

“You would dismiss my secretary-”

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” I interrupted him again as he had me, turning to face him properly, “However, if this is not to your satisfaction, I am certain as King you have numerous options available for where you may take your breakfast. I will not keep you from them.”

“Are you… kicking me out?” He sounded both equally astonished and perhaps arrogantly bemused that I would dare order anything of him at all. Perhaps he was not used to be refused so pointedly. Or eloquently.

I stiffened, squaring my jaw and considering him. “I would hate for Your Majesty to be uncomfortable. If you feel the setting is not to your standards, you are welcome to leave it.”

Again, he fell silent. Staring at me in unsuppressed surprise. Part of me hoped he would leave. I had never seen him so rude and demanding. It was off putting and I did not enjoy it in the least, and it left a bitter anger rolling in my gut. Was this the real Grier, I wondered? Had the rest been some act? The other part of me hoped there was some rational explanation… certainly he had shown his emotional range in such a manner before, but this time seemed wholly unprovoked. I held his gaze, unwavering in my stubbornness. Pitting my will against his. Finally, he broke the stalemate by slowly raising his cup to his lips and taking a careful sip. I wasn’t sure how he managed to make even that look arrogant. I continued to wait, my anger still twisting in my gut, hands still clasped behind my back.

“... Forgive me,” He grumbled, leaning back and taking another deep sip, “I am told I am not a ‘morning person’... I would like to stay, if that’s alright.” A small smirk played across his lips. “Though I have to say… I rather like this authoritative side of you.”

I felt my face flush, and just like that the bastard gained the upper hand again. His grin grew, and he patted the couch next to him. I paused, looking him up and down. Not entirely sure I was willing to forgive his earlier rudeness so easily. He finished off the last of his coffee and reached for the pot to refill his cup, flipping over another as he did and filling it as well. Slowly, I moved over. He held out the cup as humbly as he could manage, and I took his peace offering warily, sitting down at the opposite arm of the couch

“... I am often… less than courteous before noon.” He told me conversationally. “But I am sorry if I came off as… ah…” I checked on him out of the corner of my eye. “... More of an ass than usual, yes?”

“I believe Lord Hibik received the brunt of your ‘morning person’.” I replied lightly, keeping my tone as formal as possible and still not looking at him directly.

Grier sighed again, wincing. “Yes… I shall have to apologize to him… Though I fear he is far too accustomed to my morning antics.” He gave me a tiny, mischievous grin. “Despite the circumstances surrounding it... It is nice to see you speaking out… If I can otherwise encourage you to speak your mind, I will hasten to do so.”

I took a sip of the coffee in my hands, dropping my gaze. Silence spread between us for a long moment, and I felt my ears burn as it gave me time to remember the last time I had seen the King. More specifically, how his lips had tasted against mine. What did he expect of this interaction? I recalled the way he had so casually sauntered into my rooms, without asking my leave. For that matter, what did I expect? I was suddenly painfully aware of the proximity of my bed to us, and the invitation I had proposed to him last night. As well as how it could have been taken... I wondered if by goblin standards, that invitation had carried over until today. I swallowed my nervousness with another sip as he straightened, reaching out and plucking up what looked to be some strange baked treat from the trays in front of us. I saw his eyes skim about the room again as he leaned back and took a small bite.

“You really like your rooms like this?” I followed his eyes, considering the mostly bare room. I hesitated, chewing over an appropriate response. “Speak your mind, yes?” He reminded me. “You most of all should always be free to do so.”

I looked down into my cup, quiet for a moment longer. “... They are sufficient.”

“They are boring.” He mused, taking another bite of his pastry. “I know you said the rest of the castle was too loud, but surely you’d at least like some more furniture?”

I rolled my thumb along the edge of my cup before taking a slow sip, casting my eye around the room. The large four poster bed, the fireplace. The simple couch and small table. The bare walls and floors, devoid of personal effects and most color. It felt… strange. Empty and hollow, the shell of a real life. But somehow I found I preferred it this way. It felt… safe. A place to hide away and avoid facing the daunting spans of the rest of my life.

“... They are sufficient.” I repeated softly.

Grier plucked another of the baked treats from the tray and held it out to me. “It’s a bit early to dig for the emotional confession behind that answer. Can I perhaps tempt you with a goblin pastry instead?”

I almost smiled at his teasing, but lightly took the roll from his hand. He made sure our fingers brushed and I glanced at his eyes as they did. I pretended the heat wasn’t returning to my face, bringing the roll to my nose for an experimental sniff before taking a bite.

The dough was warm and flaky, and the inside was filled with some sort of ground meat. There was a burst of flavor, spicy and tart, quickly overlaid by the buttery softness of the dough. My eyes widened slightly in surprise, and I chewed thoughtfully. Very aware of his scarlet eyes watching me carefully.

“They are called uyapi,” He told me, turning to pick up another one for himself, “The outside dough is universal, but the fillings change depending on the meal and occasion. For breakfast, usually the goblin equivalent of sausage.”

He bared his sharp pointy teeth as he spread his jaw as wide as it would go to fit the entire roll in his mouth in one oversized bite. I observed him in bewilderment as he chewed, his cheeks ballooned out almost comically.

I took a more delicate bite of the remainder of mine, nodding slightly. “It is good.” I told him quietly.

He swallowed the last of his. “The nice thing about them is they have a bit of everything, so are almost like a small meal in every bite.” He noted. “There’s meat, diced vegetables, and often cheese as well as the dough.” I watched as he brought his long fingers to his mouth, licking each one slowly.

My mouth went dry at the sight of his long tongue, and I quickly looked for something else to occupy my thoughts. Even as my face grew hot. I took a deep sip of the coffee before placing the cup back on the small table, straightening a little in my seat. I finished the last of the pastry and reached for another.

“I will be trying to spend as much time with you as possible,” He told me, unaware of my internal struggle and leaning back with a third cup of coffee, “To hopefully… ease the transition. I hope you don’t mind.”

I shook my head slowly, swallowing the last of the uyapi and reaching for my drink again. “It sounds like the appropriate course of action… given our circumstances.”

His thin lips spread in a wide smile, and he cocked his head to the side as I took a slow sip. “Our circumstances, hm? You mean how I have already fallen hopelessly head over heels for you while I can only assume that even if you did feel the same way, you wouldn’t even know?”

I sputtered into my coffee, my face burning hotter than my drink. I coughed to clear my airway, placing the cup back on the table. I saw his grin grow, but his eyes were soft. I watched him out the corner of my eye as I dabbed a napkin at my mouth and chin. There was a warmth in the edges of his ruby reds, an echo of what I had seen the day before. I swallowed hard, my head spinning, and stared down at the napkin in my hands.

“.... Forgive me yet again… You are just always so serious and proper,” He swirled his coffee, considering me with a tiny smirk, “It is amusing to see you all flustered, knowing that I put you there.”

I remembered what Damjan had said about the Royal Court, and squared my jaw. Taking a steadying breath and relaxing my features to the best of my ability. I couldn’t help a glance at him again, and noticed him place his half finished drink on the table by mine. I felt the cushion beneath us shift as he slid a little closer.

“.... Not to mention you look very cute when you are surprised.”’

I slid as far away as I could manage, blinking rapidly. “I-I do not like to be.” I stammered, my lips feeling numb and mostly useless. “I prefer to always have control.”

His grin grew, and I felt my flush deepen, wondering what hidden meaning he had taken from my response. “Noted.” He pushed his hair back out of his face. “However, as I was saying, it would make things easier for you to accompany me as I complete my regular duties. Then not only could we become more… accustomed to each other’s presence and preferences, you would also be able to become more familiar with goblin society.” He cocked his head to the side. “You would be a greater boon as a husband if you were able to help me govern my people. Though I would also relish simply keeping you as a trophy in my chambers as well. You are certainly handsome enough-”

“I have spent my life training in royal duties and assisting the Crown Prince,” I interrupted him quickly, and ignoring the flash of his sharp teeth as he smiled again, “I would be pleased to utilize those skills and obtain new ones in the aid of your people.”

“Our people.” He corrected, sounding amused. “Soon enough, at least. And I suspected you might not be the type to sit idly by. However, I believe this might be easier accomplished if you might permit me to cast the charm on your eyes we discussed.” His smile faded, and one long finger came up to tap his pointed chin. “Though perhaps not today, as you wished to better understand the magic before it was cast upon you. I can procure a book I am certain, though it may take a few days to find one in common or have one translated.”

“I-I…” I stopped as soon as my words stammered out, and swallowed hard. Grier looked back at me, curious. “If… If you think it would be best,” I started again, then reached up to rub at the back of my neck, “I… I would trust your judgement and… and you.”

Now it was his turn to look surprised, and I looked at him through my dark lashes. He stayed silent for a moment, then the warmth returned to his eyes. “... You would trust me?” I nodded shyly. “... I don’t mind waiting. Your request is quite reasonable-”

“I trust you.” I spoke the words softly, timid and sheepish. But their honesty was undeniable to either of us, and I felt him shift slightly in his seat even as those words settled deep into my chest. It was odd to admit… but I did trust him.

“... I’ll have to touch you.” He explained, lifting his hands with his palms out as if to illustrate his meaning.

I nodded my consent, and he continued, sliding closer. Reaching up and gently cupping my face with his fingers on my temples and his palms against my cheeks. I bowed my shoulders and leaned a little lower so he could reach me more easily. I felt him skim his thumbs against my eyelashes, and blinked instinctually. His touch was light, but his skin was warm. My head swam as soon as it touched mine, and I almost missed his next words as my heart thundered in my ears.

“This won’t hurt,” He assured me gently, “But it will feel a bit strange… Try not to move.”

I nodded again, my movement slightly impeded by his hands. I saw him stiffen slightly. Noticed his eyes flick down to my lips. I wasn’t entirely sure if my heart had stopped, but I was pretty positive my breathing had. And he hadn’t even started the spell yet. He cleared his throat lightly, then closed those startling ruby reds. Freeing me to look down at his own lips without scrutiny. I watched them begin to move slowly, and could almost see them tracing the sounds out in the air with each syllable. The words he spoke were entirely foreign to me, but I felt a strange tingling sensation at his fingertips against my temples. It spread, like cool, trickling water, or hundreds of tiny little pine needles. It didn’t hurt, as he had promised, and as it reached my eyes his thumbs moved. I closed my eyes, felt him trace his thumbs over the lids. Still murmuring softly. It was warm then, like I was looking at the sun through my eyelids. It seemed to seep back, deeper than my eyes, and I let out a little breath as his thumbs moved away and the sensations faded with his voice.

I knew the shape of his mouth now, as it brushed against my own. I drew back in the breath I had released silently, but otherwise didn’t move. I kept my eyes closed as he gently trailed his lips along mine. It was brief, just a feather light kiss. Yet still my head spun like a top and it took me more than a single breathing cycle to let my eyes flutter back open after he leaned back.

He was watching me, his hands lingering on my face. I adjusted my tongue in my mouth, studying those scarlet eyes of his. “... Was that part of the spell?”

“No.” He admitted sheepishly. “I just... couldn’t resist the temptation.”

“...Well… you’d make a terrible monk...” I mumbled.

He laughed, running his thumb across my cheekbone. I flushed hotter at his delighted smile, and after another moment deigned to straighten. Slowly pulling my face out of his hands. He shook his head, still grinning like a fool.

“Obviously you are a morning person.” He said, bemused. “All quick witted and reserved… how long have you been up?”

“Since dawn.” I replied, looking around the room curiously. But nothing seemed to look different.

“An ungodly hour.” Grier grumbled, shaking his head, then his voice became tender. “Though, perhaps you could convert me to… What are you doing?”

I jumped from my slow rotation of studying the bedchamber, turning back to him embarrassedly. “I-I was… Just seeing if…”

He smiled knowingly. “You won’t notice a difference in here. You could already see in this light before.” Then he stood, straightening his vest before looking down at me. “You can see if it works sufficiently in the halls on our way to my mother’s quarters. Come.”

I jumped up at his words, my heart skipping, then quickly tried to brush away my suddenness with a glance around. His smile quirked to one side, and I cleared my throat. Fixing my composure back into place. He gestured to the table, but I shook my head before he could ask. I certainly wasn’t going to be able to eat any more now.

“Relax.” He told me comfortingly as he led the way towards the foyer. “She doesn’t bite.” I tried to listen to him, burying my fretfulness and following him out into the hall. “... Not that hard, anyway.”

“Grier,” I let slip unintentionally and unable to completely keep the exasperation from my voice.

His laughter proceeded us down the hallway.

….

“Mother?” Grier called softly following his knock, cracking the door open and poking his head around. “Are you decent?”

A scoff came from the room beyond him, and I resisted the urge to shift nervously at his shoulder. “Am I ever, mo apawiwi?”

Grier sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I meant that I have brought a visitor, inana. May I bring him in?”

“Do as you like!” Came the hazardous voice, thin but still strong. “You are King, are you not?”

He groaned, shouldering the door open and walking in. He gestured for me to follow him, which I did. Though much more slowly and less languidly than he. I kept my spine stiff, my shoulders squared, with my hands tucked into the small of my back and my heart in my throat.

The room we entered was grandiose, with high ceilings and thick draping curtains around the walls. There were a great many items of furniture; here a desk, there an armoire. In the corner a long table with a shelf built along one end. Most in a dark, polished wood though occasionally a lighter pine sprinkled amid the others. And of course, each of these available surfaces was covered in items. Delicate and expensive looking bottles of what I imagined must be perfume. Gems and jewels, necklaces and earrings. Books and large hats. Maps and parchment, quills and inkwells, globes and strange models of things I had no name for. A few small stone busts or statues, some of stone, others of wood, still more of copper. I wasn’t sure where to place my focus, as each time I shifted it I found a million things to see. I found that my enchanted eyes were easily able to define the shapes of everything, down to minute details. But the colors, which I imagined were just as loud as in every other part of the castle, were subdued. For which I was grateful; the clutter alone was overwhelming, not to mention the heavy smell of old perfume and worn cotton.

The King led the way towards the center of the room, where a great chair with a high, plush back was set amid piles and piles of trinkets like a dragon’s hoard. It was perpendicular to the door, requiring us to walk around to the side to approach it head on. Which we did, and which also gave a pair of beady red eyes time to carefully run us over from head to toe.

The Dowager Queen was small, her thin shoulders hunched and bowed with age. I could see the distinct shape of her bones in her skinny arms as they extended to rest her thin hands on the head of an ornate cane that tapped the ground between her knobby knees. She wore a large dress, poofy and full of lace and frills, which enveloped her tiny form like a cloud, spilling over the arms of the chair and bunching at her little shoulders. Her nose was similar to Grier’s, though a little longer and more hooked at the end. She had the same eyes, the same brows, though her face was more rounded than his, and her ears, while wider around the middle, still curled back towards her face in the same way his did. It was impossible to say what color her hair had once been, as it was bleached as white as fresh snow, but looked equally as soft piled into a neat bun on the top of her head. She jingled like a bell from all the jewelry she was adorned with as she tilted her head, scarlet eyes studying me as I came around to her front. I stopped a respectable distance away, tucking my heels together and dipping my head politely.

“Mother, this is Prince Nikostratus.” Grier introduced me, going to his mother’s side and dropping to one knee by the arm of her chair. “Prince Nikostratus, allow me to introduce the Dowager Queen Morag.”

I bowed slightly at the waist, dropping my eyes respectfully. “Your Grace.”

My neck itched from the weight of her gaze on me, but I kept my head bowed for a long moment. Trying to deny the twitch in my fist clasped tightly behind my back. When I finally did straighten, her eyes followed me, and her head tilted to the other side.

“Khos kala ka, spaye halshalen shiba wa.” She intoned, considering me still.

I was incapable of hiding the helpless flick of my eyes to Grier at her words. He seemed embarrassed, and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Ah… She said-”

“If I had been speaking for his ears, I would have spoken in Common, apawi.” She snapped, then flicked her fingers. “Cuir om, my child. Who is this shiba? Why have you brought him?”

“Well, Mother, Prince Nikostratus is to be my husband.” He explained, and I could see the anxiousness plainly on his face as he shifted on his knees by her side. “We-”

“Kashta vol! What is this nonsense you speak?” She cut him off again, her voice louder, and he winced, opening his mouth just to have her wave her hand to silence him and turn to me. “Non, come closer, shibakin. You will answer, not this abhama who would try to lie to his ina, and let me see your eyes when you do.”

I did as bidden, though my heart thrummed loudly in my ears. I took a few steps towards her, maintaining a respectable distance. I shifted my stance, shrinking my body as much as possible without actually bending or crouching down and making an effort not to loom over her. She seemed to consider this, reaching up to run her long fingers along her chin. I met her eyes firmly, burying my nerves and fretfulness deep down. Etching my face into stone to hide whatever she might try to pry from me. I saw Grier wince again, but ignored him. I didn’t have time to focus on appeasing both goblins at the same time.

“Why do you marry my son?” She demanded, her Common thickly accented with the rolling syllables of goblinese but still clear to the ear.

“We broker a peace between our two kingdoms with our marriage.” I told her honestly.

“Shiba men do not enjoy shiba men.”

My jaw stiffened. “Not openly.”

“You are a Prince?” She pressed.

“Yes.”

“The firstborn?”

“Secondborn. I would not take the throne.” I replied.

“So you seek one.”

“No.”

“Then why marry a King?”

“To end a war.”

“Even though he is goblin?”

“Yes.”

“For whom do you end the war? Yourself? For renown?”

“No.”

“Then whom?”

“My sister. My people.”

“For shiba.”

“For shiba and goblin.”

“Not for your King.”

“... No.”

She fell silent for a moment after her rapid fire, steepling her fingers before her chin. Her eyes studied my face. I was careful to keep it blank, but firm. Certain and undeniable. I saw Grier’s eyes darting back and forth between us. Thought I saw him chewing his bottom lip. But I refused to look away from the diminutive goblin in front of me. She straightened, shifting in her seat. As relaxed as I was on edge, though I hoped my composure held well beneath her scrutiny.

“PAYE!” She shouted, and we both jumped. “Bring chairs for my guests.”

An attendant darted from the next room, quickly dragging over two chairs. I hastened to help them as soon as I saw them nearly buckle under the weight, and they offered me a grateful look. I was vehemently aware of the Queen’s eyes still following me, and noticed Grier nearly trip over himself as he stood and settled in the offered chair.

“When will you wed?” She demanded as I took my own seat.

“It will take time to plan, inana,” Grier explained, rubbing his hands over his knees, “Perhaps next spring-”

“Pah!” She scoffed, waving her hand at him. “I am old, mo apawi. I do not have such time to wait about. You!” She turned on me, pointing with one bony finger. “Shibakin. You will send for your mother. You learn the most about a boy from his mother.”

I stiffened, and felt my jaw clench a little tighter. I saw Grier open his mouth, looking a little pained, but I shook my head slightly. Catching his words before they left his mouth.

“I am afraid my mother passed when I was a teenager, Your Grace.” I told her myself, hoping my voice didn’t sound too thin.

She clicked her tongue, making a soft sound in her throat as she considered this. “You have a sister, yes?” I nodded. “Then you will bring her.”

“...She is nine.”

“All the better.” She scoffed. “Children are always honest.”

“Mother, I don’t think it’s the best-”

“PAH!” She shouted, silencing her son again. “You don’t think Grier. That is your greatest fault. You have no patience.” Her scarlet eyes flicked over to me. “How am I to know what kind of man this Prince is if I cannot speak to his family?”

“You could ask me.” I replied dryly. Then instantly clamped my mouth shut as her beady eyes narrowed. Internally I kicked myself. What had ever possessed me to-

“PAH!” She barked, though this time it sounded more like a laugh. Her thin lips twisted into a smirk. “Would you answer? Do you know yourself, shibakin?”

I hesitated, then dropped my eyes. “... No.”

“PAH!” She laughed again, rubbing her hands over the head of her cane. “He is a clever one then.” I jumped as the end of the stick came up and tapped my knee. “Let me tell you, shibakin. No one knows who they are. Many think they do, but they are wrong.” She tapped my knee again, and I met her eyes. “If you wish to know someone, see them through the eyes of those they love. That is where you will find your answer.”

“That is wise, Your Grace.” I said humbly. “...What may I learn from you of the King then?” I noticed Grier shoot me an embittered look. I hid my amusement well.

“Of course it is!” She cried, then turned and smacked her cane against his leg. “Pah! I like this one, apawiwi! You will keep him.” She glanced back at me. “As for this abhama!” She whacked him again. “He never thinks! He never waits! He just acts acts acts!” She punctuated each repetition of the word with a whack against his leg. Grier scowled, trying to swat the stick to the side unsuccessfully. She was quicker than I would have expected.

“Mother!” He hissed, and I thought I saw his cheeks burn a little darker. “I am a grown man. You cannot-”

“PAH!” She shouted, smacking him one last time for emphasis. “You are a child still, apawi, because you still act like one. Perhaps marrying this shiba will calm your passion.” Morag turned back to me, and I eyed her cane warily. “He is passionate, yes? He is heat and fire and burns at both ends. He feels everything. And he wears it on his ridiculous looking sleeves.” I pursed my lips to keep them from twitching. “You! You, shiba. You are cool, and calm. You are stone in a storm. You think before you act. Two minutes and I see this plain!” She banged her cane on the ground at the foot of her chair. “Teach this abhama some of your ways. And he will help you crack your mask to burn hot as he does, shibakin.” She nodded, as if agreeing with herself as she thought her words through.

“His name is Nikostratus, ina.” Grier grumbled, crossing his arms in a pout over his chest. “Not shibakin.”

“Pah!” She scoffed. “I am old, cai thani, I do not have time for such a long name.” She banged her cane against the floor. “PAYE! Bring us drinks! Ash usi yage!”

“Ina!” He scolded. “It is not even noon!”

He jerked his legs up to avoid her swinging cane. “PAH! I am cai thani, what do I care for noon? It does not wait for me. I shall not wait for it.” Morag turned back to me. “You, mo shiba, shall bring me your sister. I have always wanted a daughter. And this siut abhama,” She swung at Grier again, “Is quick in everything but giving me grandchildren.”

I tried to sort out her words, blinking slowly. The goblin attendant returned, and I found a glass pressed into my hand. It was filled with a clear liquid, and I could already smell the strong vapors wafting from it. I glanced at Grier, who had a different shaped glass in his own hand. But considering the grimace on his face, I was guessing his held the same liquor as mine.

“I would be honored to bring my sister here,” I started carefully, watching the little old goblin draw in a deep, pleased breath from her own glass, “But I am afraid there may be… other complications Your Grace-”

“PAH!” She shouted, and clapped the bottom of her cane on the ground again. “You will call me ina, mo shibakin. Ina Morag. And what what? What is this you speak? ‘Complications’? PAH! You are a Prince, no?”

“Yes, but-”

“There is no but!” She snapped. “You want her to come? You bring her. There, I make it simple.” Scarlet eyes darted to her son. “Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps you are better match because you are both abhamak.”

“Your Grace-”

“Ina Morag! Ina Morag!” She practically shouted. Snapping her cane against the floor. “You are deaf, mo shibakin?” She turned back to Grier. “You are not teaching him goblinese? Gunum! That I should have a son that would not know my own language. Nare!”

“Nikostratus has barely been here a week, ina,” He breathed exasperatedly, rubbing at his brow with one hand, “We already decided to procure-”

“Gunum! You make excuses, Grier. Teach the boy goblinese. Nisle! Yes?”

He nodded, smirking. “Yes, inana. I hear you.”

“Pah!” She leaned over to me, holding one hand by her mouth conspiratorially. “He says this, and then as soon as I am out of ear, he will do what he wants anyway.” She nodded to me. “Do not let your manwe pull this on you, mo shiba.” A familiar mischievous grin spread her thin lips. “I will teach you his tricks, mo shiba. I am his inana. I know them all.” She tapped her cane lightly on the floor. “Come and visit your ina Morag. You are welcome here.”

I dropped my gaze, flattered and feeling heat rising to my ears. I heard her laugh, and recognized in its echo another thing her son had inherited from her. I chanced a peek at him out of the corner of my eye, and saw him hiding a small smile, his face equally flushed.

“Hechi!” She proclaimed, her voice softer than I had yet heard it. She held her glass high. “To your union, yes? And your future together.”

I recognized a toast when I heard one, and raised my own glass in a soft salute. I gritted my teeth as I brought the strong smelling liquor to my lips. I tried not to let it linger in my mouth longer than necessary. But I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t just swallowed fire. I heard Grier coughing as he downed his own, and felt the corners of my eyes water as I tightened my jaw and resisted the burn in my own throat.

Morag chuckled, seemingly unaffected by hers. She tapped one long boney finger and the attendant returned to refill her glass. They didn’t bother to offer more to us, for which I was glad. Manners aside, I wasn’t certain I would be able manage a second. The burn settled heavily in my stomach, and I swallowed a few times trying to clear it.

Suddenly, the old Queen began to speak again, long and flowing sentences in goblinese. I couldn’t even attempt to follow along, let alone pull individual words out. Again, her voice was soft, and though she looked at me as she spoke, I could see Grier stiffen in his seat. When she finished, there was silence for a long moment, and it rang in my ears. I turned to the King to find his face a little pale and his lips tight.

Finally, he nodded, looking down at the floor. “... Tasu, inana.”

I didn’t know the word, but it sounded affirmative, as if he were confirming something she had said. Her eyes finally fixed on him, her head tilting to the side. She spoke a shorter sentence in goblinese, and I could feel the tender warmth in it. I shifted, uncomfortable to sense such a moment between mother and son, even if I couldn’t understand what was being said. It was intimate, and I felt as though I were trespassing. After she finished, Grier hesitated before nodding. A moment later he stood.

“She wishes to speak to you alone for a moment,” He told me as I started to follow him, “...I’ll wait in the hall.”

My composure almost slipped, but I managed to keep it as he took up his mother’s hand. Then bent down and gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek. She smiled, patting his face fondly. He passed me one last look, which I couldn’t quite read, then left. Leaving me alone with the Dowager Queen.

She waited until the door clicked closed behind him, eyeing me all the while. I stayed still under her scrutiny, but felt my heart going a mile a minute in my breast. The minutes ticked by in silence, and I waited with practiced patience despite the knots slowly tying and untying themselves in my stomach.

“I have but one son.” She began finally, tapping her glass quietly. “One child. Grier is my everything, shibakin. And I would see him happy before I die.” She sighed, taking a sip and leaning back in her chair. “It does not matter what I say, he will do what he wants in the end. But I would know you, so that perhaps when my time comes I can go in peace.”

I straightened slightly, rolling the empty glass in my own hands. “I will give you whatever peace I can offer, Your Grace.”

“Hmmm. I see you do that.” She jerked her chin at me. “I have known you ten minutes, and I see it. You hide yourself, whenever emotions might show. You become stone.” I tried not to tighten more at her words, and therefore prove their weight of truth. “... But I sense you feel things strongly. Perhaps even more strongly than Grier does.” I said nothing, yet felt her words sink inside me like an anchor off the side of a ship. Dragging me down to dark depths. “... Do you love my son?”

I felt cold at her words, and my jaw clenched. “I barely know him, Your Grace. We just met a few days ago.”

“So? Does this matter?”

“... I am not sure I know what it means..” I admitted to her weakly, my voice soft but honest.

“You love your sister.” She pointed out. “You build a peace for her.”

“Yes, but... that is different.”

“Can you love my son?”

I almost winced. “I do not know.”

“Does he make you happy? Or is this a marriage of necessity?”

I thought about that for a long, quiet moment. I considered just telling her what she wanted to hear. Just speaking sweetly to soothe her conscience. I shifted, looking down at the ground without really seeing it. Knowing I couldn’t do it.

“... It started with my responsibility to my Kingdom. To bring peace.” I told her honestly, my voice hesitant and uncertain. “But… He’s been… I-I…” I gritted my teeth. “I am… not very good at expressing myself.”

“Hmmm.” She tilted her head to the other side. “When you touch, does your mind spin?”

“... Yes.”

“When you see him, does your heart skip?”

“... Yes.”

“Have you kissed him?” I blushed furiously. She scoffed at that, and her jewels jangled as she shook her head. “And?”

I thumbed the glass, and felt my blush deepen. But I forced the words from my lips. “A-and … I can’t breathe… I can’t… think… I have no words, but feel I have so much to say…” I shook my own head. “I apologize, that makes no sense.”

“Love doesn’t make sense, abhama shibakin mo.” She replied, sounding amused. “I was not sure I loved his father when we married. Perhaps I did not then. But I came to love him.” Her voice became pained. “I miss him every day now.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Your Grace.”

“I am sorry for yours, shiba apawi mo.” She tapped my boot lightly with her cane. “Call me ina, yes? Ina Morag. Make an old lady happy.”

“As you wish… Ina Morag.” I tried not to mumble, and glanced up at her as I spoke.

She gave me a kind smile. “You do make him happy, mo shiba. It is obvious to anyone who knows him. Just in the way he looks at you. I never thought Grier would be one to settle his wild spirit with one heart. But, I believe he has settled his heart on yours… And I believe one day your heart will settle into his.” She smirked. “Though you may not notice when it does.” A laugh this time. “You may just wake up one day and realize it's there, and has been for a while.”

My blush returned. “...I would be lucky then, ina Morag… You have a good son.”

“Pah!” She exclaimed then waved her hand at me. “Now away with you, mo shibakin. Your youth has drained mine, and I must rest now.” She smacked me lightly with her cane as I moved to stand. “But come back soon, yes?” A familiar grin settled on her lips. “I would know more about my new child. And bring your sister!” She sighed. “It would do an old heart good to see a child’s face in this palace again.”

I bowed low at the waist, and her hand came up. Patting my head lightly. “As you wish, ina Morag. I will do what I can.”

“Toksor, mo shibakin.” She called lightly after me as I made my way to the door.

Grier waited anxiously in the hallway beyond, pacing back and forth. He jumped at the sound of the door opening, and rushed over quickly as I stepped out.

“How did it go? Are you alright? What did she say?”

I shook my head, slowly closing the door behind me, trying to settle my swirling thoughts. “Well, she was right about one thing at least.”

He peered up at me, his anxiousness settling into lines at the corners of his eyes. “What’s that?”

I hid my smile as I turned to stride down the hall. “Your sleeves are ridiculous.”

...

UPDATE: Part seven HERE

#Royal Flush #goblin romance #goblin king #goblin lover #goblin husband #mlm #male x male #monster x male #terato #exophilia #slow burn #monster romance #monster lover #monster husband #monster royalty #arranged marriage #angst

68 notes · View notes

xfandomwritingsx · 4 years ago

Text

Loose Ends - F!Hawke/Varric

-gif source unknown-

Description: After Hawke and Varric have finally settled down, an old friend makes an unexpected appearance.

Warnings/Labels: Anders isn’t a good guy here... just fair warning. Mentions of slavery and death and orphans and not fun stuff.

Approx. Word Count: 4,500

A/N: Sequel to Reuniting (https://archiveofourown.org/works/17554700/chapters/41368289) and Scars, but not necessary to read them first.

~~~

Varric could hear Hawke start humming happily as she started to wash up. He closed the bathroom door and smiled to himself. It was a wonder how they ended up here, cohabitating fairly blissfully in her estate after both seemingly starting and stopping the end of the world. Corypheus was defeated. Hawke had come back to Kirkwall. Varric was somehow Viscount. (Even he still wasn’t exactly sure how that one happened.) Everything was weird. But in a good way. Things were finally good.

He tied the sash of his robe around his waist before exiting her - no, wait. - their bedroom. (He was still getting used to that too.) The door closed with a soft click behind him and he walked towards the stairs. When he got close to the railing, he immediately noticed a man in a cloak staring into the fire with Hawke’s oh-so-fantastic guard dog, Moose, laying contently by his feet.

At first he thought it was Fenris. They were expecting him afterall, but not for another couple of days and certainly not at this hour. Varric started to descend the staircase casually for two reasons. The first being he wasn’t too worried about the intruder. For all his buffoonery, Moose wouldn’t let just anyone in. The second was because he had left Bianca in the study and alerting an intruder by running to his weapon was not on his survival how-to list.

“You know it’s not polite to let yourself in,” he called lightly about halfway down the stairs. Moose perked his head up and the man turned away from the fire to look at Varric. His features were clouded by the shadows, but Varric recognized him instantly and his blood ran cold for only a moment before it ran hot. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Hello, Varric,” Anders greeted him, voice solemn and a little surprised. The dwarf was obviously not who he expected.

“You’re really making me regret not having Bianca on me at all times.” Varric planted himself at the bottom of the stairs, body stiff as he tried to control the anger coursing through him. “And you,” he addressed Moose. “I thought I told you not to let strangers in.” Moose whined and Anders eyes fell to the floor, the bitter way Varric spit the word hitting the intended nerve. “Why are you here?” Just for the extra sting, Varric snapped his fingers and motioned for Moose to come to his side, away from Anders. The hound happily obeyed and sat beside him.

“I…” he paused, searching for the right words. Varric noticed his eyes looked tired and his blond hair had grown, peaking out of his hood down around his shoulders. “I need to speak with Hawke.” Varric nearly laughed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“The lack of response to your letters wasn’t an invitation.” He really just wanted to punch the mage, but he would feel bad about the blood on the floor.

“I know, but this isn’t about me,” Anders tried to explain.

“It never is, is it?” Hawke’s voice came from the second floor. Both men looked up to see her standing at the railing in her bedclothes, hands gripping the wooden edge and peering down. “Nothing you do is ever about you.” The sarcastic bitterness wasn’t missed by either of them, making Anders wince and Varric bite back a smile. If he was honest, a part of him was looking forward to seeing how this reunion would play out. “Selfless healer who sacrificed everything and everyone for the better good, isn’t that right?”

Hawke’s descent down the stairs was chilling. She kept her hard eyes on Anders the entire time, staring him down and forcing his eyes to the floor. She walked down slow, with purpose, wanting to watch him squirm for just a little while longer.

“I don’t take kindly to intruders in my home.” She came to stand besides Varric. He watched Anders carefully, looking to see if he noticed how closely she stood. He hadn’t seemed to question the fact that Varric had been in her mansion at such a late hour (in a robe, no less!) but perhaps that simply spoke to how close he and Hawke had been before their relationship began.

“There are refugees just outside the city,” Anders began, taking the hint that she wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries.

“There are refugees everywhere,” she countered quickly.

“Partly thanks to you,” Varric added, taking a small pleasure in the way Anders shoulders slumped at them ganging up on him.

“They could use your help,” he kept going, pushing through the guilt they laid on him. “They have family here, but the city guards won’t let them in and I can’t sneak them all in myself.”

“So why not appeal to Aveline?” Hawke quipped even though they all knew the answer. The smallest forced smile graced Ander’s lips.

“I think the only way to appeal to her would be to present my head on a platter.” He watched uneasily as Varric and Hawke looked at each other and shrugged, having an entire conversation without words at his expense. “If you’re willing, I’m meeting a contact tomorrow night at the docks.” When neither of them responded, Anders slowly stepped towards the door. “For what it’s worth,” he paused, looking back at Hawke. “I’m glad you’re doing well.”

“Oh, I’m doing very well.” Her arm bumped lightly into Varric’s and Anders eyes were instantly drawn to their hands as their fingers slowly linked together. Realization finally dawned on his face and Varric didn’t even try to hold back his smirk.

“You know the way out,” Varric dismissed him easily, giving Hawke’s hand a squeeze and enjoying the way Ander’s eyes lingered there. It took him an extra moment, but he left without another word. Once they heard the front door shut, Varric turned his attention to the woman at his side. “You need to teach the dog how to guard a bit better. Foolish thing let him walk right in.” Moose whined at his feet and Varric patted his head.

“And yet he growls when he sees Fenris,” she teased. “He’s just got bad taste in men.”

“So, what exactly does that say about me?” Varric laughed as Moose slobbered on his hand. Both he and Hawke chuckled. “Bed?” he suggested.

“Bed.”

~~~

“Is it bad that I’m considering it?” Hawke asked as they lay together in the darkness.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he assured her, turning under the sheets to face her. She gazed at the pale ceiling, watching the small shadows from the last flickers of the firelight. “It’s not like we have any other pressing engagements tomorrow. We could grab Moose and Daisy and it’d be just like old times.” She shook her head softly.

“No,” she said firmly. “Just us. I don’t want to pull Merrill from the alienage and Moose is clearly untrustworthy.” She called the last bit over the end of the bed and Moose whined from his place on the floor; a plush dog bed near the foot that Varric had painfully trained him to sleep in. He chuckled at the poor hound.

“Probably better that way. Daisy is bound to spill to Aveline anyways.” A light smile appeared on her lips and it was enough to satisfy him. He rolled to his back and closed his eyes.

“If Anders has any delusions about staying in Kirkwall…” He could feel her tense up beside him so he reached under the sheets and squeezed her forearm.

“He’ll have an arrow or a knife in his back. Possibly a sword. All depends on who gets to him first.” Her body relaxed and with a slight laugh, she brought her hand up to hold onto his.

“Goodnight, Varric.”

~~~

Once night fell, Hawke and Varric slipped their gear on, slung their respective weapons over their backs, and headed for the docks. The streets hadn’t changed too much. There were roads and building that needed rebuilt, but most nights it still looked the same. Sometimes it felt like the place was getting cleaned up, but mostly Kirkwall was still riddled with the same amount of crime as before. Only difference now was that casual looters and thieves didn’t want to try their luck on Hawke as often.

The docks were quiet. It made it quite easy to hear the hushed sounds of Anders arguing with a man in a dim corner near the edge of the water. Varric and Hawke looked at each other, listening to the disagreement before making themselves know.

“You weren’t supposed to bring them yet!” Anders hissed. “They aren’t safe! I don’t have a place for them yet!”

“This was when we agreed to originally. Now give me my money or I’ll sell your cargo to someone else.” Hawke didn’t like the way this man said cargo so casually or the way Anders’ eyes widened in a slight panic. She glanced at the man’s ship and noted that it did a good job of looking like a regular trading ship. There were just a few details that put a sour twist in Hawke’s gut.

“I’d like to see the cargo,” Hawke announced. Normally she would have made such a comment much more jauntily, but if Anders was involved with what she thought he was, there was no humor to be had. The man turned to look at her and grinned, showing off a missing front tooth.

“A lady ready to do business! I like it!” He waved her and Varric forward, but Anders stepped in to protest.

“Hawke, that’s not necessary,” he tried. She pulled a small purse from her waist and shook it, little metals jingling inside.

“I’ve got coin,” she told the man. “I want to see the cargo.”

“Right this way.” As she suspected, the man followed the lead of who put the most coin up front. She followed him across the small board walkway onto his ship. Sensing Anders’ nerves, Varric nudged him ahead, keeping him between himself and Hawke as they walked aboard. “This is some fine stock that lousy mage collected.”

The few crew members on deck scattered as they walked by, but Hawke caught sight of others lurking in shadows. Armed. Watching. She resisted the urge to reach for her staff. She did, however take a look behind her and notice Varric was seeing the same things she was.

The man came to a cellar door at the back of the ship. He unlocked it and swung it open proudly, allowing Hawke to peer inside. Her stomach churned as the moonlight poured inside, lighting up dirty, scared faces of children. All of them. Children.

“I can explain,” Anders said from behind her, already in a haste. “They needed help. They’re mages, all of them. They need refuge.”

“So you hired slavers to bring them in?” Hawke could see the man slowly reach for the dagger in his waistband when he heard the disgust in her tone. She gave the kids an apologetic look before gently closing the cellar door.

“I had a plan,” Anders defended.

“Is someone going to pay me for the cargo or am I taking my crew elsewhere?” The man asked, already drawing his dagger. Varric was quicker than him though and had a bolt through the side of his skull before he could even threaten to use it.

“I’ll deal with you after we deal with them,” Hawke sneered, pulling her staff from her back as the guards came out of the woodwork.

It was an easy fight, most of the crew, probably unaware of what kind of ship they had been serving, abandoned the deck quickly. The guards that put up a fight, were nothing special. They’d handled people like that dozens of times. Anders, however noticed a distinct change in the fighting style between the former teammates. When he turned to look for Hawke, she wasn’t by his side like she once was. She was in tandem with Varric.

When the last guard fell, Varric and Hawke approached Anders. They didn’t aim their weapons at him, but they made no move to holster them either. He released his staff, hoping to keep things peaceful.

“I don’t think an explanation is needed,” Varric told him.

“How silly I was to think that when you said refugees you meant adults and that just outside the city didn’t mean on a slaver’s ship.” Hawke’s sarcasm had a sharp bite to it.

“It was the quickest way to get them all here at once.” She rolled her eyes at the poor excuse. “I had a contact on the ship. They were safe.” He sounded like he actually believed it and there was a subtle, repressed darkness in his voice that made Hawke wonder just how much of this was Justice.

“Where did they come from?” Varric asked, finger itching to touch the trigger.

“Various places all over the Free Marches,” he told them. “Some were abandoned and orphaned. Others were rescued from the grip of Templars.” His glanced almost regretfully to the cellar door. “They needed help.”

“So you’ve said,” Varric cut him off shortly. “A lot, I might add.” Anders’ brows knitted together and there was a slight twitch in his hand that Hawke didn’t like.

“Leave,” she commanded. “This is the last time I’m letting you go.” She took her staff in both hands, standing more aggressively. “If I see you in Kirkwall again, if you come anywhere near any of us, if you so much as write to us, I will have you killed.” She paused, searching his eyes. “Both of you.” She wasn’t confident if she was speaking to Anders or Justice or if there was even a difference anymore. His tension softened at her threat and he gave her a look that just for a moment, made her heart ache.

“Hawke,” he tried. “I’m sorry.” She knew he was honest. The sound of his voice and the look in his eyes reminded her of the old Anders, of the one she fell in love with. Her tender nostalgia was quashed when his eyes turned to Varric. The subtle look of jealousy gave her a twisted pleasure. Anders turned to leave, but paused for a moment and turned to address Varric. “Please just… take care of her.”

“Oh, Blondie,” Varric chuckled. “The irony here is that you don’t realize I’ve always taken care of her. Even when it should have been you doing it.” While the brutality of the words caused a sting in Anders, it brought an affectionate pang to Hawke and she resisted the urge to throw her arms around the dwarf and kiss him. Anders retreated quickly off the ship and into the darkness of the night. Hawke let out a heavy sigh before turning to the cellar door again.

“Let’s get these kids somewhere safe,” she said to Varric.

When the moonlight poured onto their faces again, they looked up at her hopefully. A taller boy, perhaps just shy of being of age, came forward through the group, pushing littler ones behind him protectively.

“It’s alright,” Hawke assured him gently.

“You’re in Kirkwall,” Varric said beside her. “Maybe not the most luxurious of places, but you’re safe at least.” The boy’s eyes were trained on their clothes and when Hawke looked down, she realized the sight of blood on them was likely not a good sign to the kids.

“We uhhh… took care of the slavers,” she offered for reasoning.

“Where’s the man? The one who took us?” the boy asked. His voice sounded dry. He needed water.

“Anders is gone,” she told him gently, not noticing how Varric scrunched his brow at the boy’s question. “We’re going to take care of you.” A little girl with a stuffed toy peeked around the boys legs.

“Can we go home?” she squeaked. The boy patted her head gently before looking up at Hawke again.

“Are you going to take us all home?” There was hope in his voice and the way it shone in all of their eyes made Hawke ache. They hadn’t agreed to go with Anders. They were taken.

“Hawke,” Varric whispered. “I think now would be a good time to go get Aveline.” Her eyes turned to him slowly and there was harshness, a bloodthirsty look on her face that Varric felt reflected in his core.

“I could still catch him,” she whispered. “If you stay here, I can catch up to him and finish it.” As much as he wanted to let her go, he reached out and wrapped his hand over her forearm.

“We will hunt him down later,” he promised. “We need to take care of them first.” She looked between Varric and the hull of children before sighing. She knew he was right. These kids were the pressing priority.

“Okay,” she conceded. “Go get Aveline. I’ll get these kids up onto the dock.”

~~~

Varric had to tell Aveline to “lecture him later” about three too many times in the short span it took to get her and her guards to the docks. He’d eventually tuned her out and fell back behind her guard just to get out of earshot.

When they arrived, all the torches lit up the docks so it was practically daylight out. There were kids everywhere, mostly huddled in little bunches and they tried to keep to the shadows as best they could. It was hard to watch and even harder to look away. So instead, he looked for Hawke.

It took him a minute to find her and when he did, he felt like his heart might burst. She was sitting on a stack of crates, using a slight bit of magic to keep the area dim for the child who was sleeping with his head in her lap. She looked so different in that moment; legs folded up underneath her, running her fingers through the dirty hair of a small boy taking comfort in her arms.

“I know you have a habit of taking in strays,” he joked quietly as he approached them. “But something tells me this one belongs somewhere.” She gave him a muted glare and didn’t stop stroking the boy’s head.

“He was scared and so tired,” she told him. Varric scrambled up onto the crate next to her and leaned against her shoulder, looking down at the boy. He had shaggy hair that Varric guessed was sandy colored when it was clean and clothes that seemed fairly new. “He was one of the last ones Anders brought in.” Hawke shared. “Some of them were with him for far too long.”

“Any time with Anders is far too long.” Varric reached out and moved some the boy’s hair off his face.

“He wouldn’t tell me about his parents.” There was a slight tremor in her voice that pulled Varric’s eyes to hers. “I think Anders might have…” Dread ran through him. He looked out at the dock of kids giving their information to the guards and wondered just how many of them were orphaned now.

“I already sent a contact to track him.” He told her lowly. An arrow would be too good for him. Varric much preferred the idea of wrapping his hands around his throat. “Aveline will make sure everyone gets back to their families. We’ll get them safe for the night and get everything moving in the morning.”

“Tell Aveline the mansion has extra beds.” His eyebrows raised at that. “These kids shouldn’t be put in the barracks. It’s cold and dingy and a place for soldiers, not kids. The mansion has room.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and rubbed his hand on her back.

“We don’t have room for all of them.”

“We have room for most of them. Orana will love having people to fuss over and Moose will love the attention.” She looked down at the boy, her stroking pauses for a moment. “It’s my fault they’re here.” Varric squeezed her in a half-hug. “I let him go free. I shouldn’t have.” He thought about telling her otherwise, about taking some of the blame himself, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. So he sighed instead and looked out at the docks again.

“Hawke Estate: Orphanage for Lost Mages.” They both smiled softly before he hopped back off the crate to go give the Guard Captain her orders.

~~~

It took weeks to get all the kids back to their families or in some cases, what was left of them. The look on Fenris’s face when he arrived and saw the mansion filled with little ones was an expression Varric would never forget. All of the chaos was almost worth it just for that.

They’d found the Aunt and Uncle of the little boy that had fallen asleep on Hawke’s lap, whose name they learned was Arthur, shortly before Fenris was set to depart. As they were located in the direction he was headed, he offered to escort the boy there. Varric watched from the top of the stairs as Hawke and Arthur said their goodbyes. As Varric suspected they would, they had grown close in the time Arthur stayed with them.

“Fenris is going to make sure you get home safely,” Hawke assured him for what had to be the tenth time that morning. “I know he looks all pointy and scary and unfriendly, but he’s one of the best men I know.” With Hawke on her knees and her attention on Arthur, she didn’t notice how Fenris looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. Varric chuckled softly to himself.

“Thank you,” he whispered before flinging his arms around her neck and nearly knocking her off balance. Varric felt a sad warmth, a yearning even, fill his belly as she returned the little boy’s hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” she said into his, now clean hair. She reluctantly pulled away from him and brushed a couple of tears off of his cheeks. “Make sure your Aunt and Uncle write me, okay?” He nodded earnestly. “Now off you go. Time to go home.” She stood up and Fenris outstretched his hand for Arthur to take. He hesitated only a moment, looking at Fenris’s pointed gloves with question, before remember what Hawke had said.

Before walking through the archway, Arthur turned to look over his shoulder at Varric. “Thank you, Mr. Varric!” he called. Varric gave him a wave.

“Anytime, kid.” He had to admit he’d grown a soft spot for him. Varric never fancied himself anything of a father or anything, but damned if he didn’t love teaching the kid to play cards or the look on his face when Varric bought him new clothes. “Take care.” With one more look to Hawke, Arthur followed Fenris out.

~~~

It was a night nearly a month after all the kids had left, that Varric looked at Hawke and asked the question that scared him.

“Do you ever think about kids?” Hawke scrunched her nose and looked at him like she didn’t understand the question. She shuffled some papers around his desk. They were going over the intel on Anders. The bastard was quick, but Varric called in a favor from Leliana who called in a favor from a Crow and they about had him pinned down.

“You mean like Arthur?” she asked, setting some of the papers down.

“Not exactly.” Varric shifted in his chair. “I meant… having kids.” Her eyes widened just a little when she caught up with him.

“Oh! You mean with…” Her fingers pointed rapidly between the two of them. “Can we even… Is that possible?” He watched as she wracked her brain, trying to recall any sort of knowledge on cross-species reproduction and coming up wildly short of any useful information.

“I was putting logistics aside.” He watched as she contemplated the question.

“I never thought I’d make a good mother,” she admits, finally putting the rest of the papers onto his desk.

“Never thought I’d make a good father either and if my bones creaking is any indication, I’m getting old as dirt.” She cracked a smile at him. “But all those kids I think, Arthur in particular, prove there’s no shortage of lonely, lost children around Thedas that could use two semi-stable adult figures in their lives and we didn’t do so bad with them.”

“You were good with Arthur.” She smiled warmly. “It would mean settling down. No more running around to stop the world from ending.” He took a moment to look around the room they were in; an office of sorts in the corner of the mansion’s library.

“I think we’ve pretty much already settled down,” he chuckled. She shrugged in silent agreement. “And having kids would be its own adventure.”

“Wouldn’t that be the truth?” A wide smile burst onto her lips and she barked out a laugh. “Could you just imagine; Aunt Isabela?” He had to laugh with her.

“You think Rivaini would be bad? She’d be a saint compared to Sera!” Their laughter filled the quiet room and Varric felt it heat his chest. One thing was for sure, he never wanted to be anywhere else but by Hawke’s side ever again. Losing that feeling of love and laughter would surely kill him.

“It would certainly be interesting, to say the least,” she mused as the laughter died down. “It’s something to definitely consider,” She drew his eyes away from him and back to the map on his desk. “After we tie up some loose ends.”

“Let’s get to it then,” he told her with one more smile.

He watched her delve back into the papers and mark spots on the map. She studied everything intently. This was the final piece of her past she needed to shut the door on once and for all and he was more than happy to help her do it. Taking care of Anders was going to give them the peace they needed. They peace she deserved.

“Marian,” he called softly, pulling her once more from the papers. He reached out over the surface of the desk and extended his hand to her. She slipped her hand into his and he held on tightly. “You would make a wonderful mother.” A blush actually reached up onto her cheeks and she returned the firm hold on his hand.

“And you would make one hell of a father.”

They’d been adding onto their makeshift family for years. Both of them had more friends than they ever imagined having before. Their family was immense. But maybe, just maybe, one day there would be room for another little member. Should they be married first? Probably. That’s what normal society dictated anyways. But that’s exactly why he’d sent his family signet ring out to be cleaned last week.

One thing at a time, he reminded himself, forcing his eyes away from her face and back to the papers.

------

Thanks for reading! This seriously threatened to delve into very dark and depressing places with Anders kidnapping kids, but I tried to keep it light despite that. Hopefully I succeeded. If you’ve enjoyed, I ask that you like, comment, reblog, or if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

Keep up with my progress on Instagram! https://www.instagram.com/thatfandomwriter/

#Varric Tethras #hawke/varric #hawke x varric #Female Hawke x Varric #dragon age #dragon age imagine

24 notes · View notes

hajimes-erect-ahoge · 4 years ago

Text

Postmortem- Chapter 12

Kokichi faces an unexpected proposal and has some alone time on the roof.

ao3 Ouma’s visits to the dining hall for breakfast had been quite sporadic these past few days, similar to his attendance to group therapy. But ever since the hospital staff made the announcement that they would have to move out soon, Ouma avoided the others like the plague. In reality, this course of action made as little sense as possible given the fact that he needed to find a roommate, but Ouma didn’t really care. They would probably just stick him with whoever, leaving him to suffer the consequences of his laziness.

Clutching his stomach, Ouma tried to quell the loud rumbling noise that came from it. Maybe just one trip to the dining hall wouldn’t hurt…

How bad could it be?

Peeling the sheets from off of himself, Ouma climbed off his bed and left the room, heading to the dining hall.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So you two are rooming together” Harukawa asked, her question directed at the two males sitting across from her.

“Yup! Me and Shuichi are best buds, so of course we would room together!” Momota grinned, turning to Saihara. “What about you?”

“I’m rooming with Akamatsu. She offered to room with me, so I…” She looked up to notice Momota beaming at her childishly. “...What?”

“Nothin’! It’s just…” Harukawa stared at him flatly, a casual death threat waiting on her lips. “Since when are you and Akamatsu friends?”

She gave him a death glare, leading Saihara to interject.

“I think what Momota-kun is trying to say is that…” He glanced at Harukawa briefly, deciding it would be better to avoid her glowering eyes. “It’s really great that you and Akamatsu-san are friends, although it is a bit… unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” She raised an eyebrow at Saihara curiously.

“Yeah! I mean, you two are just so different! Akamatsu is so bright and happy, and you’re so, uh…” Momota drifted off, fearing a threat from Harukawa.

Much to Momota’s, as well as Saihara’s, surprise, Harukawa chuckled ever so faintly, a tiny smile gracing her lips.

“Yeah, I guess we are kind of different.” Her eyes drifted towards Akamatsu, who was chattering away with Amami at the other end of the table.

The door to the dining hall swung open, allowing Ouma to enter. Noticing this, Saihara gently nudged Momota, subtly gesturing towards Ouma. Momota nodded, understanding their silent conversation.

“Hey, Ouma! Got a sec’?” Momota waved to him in hopes of grabbing his attention. Ouma looked over at Momota and, albeit hesitantly, made his way over.

“Shuichi, Maki Roll!” Momota looked at each of them while he said their name for emphasis. “Big news! Ouma here is one of my sidekicks now, so-”

“I’m leaving.” Ouma immediately turned to walk away, but froze in place once he heard Saihara’s voice.

“Wait, Ouma-kun!” Saihara exclaimed, startling the others.

Ouma faced the trio once more, avoiding Harukawa’s piercing gaze.

“We, uh…” Saihara stuttered, tripping over his words. His eyes darted between Ouma and the ground as he fiddled with his fingers nervously. “We- Momota-kun and I- were wondering if, um…”

“Wanna room with us?” Momota cut him off, getting straight to the point.

Ouma raised an eyebrow, perplexed. Was this really happening? Not only was someone asking to live with him but… Momota and Saihara? After all they’ve been through together, they actually wanted to live with him? He could hardly believe it.

“...What?” Ouma asked cautiously, half expecting it all to be some cruel joke.

“Yeah, well…” Momota rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, “We kinda got off on the wrong foot during the killing game, and sure you’re a pain in the ass but-”

“Is this going somewhere, or are you just gonna keep insulting me?” Ouma quipped, still suspicious.

“I’m getting there!” Momota shouted, exasperated. “Like I was saying… I think we could learn to tolerate each other now that the killing game is over… especially since you’re one of my sidekicks now!” He grinned, to which Ouma gave a look of disgust. “Plus, Shuichi seemed pretty excited about this whole thing, considering it was his idea!”

“Momota-kun!” Saihara protested, his face flushed. Being the center of attention once more, Saihara cleared his throat. “Um… I agree with what Momota-kun said…” He paused suddenly, waving his hands frantically with wide eyes. “Not about you being a pain, though! Just about the rest!”

Almost as if on cue, both Momota and Ouma burst out laughing. Even Harukawa gave a faint smile at their antics.

Once their laughter died down, Ouma spoke, finally answering their question. “Fiiiine! But only for my beloved Saihara-chan, not for stinky Momota-chan!” He crossed his arms, fake pouting. “Now are we done here?” He tapped his foot impatiently.

Momota and Saihara paused for a moment, both of them taken aback, before smiling ear to ear.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s great!” Momota beamed at him, sharing an excited look with Saihara.

When they both looked back towards him, Ouma was already walking out of the dining hall despite not even eating anything.

“Ah, Ouma-kun! Don’t forget to fill out your discharge form!” Saihara shouted, hoping that Ouma would still hear him.

Ouma gave Saihara a small wave of his hand, not even bothering to turn around.

If Momota saw how happy he was right now, he would never hear the end of it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ouma rounded the corner stealthily, darting down the hall before anyone could see him. He arrived at a dead end in which there were two doors, one of which was a broom closet, and the other of which led to the roof. At least, that’s what the label on the door said.

Gripping the handle of the doorknob, Ouma froze, hearing a familiar metal clanking that could belong to none other than Kiibo. Not wanting to get caught, Ouma quickly opened the door and dashed up the stairs to the roof.

The cool air of the outdoors felt exceptionally refreshing on Ouma’s skin, it having been way too long since he was allowed outdoors. It was eerily quiet, the dark of the night having descended upon the hospital in full force. He basked in it, a newfound peace rushing over him.

The stars weren’t particularly notable, only a few of them being visible and not too bright. Compared to the academy, this sky was nowhere near as beautiful, but he supposed there was some hidden beauty in the realness of this sky.

He looked down from the sky and ahead of him instead, counting the dozens of rooftops that were visible. They must be in a pretty busy area, he thought.

Ouma walked to the edge of the roof, sitting himself down and allowing his legs to dangle off the roof. Only now did he realize how high up he was, far away from the desolate sidewalk on which pedestrians roamed during the daytime.

He tipped his head backwards, releasing all tension from his body as he thought back to today’s events.

Hours had passed since the encounter in the dining hall, after which Ouma headed straight to his room to fill out his discharge forms. It was a tedious job, but it passed quickly due to him being in a particularly good mood.

This, of course, had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it was Saihara who wanted him to room with them. Nope, not at all.

But now that he was by himself again, his overthinking got the better of him and the negatives of the situation came to light.

First of all, living with Momota and Saihara meant he would be living with the two people who most likely pitied him the most for sacrificing himself during the killing game. As much as he hated to admit it, he was close to Momota, as well as Saihara, but being closer to them only caused them to grow more sympathetic towards him. Though it was true that nearly everyone pitied him to some extent, it was notably worse with these two.

Momota and his gung-ho attitude that felt the need to save everyone would no doubt view him as nothing but a tragic hero who offed himself for the better of the group, while Saihara, despite growing so close to him and even earning just a bit of his trust, still looked at him with sympathetic eyes, like he was some poor, defenseless little boy who he could’ve saved if he figured out the truth earlier, someone who couldn’t take care of himself.

The truth was, Ouma could do more than take care of himself. He had lived on the streets by himself for years, roaming around with his found family and enjoying life to its fullest. He had no one to take care of him or baby him- he was treated as an equal, maybe even more than that, him having been their leader and all. Kokichi Ouma did not need to rely on anyone to save him.

...But that’s a lie, isn’t it?

His organization, his family, his whole entire past… All of it was fabricated for the sake of making him an interesting character for the killing game. Not to mention the fact that his memories of before the game were completely erased, never to be recovered ever again. All he had was the memories implanted into him, nothing but a fake, mocking charade glued to his brain that would haunt him forever.

Even if he was presented with the opportunity to meet his past self, he wouldn’t take it. What kind of sick, twisted being would actually want to participate in something as brutal as a killing game? The thought made him want to puke.

All of his fabricated memories and personality traits clung tightly to him, like a noose pulling on his neck. He was burdened with trust issues due to a past that wasn’t even real, and now he would be a burden to Momota and Saihara who dared to even get close to him.

A strong gust of wind blew over him, causing Ouma to instinctively tighten his grip on the ledge of the roof. His legs swayed, and it occurred to him just how easy it would be to jump off the roof and end his pitiful life right there and then. All it would take would be one push, one measly little step in that direction, one-

Clank!

Ouma felt his whole body jerk, his torso turning so that he could see behind him. The door leading out to the roof was ajar, and was slowly pushed open by a dark figure that he belatedly registered to be Saihara.

They stared at each other for a moment, trying to make out each other’s expressions more than anything, before who was presumably Saihara came forward.

Ouma opened his mouth to speak, but Saihara beat him to it.

“Kiibo told me you were up here.” Saihara admitted.

Ouma clicked his tongue in annoyance.

That damn automaton…

It’s not that he didn’t want to see Saihara, it was just that he wasn’t fond of having his alone time interrupted like this, especially when he was contemplating suicide so casually.

Saihara had nearly a million questions at the edge of his tongue, but the only one that came out was…

“Why are you so close to the edge?”

Ouma blinked, his face expressionless. His features quickly morphed into those of mischief, his signature devious grin having returned.

“Is my beloved Saihara-chan worried about me? Aww, how sweet!” He whirled himself around so that his back was facing the ledge, now facing Saihara. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m gonna be attempting suicide again anytime soon, so it looks like you’re stuck with me!”

“Unfortunately?” Saihara sat down next to Ouma, turning himself to face the same direction as him. “You say that like I wouldn’t miss you.”

“Hm, really?” Ouma tilted his head in mock thought, “I don’t recall you ever missing me the first time I died.”

“Ouma-kun, that’s not-”

“But I don’t blame you!” Ouma chirped, seemingly unbothered talking about his own demise. “I set it up to be that way, ya know! Lying all the time and being a massive jerk… All of it was to make sure no one would miss me! And it worked!”

Those last few words came out a bit panicked, like Ouma was regretting every single word he was saying. Why was he talking so much? What happened to the Ouma during the killing game that revealed so little about his true self? There was just something about Saihara that made him as transparent and fragile as a shard of glass, to be handled delicately or else he would splinter into a million pieces, never to be pieced together ever again. Saihara could try all he wanted to, but once broken, much like trust, a piece of glass can never be perfectly repaired, And right now, Ouma was trusting him.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you.” Saihara was being gentle as ever, his voice grounding Ouma.

Saihara was completely right and Ouma hated it. There he was again, reading him like a book without his permission.

“Maybe we just didn’t understand you at the time. Everything you did was so complex and thought out that it was hard to see, but you really are the most selfless person I have ever met.” Saihara’s gaze had hardened, determined.

Ouma didn’t speak. Instead, he rested his chin on his knees, which he pulled in close to his chest.

It was then that Saihara realized how beautiful Ouma looked in the moonlight, his soft features being illuminated ever so subtly. His typically hard to read gaze was softened, and he looked so small while hugging his body so close to himself like that. He couldn’t help but display his affections for Ouma, reaching over and grabbing his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Though his gaze remained far away, Saihara felt that Ouma was anything but as the smaller boy rested his head on Saihara’s shoulder, nestling into him. They remained like this for a while, simply basking in each other’s presence and enjoying the peace and quiet that came with being on the rooftop alone.

They may have been alone, but at least they had each other.

An immeasurable amount of time passed before Saihara spoke up, suddenly remembering that they were still so close to the edge of the roof.

“Uh, we should probably…” Saihara stood up, and Ouma could’ve sworn that he was blushing.

Ouma stood up as well, expecting the two of them to walk inside, but Saihara just stood there, looking at him intently.

“You know I would miss you if you were gone, right?”

Ouma’s mind scrambled for a response, but before he could think of one he felt a soft hand tucking his hair behind his ear, lingering by the side of his head far too shortly. He looked up at Saihara to find him smiling at him softly, so much affection hidden behind one expression. Ouma smiled back, not caring that he felt his own face heating up.

“Let’s go inside, okay?” Saihara asked, his smile not fading away in the slightest.

Ouma nodded, following Saihara inside.

It was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Feeling Saihara’s body heat radiating next to him, Ouma was as content as he possibly could be at that moment.

It was well into the night, each of them deciding that it would be best to return to their own rooms for the time being. He didn’t know if it was physical or mental in origin, but Ouma felt himself exhausted, collapsing onto his bed nearly seconds after he settled himself under the covers.

Saihara did the same.

The one thing they had in common was that they were both smiling, thinking of the other as they drifted off to sleep.

#my writing #postmortem #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #kokichi oma #shuichi saihara #kaito momota #maki harukawa #kaede akamatsu #rantaro amami #saiouma #oumasai #momoharu #harumomo #kaimaki #amamatsu

30 notes · View notes

escargoon-sandwich · 4 years ago

Text

marx attempts to ruin a chatfic - scrapped chapter

there is a reason why this isn’t going on ao3. simply put, i’m not satisfied with it.

11:50 pm

Zan Parthenon: @everyone

Zan Parthenon: HELP

Zan Parthenon: MARX JUST RAN BACK TO CAMP WITH A BUNCH OF THE SKULL GANG FOLLOWING HIM

Big D: I’m already on my way.

Zan Parthenon: please tell me you’re bringing kirby

Gryll: AAAAAA

Gryll pressed their back to Zan’s, sucking their breath in. “Man, this sucks! Big time!”

“Understatement of the year, my friend.” Zan stated flatly as she charged her drums. Gryll had managed to build up a small wall to hide behind, but the blocks they’d made crumbled easily - it wouldn’t hold off the Skull Gang forever.

Something glittering hovered above their heads, and Gryll glanced up to see Marx barely clearing the wall. “Yo Zan! Mind lighting me up?”

“Sure. Just stand in front of me.” Zan ordered as she jumped up to the top.

“Oh come on, that’s gonna suck…” Marx whined.

“Think of it as payback for when you sprayed me with febreeze earlier.”

“Okay but you asked for that-”

“BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU WERE DRINKING KOOL-AID!”

“WHY WOULD I DRINK KOOL-AID OUT OF A FEBREEZE BOTTLE-”

The inane argument was interrupted by a particularly large skully barreling through the wall, showering Gryll in brick fragments. Gryll cried out and swung their broom forward, borrowing some techniques they’d seen some Broom Hatters do. The skully tumbled away, just in time for Marx to body slam it. “Hey, Gryll!” he shouted, twirling on his toetip. “Go find Dedede and Kirby!”

“I - okay!” Gryll hopped on their broom and booked it out of there, weaving through the trees. Beneath them, they felt the broom sort of sputter - which was to be expected. The enchantment was beginning to wear thin - they probably should have refreshed it before coming to the islands.

As the sound of battle faded behind them, Gryll bit their lip. They really, really wanted to help, but they were more of a hedgewitch - someone who did spells meant for everyday life, not for the battlefield.

Whatever. Finding Kirby was helping too.

The broom fell suddenly, about five feet - it couldn’t last much longer. Gryll groaned, knowing they’d have to continue their search on foot. Quietly, they landed and leaned against a large tree, trying to listen to their surroundings…

Okay, there was the fight going on, and that kind of drowned things out. Oh, how Gryll longed to have nice big ears like Daroach, then maybe they would have better hearing! Above them, the branches rustled, and then something dropped on them - Oh, Lord.

They swung their broom wildly, batting at whatever had chomped down onto their face. They sucked in air, choking on the downright rancid breath, then filled their lungs again. “LET! GO!” they howled at the top of their lungs. “I’LL TASTE AWFUL, SO LET -”

Suddenly they were free, and they gasped for air. The thing was now howling in pain, and Gryll cautiously looked over to see something brown and furry mauling their attacker - a skull gang member. They’d been followed! “Shit…” they breathed. “I gotta find the others quick…”

“Wait!” The furry thing turned, and - oh lord, if that wasn’t the cutest thing Gryll had ever seen! Kirby was wearing some sort of animal costume - it was probably a copy ability! “Gryll, it’s me!”

“Yeah, I can see that now. Sorry, I thought you were like… some sort of raccoon…” they muttered. “Where’s Dedede?”

“Over here!” The king crashed through a bush and faceplanted in the dirt. He scrambled to his feet quickly, just in time for Escargoon to slam into his back, with Gooey close behind him. He stumbled forward, but caught himself before he could body-slam Kirby. “Okay. Okay, I’m good. Um.” He smiled sheepishly at Gryll. “Where’s the circus?”

“The circus? Oh, you mean Marx!” A crack of thunder roared through the forest, and Gryll pointed in that direction. “I’d say they’re over there.”

“Thanks.” Without missing a beat, Dedede charged forward. “Escargoon, you stay with Gryll!”

“But Sire -”

“No buts! I don’t want those freaks anywhere near you!” Dedede turned away and disappeared through the brush, and Kirby and Gooey soon vanished after him.

“No, wait!” Gryll cried, only to be drowned out by another crack of thunder. “... Damn. Okay.” They turned to Escargoon, who was tugging at his beard. “We can’t stay here. I don’t care what Dedede said, it’s not safe. There might be more of those guys around.”

“Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you say so earlier?” Escargoon growled, waving his arms in the air.

“I would have, but they ran off before I could - wait.” Gryll’s eyes narrowed as they heard more rustling in the branches above. “... Hey. Weird question. If you were surrounded by, say… five or six dudes who wanted you dead, how likely do you think you’d be able to survive?”

Escargoon was peering at the canopy now, quivering. “H-honestly? I’d give it like, a twenty percent chance?”

“Okay then. Let’s run.”

----

12:39 AM

Kirby: you know i’m glad those guys don’t get stronger at midnight

Big D: @Marx did you find Gryll and Escargoon yet? Or DMK?

Marx: i found the first two and got a broom shaped bruise on my face

Kirby: ouch, did gryll get you? they hit pretty hard sometimes…

Marx: no it was escargoon lol

Marx: gryll got one of those tears to the face, so i think goonie grabbed the broom to defend himself

Big D: Shit, are they hurt?

Marx: nah, they’re in pretty good shape

Marx: gryll is now under a bunch of leaves, we made them a little blanket so they could stay worm

Marx: … i meant to say warm but you know

Marx: i guess that fits too? since they’re under some leaves

Marx: anyway dedede come get yo mans

Big D: I have absolutely no idea what that means, Marx.

Marx: oh, you know

Marx: ;dauhnjffff

Kirby: MARX????

Marx: You know that massive downed tree? We’re near that.

Kirby: yeah i do know it, but what happened?

Marx: A stupid clown nearly played a nasty prank.

Zan Parthenon: Who is this?

Marx: This is Escargoon. I grabbed Marx’s phone before he could do something dumb.

Zan Parthenon: He was going to send the winky face, wasn’t he?

Gryll: nooo, that’s our inside jooooke

Kirby: oh hey, welcome back gryll!

Gryll: right i need to debrief everyone, maybe in the morning? i need access to my dream journal even though this wasn’t really a dream it’s a good idea to write it down

Zan Parthenon: I got it, and I’ll bring it over.

Gryll: thanks

----

8:14 AM

Gryll: alright, i wrote down what i saw in the doc you guys have going for that sort of thing

Daddyroach: Alright, I’ll take a look.

Gryll: the good news is that i did find a good tree, finally, while i was writing everything down

Gryll: so i’ll be re-enchanting my broom and making a new one

Gryll: … actually, wait

Gryll: @Escargoon do you want to borrow one?

Big D: He’s still sleeping.

Gryll: oh, okay

Gryll: i’ll try later then

Big D: Any reason why you want to give him one?

Gryll: because last night, i lent him it

Gryll: well, he took it from me actually, and he was like, “if you want to get rid of a pest you sweep like THIS” and then did the windy thing

Big D: The windy thing?

Gryll: kirby knows the windy thing! the thing the broom hatters do

Big D: ooooh, i get it

Gryll: but he seemed to like it, he was cackling

Daddyroach: Okay so, uh.

Daddyroach: My dad got sacrificed to Necrodeus.

Gryll: the guy who was PROBABLY your dad

Daddyroach: Most likely my dad.

Daddyroach: Considering that you said my mom confessed to being pregnant at the time.

Gryll: well no necrodouche kind of forced the confession out of her because he grabbed her and…

Gryll: uhm.

Gryll: he tried ripping you and your siblings out of her

Gryll: i think he wanted to eat you

Daddyroach: … thank god dedede’s dad was there.

Gryll: yeah

Kirby: we still haven’t found any sign of DMK anywhere…

Taranza: Come back to the hotel, Kirby. Ribbon, Adeleine and I are gonna go look next.

Kirby: okay

Borb: Do you need me there?

Big D: You know, not to sound rude, but I’d rather you be at the castle right now.

Big D: If we have a group of people back at the castle, it’s… something.

Big D: In case something bad happens.

Borb: … I see.

B. Dee: I’ll do my best, your majesty!

Big D: Thank you.

Tiff: something happened

Big D: Tiff? Are you okay?

Tiff: no

Tiff: dmk came back here and took my mom

Tiff: she went out to the balcony and he grabbed her

Gryll: oh shit, oh SHIT

Daddyroach: This lines up too well.

Daddyroach: I’m going to try to find her.

Tiff: she’s where you guys are?

Daddyroach: Yeah, and she’s in immediate danger.

---

Normally, Daroach would be happy to have a target that broadcast its location. When that target was a woman who was five months pregnant, though, things got intense.

Lady Like was kicking up one hell of a fuss, though, and it made tracking her down easy. "Yo! Marx!"

The jester crashed out of the canopy, faceplanting into a puddle. He coughed out some mud and grinned at Daroach. "I meant to do that."

"Sure you did. Now listen." Daroach pointed in the direction of the screaming. "Go up ahead for me, okay? We'll try a pincer attack."

"Oh, good idea!" Marx took to the air, then visually screeched to a halt. "Did you tell Kirby and Adeline too?"

"Yeah." Daroach readied the Triple Star, listening for the sounds of struggle. "We're close. Just a little farther…"

"Right. See ya!" Marx flew off, and Daroach zoned in on where he heard the fighting. He soon found himself in a small clearing, where he caught Dark Meta Knight getting a square kick to the face, delivered by one Lady Like.

Daroach couldn't help it. He laughed and clapped as he made his presence known. "Good job, idiot, you're getting your ass handed to you by a pregnant woman."

"A woman with a black belt," Lady Like corrected, pouting.

Dark Meta whirled and drew his sword, brandishing it towards his poor victim. "Listen here, both of you!" he growled. "I don't have time for this horseshit, nor the patience." He was shaking slightly. "All I want is for one thing to go right for me!"

"Yeah, and I'd like some goddamn peace and quiet. But life isn't fair and we don't always get what we want." Daroach shrugged. "You'd think you'd have learned that by now."

"Bold words from a thief." Dark Meta hissed, prodding Lady Like's belly with the tip of his sword. "Now. I have a gift to deliver to my master, and I'm willing to rip it out of her if need be."

Daroach felt like his stomach was turning to ice, and he lowered the brim of his hat to hide his panic. "... Master, huh? You rebounded kinda fast, huh?"

Dark Meta's wings twitched, as Daroach heard rustling in the nearby undergrowth. "What do you mean, rebound?"

"I'm just saying… you hopped on the Necrodeus train pretty damn quick." Out of the corner of his eye, Daroach saw Kirby peek out of some tall grass. He wished he had a way to signal to him to wait. "You got a thing for toxic men, don't you?"

Oooh, the sword tip was wavering now, and it was quickly pointed in Daroach's direction. "I hope you realize what you are implying."

"'Course I do." Daroach flicked the brim of his hat up and grinned. "You, my friend, are a slut."

Dark Meta Knight roared and flung himself towards Daroach, who gasped as he felt the serrated blade sink into his gut. Lady Like stumbled away from the two, and Daroach saw a waiting Adeline reach for her hand and drag her out of the area. “You do not get to impose that judgement on me!”

Daroach smirked, then coughed up blood. “Well. At least I set out what I meant to do here,” he muttered as he pressed the Triple Star against Dark Meta’s mask, and blasted him away. “Go and run back to your new sugar daddy!”

There, he fell to the ground, where he wrapped his cloak around himself as his opponent scanned the treeline. One of Daroach’s ears twitched as he heard Marx yelling hysterically - he must have found the two escapees.

“Hmph. The child’s not worth getting in a fight with the jester over.” Dark Meta sheathed his sword and turned, leaving Daroach in the dirt. “My master will be back soon anyway.” With that, the sound of shattering glass filled the air as he teleported away, and Kirby darted out from the bushes.

“Are you okay?” Kirby squealed, while pressing a few leaves into Daroach’s wound. Daroach yelled in pain, and Kirby almost looked a little sick. “Ooh, guess not…”

---

12:12 pm

Daddyroach: Alright, so maybe calling him a slut wasn’t the best idea.

Kirby: !!!! you’re up!!!

Tiff: is my mom okay?

Kirby: yeah!!! she kicked him a lot!!!

Adeleine: I’m pretty sure I saw some dents in that mask, your mom’s a straight-up badass.

Adeleine: Are you okay though, dad?

Daddyroach: No.

Daddyroach: He got me bad, but Doc’s taking care of the stab wound.

Adeleine: i should have stayed?

Daddyroach: Absolutely not. You could have gotten stabbed.

Adeleine: … yeah, you’re right.

Gooey: tiiiiiiiiff

Gooey: yourmoooomisssniccccce

Marx: so uh daroach

Marx: why’d you call him a slut?

Tiff: what’s that word mean?

Marx: you’ll find out when you’re older.

Tiff: what if i want to know now, marx?

Marx: i’d have to say too bad because your mom would probably kill me

Tiff: oh it’s a swear word?

Marx: yeah lol

Escargoon: Speaking of your mom, Tiff…

Escargoon: Should I go talk to her?

Tiff: is there a reason why you think you shouldn’t?

Escargoon: We weren’t always on good terms.

Escargoon: Scratch that, we were never on good terms, up until I left.

Tiff: i think she knows you’re trying to change for the better

Tiff: i don’t think it’ll hurt to see her

Dedede: Can you like, keep her company while I’m out dealing with some shenanigans?

Dedede: There’s something going on to the north, and I’m going to go investigate.

Escargoon: I can do that.

----

Escargoon stared at the door handle way longer then he probably should have. One of the Waddle Dees that worked for the hotel was giving him a curious look. He knew the worst things Lady Like could do - he’d seen her beat the shit out of those guys who’d stalked her daughter. If she didn’t want to see him, well… he probably deserved whatever she dished out.

He finally decided to just knock. “Oh, who is it?” Lady Like’s voice rang out loud and clear, and Escargoon swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

“It’s, um. It’s me.” There was a brief pause, and he added. “Can I come in?”

“Yes. Yes you may.” Oh boy, that response was rather terse...

Escargoon took a deep breath and entered the room. Technically, it was the one in his name, but with the… thing with Dedede, that was up in the air. Lady Like was here, now, nestled in a pile of pillows, one hand resting on her belly while the other one picked at a piece of bread. She looked like she’d been woken up in the middle of the night - in fact, she probably had been. “So! I’d ask you how things have been, but. Yeah.”

Like gave him a look so sour it could curdle milk. " I have had one of the worst mornings of my life. Are you certain you are happier here?"

"Huh?" Escargoon blinked in confusion. "Of course I am! Why, instead of getting hit all the time, I get hit on -" Lady Like had instantly raised an eyebrow. "Oops."

Well, her mood seemed to have improved. "Escargoon," she said with a conspiratorial smirk, "I have the inkling that you have a thing with the king!"

Escargoon felt his cheeks heat up, and he turned away. "What gave you that idea?"

“Well…” Like tilted her head and winked. “I heard you were sleeping with him...”

“T-that was only last night!” he spluttered. “A-and it was platonic, okay. No shenanigans happened!”

“Yes, and I only married my husband platonically.”

“Look, he hasn’t even kissed me yet, okay?” Escargoon crossed his arms. “And I doubt it counts as a thing if he hasn’t even asked me out yet.”

“But there is a potential of a thing, yes?” Like smirked at him. “I’m sure your mother will be happy to know her little snail has a sweetie!”

“Oh, no, no, you are NOT telling her before I do!” He began to pace a bit. “Great, now I forgot what I even came here for in the first -”

Escargoon was interrupted by a wet “thump” on the balcony, and he jumped and whirled to face the sliding glass door, now plastered with Gooey’s face. He sighed in relief as he went to open it, but as Gooey rolled in, he realized that the little slimeball did not seem happy at all. “Hey little guy, what’s up?” Gooey wiggled around, a look of distress on his face. “Listen, Gooey, I know you’re upset, but you’re going to have to use your words, okay?”

Gooey paused for a moment, then opened his mouth and shouted one word. “FUCK!”

Lady Like gasped in horror. "Was this where Tiff learned that word?"

"Nah, that was probably Marx." After a look of confusion from Like, he continued. "Y'know, little jester guy, kicked Dedede in the junk?"

"Ah, him." She rose from the bed, smoothing her hand over her stomach. "Oh, my! Escargoon, look!"

"Huh?" A massive thundercloud was beginning to form on the horizon, but something was off. Mainly, it seemed like it was pouring out of the ocean. "That's not good..."

Gooey was beginning to buzz loudly. "Is he supposed to be doing that?" Lady Like asked, then cringed in disgust as Gooey spat out his phone. "Oh…"

Escargoon, however, noticed something else. Something that looked like a shockwave of sorts… and it was heading towards them, fast. He shoved Lady Like aside, away from the glass door, then grabbed Gooey and ducked into his shell.

22 notes · View notes

justjessame · 4 years ago

Text

The Deal Chapter Four

GREENE FARM~THAT EVENING

The good news? No one was dead, yet. The better news, for my dad at least? That I was the same blood type as both him and Carl. The bad news? My little brother had been shot. A hunting accident if you can believe it. The poor hunter, a man named Otis, looked as though he wished it were him. And if you listened to Lori, she did.

I winced as the ‘nurse’ stabbed the needle into my vein. Shit, that burned. “It’ll take a few minutes, hon.” She offered, as the blood began flowing out of me. She was Otis’ wife, and I felt for both of them. No one wanted to hurt a child, not even by accident, especially now.

I nodded. “Thank you.” I said, sitting still as the blood came out of me at a steady flow. She looked surprised at my gratitude. “You’re trying to save my brother,” I offered a weak smile. “So thank you.” Hershel had walked to the outer room to speak with my parents. Dad looked like death, they’d taken so much of his blood already, so I was happy to give him a break. Carl was laying on the bed, so still and quiet, so unlike my little brother. I took his hand in mine, the one not connected to the needle. I felt his hand clutch at mine and I knew he felt me. “Carl, you’ve got to fight, but not the doctor.” I knew he had, I heard about it. “He needs to save you, do you hear me? I won’t let you go, baby brother.” I felt the tears fall from my eyes and heard the discussion of when the rest of our group would arrive, but it was like a static filled channel.

“I think you’ve given your limit,” the older farmer and doctor said, tugging the needle from my arm. I’d fallen asleep with my head on Carl’s sick bed, his hand still clutched in mine. “I think your daddy wants to speak to you, young lady.” His smile was kind and so were his eyes.

I nodded, and stood up, feeling dizzy almost immediately. “Thank you.” I offered weakly, as I felt someone’s arms help me out of the room. I looked up and groaned. Shane, of course. “That thank you was to the good doctor, not you.” I spat, letting him take me to Dad and Lori.

They had been given a room of their own, and Shane knew me well enough to not start something I didn’t want to hear. Especially since I now looked the same as Dad had when we’d arrived. In my parents’ room, there was a sandwich and glass of milk waiting for me. Dad moved forward to hug me to him. And then Lori’s arms joined his. I felt like a baby, like a toddler when I was scared of the sound of the storms outside and they’d had to comfort me.

“He’ll be alright, Jessi.” Dad whispered in my hair. “He will.” I was shaking, even I could feel how badly.

“And you’re helping so much, Jess.” Lori added, gripping me tighter. “The fact that you and Rick have the same blood type, that’s so helpful, honey.”

They pulled me to a chair and sat me down. Handing me the sandwich on a plate and the glass of milk they waited until some of my color returned. Once I felt a little steadier, I realized that Shane was still in the room. I sat down my dinner and asked about the elephant in the room.

“What’s going on?” I asked, seeing them share a look. “What’s wrong?”

Lori sighed and Dad looked like he’d rather be on the moon. “Carl is gonna need to be sedated, Jessi.” Dad said, looking like he was breaking apart slowly. “Hershel isn’t sure he’ll be still enough without it.”

I nodded showing that I understood. “He doesn’t have all the supplies he needs here. Someone has to go fetch them, if they’re even available anymore.” Lori said, managing only just to hold back tears.

Another nod from me. “Shane and Otis are gonna head out and try to get what Hershel tells them to, but we have to tell you that there’s a chance-”

I stopped that shit right there. “No.” I said, shaking my head. “There’s not a chance, Dad. It will work. Otis and Shane are going to find what he needs and Hershel will fix him.” I was glaring at my parents, daring them to contradict me. “You came back from the DEAD, Daddy. I won’t even pretend like Carl won’t do the same.” The thought that my baby brother wouldn’t make it? That couldn’t even be considered. It would be like losing Daryl. Or Dad. Or Lori even. Not imaginable.

Shane was nodding and I wanted to throw my sandwich and glass at him. Fuck you and just get it done, I thought. I knew why he was doing it. He wanted Lori’s gratitude and her hero worship back. Screw that, I didn’t care. He better take Otis and find whatever medical stuff that Hershel required to fix my baby brother, or else.

HOURS LATER~SHANE’S RETURN WITHOUT OTIS

While Shane and Otis were gone, Dad and Lori took my place at Carl’s bedside. They insisted that I get rest. Since I was blood bag B, and Dad was blood bag A I agreed. Sleep came, mostly because donating as much blood as physically possible without death was a great sleep aid. Good to know. I woke up to the sounds of Shane’s return. He was alone and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Otis wasn’t just dead, he was sacrificed.

Shane wouldn’t want to share the glow of triumph, nah that wasn’t his style. When he went to the bathroom to shower, I went to find my dad. He told me quietly what happened, then told me to be on standby, since our services might still be needed. He also warned me that no one had told Patricia, the nurse and Otis’ wife, since she was definitely needed.

When the surgery was over, my parents and I stepped into the room. My God, had Carl always been so small? His personality was always so big and full of energy that seeing him lying on the bed after his operation made my heart hurt. Dad took the chair I’d sat on earlier, and Lori pulled on to the foot of the bed. I stood between the two of them, while Dad tried to eat a sandwich. He told us stories about Shane and him as children, and I fought to stay composed. Luckily they were both so focused on Carl that I didn’t have to shield my facial expressions as much as normal.

Shane walked in a bit later, sporting a dead man’s clothes and new buzzcut. I eyed him suspiciously and felt vindicated by his careful avoidance of my gaze. Must suck, I thought, knowing that at least one person in the group could see straight through your bullshit. We maintained a family vigil, until Hershel insisted that Lori and Dad get some rest. I think he knew I was a lost cause and he shooed Shane out as well. I took Dad’s seat after he and Lori kissed me goodnight. Taking my baby brother’s hand in mine again, I sat at his side until he woke up.

“Jessi?” I heard his hoarse voice and saw the sunlight streaming through the lace curtains. I looked up from where my head had fallen in sleep on his bed, again. He was awake. Thank God.

“Hey, little brother.” I whispered, happy that I could see him awake. “Don’t move, kid.” He’d started to twist. “You were shot, Carl. So take a rest, would you?” He chuckled and held a hand to his bandage. “Do you hurt? Should I go get Hershel?”

“Who?” He asked, inquisitive little brother back again. “Is Dad here? Mom?”

I smiled, and ran my free hand through his damp hair. “Hershel is the doctor who saved you. Actually he’s a veterinarian.” I stopped and pretended to think about that. “I did always say you were a monkey, guess that’s proof.” He giggled and I went on to assure him. “Dad and your mom are here, soon everyone will be.” I smiled down at him as I stood. Dropping a kiss on his forehead, I offered to fetch Dad and Lori. His hand gripped mine for a moment, holding me still.

“Did they find Sofia?” He asked, so worried, and I knew he was because we’d all heard him calling her name.

I nodded, and turned away so he couldn’t see the guilt of the lie I was telling. “I”ll go get Dad and Lori, OK?” He released me and I rushed from the room.

I warned Dad and Lori of the lie I told. And I watched from the doorway as they went inside and saw for themselves that he was ok. Leaning on the frame, I watched my family interact, smiling at their ease of return to normal. Lori left to use give us some time alone and to check to see if the others had come yet. I laughed when my little brother said he and Dad were the same now that they’d both been shot.

“Yeah, I think your mother would rather hear we got the same eyes. So let’s keep that between us. Since you’re in the club now, you get to wear the hat. Didn’t you know? We’ll pad the rim tomorrow so it sits better.” They looked over to where I was still standing.

“Oh, I’m good.” I said, hands up. “I share your blood type, got the same color hair. That’s more than enough for me. I have enough holes without adding to the tally.” I came over to sit on the bed while they worked out Dad’s hat schedule.

“I love you two,” Dad said, holding Carl’s hand and reaching for mine. I gave it over willingly. “Y’all, and your mom,” he nodded at Carl, “are my world.”

“I love the two of you and Lori, too, Dad.” I answered, squeezing his hand. “Just do me a favor, you two?” They both looked at me. “No more gunshot wounds, please?” They rolled their eyes and chuckled. Standing I let them know I was going to check to see if everyone made their way to the farm. Dad stopped me before I could leave the room.

“Jessica, you don’t have to share a tent now.” The tone was clear, Dixon wasn’t needed for my comfort now.

“I know I don’t have to, Dad.” I said, turning to face him. “Maybe I just want to.” And on that note, I was gone. I loved the man, but I was an adult. And he’d have to come to terms with Daryl, sooner or later.

Later that day, Patricia requested that we put Otis’ memory to rest. Since we didn’t have a body, that seemed fair. I watched Shane’s obvious discomfort at being asked to relive Otis’ final moments, and make up what was clearly not the poor man’s last words. Oh, to pry open your rotten brain, I thought, and see for myself just what you did to that poor man. We all stacked rocks on a nice memorial pile, and then we began that difficult task of deciding whether or not to restart the search for Sofia.

Dad thinks we should, if only to put our minds to rest, a decision that Shane clearly disagrees with, since I see him trying to talk Dad out of it. I rolled my eyes as Maggie, the woman on the horse who found Lori and me and told the others how to find the farm, brought out a map to help the search. Daryl tried to talk me out of it, seeing how pale I still am, but I refused to listen. Sitting here and keeping Lori and Carl company doesn’t seem like much help.

Daryl was a little surprised when Dad sent the two of us off onto our own grid while he and Shane went to theirs. Walking through the forest, hearing Andrea bitching in her own grid, I asked Daryl the likelihood of Sofia surviving alone for this long in a walker-filled forest and swamp. He smirks at me and I hold out my hand to him. Taking it, we walk hand in hand, eyes on the ground for signs of her passing through. “People get lost, they survive.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses it. “Happens all the time.”

“She’s twelve.” I hear Andrea offer, from the left of us. Great, an audience.

“Hell, I was younger than her and I got lost. Nine days in the woods, eating berries, and wiping my ass on poison oak.” He laughed, letting our hands fall from view, but keeping mine linked with his.

Andrea came closer, and I was about to snark at her about the grid, but felt the urge fall away. “They found you?” She was curious clearly.

The gruff chuckle that Daryl gave made my stomach flip. “My dad was off on a bender with some waitress. Merle was doin’ another stint in juvie. Didn’t even know I was gone. I made my way back though. Went straight into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich. No worse for the wear. Except my ass itched somethin’ awful.”

Andrea laughed and I raised an eyebrow. Better than bitching, I thought. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that is a terrible story.”

Daryl gave his own laugh and I joined in, it was pretty horrible. “Only difference is that Sofia has people lookin’ for her. I call that an advantage.”

I smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. Andrea drifted back to her grid, and I hoped that she hadn’t missed anything by coming over to ours. “She may have missed some signs,” I said quietly and he nodded.

“Yeah, but she stopped her complainin’.” He winked at me and I smiled.

THE NEXT DAY~GREENE FARM

Everyone is pissed because Hershel demanded that our group give over the weapons. I’m not sure why people don’t understand that it’s his land, his farm. He has the right to set the rules. I roll my eyes as Shane leads the vote of bitching and moaning about this newest issue. I see Daryl about to walk away, but rush up to join him.

“Want to come with me?” He asks, looking down at me from behind bangs that are starting to get unruly. I nod and he motions for me to come along.

Once we clear the treeline, I turn to him for a kiss. Searching for Sofia is important, I get that and so does he, but the lack of privacy in this damn place is killing me. He chuckles against my lips. I pull back and we continue along, looking for a new place to search.

The only thing we find is an abandoned house that looks like she might have been inside. Outside, Daryl is drawn to some pretty white flowers growing wild near the house. I stand beside him as he tells me the legend of the Cherokee Rose.

“It's a Cherokee Rose. The story is that when American soldiers were moving Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grieving and crying so much 'cause they were losing their little ones along the way from exposure and disease and starvation. A lot of them just disappeared. So the elders, they said a prayer; asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, give them strength and hope. The next day this rose started to grow where the mothers' tears fell.” His voice is low and gruff, and I listen in silence. Placing my hands on his shoulders, and rubbing away the tension growing in his muscles. “That’s the story anyhow.”

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, leaning down and kissing his neck. “You should take her one.” He cuts one off from the group and I look around for a suitable vase. Picking up a discarded bottle I hand it to him. “Tell Carol the story, Daryl. Give her some hope.”

He stood up and cupped my cheek in his free hand. “You’re sweeter than the rest think, Jessi.” Leaning forward his lips brush mine. “And that full moon night is comin’, soon I hope.” His smile lights up my day brighter than the sun shines.

“Let’s head back, Romeo.” I wink at him and our arms link together. How did I end up so damn lucky at the end of civilization?

#The Walking Dead #slight au #angst #slow burn #eventual smut

10 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Dragon Dancer III: Chapter 1: Stolen Brother

Chisei did not like surprises.

They were never pleasant, they were always an emergency, and any precious time he may have bought out for himself was always sacrificed for them.

His phone rang just as he was on his way back home. It was Yasha.

“You might wanna take a look at this.” The brash, loud-talking retainer sounded all too pleased with himself, heedless of how much he was ruining Chisei’s evening right now.

He did take a look. A construction site had unearthed what appeared to be an ancient carved relief, clearly draconic in origin.

“Have we secured the site?” He asked.

“As best we could. We’re still doing a little… contact tracing.” Yasha gave an unpleasant laugh.

“We need to get it secured before Cassell descends on it.”

Master List

Sakura Yabuki was already making phone calls of her own, turning away from him so as not to disturb his conversation.

“‘As best we could’ is not enough. Secure the site.”

“Yes, High patriarch!”

Chisei hung up, rubbing his chin and sighing before picking up the phone again and sending a text. “Something came up. I’m going to be late.”

The return message. “It’s okay. I’ll package the sushi up for you.”

As painful as it was to once again push Akira aside, the young man was the best kept secret of the Hydra underworld, and the less Cassell had reason to be in Japan, the better. It was an extra burden for him, but one he was happy to bear. The first time he’d met Akira - going by another name, Lu Mingfei - he’d written him off as a rank beginner. He had no idea he was a Light King descendent until that fateful night when he’d just appeared on his doorstep, soaking wet and alone.

That night, his eyes were like a glowing fire, burning with anger.

The driver suddenly slammed on the brakes and Chisei was thrown forward. Instinctively, Sakura reached for her gun.

“YOU IDIOT! LIGHTS ARE RED FOR A REASON!” The driver shouted out the window. He looked into the rearview and flinched. “My apologies sir!”

Chisei shook his head. “It was better than a collision.” He ran his hands through his dark hair. “Could this day get any worse?”

Hydra members had swarmed the construction site, taking pictures and covering the artifact with a blue tarp.

Sakura was on her tablet. “The origin appears to be of second generation make. But the age is still under investigation.”

Chisei crouched and lifted a corner of the tarp. “Any inscriptions?”

“A few, still under analysis. Most of the writing is of poor quality.”

His eyes roamed about what he could see under the tarp. The depiction of a feather caught his eye. He nodded once and stood up. He leaned over to whisper into Sakura’s ear. “Make sure that anyone who has seen this pretends that they haven’t.”

“Understood.” Sakura replied.

“I’ll call another car… just in case they are onto us already.”

Chisei made sure that the second driver took a roundabout route, circling blocks and cutting through parking lots, just to make sure he wasn’t followed. Finally, he felt comfortable enough and directed his driver to his Hydra estate, an expansive plot of land set apart from the city by a tightly controlled and monitored bridge leading to a small man-made isle.

He never tired of the view of the city across the water. The road was so narrow it was as if he were speeding across the waves. He closed his eyes and imagined a beach in France, the one he always dreamed of. That dream never seemed to get any closer.

He stepped out of the car into the fading light of dusk. The lights were still on in the house. He went inside, removing his shoes, a houseworker removing his coat and disappearing.

“Akira?” He called. He heard the sound Akira’s Kendo practice coming from the backyard.

He pulled back the sliding door. Akira’s sword swing was flawless, a result of his tireless dedication to the art.

His younger shatei made his name in other ways however. His soft brown eyes and long flowing brown hair earned him many a look from young women. They would kill to see him now, bare chested in nothing but a dark grey hakama, sweaty from what was probably about an hour of drills.

He stopped as soon as he spotted him. “You didn’t say Tadaima!” He said, breathless. “I would have shouted Okaeri!”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” Chisei couldn’t help but smile fondly, even as his mind reminded him of the truth about Akira’s presence here.

“Aniki, you’re too polite. I was just messing around.” He looked for and found his assistant to take the sword from him and hand him a towel. “Everything okay?”

He shook his head. “Business as usual.”

“But the retainers couldn’t handle it?” He wiped his face with the towel.

Chisei’s smile faded. “Okay… maybe not quite that usual.”

“Gotcha…” He didn’t pry further. “I thought of a new tattoo design!” He tossed the towel over his shoulder.

“Ah…” This again.

“This time Myōken-Bosatsu standing atop a dragon in a furious storm! In one hand a sword over his head! And in the other!” He demonstrated, standing on one foot in a pose. “He’s grappling an Ultralisk!”

“A what?”

“An Ultralisk! It’s the strongest late game Zerg option!”

Chisei’s expression turned blank. “To think you almost had me convinced you were ready…”

“Come on, Aniki! It’s a great idea!” Akira pleaded, clasping his hands in front of him.

Chisei stood firm, crossing his arms. “No. Getting your first tattoo should be more meaningful than silly online games. It’s an honored tradition!”

“But it’s supposed to be meaningful for me too! And I am following tradition! I wanted a carp last time, remember?”

“That was a Magikarp!” Chisei could not believe they were back on the subject of a Pokemon Yakuza tattoo

“It evolves into Gyarados!” Even though Chisei groaned and turned away he continued to make his point. “Which is just like the carp that goes over the dragon’s gate! It’s a direct comparison!”

Chisei massaged the bridge of his nose.

“And don’t forget that I almost got one of Orochimaru depicted as a Buddha. You liked that one!”

“I thought you meant the real legend, not the Naruto character.” He grumbled.

“What’s the difference, really?” Akira pulled his shirt over his head, and then flipped his hair out from under the collar. “Pop culture is culture.”

Chisei glared. “It will be a permanent part of you. Don’t get something you’ll regret in ten years.”

Akira’s expression turned despondent. “If permanence is the issue here, then I might as well get a tattoo of you telling me I can’t have one. Every time I go to the onsen, it’s humiliating. I look like a little girl.” Akira frowned, genuinely hurt. Those soulful brown eyes turned to him. “Aniki, your tattoo is so beautiful. I want one like it.”

Chisei could feel himself giving in. That pleading look got to him every time. “Then come up with a proper design. And be serious about it.”

He led Akira back inside. “Speaking of girls, have you gotten a present for Erii’s birthday yet?”

Chisei watched as Akira’s expression immediately brightened. “Yes, I know exactly what I’m going to get her! She’s going to be so thrilled! But it’s a surprise so I can’t tell you yet.” He rubbed his hands together.

Akira was very fond of Erii. Just mentioning her name was enough to lift his spirits. His sad-faced younger sister rarely smiled for anyone, but Akira drew it out of her. As much as he enjoyed watching those two, he couldn’t help but realize that they were getting too close however.

Akira didn’t belong to Japan and it was only a matter of time before he would realize that too. The last thing he wanted was to break his sister’s heart.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

#Chisei Gen #Lu Mingfei #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

8 notes · View notes

jincherie · 6 years ago

Text

intermission • i | moonface

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 3.7k • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: oc feels regret and gets her first taste of murderous urges • ☽ — notes: this isn’t a full fledged chapter! this is more like.... a little dabble of backstory. in between each chapter, there will be one of these intermissions. they give a little extra info and context not included in each chapter... i hope u enjoy!

— posted; 11.05.2019

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission i | next • —

[first year, semester one]

Coffee. Waffle. Bathroom stop. 10AM Lecture. Food. Class. Food. Booze? No, no booze.

That’s today’s agenda, and to be perfectly honest despite your brief moment of temptation, you’re pretty impressed with how far you’ve gotten into your first semester without turning to alcohol to cope. You’ve remained strong so far, but now as finals are right around the corner and you suddenly find yourself drowning in assessment, it’s getting harder and harder to resist the siren song of the conveniently bottled happy juice.

Smacking a hand to your cheek to snap yourself out of the thought before you start longing for it for real, you ignore the resulting sting and continue your trek into campus. You’re spectacularly early this morning, and while you’d like to take credit and say it was because you’re a morning bird who is on top of her life, the slightly less attractive and kind of sad truth is that you stayed up most of the night completing an assessment and only slept for one or two hours. Well… perhaps closer to one, two is a bit generous. You’re but one woman.

To be honest, the assessment piece you’d stayed up to finish isn’t even due for a few more days—you really wanted to put your all into it though, and you were actually thinking of going the extra mile and adding a cover page. You have a plethora of ideas for it but, regrettably, don’t have the graphic design skills to make it happen, so it seems it’s going to remain just a thought for now.

It’s as you plod into the section of your campus that you like to call your own little square of heaven, that fate decides to slap you in the face with an answer to your unspoken inquiries—quite literally.

You don’t get two steps past the corner of the first building in the food court before your face is suddenly meeting cold glass, the door pane making painful contact with your nose and mushing it so hard against your face you could almost smell the peach fuzz above your top lip.

“OW! MOTHERFUCK!” it’s a primal scream of pain that escapes you, your legs just barely saving your from falling right on your ass. Your eyes tear up from the sharp pain that throbs through your entire face, and when you attempt to crack your eyes open to find the culprit the area is barren and they are shamelessly long gone. So much for being even a little remorseful.

Sniffling and touching beneath your nose to make sure its snot and not blood dribbling from your nostrils, you wipe it on the back of your hand and spin your head to glare at the offending shop door that had caused you so much pain. It’s a combination of wood and glass, and the large, glossy wall-size windows next to it, as well as the glimpses of mirrors and squishy chairs you catch inside, tell you it belongs to a salon. The glass on the door, unlike the window, is littered with a bunch of flyers and posters and an obnoxiously retro open sign. You squint, momentarily distracted from your anger by a pretty A5 page of soft purple with flowers curling along the bottom right corner (astilbe, cornflowers and pink carmellias are what you manage to pick out— and that's only because you spent the past weekend with Sera trying to decode the bouquet of flowers someone left on her car and they're fresh in your mind) and cursive font across the middle. It seems to be a flyer advertising an art exhibition from one of the photography students that you've heard has managed to make a bit of a name for themselves.

You find yourself entertaining the thought of attending for a brief moment, before your attention is torn to the flyer next to it that glares obnoxious peach orange, black and blue background into your retinas. You blink, taking a second to observe it before realising that it's actually advertising the salon right in front of you. There is an attractive male posing dramatically against a hollywood vanity, wearing a princely outfit that has ribbons and tassels and probably isn't all that practical for hairdressing but damn is it something that he looks good in. There's some sappy bullshit scrawled along the bottom to lure hapless, lovestruck young adults who were probably Team Edward in Twilight, but you're not caught up in that. No, you're caught up in the pure genius of the design, the talent of whoever was behind the creation of this poster. As if by perfect coincidence, your eyes flick to the side just in time to catch sight of the same man on the poster inside the salon, a broom in his hand as he tidied up the fallen hair of whoever smacked you in the face with the salon door.

Making a split-second decision, you rip the poster from the door and burst into the salon, nearly tripping on the welcome mat as you do so. The male doesn't even flinch or jerk in surprise at your abrupt entrance— on the contrary, he finishes his sweeping motion and slowly straightens, spinning around with such grace and flair that you realise immediately he must be a theatre student.

"Oh, hello," he greets with the most charming smile you've ever seen.Your heart might have skipped a beat if you didn't by chance glimpse down and catch his toes wriggling at you in greeting from his slides. What the fuck. "You must be my ten o'clock. Come right in, and do hurry. As you can see we're very busy."

Your eyes flick to the rest of the room — there is no one, he is the only other person in the entire establishment — and then to the reception beside you, where the schedule book sits open and desolate— the entire day is saddeningly barren, with not a single time slot filled in that you can see. Brows raised, you turn back to the male. He knows you have found him out, yet he is unwavering in his act. Well, you're not going to break first.

"I'm here for this," you say, slapping the poster down on the counter. The male peers over with raised brows and puckered lips, making a face of realisation once he sees what you've procured for his viewing pleasure. "I need someone good at graphic design— did you make this?"

Perhaps, you think upon seeing the peculiar gleam his eyes adopt, you have made a mistake in entering this salon.

"I can help you out," he says, cocking his hip and leaning on the broom. He lifts his hand to examine his nails. "...For a price."

You don't even dwell on the fact he didn't exactly answer your question, and squint at him in suspicion. "I'm poor. The most you'll get out of me is three dollars and two food vouchers for the sushi place next to the salad bar."

"Food vouchers?" the male breaks character at the mention of food, eyes widening before he catches himself and clears his throat. "Fear not, little gumdrop, I don't want money from you. No, I want your hair."

"My hair," your tone is flat and you feel a bit like the second you stepped foot in this store you also set foot in another realm.

"Yes," he beams, striding forward and extending his hand with all the flair of a female pop idol dance move to grasp a strand that has come loose from where it was pinned. "Your ends... they pain me, they're a cry for help and I'm nothing if not a benevolent god aiding my creations in need. Well, I say ends, but..."

His eyes sweep over the mop atop your head and he inhales through his teeth. "Yeah, we're gonna have to make some sacrifices. But fear not! I'm very good at sacrificing! There's not a customer that leaves this salon that I'm not satisfied with!"

Something about that strikes you as off— isn't it meant to be the customer satisfaction that matters most? Even so, you find yourself considering his proposition like a fool. It's true, your ends are in a tragic state— you've been so busy with everything else in your life that your hair has, admittedly, suffered for it. Now that he's mentioned it, you know you're not going to be able to stop thinking about it, and all he's asking is a haircut in exchange for the graphic design service you're also in need of? Technically, he's doing you two favours.

You ignore the voice in your head that tells you not to trust this too-attractive, slide-wearing hairdresser, and give him a narrow-eyed look. "I let you cut my hair, and you'll offer your graphic design services?"

The male nods distractedly, already discarding his broom and taking you by the elbow to guide you further inside. "Yes, yes, I'll help you with what you need. Now, come sit over here! This shouldn't take too long at all, I already have an idea for what I want."

You send him a dubious look at his wording, wondering once more whether it should be what you want that matters more, but decide since you're essentially getting this for free in the money sense, you'll sit and be quiet. He points you to a chair and you plop down, barely having a second to orient yourself before he's snapping an apron over you and slipping a towel underneath.

The male slaps his hands together, zipping around behind you and wheeling a cart over. "Alright, my name is Seokjin and I'll be your hairdresser today! Sit back, relax, and I'll bring you up from your negative rating status in no time!"

It's hard to ignore the urge to punch him that arises at his words, but ultimately you manage. To pass the time while he goes to work — and also because you don't like watching hairdressers work in the mirror since it often ends in accidental eye contact — you pull one of your textbooks from your bag and begin to catch up on some readings you haven't been able to get through yet. Despite your reservations, you find yourself relaxing easier than anticipated as you read, enjoying the soft brushing and tugging of your hair. He has gentle hands, you note, but still don't bother to look up and verify. You're content to go off of sensations for now.

Unfortunately, it seems you're a bit of a fool, and this is just one mistake of the many you've unknowingly made today.

He mostly hums to the odd tune, but once he does attempt to make conversation with you. "So, Miss Dead Ends, the time has come for me to ask the most important question that can arise in any conversation. Where does your allegiance lie?"

You freeze where you're reading, squinting at the page but not bothering to look up. "What?"

You hear him huff, as though he can't believe you didn't give him the answer he wanted straight away. "I mean, who is your campus ship. Are you team Jihope, or team Namseok?"

For a moment, you sit there reeling. It was like he just asked you something in another language— you have no idea what the fuck he just said. Unsure what to do but panicking because you know he expects an answer, you pick at random one of the two options and throw it out there. "Uh, Namseok?"

Seokjin's movements in your hair still, several beats of silence passing before he eases into motion once more. "I see," is all he says, and from that point on he doesn't attempt conversation again. You feel like you've made a blunder of sorts, but also can't bring yourself to care. It's his fault for being so hard to understand, you suppose.

You sit through each phase of the haircut process, letting him comb, snip, spray and blow dry to his heart’s content. When he eventually drops the hair dryer back into the cart and claps his hands, you finally allow yourself to look up into the mirror. You freeze.

"Ta-da!" Seokjin the hairdresser is clearly more than overjoyed at the results of his hard work and toil. You barely register his voice through your shock. "Thoughts? I mean, I know it's the perfect funky little 'do for your funky little self, but I'm not the type to withhold praise from myself, you know? Let me hear it."

"It's..." you squint at your reflection, hoping that it might have just been your eyes playing tricks on you for what you see looking back. "It's..."

Seokjin waits eagerly in anticipation like a puppy awaiting a treat after performing a trick, beaming at you in the reflection. You balk, feeling your soul leave your body for a moment before it suddenly slams back to earth and you regain the ability to speak.

"It's hideous?"

The male is absolutely unphased and even has the audacity— the audacity— to grin and reach out and pat the hair he's massacred atop your head.

"Actually, my sweet little padawan, it's high fashion." He sniffs, a sympathetic simper curling his plump lips. "But since I know you're one of those... poor folk, I'll let it slide this time."

You sputter, eyes whipping over each detail they can and making you more and more horrified at each new one that brings itself to your attention. The sharp angles, the texture, the layers? You have no idea how he got your hair to behave this way with only a comb and a hairdryer but you're terrified its permanent. You've never been so affronted at the results of a haircut before and you're quick to let him know.

"This is the ugliest haircut I've ever had in my life!"

Still remarkably unbothered by your displeasure, the male hums. "All high fashion looks ugly when you look at it with poor people eyes—here, try on my slides. Gucci should help get you in the zone."

You just about blow your top, unsure whether you're about to scream or cry but accepting it’s probably going to be both. He's really about to step out of his slides to let you try them on when you stand from the seat, ripping the apron from your body.

"I'm not paying for this!" you cry, indignant. The male merely blinks at you.

"Correct. I believe this was the payment, wasn't it?"

You falter for a moment, having forgotten that you'd literally let him do this and signed away your reputation and self esteem without any prior knowledge of whether he was actually a good hairdresser or not. Alright, you're a fool, but at this point that's in the past.

"Alright— I'm going to kill you, but first you're going to do what you promised and help me with that graphic design thing I need or so help me Zeus I will sniff you out like a bloodhound and tie you down to give you a rat's tail in front of a crowd in the quad with your own scissors."

You've stomped over to the damn poster that brought you in here in the first place, and turn only at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, a tsundere? What is it about you tsunderes that you're all drawn to me, huh? I'm collecting you like pokemon at this rate. Oh well, lucky for you I like that sort of thing. Sounds like a date— will you be using rope or leather?"

On second thought, you don't need your cover page that badly. You're going to kill him now instead.

x x x x x x x

Unfortunately for you and the repressed anger that resulted from that whole event, the tall male had been saved from the full brunt of your wrath by someone actually walking in for a haircut. They did a double-take at the sight of you, clearly questioning their choice of salon, but Seokjin managed to swoop in and save his reputation while dragging yours through the mud in the very same breath— which, you hate to admit, takes talent.

"Wack, right?" he'd said to the confused male, holding a hand up to hide his mouth like it would remove your ability to hear what he was saying. "She came in wanting that, and I couldn't refuse; in this salon, we focus on what the customer wants, after all."

You were going to kill him and you were going to enjoy it.

Needless to say, you couldn't have a witness, and the rat bastard knew it too because he used it to his advantage. He whipped up a sharpie from the front desk and scribbled a series of numbers on your hand, telling you to send him what you wanted done. Then he dismissed you with a turn of his back and began guiding his next customer over to the seat next to yours, kissing their ass to kingdom come.

You left, stewing, and made a beeline for the chemist on campus that was the only place you knew that sold hats, even if they’re ridiculously overpriced. You'd rather be bald than walk around with the mess that demon gave you.

You sent him what you wanted done, begrudgingly, because you weren't about to let your suffering be for nothing. But after that, you didn't hear from him and, quite frankly, completely forgot you were even waiting for him to come through with his end of the deal. You blamed the fact that your brain was currently on damage control and trying to repress as much of the memories as possible.

In actuality, it isn’t until the very start of the next year that you even remember he exists.

You’re midway through the morning drama class you elected to take this semester when the doors burst open, a tall figure with dusty pink hair and obnoxiously familiar features striding right in as though this was his home and he’d just returned after a long trip away.

“Professor Kang!” he bellows, making a beeline right for your very suddenly tired looking teacher. You can barely snap your mouth shut at the ridiculousness of the situation you find yourself in. “I’ve missed you, you’ve been well? I know these months we’ve spent apart have been hard but I’m here now—”

"YOU!" you seethe, unable to contain the word as it bursts forth from your chest, absolutely ready to roll your sleeves up and end his career. The male whips around at your screech.

"Dead Ends Girl!" he cries, looking astounded to see you. His eyes zero in on your head and he seems almost disappointed to see you didn’t keep touching up the humiliating cut he gave you after visiting his salon. “Back to poor people looks, I see.”

Your fingers twitch with the urge to wrap around his throat and you barely contain the urge as it spikes with his next words.

“You must be really obsessed with me huh, tracking me down and following me all the way to my class. You really did sniff me out like a bloodhound!”

“Seokjin,” your professor rubs his face, adjusting the glasses slipping down his nose. “You haven’t taken this class in three whole semesters, you can’t keep coming back here? Why must you continue to torment me.”

Seokjin, evidently having found another poor soul to torture (read: you), doesn’t even acknowledge your poor professor. “So why are you here, huh? If you’re here for an autograph, I regret to inform you that autographs are a Tuesday only event. You’ll have to come back on a Tuesday.”

You’re too angry to even bother telling him that it is a Tuesday, about to tackle him to the ground in front of your whole drama class without a single regret. Well, if there ever was a time and place for theatrics, right?

“You absolute dinkleberry, where’s the graphic design task I was promised in return for letting you butcher my hair?! You were meant to do it in a week! It’s been a year!”

Seokjin has the nerve to appear oblivious. “Graphic design task? Listen lady, the most I’ve ever graphically designed is the banner for my nsfw tumblr account, and even then it kept getting me reported. Cons of having a massive schlong, I guess. But graphic designer? That ain’t me.”

You’re about to burst a blood vessel, the few classmates who were close enough in the beginning to see the whole thing going on continuing to watch avidly from the sidelines. Food isn’t allowed in this room but you bet if it was they’d be shoveling popcorn in their mouths with all the ardent desperation and energy of a horse grazing from their palm.

“You said you were the one that made the poster!” you burst, pointing at him in accusation. “You said you’d help me!”

“No, I think I only said I’d help you— and I did! I brought you from a -2 to a solid 3.5 in good lighting! You should be thanking me!”

“You made me look like Sideshow Bob!” you cry, the urge to kill him stronger than ever.

At this, Seokjin is unable to contain the giggle that tears from his throat, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “And it suited you, so well.”

“ARGH YOU ABSOLUTE—!”

Before you can really release the anger that had a whole year to simmer and build, your professor steps in and tells Seokjin to leave and go to his own class before he starts setting up security measures to zap him the second he enters the door. Affronted but not prepared to call your professor’s bluff, the pink haired male begrudgingly listens and leaves, but not before he stops in the doorway and calls over his shoulder, “I’LL BE BACK! JUST YOU WAIT! YOU’VE NOT SEEN THE LAST OF ME!”

You wish you could say that that was the last time you saw him, but the unfortunate reality is that Seokjin lingers like a bad smell and consistently rocks up to your class to both torment your professor and you in one go in the lessons following. Two birds with one stone for him, you suppose. It becomes an unfortunate routine.

You still haven’t received that damn cover image.

[please consider supporting us if you enjoy it, and pls let us know what you think! thank u for reading!]

— • masterlist | prev | intermission i | next • —

600 notes · View notes

elopez7228 · 4 years ago

Text

Scenic Route 41/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

From the minute she got into Rose’s car, Rey realized that unlike the time she spent with Ben, the next five hours were going to be exceptionally long. San Francisco seemed a world away. Rose stared straight ahead, cheeks still flushed and lips pursed in consternation. Rey pretend to be engrossed in her phone. Suddenly, Rose held out here hand, palm up, without even turning to look at her. Rey’s eyes widened, unsure. “The microchip. Hand it over.” Her companion ordered. “No way, I risked my life for this thing; I’m keeping it. I won’t give it to anyone but Leia Skywalker herself.” Rose gave her an exaggerated eye-roll. “Let’s just say I don’t exactly trust you,” she said through gritted teeth. “Given that I spent a long sleepless night worrying about what happened to you, only to find that you’ve been having a great time in Kylo Ren’s arms!” “Come on! As if you or Leia ever even bothered to warn me about the massive risk you were exposing me to. You can sulk all you want. I almost died, on three separate occasions! Is this what you people always do? Take some poor unsuspecting passerby and throw them into No Man’s Land?” “It was for an important cause,” Rose stammered. “You gave no idea what this trial means to us, and to Leia Skywalker...” “More than a stranger’s life, in any case,” Rey retorted dryly. “You sacrificed my life without hesitation. No wonder Ben ran away. Did his mother throw him to the wolves too, in the name of the ‘greater good’?” “I won’t let you talk about Leia like that!” Rose snapped, her bottom lip quivering with rage. “You have no idea the hardships she’s been through, none!” “I have a very good idea of what she did to her son, though. Pardon me if I can’t find enough compassion for the woman who considered Ben and I negligible losses!”

Rose took a deep breath before answering in a low voice : “He did this to you. He filled your head with lies without you realizing.” “Kylo Ren lied to me. Ben Solo would never. Ben was willing to sacrifice everything to make things right. No one can convince me otherwise.” “And there’s another one,” Rose sighed, visibly exasperated. “Oh really? He was the one who brought me here, did you ever see him hurt me? If he wanted to kill me, didn’t he have a thousand perfect opportunities to do that already? How do you explain that?” Rose hesitated, uncertain. “What if he...put a tracker in you bag! You’d lead him right to the Earth Soldiers HQ!” “Stop the car,” Rey demanded. “What?” “I said, stop the car. Do you want to search my belongings? Park the car and do it right now. If that’s what will get you to stop imaging whatever nonsense, do it now and save us the argument!”

The other woman turned red. “You know what?” She raised a brow. “Okay. Okay, we’re doing that!” True to her words, she flashed her signal and turned to park just off of the highway. It wasn’t a rest stop per se, but an emergency parking area just large enough for a vehicle. Rey wasn’t sure if this counted as a real emergency, but she didn’t want to push her luck today. After days of being hunted by FORCE she’d imagined finding some comfort in the company of an Earth Soldiers op, not another trial by fire.

Rey stomped angrily out of the parked car and shouldered her bag out of the trunk, dropping it on the ground. “Go ahead, take a look. I’ve got all day.”

Rose walked up, her head held high. She began to carefully unpack the bag. She searched every garment she withdrew, using her fingers to trace the fabric and feel every inch for abnormalities before moving on to the next one. When the bag was empty, she checked the every corner of the lining and the straps too. Finding nothing, she turned to Rey with her fists clenched at her sides. “Your handbag too.” “Very well.” Rey surrendered the other bag.

Rose’s eyes widened at the sight of the box of condoms, but she said nothing. The soon-empty handbag was subjected to the same thorough investigation, yielding the exact same results. Nothing. Rey repacked her things, her expression hovering somewhere between triumph and annoyance. But Rose was still determined. “Undress yourself.” “Not even in your dreams.” “Then I’ll search you myself.” Rey rolled her eyes. “You’re wasting your time.” “I’ll be the judge of that. I lost plenty of time coming all the way to Winnemucca to wait for you. I wonder if you made up the story about the fire to spend more time with him, that wouldn’t surprise me. Hands up!”

Rey begrudgingly raised her hands, hoping to be done once and for all. As soon as Rose realized there was nothing to see, she would leave her alone. So she let the agent search her hair, her t-shirt, her bra (cringe) and her jeans. Rose stuck her fingers in the denim pockets, where she would soon find the microchip that Rey had refused to hand over earlier. They would have it one way or another in the end. She paled however, when she fished yet another condom from the girl’s back pocket. Rey flashed her a cynical smile. Oh yeah, that was for exactly what she thought. Still curious, Tico? Apparently so, because the next thing Rose unearthed was the microchip. Rey maintained a neutral expression. Behold! The prodigal microchip. Could she leave now, and go find Ben...whenever he was? They could be together somewhere else, anywhere else, hopefully far away from these lunatics.

But Rose’s face fell as she looked at it. “It’s ruined!”

Rey held her breath. What did she mean, ruined? Rey had carefully inspected it earlier this morning with her own two eyes and it looked fine! Rose was a furious scarlet as she held the plastic square right under Rey’s nose. “It’s damaged, you broke it! You sabotaged the mission on purpose!” “What? No, it’s not,” Rey protested incredulously, her blood pressure spiking. “Show it to me!” Rose placed it in the palm of her hand and she bent to look at it up close. Shit. Rose was right, the chip was thoroughly warped. Rey looked up, mortified. How was it possible? Did Ben actually double-cross her? But how, when she had kept the thing on her person at all times throughout— Suddenly she understood. Her thoughts flashed back to that morning in Elko, where she had struggled to take her jeans off. She’d been in such a rush to undress, bouncing from one foot to the other, trampling her jeans between her feet and the craggy, rock-studded ground...completely forgetting that the microchip was still in her pocket. Rose had been right all along: her desire for Ben had lead her to betray Earth Soldiers in the end. Rey’s face was impossibly pale. She died a little on the inside as she passed the chip back to Rose, who was still waiting for an explanation. “Yes, it was me. I damaged the chip but...” “But?” “But I have no way to prove it was an accident.” It was almost exactly what Ben had said, when she’d caught him red handed. She could now empathize with the position he was in—the feeling of helplessness and fateful injustice. She would be condemned by Earth Soldiers, and hunted like an animal by FORCE. Rey had never felt more alone, yet again. And yet she knew that the only person who could ever understand her, could ever commiserate with her empty, aching heart, was Ben Solo—who was some hundreds of kilometers away. The two of them stood alone against the world, linked by destiny. And all hell was about to break loose. “There’s nothing for it,” Rose declared solemnly. “You’ve clearly chosen your side.” She punctuated the last word with a swing on the car door. “I would leave you here but it’s up to Leia to decide your fate. And mine.” Rey’s eyes widened. Hers too? “I was the one who sent you to her.” The other woman explained. “It’s my fault if we made a bad choice. I thought I saw loyalty and grit in you, but I was wrong.” What a drama queen. Rey could practically feel the thinly-veiled anger behind her dismay. The girl was full of herself. She wasn’t the unsuspecting mule on the frontlines and yet she wanted pity as she fancied herself on the chopping block. “Right, then.” Rey held her head up. “I’ll talk to Leia Skywalker myself. Maybe she’ll understand. Let’s go.”

The rest of the journey to San Francisco was long and silent. Rey gnawed on the sandwich Ben had bought her. He’d left her the water bottle too. BB8 whined uneasily in the back seat, clearly design the tension in the air. With nothing better to do, Rey contemplated the surrounding landscape. After Reno, the desert was slowly replaced by a coniferous forest that wound around a mountain road. They had reached California, the west end of the world. Tahoe boasted wide, tree-studded prairies, Sacramento was surrounded by acres upon acres of fertile farmland. Napa Valley was full of rolling green hills that slowly but surely led them to the sleek skyline of San Francisco. Rey perked up as they got on to the Oakland Bay Bridge, which offered them a breathtaking panoramic view of the city. And beyond that, the endless blue of the Pacific.

Rey had never been so far from home. Nor so alone. She took out her phone and typed a message to Ben:

Arrived in one piece at the end of the world. Wish I could share this moment with you. I’m lonelier than ever. Take care of yourself — Rey

He responded immediately.

You’re not alone. Be strong, we’ll see each other soon. I love you —Ben

“Who are you talking to, Kylo Ren?” Rose snorted derisively beside her. “Yes,” Rey answered, unmoved. “Do I need permission to text, now?” “If you’re talking to FORCE, the answer is yes. We’re at war here, in case you’ve forgotten. Your double-crossing has to end somewhere.”

Rey put away her phone, forcing herself to remain calm. “We're going to win this war not by fighting what we hate, but saving what we love, Rose.” “Still,” Rose shrugged, “we’re not going to disarm FORCE with tickle attacks.” “You’d be surprised,” Rey mused.

The car continued into the city, and Rey took a moment to admire the skyscrapers and winding streets. Despite her bad mood, she marveled at every new sight like a child. Cable cars, Victorian houses...if she ignored the feeling that she was about to walk into the gallows, she could just about enjoy the city’s charm. Rainbow-colored pride flags adorned many a building entrance, and on the wall of one particular church, Rey spied the words REFUGEES WELCOME written in large, bold letters. She would have loved to discover the city with Finn. In the meantime it was vital that she soak everything up to describe to him later. One day he would get better and see it with his own eyes. By the time the car finally stopped somewhere, Rey had lost track of their location. They were in an underground parking structure. Rose buzzed past a security checkpoint, and then another, before they finally parked in the darkest, lowest level. The whole place was mildly claustrophobic to Rey. “Are we there yet?” “No comment,” Rose replied.

They unloaded the bags and let BB8 out. Rose opened a metal side door to reveal a long corridor lined with yellow fluorescent panels. They passed many rooms as they reached the end of the corridor, where another door stood, practically identical to the last. Rose used her badge to open this one, which lead to...another parking garage. With a press of her thumb on a key fob, the vast space was illuminated with a flash of light from yet another car. “Another car, really?” Rey asked. Rose gave no answer. Another car, another interminable drive through the city. Rey yawned. Who did these overall-clad ecotypes think they were? Super heroes? Ridiculous. The next parking garage was better. Rose typed a code into the intercom. Rey didn’t recognize the voice on the other end, but she heard Rose whisper the password (“resistance”, she rolled her eyes). The door opened. Corridor, elevator, corridor. If this setup was meant to intimidate newcomers, it was certainly effective. The prepared speech that Rey had come up with during the long hours on the road seemed to wither away with every row of corridors and armored doors that they passed. Finally, Rose motioned to her to enter a room. It was a dark room littered from floor to ceiling with boxes upon boxes of documents. Little windows let in little daylight. A coffee machine bubbled away in the corner. And sitting on a large futon was a blonde woman Rey had never met. Her fingers tapped impatiently against a tablet. In the middle of it all sat Leia Skywalker herself, dressed in a long grey dress and a matching manteau. She was commanding despite her small frame, and Rey felt intimidated already, knowing she was almost a divinity to these people. Behind Leia sat a tall, thin woman with strangely elegant pinkish-purple hair. Rey stood, frozen for a moment and unsure of what to do. Was this her grand trial? Who were these people? Was Leia going to crucify her on the spot? It was Leia who crossed the few steps that separated them to hug Rey, holding the girl in her arms.

#reylo #fanfiction #modern au #road trip #scenic route

2 notes · View notes

i-am-the-hero-alfred-jones · 5 years ago

Text

Fairy Tail’s Fairy Tale’s Chapter 4

((Part 4 of my contribution for the Fairy Tail big bang by @ft-ez-bb ! This is my favorite chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy it! Please like/comment/reblog/ect!! ))

Wendy glanced back into the book, "Okay next is-" The doors of the guild were thrown open and an underwear-clad ice mage stormed in. "So how was the annulment?" Erza asked, smirking as she sat by Wendy. She had been looking over the slayer's shoulder and had an idea for the next story. "We're still married!" Juvia declared, hugging onto Gray happily. Normally Gray would allow her to hold onto him for a short time, but this time he roughly shrugged her off. "We can't get it annulled for 24 hours." he informed the guild bitterly, "They have to wait for the paperwork to go through before they can cancel it."

"But Gajeel still has the paperwork. . . " Wendy said, confused. "What?!" Gray whirled towards the dragon slayer. Sure enough, the marriage certificate was still sitting on the table in front of him. "Yeah, technically you guys aren't legal until I turn this thing in." Gajeel said, handing Gray the paper. "Oh no!" Juvia gasped, she wasn't aware of that fact, "If we hurry back to City Hall we can turn it in-" Gray looked her dead in the eye as he ripped the certificate in half. Juvia gasped and covered her mouth. Gray proceeded to shred the rest of the paper, before throwing it into the fire. "Gray-" "No! I'm not talking to you- I don't even want to look at you right now!" he yelled angrily. Juvia ran out of the guild sobbing. Wendy and Lyon seemed to be the only ones that felt bad for Juvia, as everyone else agreed that tricking someone into thinking they'd married you was crossing some sort of line.

"I'm glad you're back Gray, because I think the next story would be perfect for you and Natsu." Erza mentioned. "Me and who?!" Gray demanded, "Aren't I angry enough right now?!" "But it's for Wendy." Erza pointed out, gesturing to the guild's sweetest member, who was staring at the book curiously. "Do you really think this would be good for Gray and Natsu?" Wendy asked curiously. "I think it would be perfect." Erza assured, "Lucy and I could be their parents. All we need now is a witch." "But who would want to hurt Gray and Natsu?" Wendy asked innocently. Laxus snorted from the bar, "Who wouldn't?" he took a drag from his pint but choked on it at Wendy's next words.

"Perfect! Laxus, you can be the witch!" "No!" Laxus slammed his drink down, "I think this whole thing is stupid and I'm not-" he fell silent as his eyes fell on Wendy. She looked like she was about to cry. "Oh. . . I understand. . ." Wendy said hollowly. She looked away, "Y-you don't have to do it if you don't want to. . ." The guild glared and Laxus felt guilt twist in his stomach. "Hey- I didn't mean it like that-" he said quickly, "You know what? I'll be your witch." "I don't wanna make you-" Wendy began. Laxus interrupted her, "No. I want to be your witch." he assured, "It uh- it sounds like fun." "Really?" Wendy asked hopefully. "Really." Laxus confirmed. "Thank you, Laxus!" she hugged the blonde happily. Laxus stiffened at the touch, but sighed and rested a hand on her head, "You're welcome. . ." he grumbled, heading backstage. Freed had a hand on his heart as he watched the other go, "Laxus is so good with children." he declared fondly. Bixlow just stared at him in awe, "You must have seen something we didn't."

HANSEL AND GRETEL

Wendy smiled, "Next up is the story of Hansel and Gretel-" "Hold it!" Wendy glanced up at Gray curiously. He was now clad in blue lederhosen. "Why am I the girl?" he demanded. "Because Gretel is the one who outsmarts the witch." Wendy explained. Gray glanced back towards Natsu, who was now trying to lick his own elbow. "Yeah, he's not outsmarting anyone. Alright, let's get started." He grabbed Natsu, who was wearing matching red lederhosen and dragged him backstage.

"In a great wood there lived a poor woodcutter, his wife, and his two children. The boy's name was Hansel and the gir- the other boy's name was Gretel." Wendy began. Lucy and Erza came onstage and sat in a bed together. Natsu and Gray walked onstage from the other side. A prop door separated the boys from the girls. "I'm hungry." Natsu complained. "It's a famine, Natsu, everyone's hungry." Gray shot back. Lucy turned to Erza, "We gotta get rid of them, Erza." Gray and Natsu looked towards the door in confusion, they pressed their ears up against it to listen better. "I can't take it anymore!" Lucy wailed, "I need a break! Just for like, a day!" Erza hummed, "Well. . . their bickering is pretty obnoxious. . ." she admitted, "And we'd have a lot more food with Natsu out of the house. But how would we get rid of them?" "Let's just . . . leave them in the woods." Lucy suggested. Erza nodded to herself, "Simple, yet elegant- good plan, Lucy. Tomorrow, we'll leave our children in the woods." The two lay down in bed and pretended to sleep.

Gray threw his hands up in exasperation, "Well, we're doomed." "Hey!" Natsu put a hand on Gray's shoulder, "Don't worry about it, we'll figure something out! We always do!" And the slayer lay on the ground to feign sleep as well. Gray looked towards the audience again. "Yeah, we're doomed." he confirmed, but joined Natsu on the floor anyways. Wendy took up her narration again, "The next day, the parents took Hansel and Gretel into the woods, intent on losing them." "Alright kids, everyone ready to go into the woods?" Lucy asked. Natsu raised his hand eagerly, "Can I bring my rock collection?!" Lucy just stared at him for a moment. ". . . Sure. . ." she shook her head as she walked off. "Why the hell do you wanna bring a rock collection?" Gray asked. "I figured if we're gonna live in the woods, I might well release them back into the wild." Natsu shrugged. That rendered Gray speechless for a solid minute. "Natsu, Do you think the rocks . . . are alive?" he asked, slowly. "Well, yeah! Aren't they? Igneel said everything in nature is alive." Natsu replied casually. Gray gave a deep sigh, "Let's just get this over with." he stood up and walked offstage. "I'm still taking my rock collection!" Natsu declared stubbornly, as he followed Gray offstage.

The group came onstage again. "Now you kids wait here and we'll come back soon." Erza assured, before her and Lucy left. "But they didn't' come back." Wendy said, "And soon it got dark." Gray sighed, "Well. . . our parents are clearly liars. You got any ideas, Natsu?" "Hey! My rocks are gone!" Natsu exclaimed, angrily looking into his now-empty pocket, he gasped and turned to Gray triumphantly, "I told you they were alive!" "There's a hole in your pocket, dumbass!" Gray argued. Natsu looked down and stuck his fingers through said hole, ". . . Oh yeah. . ." he saddened, "I loved those rocks." "Natsu, focus!" Gray yelled angrily, "We've been abandoned!" Natsu looked off miserably, "I at least wanted to say goodbye . . ." "Who knows what could happen to us out here?!" Gray continued. Natsu frowned, "Don't worry, Gray." he assured gently, "I'll take care of you!" Gray glared at the audience, "I'm gonna die in the woods with an idiot."

The two sighed and sat on the ground in sorrow. "How many rocks did you have anyway?" Gray asked. Natsu shrugged, "I don't know. Happy gave them to me. He gave me a new one every time you and I fought to cheer me up." Gray was surprised, "That's a lot of rocks." he noted. Natsu nodded, "I miss my rocks. . . they were so pretty. All round and smooth. Like that one." he pointed to one lying onstage, "And that one." Another rock lay about a foot away from the first that fit the same description, "And that one-" "Natsu!" Gray exclaimed, jumping up, "The hole in your pocket made a trail for us to follow home!" "Hey, yeah!" Natsu stood with him, "Let's go!" Natsu moved to follow Gray offstage, but stopped to pick up the rocks. "Are you seriously bringing the rocks?" Gray complained. Natsu stood, "You're right. They belong free and in the wild." Gray groaned as Natsu followed him offstage. "I'll come back for you." he whispered to the rocks as he left.

Lucy sighed in content with her hands behind her head as she sat on a chair onstage, Erza sat in an adjoining chair, knitting calmly. "How long has it been since you heard silence, Erza?" Lucy asked. "Since before I joined the guild." the redhead admitted. Lucy sighed again, "It's nice-" Suddenly the door was kicked in and Natsu entered, "We're back!!!!" Lucy jumped from her chair, "How the hell did you- I mean- Yay!" Lucy cheered, smiling, "It's late, why don't you boys go up to bed?" "Okay!" the duo walked offstage. Once they were gone Lucy whirled on Erza, "How the hell did they get back here?!" "I don't know!" Erza replied, "We'll have to take them even further tomorrow."

"The next day, the parents took them even further into the woods," Wendy narrated as the group walked across the stage. "Gray, give me your bread." Natsu demanded, Gray obeyed. "Okay kids, we'll be back soon!" Lucy repeated, before once again leaving the stage with Erza. Gray immediately turned to Natsu, "Alright, let's follow the trail back home." "What?" Natsu asked, confused. "That's what you wanted my bread for, right?" Gray asked, "To make a trail back home? "No, I was just really hungry." Natsu said easily. Gray was furious, "You ate my food?!" "You gave it to me!" "Because I thought you were leading us back home! Now what are we supposed to do?!" Natsu shrugged. "I dunno."

"The children wandered the woods for hours, but couldn't find their way home." Wendy continued. Gray and Natsu sat back to back on stage, sighing. "I'm so hungry it hurts." Gray complained. "I think my stomach is trying to eat itself." Natsu replied. Gray sighed again, "Natsu?" he glanced towards his friend teammate, "Did you ever think it would end like this?" Natsu shook his head, "No." he admitted, "I always thought I'd go out in a blazing flame of glory." "Yeah," Gray agreed, "I always thought I'd die sacrificing myself for my friends." "Well it's not like you didn't try." Natsu said, bitterly. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Gray demanded. "I can't name any quest we've been on where you didn't try to sacrifice yourself! Do you want to die?!" Natsu yelled angrily. "A little bit!" Gray admitted, just as angry. "Food!" Natsu gasped and ran off. "Oh, I guess Gray's problems don't matter!" Gray exclaimed indignantly, glaring after Natsu. ". . . Is that a house made of candy?!" he asked in confusion and awe. A child-sized candy house was pushed onstage. "Where did that come from?" Carla asked. "I do't know but it sure looks yummy!" Wendy cheered.

The duo stared at the candy house in awe. "I call the roof!" Natsu declared, breaking a big chunk off and eating it eagerly. Gray broke off a window and began licking it, "This is the best candy I've ever had!" "Is someone eating my fucking house?!" Laxus's disgruntled and confused voice came from inside. The two froze in place. "No, it's the wind!" Natsu replied, panicking. "Natsu, you idiot!" Gray smacked his arm. Laxus exited the house, glaring, but his gaze softened when he saw who it was. The 'children', however, attempted to run away. "Hey! Hold on a minute!" Laxus called. "Are you hungry? You seem hungry. I mean, you ate the damn house. I have meat and. . ." he hesitated, "Beer?" "Laxus they're playing children!" Mira scolded. "Do I look like I know how to handle children?!" Laxus replied.

"And the wo-uh, man let them in." Wendy explained, "But it was soon revealed that he was a witch! And he locked poor Hansel in a cage!" "I get to lock Natsu in a cage?!" asked Laxus eagerly, "I've wanted to do that for years!" Gajeel slammed a Natsu-sized cage on the stage, "Here ya go! A nice, iron, electricity conducting cage!" Gajeel declared happily. "What?" Natsu squeaked fearfully. Gray grabbed him by his shoulders, "Well, you heard the story, Natsu, you gotta go in the cage!" he shoved Natsu into the cage, slammed the door, shut the lock and stepped back with a large grin. "This'll be fun." Laxus grinned and let lightning dance across his fingertips. The guild watched on in amusement as Natsu got electrocuted. Repeatedly.

Natsu lay in pain at the bottom of the cage as Wendy continued, "The witch fattened Hansel up for four weeks before she finally decided to eat him. She asked Gretel to help prepare him." "Alright, climb inside the oven so I can see if it's hot enough to cook your brother in." Laxus said casually, as he gestured to a large prop oven Gajeel had made. ". . .You're a really messed up person, ya know that?" Gray asked. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, now get in the oven." Laxus pointed to the open oven door. "I don't think I'll fit." Gray confessed. "Of course you'll fit! I fit!" Laxus exclaimed. "Prove it." Gray challenged. "Fine!" Laxus climbed in and Gray slammed the door on him.

"And so the witch died, Gretel freed her brother, and they went home to their parents, and lived happily ever after!" Wendy finished. "I don't know, I'm kind of enjoying this." Gray admitted, "Can we just keep him in there?" "NO!" Natsu yelled. "No." Makarov confirmed. "Are you sure, old man?" Laxus asked hopefully. "Yes." Makarov answered sternly, "Free him." Laxus grumbled but opened the cage. Natsu was pouting as he stomped back to his seat to hug his cat, "You guys are all jerks."

5 notes · View notes

angelofthequeers · 5 years ago

Text

Ladybug and Reine Nuit: Chapter 8

The Pharaoh II

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@miraculousl4dybug @livinthebilife tagged as requested :)

Part 7 | Part 9

“No way,” Reine Nuit says. “Ladybug’s not five thousand years old. She’s a teenager at best!”

“Not the girl,” Pharaoh says impatiently. He telekinetically opens the roll of papyrus and reveals a black-spotted figure in an Ancient Egyptian robe swinging a yo-yo. Huh. Marinette had been right, then. “Ladybug. My sworn enemy!”

“You don’t look a day over three thousand, Ladybug,” Adrien quips, looking over his shoulder from his captive position. Reine Nuit wonders if it would be morally acceptable to strangle the guy, since he seems so insistent on getting into deadly situations anyway.

“It does make sense that the Miraculouses would be that old,” Nino says, although he really doesn’t look like he wants to draw attention to himself at all. Poor guy. Reine Nuit totally owes him an ice cream as Alya for what he's been dragged into.

“I’m going to carry out the spell to bring my long-lost love Nefertiti back to me!” Pharaoh growls. “With one hundred mummies and an offering of a pure soul to persuade the sun god Ra to return my sweet princess!”

“Adrien’s the furthest thing from a pure soul,” Nino deadpans.

“Hey!” Adrien exclaims. “You’re not so pure yourself!”

“Neither of you are the sacrifice,” Pharaoh scoffs. “The best sacrifice would be my old nemesis. What purer soul than that of Ladybug?”

“Say what?” Ladybug blinks.

“But I don’t trust you to keep any promise you might make about exchanging yourself for these civilians,” Pharaoh says. “I’m very much aware of your ability to wriggle out of the tightest of situations like the little insect you are. Therefore, I’m taking these boys as mine. And if you don’t come and offer yourself when the time is right, I will rip their souls out and offer them to Osiris in the underworld myself.”

“Oh,” Adrien says faintly.

“Uh, is it too late to say that I don’t consent to this?” Nino adds. Pharaoh just turns and steps through the bent bars without a word, easily bending them back into place when Ladybug and Reine Nuit charge at him.

“Oh, come on!” Ladybug snaps. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Think you can get us out of here, pretty kitty?”

“But of course, angel bug,” Reine Nuit says. “Cataclysm!” Once the bars are dusted, she and Ladybug bolt up the stairs out of the Egyptian exhibit and into the main museum.

“You should go and recharge,” Ladybug says. “I’ll go after them. It’s me he wants, after all.”

“Just don’t end up as a sun god sacrifice, okay?” Reine Nuit jokes. “It’d be a pain in the butt to replace you.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes with a smile, then heads for the main staircase out of the Louvre. Reine Nuit ducks into a side room and says, “Claws in,” to release Plagg.

“Ah, my love!” Plagg cries when Alya presents him with a wedge of Camembert.

“Hurry up,” Alya says. “Ladybug needs us back out there.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Alya crosses her arms and taps her foot, waiting for Plagg to finish his cheese. “So, when were you gonna tell me that Ladybug’s kwami is over five thousand years old?” she blurts out. Plagg shrugs.

“Even older. Same as me. We’re tiny gods, remember? Tikki and I are as old as creation and destruction themselves. What, did you think we just sprang outta nowhere just for you?”

“It would’ve been cool to know!”

“I thought it was obvious!” Plagg lets out a large belch. Alya wrinkles her nose.

“Ugh. Yeah, you’re done. Plagg, claws out!”

Outside the Louvre, hiding behind a nearby post with Ladybug, Reine Nuit spots Pharaoh surrounded by mummies shambling around him, forming the shape of a cross: an ankh, if Reine Nuit recalls her Ancient Egyptian correctly, with the base of the ankh against the Louvre pyramid. At his feet are Adrien and Nino; Nino looks like he’d love to make a break for it if not for the mummies, while Adrien’s eyes are glinting as he aims his phone around at the mummies to capture them on film. Once again, Reine Nuit questions his state of mind.

That would be you if you didn’t get the ring, snickers a little voice that sounds so much like Plagg that Reine Nuit would happily allow Pharaoh to bash her skull again to shut it up.

“Oh, sacred Ra, god of the sun!” Pharaoh chants as the sceptre floating next to him begins to glow. “I, Pharaoh, offer to thee a pure soul! The sacrifice for the return of Nefertiti!” As he speaks, the Louvre pyramid begins to glow, and a bright beam of light shoots up from the point of the pyramid to create a dark, swirling mass in the sky. “I bow to you and present this gift with my mummies! In company, we pray to you the safe return of Princess Nefertiti! Awaken, Nefertiti! Awaken! Awaken, Nefertiti! Awaken!”

“At what point does this stop being Hawkmoth and start being actual Egyptian magic?” Reine Nuit says as the mummies start to chant with Pharaoh. “He doesn’t seem to have any limits when he’s creating akumas, does he?”

“Doesn’t bode well for us,” Ladybug agrees.

“Ladybug! Come out and offer yourself as the sacrifice in exchange for the lives of these civilians!” Pharaoh demands, grabbing Adrien and Nino by their wrists and shaking them.

“What’s the plan?” Reine Nuit says. “Does your Miraculous Ladybug also bring people back from the dead if he hurts Adrien and Nino?”

“I’d rather not find out,” Ladybug says grimly.

“Ladybug will totally take you down!” Adrien shouts.

“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?” Reine Nuit protests. Okay, so Ladybug deserves all the attention she gets and more, but sometimes it’s disheartening to be the one brushed aside when Reine Nuit is just as much a hero as Ladybug.

“And she’ll purify the akuma that’s most likely in your medallion!”

“Huh,” Ladybug says. “He might have a death wish, but at least he pays attention.”

“Any ideas?” Reine Nuit says. Ladybug frowns.

“Hmm. Well…if he wants a sacrifice, I say we give him one.”

“You’re gonna give yourself up?” Reine Nuit says.

“While you sneak around and get the medallion,” Ladybug winks. “You’re used to skulking in the shadows, aren’t you?”

“If you get sacrificed, I’ll kill you.”

“I think I’ll be too dead to care.”

“Ladybug!” Pharaoh bellows. Ladybug emerges from their hiding place with her hands up.

“I’m here!” she says. While everyone’s attention is trained on Ladybug, Reine Nuit starts to edge around behind Pharaoh so that she can grab his akuma.

“You’ll exchange yourself for these mortals?” Pharaoh says. Ladybug looks at Adrien and Nino, then nods.

“I will.”

Pharaoh holds out his hand for Ladybug to take. Just before she lets him grab her, Reine Nuit springs out like a cat, aiming for the medallion around Pharaoh’s neck. But a split second before her fingers can close around it, he kicks Ladybug away and turns to grab Reine Nuit by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks.

“Oh, come on!” Reine Nuit complains as Pharaoh lifts her off the ground. She hisses and kicks, but he is totally unaffected each time her boot makes contact with his abdomen.

“Trickery!” Pharaoh bellows. “Fine! If you won’t give yourself up, Ladybug, I’ll just sacrifice your cat instead! Gods, give me wings!” He floats up to the beam of light emanating from the pyramid point and dumps Reine Nuit on it, and she grimaces at the ticklish warmth of the light against her stomach. Over Pharaoh’s shoulder, she catches sight of Ladybug summoning a Lucky Charm, but it’s impossible to discern it from this distance, especially since it’s so small.

“Oh, Ra, god of the sun, accept this humble offering and return the princess to me!” Pharaoh chants.

“Wait!” Ladybug cries. “Don’t hurt Reine Nuit! I’ll let you take me instead!”

“Too late, Ladybug!” Pharaoh says. “You tricked me once. I won’t let you trick me again!”

“Not even when I’m really giving myself up this time?” Ladybug says. Pharaoh squints down at her, clearly looking for any signs of deceit in her pretty face.

“Fine,” he says. He flies down to take Ladybug by the hand, then returns with her in tow, clearly not trusting her to keep her word if he frees Reine Nuit first. Reine Nuit studies Ladybug’s face for any sign of a new plan, but Ladybug’s not giving anything away, so Reine Nuit figures that her partner’s got it covered.

“Whoa!” Reine Nuit exclaims when Pharaoh knocks her off the beam of light and she goes tumbling down the pyramid, wincing every time she bashes her head on the glass. She crumples on the ground in a groaning heap, absently wondering if Miraculous Ladybug extends to healing concussions after all the head injuries she’s sustained today. When she looks up at the sacrifice, she’s mildly alarmed at the way her vision blurs and then refocuses, but it seems to be a one-off, so she just lets it go until Ladybug can heal her up.

“Reine Nuit!” Ladybug calls from on the light beam. Reine Nuit staggers to her feet just in time to see Ladybug hold up her Lucky Charm – a pair of scissors – and cut the cord hanging the medallion around Pharaoh’s neck. With a shout of rage, Pharaoh dives after it, but Reine Nuit is quicker.

“Cataclysm!” She uses her staff to vault her into the air and grab the medallion before Pharaoh can reach it, although she’s surprised that she manages to get to it first considering how her head is spinning. As soon as it touches her sparking hand, it crumbles into dust, releasing the evil little akuma from within it.

“No!” Pharaoh howls. With the akuma freed, the light beam flickers and dies, and Ladybug nimbly lands on top of the pyramid and slides down it to the ground.

“Nice work, Reine Nuit!” she says as she captures and purifies the akuma with her yo-yo.

“My head feels weird,” Reine Nuit giggles when her head begins to tingle. Looking alarmed, Ladybug throws her scissors into the air to summon her Miraculous Ladybug, and the healing ladybugs send a warm thrill down Reine Nuit’s body as they fix the physical damage done to her from the battle. Nearby, the kneeling Pharaoh’s villain skin melts away to reveal Jalil Kubdel.

“What happened?” he groans, looking around. Ladybug and Reine Nuit just grin at each other.

“Pound it!”

“Thanks for saving us, du – uh, Ladybug,” Nino says.

“Oh, no problem,” Ladybug says with a wink. “I couldn’t let anything happen to my two favourite civilians, could I?”

“We’re your favourite civilians?” Adrien whispers, eyes shining. Reine Nuit snickers, remembering his reaction when he’d caught her to give her back the book – the book!

“Uh, Ladybug?” she says. “Can I talk to you before we transform back?”

“Sure.”

“I just gotta get something first. Meet you around the corner?”

Ladybug nods and swings off. Reine Nuit dashes into the Louvre to fetch the history textbook from her bag, then heads back out to meet Ladybug behind a nearby building, wincing when her ring beeps urgently.

“Thanks for saving me from that weirdo,” Reine Nuit says. “I’m too gorgeous to be sacrificed.”

Ladybug giggles. “I couldn’t let my favourite partner be sacrificed, could I? Anyway, what’s up? It’ll have to be quick because we’re both about to transform back.”

In response, Reine Nuit holds out the textbook. Ladybug gasps and snatches it away.

“You dropped that when we were saving the pilot the other day,” Reine Nuit says. “Adrien gave it to me. Don’t worry, he didn’t video it or try to look into it or anything,” she adds when Ladybug’s eyes widen. “But he doesn’t know which one of us it belongs to.”

“Good.” Ladybug’s shoulders slump and she swipes open her yo-yo to store the book inside. Reine Nuit stares enviously. Why can’t her baton do that? “And…you’re not going to try and figure it out?”

“Nah,” Reine Nuit says. “Not gonna lie, it’s super tempting, especially ‘cause I know that only our school has that textbook.” Ladybug’s eyes widen again, but Reine Nuit doesn’t feel too bad about letting that slip. Even footing between them and all. “But I’d be a total hypocrite, since I’ve got a secret identity of my own.”

Ladybug gives her a soft smile that makes her insides flutter. “I’m glad I can trust you, Reine Nuit.” Her eyes widen when her earrings beep. “Uh oh. Bug out!”

“Wait!” Reine Nuit says before Ladybug can swing off. “Why exactly did you have your history textbook to save a helicopter?”

“Studying,” Ladybug says with a mischievous smile. “Duh. Don’t you study when you’re saving the day?” Then she’s off, leaving Reine Nuit to watch with a smile while timing out and turning back into Alya. After a moment, Alya shakes her head and turns to head back to the Louvre and meet her friends, mummification explanation on the tip of her tongue. At least she’s got a convenient excuse for vanishing during an attack this time.

#miraculous ladybug #aotq fic #aotq: reine nuit au #chat!alya #marinette dupain-cheng #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #nino lahiffe #pharaoh #the pharaoh #adrien w h y #rip nino #nino just wants to live

24 notes · View notes