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#and pulling it off in the swamp where it sat in mud for two days before I found it
opheliajupiter99 · 4 months
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Lil' Gid - A Fanfic to go with my voodoo doll Gid art
(Not sure when in the timeline this'll take place. Also I know I've done like, seven posts in two days but damnit, had a lot of inspiration lately lol)
It was a remarkably quiet night, for once, in the fetid swamp that surrounded the Inn at the End of the Road. Bugs buzzed about and the murky water bubbled, little frogs bouncing from lily pad to lily pad and ribbited as they went along their merry ways, some hoping in pairs and others alone. It was calm, peaceful even, which even in the safe areas of the Feywild wasn't exactly common.
A sudden, albeit small, noise cut through the silence though. Wet soil crumbled and cracked away as a small, cloth hand bust up from beneath the earth, a few fireflies buzzing out of the way in surprise as the tiny figure clawed its way free of the muck. As it crawled out from the soil, the area around it was illuminated by a soft, flickering light.
The little figure was a red cloth doll, a pair of large dark grey buttons sewn in place of eyes, and a stitched smile along its face. The flickering light came from the bundle of pitch-black string tied to the top of its head, as if it were hair, and while it was indeed merely string, the potent magic that gave the doll life in turn set its mop of string hair ablaze.
As the doll moved forward, the little metal chains that were shackled to both of its arms dragged along the ground, leaving marks in the mud and occasionally grinding against pebbles that were stuck amongst the muck. It had only one article of clothing; that being the black and red pair of overalls and suspenders, stitched quite expertly and of the same quality leather that real version wore, and upon its revealed chest was a stitched black heart, put precisely where one's heart resided to indicate where to land a lethal blow.
The doll took a moment to brush itself off, patting away bits of grime with its mitt-like hands, before turning its gaze towards the inn. It wasn't too far away; there was no need to emerge at a distance when there was soil all over the place, especially given it was so small that even a short distance could take forever to travel. It waddled its way up to the wall of the inn, looking WAY up towards the window, pondering to itself silently why even living voodoo dolls had to be barely a foot tall. It thought for a moment how to get up, then looked down to the chains on its wrist, and got an idea. It swung the little chains up; it took a few tries, but it managed to hook onto a crooked piece of chipped wood and began to pull itself up.
Sometime later, Kremy laid in bed in his room, his hat gingerly placed upon the bedside table, his arms curled up and supporting his head. He was having a hard time getting to sleep, truth be told - something about tonight just felt...off. He hadn't heard jazz, and things weren't anymore misty than they usually were outside, and beyond Gid's room he hadn't smelt any cigar smoke, so he figured he was just being paranoid, but even still, he couldn't quite settle his nerves.
He was suddenly startled by the sound of something metal rapping against the window, several clack-clacks in quick succession. He tensed instantly at the sound, his fists clenching instinctively. That...was metal; not a bird's beak, not a pebble tossed, not a fingernail knocking, that was -metal-. He again tried to convince himself he was just being paranoid, but even an expert lie couldn't make something up at this rate. Paranoia was usually a fine answer to worries, but in his case...
He sat up, and after a few deep breaths, slowly turned his head to look towards the window. He didn't see anything at first, but after a moment of staring, a flickering light came into view, illuminating the foggy darkness beyond the glass, quickly followed by a pair of button eyes, and even though there were no pupils, he could just -feel- that the doll was looking at him specifically. Normally, seeing a little ragdoll that's barely a foot tall in a window would be at most creepy, and at least downright silly, but for Kremy, that sight was enough to plummet his heart right down his gullet.
Kremy sat there for what was probably just a few seconds, maybe a minute, but what felt like forever, just staring wide eyed at the doll as it climbed up further into view, until it fully stood in the windowsill, staring at him with that stitched little smile. Kremy just...kept on staring, a million thoughts racing through his mind in a contained, but very, very real panic.
What had he done? Had more time passed than he expected and he'd already run out of time on his debts? But if that was the case, why couldn't hear the telltale ominous jazz? Why wasn't an eerie fog filling his bedroom? Why wasn't there the heavy scent of cigars and rum? He supposed the Baron could be trying to be subtle - but why in the hell would the Baron of all Loa want to be subtle? Usually when the Baron took a soul you could tell from the next town over; he was just too theatrical to not make it into a big production.
The doll rapped its chains against the window once more, pulling Kremy from his thoughts. The doll made a lifting motion with its stubby arms, indicating him to open it up. After a bit of hesitation, Kremy moved up oit of bed and towards the window, lifting it open, half-expecting a skeletal hand to jut out of nowhere and drag him away. That didn't happen, however, instead the doll simply hopped off onto the floor at his feet, staring up at the man in an almost expectant fashion.
"Look...I dunno why you're here, but if I've done anythin' wrong, I swear I can make up for it." The doll shook its head, leaving Kremy even more perplexed than he already was. "So...why the fuck ya here then?" The doll looked about for a moment, then waddled over to a small worn crayon near the bedside table, likely left behind by Hootsie when she'd came scampering in after a nightmare earlier that night. It picked it up, having to use both hands since it lacked fingers, and moved over to the wall, beginning to write upon it clumsily. It wrote 'HeLp' upon the wall, then turned towards Kremy and pointed to him.
"...The Baron, sent ya to help me?" The doll nodded enthusiastically. Kremy let out a deep breath of relief he'd been holding since the first knock upon the window came, putting a hand to his face. "Oh thank the fuckin' gods...ya scared the shit outta me, lil' man." He said with a chuckle, the doll putting a hand to its mouth in a silent chuckle of its own. "Well uh...shit. Wasn't exactly expectin' company but...ya can hang out in here, I guess? I know ya don't sleep but, ya can chill in here til mornin', then I'll tell the others about ya, okay?" The doll nodded, then held up its hands joyfully as if to say 'uppies!'. Kremy sighed with another chuckle and carefully picked the little doll up, the stitched smile upon its face seeming much more genuine now.
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thefoolishfewterer · 4 years
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Someone needs a new collar!
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watermelonlipstick · 3 years
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Back
School has been kicking my ass lately, but I found some time to write this little warm and fuzzy nothing. I’d love any advice or critiques!
Title: Back
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 1915
Summary: Getting back to find the reader has been waiting for the Winchesters to get home from a hunt, Sam is a little nervous and more than a little happy.
Warnings: mutual pining fluff only!
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           Sam and Dean walked down bunker stairs slowly, their bones aching with the work of the last week. They had changed into clean clothes to drive through the night back to Kansas, but their hands and hair bore the telltale mud and blood of a hunt, and they badly needed to shower. Walking into the library, Sam took his duffel bag off his shoulder and dropped it unceremoniously but quietly.
           Curled up in a chair on the other end of the table, you slept wrapped in a blanket and draped over the old wood. Your hair ground into your folded arms and the huge book you had been reading, and the pressure of your head on your cheek pouched your lips out a touch. Sam brushed his palms on his jeans somewhat fruitlessly in an effort not to dirty your face as he brushed a chunk of hair back from your temple.
           “Hey,” he whispered in a low voice, his hand hovering over your shoulder. “We’re home.”
           You woke with a small jolt, peeking open one eye to look up at Sam. A sleepy smile spread across your eyes as you arched back to stretch. “Hey, handsome,” you answered in the croaky voice of a nap. “How’d it go?”
           “All good, no major injuries. You should be in bed,” he said, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
           “Carry me?” you asked. The shy smile on your face betrayed you as only half joking.
           Sam chuckled as Dean came over to them. “He smells like sweat and swamp monster ass,” Dean offered.
           “Thanks Dean,” Sam said sarcastically, his voice still low. “He’s right though. Still want me to?”
           You nodded with closed eyes, your contented smile showing through even as you yawned. “Dean, there’s lasagna in the fridge if you want it.” As an aside to Sam you mouthed, “vegetarian.” Sam’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he offered his arms out to you. You got up and put your arms around Sam’s neck, letting him ease you up into his chest. Your calves and socked feet dangled over his forearm.
           “You’re the best,” Dean insisted, gripping an invisible fist of victory. He gathered up the blanket and stacked it on top of your stomach.
           “Don’t stay up too late,” you hummed to Dean while nuzzling your head into the crook of Sam’s neck.
           “I won’t, kid. I promise.” He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek. “Goodnight.”
           Sam nodded to Dean over you, jerking his head toward the kitchen to show he’d meet his brother in a minute. He carried you back to your room and lowered you down onto your bed before spreading the blanket out on top of you.
           “You didn’t need to wait up for us,” Sam said.
           “I know, but I wanted to see you.”
           “Well I won’t lie, it feels a lot more like home to come back to you than an empty bunker,” he smiled.
           “Oh yeah?” you asked with a sly grin.
           “Definitely.”
           “Will you come sleep here?” Your eyebrow crooked up in question. It was loaded, definitely a pretty big step further down the tightrope you and Sam had been walking. But it had felt right to ask, and you fought back the impulse to take it back or turn it into a joke. Sam’s eyebrows lifted in soft, hopeful surprise, and it changed his whole face.
           “I can if you want me to,” he answered, running a hand through his hair. “Are you sure?”
           “Yeah, I think so.” The hesitation in your voice made his pulse race despite his fatigue.
           “Uh, ok, yeah. Just let me eat something and shower and I’ll be here, I promise. Don’t wait up though.”
           You nodded, trying to fight a smile by biting your lip, then pulled the blanket up under your chin and closed your eyes. Sam lingered in the doorframe for a moment, watching the light from the hallway fall on the swells and angles of your body before going to the kitchen with Dean.
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           Dean was already halfway into a plate of lasagna by the time Sam got there and took off his jacket.
           “Dude, she’s outdone herself. This is awesome,” Dean said through the last third of a mouthful before swallowing.
           “Yeah, she’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam asked as he walked to the fridge.
           Dean looked up smugly over his fork. “What’s going on with that anyway?”
           Sam closed the microwave door on a plate of lasagna and turned toward Dean. “Uh, I mean, I don’t know. She asked me to sleep with her.” Dean half-choked on a bite, coughing and grabbing at his beer bottle. His brother realized his mistake, making an exasperated face before correcting himself. “Not like that, Jesus. Like literally sleep in her room.” Dean pounded his chest with a closed fist and fought through a hoarse throat.
           “Are you going to?”
           “I mean, yeah. Why, should I not?” Sam’s eyes widened.
           “I don’t know what you should or shouldn’t do, man. Just seems awfully boyfriend-experience to me,” Dean said, his hands up in faux surrender.
           “Well, yeah,” Sam conceded, getting his plate out of the microwave.
           “So you’re her boyfriend?” Dean looked incredulous.
           “Dean, I don’t know,” Sam whined as he sat down across from his brother.
           “Fine, whatever, I’ll leave you alone about it. But know that I’m going to be pissed if things get weird between you two and she leaves. Aside from the extra backup, I can’t go back to Marie Calendar and beef jerky after this.”
           Sam nodded placatingly.  
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           You had dozed off, waking up when some lizard part of your brain realized the light had shifted in the room. Sam filled the doorway in an old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants slung low enough on his hips to expose a little sliver of skin when he walked. The smell of shampoo crossed the room as if being unfurled from his still-damp hair, the clean familiarity of it making your joints relax even further than they had in sleep. He saw the heavy lids of your eyes for the second time that night, and felt a pang of nervous affection.
           “Do you still want me to, ah..?” Sam whispered like a gravel road at dusk.
           You nodded, folding back the comforter next to you. He walked over, messing with the hem of his shirt like a shy teenager before crawling gently into bed. He didn’t know what to do. It felt like the first time he’d ever slow-danced with a girl at some stupid school formal—Mandy Jacobsen, freshman year of high school, wearing a shirt Dean had outgrown but was still too loose to be tucked in properly and his dad’s shoes—not knowing where to put his hands or whether it was better or worse to press against you. You waited a beat before rolling to your back to mirror him.
           “Is this too weird?” you asked.
           “No, no. Sorry, I just—I’m just a little keyed up from the hunt I guess.” Sam cursed himself in his head; you knew they’d driven over 7 hours to get back, it made no sense that he’d still be on an adrenaline rush. He was grateful when you didn’t say anything.
           “Was it gross? When you guys had me look up bunyips I was so glad I didn’t come with on the stomp-around-in-the-swamp job.”
           He chuckled quietly. “You would’ve hated it. We had to change before Dean would even unlock the car.”
           “How’d you get back to the motel to change if he wouldn’t unlock it?”
           “No, like out on the side of the road.”
           “So you and Dean were naked on the side of the road in—where was it?”
           “Stringtown, Oklahoma.”
           “In Stringtown, Oklahoma, and didn’t get arrested?”
           “It’s pretty rural.”
           “Well thank God for that,” you giggled, turning onto your side to face him. “I would’ve had to take that stupid little Volkswagen to come and get you. You’d have needed a double knee replacement by the time we crossed the state line.”
            “Then I’m even more glad.” Sam’s profile was fuzzy in the dark but you could hear his smile. When he turned to face you the tiny amount of ambient light glinted off his teeth. “I missed you,” he added, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear him from inches away.
           “I missed you too,” you breathed.
           Sam shifted to his side and tentatively reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, you should go back to sleep.”
           “Are you going to leave if I do?”
           “Not if you don’t want me to.” His thumb was gentle and callused against your cheek, brushing absentmindedly.
           “I don’t want you to.” You twisted away from him to curl back against his chest. Sam got those same heart-thumping sweaty palms he had with Mandy Jacobsen and hoped you couldn’t feel the thrum of his pulse against you, suddenly aware of how thin the fabric separating you two was. He felt gangly and awkward in his filled-out 32 year old body, and kind of stupid for it; less than an hour ago he’d held you in his arms and he couldn’t even estimate the amount of times his hands had roamed your skin, feeling for broken bones and shards of glass or stitching up a gash. He was trying to remember what the natural thing to do here was when you reached behind to his side and pulled his arm over you, laying his palm out below your sternum and lacing your fingers in his. His hand spanned a wide swath of your torso and made you feel delicate, like something precious. After a moment, Sam let the weight of his arm settle over top of you like a cloak, the pressure soothing and protective.
           You smelled like warm skin, fresh sheets, and the orange blossom soap you loved from the farmer’s market in the next town over. Sam inhaled deeply, nestling his face against your hair and feeling the heat from you and your body-warmed comforter seep into him, so opposite from the freezing bog water he’d been up to his thighs in earlier that day. He was having a hard time coming up with something that would be better than this and thought it might actually be ramping up his nerves, comfortable as it was. Instinctively he pressed his lips to your hair, feeling a jolt in his chest when it made you lean back into him.
           Seems awfully ‘boyfriend-experience’ to me ran through his head and he felt an overwhelming ache. If this was the boyfriend experience, he wanted nothing else in the world. He felt your breath deepen under his palm and the weight of your body began to sink a bit in that telltale way that told him you were falling back asleep. Sam listened for a long minute to the rhythm of it.
           “I love you,” he breathed, just to hear what it sounded like.
           “I love you too, Sam,” you murmured, barely opening your mouth.
           Sam had no time to feel embarrassed you’d heard him, hadn’t been fully asleep, as his chest swelled with helium. He shifted his calf to cover your cold feet and smiled, all to himself, into the darkness. It took him hours to drift off, but he didn’t care. There was no place he’d rather be.
-
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rogue-durin-16 · 3 years
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AN UNUSUAL YEAR (Part I/V)
Summary: After having little to no interest on girls for five years, Fred suddenly feels the need to nag the shit out of a certain witch, completely oblivious to the reason behind it.
Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader
Genre: fluff (+ enemies to lovers)
Tags:
Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog
Warnings: none
A/N: I'm currently going through a Harry Potter fever ('tis the damn season), so I thought I'll write something. I might write more of this story, (maybe turn it into a multipart) we'll see. If you'd like to be tagged in this, let me know.
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
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I had always supposed that reaching the sixth year at Hogwarts meant subjects would get way more demanding and complex, and I to be proven right, only two weeks in were needed.
Added to the usual difficulties, we would be hosting The Triwizard Tournament. Having the castle be almost twice as crowded as the other years, when all you crave is a quiet spot to study, wasn't ideal.
As I said, the first two weeks were already hard enough.
During the third week though, believe it or not, things got even worse —and our guests hadn't even arrived yet.
The Slytherin common room was quieter than the library these days, that's the sole reason why, at 3:35 pm, my best friend and I were already making our way there.
To our luck, we arrived just in time to see the two redheaded troublemakers par excellence high-fiving each other besides my common room's entrance.
"What on Merlin's beard are you two doing here?!" Both of them jumped at the sight of two Slytherins.
"The question is what are YOU doing here?" One of them questioned back, probably attempting to distract us. "You two should be in the library."
"What did you do?" I squinted my eyes at them and, while one raised his hands in surrender, the other just shrugged.
"Nothing." He motioned at our door nonchalantly. "If you don't believe me, check it yourself."
My friend and I shared a reluctant look, and before I could say anything, she was heading to the door.
"Mathilda wait—" I gasped when she sunk into what appeared to be the stone floor.
"Okay now, I wasn't expecting her to actually do it." When I attempted to step forward, a hand on my forearm prevented me from it.
"Don't step further." He warned. "Just in case."
"I'm not stupid." I hissed before grabbing my wand, which made the tall redhead back off. "Revelio." Slowly, a swamp was revealed to be where the entrance hall to the Slytherin common room was supposed to.
Now that it was visible, both twins hurried to get my friend out of their giant prank.
"Get rid of this." I ordered as they pulled her up, her bottom half covered in mud.
"Pffft... no?" One of them scoffed, walking away from Mathilda and stepping closer to me. "It's a masterpiece. It stays."
"If it stays, I will throw you into your masterpiece." I threatened, putting my wand back in my pocket.
"Oh, I'd love to see you try."
I glared at him, partially because I hated that cocky attitude these two —specially him— always exhibited, but also because I had to look up in order to make eye contact.
"Listen Weasley,"
"It's Fred." Oh what would I give to wipe that stupid grin off his face.
"I don't care." Refusing to step back as he clearly wanted to achieve by towering me, I stepped forward, lightly pushing him back with one hand. "You will remove this from here or I will walk right now to the Potions Classroom and split on you."
The twins seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes only. After a moment of silence, the one with my friend spoke. "We'll get rid of it right now and you won't say anything." I nodded, my eyes still fixed on Fred's. "Just so we're clear, this was not set up for you."
"The next one will be, though." Fred assured me with an almost wicked smile. "I'll make sure you can't use the revelio on it."
"Is that a promise, Weasley?" I asked in an unconsciously defying tone.
"You can be sure of it, Y/l/n."
"It's Y/n." I retorted, mocking him.
"I don't care." I rolled my eyes when he did the same, finally breaking eye contact with him.
"C'mon Thilda," I held out my hand to her "let's see if someone can sneak us into the Ravenclaw common room."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You think Fred meant it?" Mathilda inquired, the worry slipping through her words as she played with her breakfast.
"I doubt so." Angelina, who was sitting in front of us, replied without even looking up from her quidditch history book. "They seem more trouble than they are, really." I scoffed; it was easier for her to say that; she was a Griffindor after all. "Deep down they're nice sort, Y/n. They won't pick up on you for ruining a prank."
"I don't trust them."
"I'm not saying you have to—" Angelina jumped slightly when a wad of paper hit my face.
"You were saying?" I grunted, making eye contact with the red haired boy waving at me from the Griffindor table.
When I opened the wad, it read:
'miss me? —Fred ;)'.
"Look at his smug face." I hissed. "I'm gonna-"
"Ignore him. You're gonna ignore him." Angelina finished, fairly unconcerned. "I assure you he'll get bored in less then two days if he can't get a reaction out of you."
For the sake of having breakfast in peace, I only dedicated him a fake smile and did as my friend said. It seemed to work, until it was time to leave for class.
"We should get moving." Mathilda spoke, putting her plate aside and picking up her things as I did the same.
"I have a free period now." Angelina informed us. "Or as free as it can be. You?"
"Divination. Y/n?"
"Charms— Fuck." I whined as something dawned on me. "Those gits are in my class." I spared them a glare. "If they ruin my favorite subject I'm gonna—" a sudden splash of water on my face left my shirt soaked for at least the next hour. "You got the nerve—!" I yelled at the guy who was already making eye contact with me.
"I do, indeed!" He cut me off, winking at me from across the table, his chin resting on the palm of his hand with a teasing grin dancing on his lips as he asked, "what are you gonna do now, Y/l/n?" His twin brother, though I could only see his back, was clearly not enjoying this behavior.
Mathilda checked my gaze, dreading the worst. "Y/n, don't. You're gonna make Slytherin lose points." She knew the warning wouldn't do much, but at least she had tried.
Angelina, instead of backing our friend and try to calm me down, got up and walked to the table where the Weasleys sat.
FRED'S P.O.V.
"I hope you know you're dead." Angie stood in front of me, before using her book to tap my brother's arm. "George, move."
"What?"
The three of us spared a look at Y/n, who had, ignoring McGonagall yells, stepped over her table to get to us.
"Move. Now."
"Ssshit." My brother moved just in time for Y/n to repeat the same forward move on our table.
It's not as if I didn't have the time to move and run away, she hadn't rushed; on the contrary, she walked calmed and composed, and still I did not move an inch.
I guess a part of me wanted to know what she'd do to me.
"Look at you." I began to wind her up again when she climbed off the table on my side, sitting down on its surface with her shoes over the bench. "Doing the impossible to be near me, how romant—"
My sentence died off abruptly as a handful of scrambled eggs was mashed against my face.
I heard a burst of laughs around me. "Blimey! I'm sorry, Fred," she feigned worry, smearing what I assumed were the remaining rests of my breakfast all over my chest. "I hope you're not late to Charms because of this." She whispered near my ear, making a shiver go down my spine when her breath hit my neck. "See you there, yeah?"
Her hand squeezed my shoulder and her fingers ran over my shoulder blades as she walked away.
I felt a napkin placed in my hand and I was quick to remove as much scrambled eggs as possible from my face, just in time to see Y/n exiting the Great Hall with McGonagall jogging after her.
"You know?" Lee asked, drawing my attention. "Picking up on the girl you fancy is kind of a toddler strategy."
"Yeah, Fred," my brother agreed. "you're not an eighth year-old anymore."
"And you chose the wrong girl to nag" Angie added," if you keep it up, she will surely kill you." She held back a teasing smile. "And you should be careful" she nudged George. "I don't think she can tell you both apart, you can end up as collateral damage."
"But you wouldn't let that happen, would you?" I rolled my eyes when George scooted closer to our quidditch chaser.
"Depends on how annoying you are." She faked indifference as my brother searched for her eyes.
"I don't fancy her." I not-so-randomly stated. "But I can't stop pranking her now that she ruined my breakfast."
"You can and you will, Weasley." I jolted at McGonagall's voice behind me. "Twenty points from Gryffindor." At least I'm not grounded, I thought. "And you're grounded for the rest of the week."
"But Y/n— Ouch!" my brother kicked me under the table so I would shut it.
"Y/l/n has received her fair share of punishment, too, Weasley." The professor gave me a poorly masked, disgusted look. "Go and..." She waved her hand "Clean yourself up, Y/l/n will inform professor Flitwick about this incident. And Weasley," She stared at my brother. "Aren't you supposed to be heading to Charms too?"
"Yes ma'am." He replied, throwing everything into his bag, getting up and rushing out of there, not before grabbing his robe.
"The day's promising." I groaned, handing my things over to Angelina so I could go to the bathroom.
"You made the day promising by messing with a Slytherin, you twit." She pointed out, putting my things over hers. "Now go clean those eggs from your shirt."
"Aye, mother!" I headed off before Angie could add anything else to the conversation, loosening my tie as I moved forward.
As I cleaned off everything I could in the nearest bathroom, a random thought slipped into my mind.
Had Y/n been punished too? And if so, would we fullfil the punishment together? It seemed logical that if one of us got grounded, the other one would get grounded too; consequently, it would only make sense for us to—
Shut it. I mumbled to my own mind.
I didn't care. I did not care if she was punished or not. It was none of my business.
I don't fancy her, I thought to myself once again.
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mlm-writer · 3 years
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Hero of the Swamp (Shrek x Jaskier)
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Pairing: Shrek x Netflix!Jaskier (Julian Alfred Pankratz/Dandelion) Rating: Explicit Words: 2893 POV: Third Summary: After being left on the mountain, Jaskier finds himself lost in the swamp and in need of warmth and comfort. Note: Y’all can thank @spielzeugkaiser​ and their amazing art for this. Sorry for the sloppy edit, but I really was not going to put even more time into this sinful work.  Tags: I’ve been a bad boy daddy forgive me father fore I have sinned, pre-movies Shrek, post-mountain Jaskier, angst, fluff, Shrek’s huge dong, size kink, cum shower, monster cock, blowjobs, rimming, cum eating and Shrek has emotions ok 
The growls of monsters lurking in the forest rolled over the muddy forest grounds and reached Jaskier’s icy ears. He shivered in both terror and response to the temperature. He told himself he could get off that mountain on his own, but who was he kidding? His frigid ears caught something in the dark. The bard bolted off the path, then later found himself in the middle of nowhere, chilled to the bone, disoriented, and, to be honest, frightened. 
He was looking for a path, but even that seemed to not be present anywhere in the vicinity. Jaskier rubbed his trembling hands together and walked on. Jaskier thought he should at last find some shelter from the wind. Just as he was about to settle for a random tree, he noticed light in the distance, warm like fire, inviting him and promising warmth and shelter. 
The fatigued bard all but ran towards it, the signs around the perimeter unnoticed in the dark. His boots sunk into the mud of the swamp, but he had his eyes set on the house-like structure in the middle of the swamp. He could not believe anyone wanted to live in this stinky place, but right now this someone was about to be his saviour. Once at what he assumed to be the door, he knocked on it. When there was no answer he knocked again. There were some angry, heavy footsteps, before the door opened. 
Before him stood a massive humanoid, skin green like peas, frame built like Geralt who preferred cake over his nasty potions. “Eh, good evening, sir,” Jaskier tried. If it was living in a house, it must be intelligent to some extent… right? “Could you please spare some place for a weary traveller?” The green creature did not look nice, even without its facial expressions. Some tension left its body after the question. Jaskier recognised it as a hint of confusion. “I’m afraid I’ll freeze to death if I don’t warm myself by a fire.” 
“No, get out of my swamp,” the creature spoke. It sounded like it was from Skellige. It was about to retreat into its home, but Jaskier put his foot between the door.
“Please, I’ll die out here,” he spoke dramatically, hoping for pity so he’d have a roof over his head tonight. He was not sure if he should try his luck with this creature, but at least it could speak. Wraiths had said less words, before trying to slice him. 
“Not my problem. Get out of my swamp. The only way you get close to my fire is when I roast you over it.” “Oh please, you don’t mean that.”
Jaskier had barely finished speaking, when the green man grabbed him by his doublet and pulled him close. His breath stank of swamp water and fish. His mouth was wide and Jaskier was pretty sure he would fit inside there. The bard felt like he should be terrified, but underneath a thin layer of leather and cloth, there was warmth radiating off pear skin. He wanted to lean into it, thaw. What inhibited his survival skills further, where those eyes glaring into his. Under bushy eyebrows rested two brown pools of warm broth. He heard the green man roar into his face that he needed to leave, because he was an ogre and he was going to eat him, but it was hard to believe him. 
Within those eyes that were so close to his, the ogre told the story of a creature that wanted to be alone, because alone was safe, alone was comfortable, alone was all he was used to. Jaskier never knew that, but after today, he understood why one would think that. 
“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”
It stung, more than anything had caused him to ache in ages. Jaskier could feel the urge to never make friends again, never love again, never lust after one he could not have. However, he refused. It was pain that made life worth living. Without pain, bliss did not feel as good as it did. The rain made sunlight so much more appreciated. The cold made fire so much more precious. The monsters made the witcher so much more valuable.
The human knew this, but the ogre holding him up by his doublet did not. Jaskier had wished for pity, but he pitied the other now. He clumsily threw his arms around the ogre and hugged him tightly. The ogre stopped yelling at him. Jaskier could feel the muscles against his body tensing up. The hand holding him loosened and he threw his legs around the ogre too, holding on and hugging him tightly. “You don’t have to be alone. I don’t fear you,” Jaskier spoke gently. 
“I am an ogre.” “And if you were really malicious I would not still be breathing. Please, just for one night. There are all sorts of dangers out in these swamps, especially at night. I just want to stay alive.” 
Jaskier could hear the ogre letting out a long sigh. “Fine,” he spoke, “but you have to be gone tomorrow.” Jaskier let him go, but not after planting a delighted kiss on the rough skin of the ogre’s cheek. 
“Thank you so much,” the bard exclaimed. He slipped inside, before the ogre could change his mind. The inside of the hollowed out tree looked cozy. It stank like hell, but he was in the middle of the swamp; what did he expect? “Do you like music? I have little to give you, but I am a bard.” Jaskier held up his lute as he grabbed the chair that had no food in front of it. One look at the giant slug on a plate and he was pretty sure he did not want to have any food. Jaskier pulled the chair a little closer to the fire and sat down with his lute in his lap. It seemed rather strange that there were two hand-crafted chairs, while the ogre seemed to be so keen on being alone. “Oh and you can call me Jaskier, by the by. What may I call you, my hero from the swamp?”
The ogre looked at him a little annoyed as he closed the door and sat back down to finish his dinner. “Uh… Shrek. You can play, but don’t sing.” Jaskier let the name roll off his tongue, before playing a calming tune. He didn’t speak, just let his fingers do their thing as he processed all that happened during the day, well it was actually more just those few minutes that haunted his mind. Each one of Geralt’s words cutting into his soul. “Eh… Jaskier?” Jaskier was pulled from his thoughts when Shrek spoke his name. He shook his head, before looking at Shrek. “You don't seem to be… you… you seem sad, well, what I mean is… I never heard such a depressing tune.”
Jaskier faked a smile. “My apologies, good sir. I’ll play you a happier tune, if you wish.” He diverted his eyes to the fingerboard, blinking away the tears he suddenly noticed pooling in his eyes. 
“No, you don’t have to. I prefer silence, anyway.” Jaskier looked up and noticed Shrek had finished eating. He stood up and started cleaning up. “You can sleep on my good chair.” Jaskier followed the ogre’s gaze to the fauteuil in the corner. He nodded. It looked comfortable enough. He had slept on forest floors with Geralt. This was more luxury than a regular day with the witcher. 
Shrek had some board and card games, which he seemed to enjoy to play. Jaskier wondered if Shrek usually played these games on his own or if he hosted guests more often. Neither seemed likely, since the games seemed to have gone untouched for at least a decade, if not longer. They shared a few laughs. Shrek turned out to be more fun company than Jaskier would ever have expected from an ogre. His jokes were terrible and sometimes a little insensitive, but he so clearly meant well. It was clear Shrek was not used to talking or any social interactions. He spoke like a young man still trying to figure out what was socially acceptable to say and what was not. Still, he was trying and Jaskier welcomes the vivid chatting. 
When they got tired, Jaskier curled up on the comfortable fauteuil by the fire. Shrek had draped a shirt of his over the human. It stank and was dirty, but it was warm and Jaskier was still low key afraid of getting kicked out to sleep in the mud, so he didn’t voice a single word of complaint. In the silence of the night with no one to talk to, words that were already spoken returned to his mind. Jaskier tried to block them out, but they bit at his brain, keeping him awake and drawing tears from his eyes. He curled further in on himself, trying to stay quiet as he sobbed into his hands. It just hurt so much to be discarded like he was nothing but a nuisance. Was that all he was? He was sure his songs brought joy in taverns, but right now the unlikely and unrealistic idea that everyone just pretended to have a good time was so overwhelming. 
The bard flinched when he felt a huge hand on his shoulder and arm. He looked up to find Shrek hanging over him in nothing but his smalls. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the ogre clearly wasn’t good with words. “I’m fine, Shrek,” Jaskier lied as he wiped the tears off his face, “I’ll just find the nearest town tomorrow and fuck the pain away.” The words had already left him, when he realised how that might sound. “And I’ll do that tomorrow, not because I think you’re hideous, quite the contrary, you might be the most handsome ogre to ever exist, but I just assumed you would not be interested in having sex with a human… male. Human male, doesn’t seem your taste, but it could be, I wouldn’t judge you. How could I? You’ve been a most generous host! I…” 
Jaskier almost suffocated as Shrek’s palm covered the entirety of his face. He got the hint and just shut up. Shrek slowly let go of his face, allowing him to breathe again. Jaskier looked away, cheeks red. He was blabbering nonsense to an ogre who preferred peace and quiet. He guessed it was time to sleep in the mud outside, however, Shrek wasn’t yelling at him… yet. 
“So you just have sex and that helps you feel better?” Jaskier nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t mind helping you feel better. It is not like I have had lassies lining up in the swamp… or lads.” He laughed a little awkwardly, making Jaskier laugh too. He took hold of one of Shrek’s huge fingers with two of his, by comparison, tiny hands. 
“Oh Shrek, you are such a wonderful host. You really do not have to do this though. I will still want to visit you again, even when you don’t want to fuck my brains out, just so I don’t have to think about some brutish asshole.” Shrek gave him a long look, before enclosing his hand around Jaskier’s waist and lifting him off the fauteuil. 
“It’s not just for you. It’s for me too.” And Jaskier wanted to read into those words, figure out the ogre with complicated feelings, but he had no willpower to. Shrek’s bed was firm, almost hard like a plank. It smelled like him, like onions and mud and firewood. Shrek tried to undress him, but his huge fingers couldn’t get a grip on Jaskier’s complex clothing. Jaskier smiled kindly at him, helping him without even needing to look at any button. “Can I kiss you?” Jaskier didn’t even reply. Instead he pulled Shrek’s head down. It was an awkward kiss. Shrek’s mouth was way too big and neither of them were very coordinated in the moment. 
When his clothes were mostly off and Jaskier was left in his smalls, Shrek kissed down his body, his huge tongue lapping at his skin and Jaskier could hear him enjoy the taste. He hummed to signal his pleasure, letting the ogre go about his business. Shrek pulled off his smalls and to Jaskier’s complete surprise, the ogre took his cock in his mouth. Jaskier whimpered, hands grabbing the sheets. Everything about Shrek was big, including his mouth. Even when the ogre sucked him to full hardness, Jaskier still didn’t feel the back of the ogre’s throat. Shrek sucked in his balls at well and Jaskier almost cried from the pleasure of having his cock and balls inside a warm mouth.  
When Shrek let Jaskier go, his length was hard, red and leaking. Jaskier barely had time to recover, before he felt that glorious tongue on him again, this time licking over his hole. Whispered pleas left his lips as he imagined that tongue inside of him. Then a thought crossed his mind. If everything about Shrek was big, what about his dick? Jaskier had seen the ogre’s hands and one finger was already bigger than the average cock. While he normally was down to go big, the imaginable size of Shrek’s dong low key terrified him.
His mind had no opportunity to freak him out completely, because Shrek’s tongue entered him and the feeling was so, so good. Jaskier moaned as big green hands spread his cheeks and thick wetness penetrated him. “Ah… ah Shrek I hate to be a uh… fuck!” The bard trashed his arms around when his new found friend started to stroke his cock at the same time. “I’m gonna cum! Way too soon, I know! Sto..aahh...” His whole body tensed as he spilled all over himself. Shrek was unrelenting. As the bard’s cock was spent, he still had his tongue inside him, pressing at the right places and wiggling around so talentedly. “Stop, stop, stop, it’s too much, really, too much.” 
Jaskier was out of breath, head fuzzy with post-orgasmic bliss. His whole brain short-circuited as Shrek’s tongue licked over his torso, cleaning him off all the cum he had spilled over himself. “Are you all right?” The green-skinned sex machine inquired with innocent eyes that did not match the absolute tent in his smalls. 
“Say, Shrek, will I die if I swallow ogre cum?” Jaskier almost laughed at Shrek’s expression. It was a ‘yes, no, maybe’. “Ok fine, but I will suck you off still.” The human pushed at the ogre, cornering the larger frame against the opposite wall, before getting on his knees. 
“With all due respect, Jask, I don’t think you can fit me anywhere.” Jaskier didn’t listen, pulling down Sherk’s white smalls in spite of knowing the ogre was probably right. As soon as 12 inch of green cock basically slapped him in the face, Jaskier knew he was in way over his head. Still, he was confident that if he tried, he could still fit the head inside his mouth. With Shrek still assuring him he did not have to do this, Jaskier started licking all over Shrek’s length. The taste was not as bad as he feared. In fact, the more he licked, the more he started to like it. Jaskier made out with the head of Shrek’s cock, fucking the slit with his tongue. Shrek was holding his shoulder, occasionally squeezing a little as he moaned. And oh were those delicious moans, primal, guttural, deep and vibrating through Jaskier’s entire body. 
The human tried many times, but he couldn’t slip the monster cock inside his mouth. He was resilient though and kept trying, while stroking the rest of the green length. He was so caught up in his quest that he didn’t hear Shrek telling him how close he was. He made a disappointed sound as he was forcibly removed from the cock in his mouth. Jaskier crawled back up the bed and stretched out his body. “Cum on me,” he wantonly moaned and Shrek did not disappoint. Jaskier had to close his eyes and mouth as he got showered in thick, beige cum. He never had felt this dirty, but it was a good kind. He wished he could have taken Shrek in his ass. He could’ve been so full. 
Once Shrek had stopped groaning, Jaskier dared to open his eyes. He could see guilt already spreading over Shrek’s face. He must have been a sight, so much smaller than Shrek and absolutely drenched in his cum. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve always fantasised about being showered in cum. Just never thought that all that cum would come from a single person.” 
Shrek let out a relieved sigh and helped him wipe some cum off his face so it wouldn’t get into his mouth or eyes. “I’ll prepare you a bath,” he spoke gently, surprising Jaskier with the thoughtfulness. His eyes followed the ogre as he put his breeches on and moved out to probably get some fresh water. A laugh escaped Jaskier as he stared at the sticky substance covering his skin. Who would’ve thought that the swamp could’ve been so pleasant? 
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itssuppertim3 · 3 years
Text
Lean (Miraak x Reader):
Contemplating on writing for Pyramid Head every once in a while since I can't get the thick bastard off my mind but we'll see what the future brings
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"Do you like winter, Miraak?" I asked the man strolling quietly beside me. "Not necessarily. However, I remember a time when I did. My temple always felt a bit warmer-- more enjoyable during that time." I snorted at him in amusement, to which he wasn't fond of. "I just imagined you stringing up holiday decor." He merely scoffed in denial, though we both knew it was true.
While searching for another conversation topic, my foot slid against the mud beneath me. "Careful," Miraak warned as his hands clasped firmly around my shoulders. My breath was trapped in my throat from the sudden startle, but somehow he only made it worse. Once my voice came back to me, I said, "uh...-- yeah. Thank you." Damn, his hands were so warm. I could feel the heat emitting from them even through my armor. Alas, the soothing feeling dissappeared as soon as he retracted his arms.
"Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't already cracked your skull before I came along. It seems that you are always tripping and stumbling wherever you go." I scratched my cheek and chuckled sheepishly. "Ah, you know me so well."
"That is only because I stand witness to it," he uttered. We continued onward to Morthal in silence. A week ago, Jarl Idgrod sent me a letter of assistance; "potential murdurer on the loose," it had read. She noted that she wasn't one to fall victim to senseless gossip, but over the last several days she had been growing paranoid of the situation. Thus, she requested us to investigate. "I wonder why the jarl wants two dragonborn to take care of a killer instead of the guards? Gods, I feel like most of the soldiers are just using this pitiful war as an excuse to be lazy," I grumbled with my arms crossing.
"I agree. Though as far as I'm concerned, she wants you to handle it, not I." I perked up at his remark. "What do you mean? Everyone should know by now that you're just as powerful as I am. We've been traveling together for three months." Miraak diverted his gaze from me and pointed it straight ahead. "Perhaps, but you and I are still very different from one another. The people of Skyrim view you as a hero to be remembered for ages, whereas I will forever be remembered as a traitor-- if I was even remembered at all." The atmosphere around us suddenly became very dim. For a moment, the only noise that could be heard was the mire sloshing under our boots.
"That's bullshit," I retorted finally. Miraak was taken aback by my sudden change of attitude. "Excuse my language, but it is. Look at all of the good you've done since we've been together! We took down a vampire lord for crying out loud! And yeah, we weren't thanked for it or anything--"
"Y/n."
"But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that you put in a lot of effort to make the world safer, and I think that deserves respect."
"Y/n." By now, Miraak was no longer walking at my side. "What is it?" Before he was able to respond, the muddy ground had fallen loose beneath me and I plummeted into a brown socket of water. Oh yeah, I forgot that we were trudging through a swamp. The filth shot through my mouth and nose as I was completely sumberged. To make matters worse, the water was also incredibly frigid, making it even more difficult to sort through my panic. A pair of arms dove into the murk and proceeded to yank me up by my collar.
I gurgled, spluttered, and heaved strong breaths once I was dragged out of harm's way. Miraak shook his head at me all the while. I could practically feel the smirk hiding under his mask. "Oh, yeah. Real funny. Please continue... to remind me of how much... of a klutz I am," I rasped, still trying to flow air into my lungs. "I did try to warn you, you know. You were about to walk straight into the pond," the man defended. "Ok. I'll give you that." Miraak helped me to my feet after I finally regained my composure. "Oh, great," I sighed at the muck covering me head-to-toe. "I look so unprofessional." He skimmed over the grime coated over my outfit before scooping a clump of mud and smearing some over his robes. "I suppose we'll both have to look unprofessional, then." My cheeks tainted a dark pink at his actions, but I decided to blame it on the nip in the air.
My arms hugged my body when I started to shiver. Going for a dip in late autumn definitely wasn't the best of choices. Miraak scanned over the map and pinpointed our distance from Morthal. "We won't be able to arrive there before nightfall. We still have an hour left to go," he informed. I groaned to myself in reply. "Guess we'll have to make camp, then." He nodded, gesturing me to follow him.
In a matter of minutes, he had already secured a decent campfire and was now assembling the tent. Meanwhile, I was sitting on a nearby log with my bedroll enveloped around my trembling body. I was enjoying watching him, though. "I'd say you're a natural. When did you get so skilled at camping?" I inquired once he took a seat next to me. "By learning from you," he stated simply. Gods, how could he be such a jerk yet act so charming?! I avoided saying anything more and began scrubbing the dirt from my armor with a wet rag.
It was freezing, tonight. There was no comforting glow from the moon and stars due to the thick layer of clouds overhead, which only made it feel colder. I shuddered when a breeze travelled through the area and tormented my body. I was still wearing my undershirt and trousers, and even those were still damp. The cloth made my fingers sting the more I used it, until I felt Miraak's hand take ahold of my own. "Your fingers are red," were the only words that left his mouth before he grabbed my other hand and squeezed them both gently. I was so shocked by this that I couldn't even so much as blink. "Are you cold?" I had forgotten about the prickles climbing over my skin. "Um--uhh, kind of." How did my voice become so small?
Before I could protest, I was pulled closer to Miraak. And now that I left exposed, he felt even warmer than he did earlier. I wasn't even touching him! Not to mention how nice his hands felt. He was like a portable smelter! I stayed more silent than a moth as he continued to caress my fingers and palms. There was no telling what was going on inside of that brain of his.
"You may lean against me, if you like."
Oh.
Oh!
My heart was thrashing around inside of my chest. He wanted me to just... slide even closer and lean on him?! Just like that?! By now, my mind was spiraling in both confusion and embarrassment. Still, I was very cold. There wasn't any harm in doing it, right? He was the one who offered. I ultimately accepted his proposal.
It started off with our knees touching awkardly, and then with my head attempting to rest against his shoulder, which failed due to the golden scales protruding out from his sleeve and jabbing me in the side of the head. Miraak eventually lifted his arm, inviting me to scooch under it-- to which I did. As soon as I got situated, he let his hand ease onto my shoulder. I was so flustered that I could barely breathe. It was suffocating, practically unbearable, yet I only felt myself nestling further into him. "You're really warm," I mumbled.
Oh, dear.
Why on Nirn did I say that? I sounded like a pervert!!! What if he thought I was creepy?! My heart dropped as he held me still and turned to look at me. "Y/n, how do you feel?" It was made to be a question, but it sounded more of a demand. I sat tense for a long while, lips parted yet unmoving. "About...?" I gulped when he slowly placed my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart throbbing at a rapid pace, as was mine. "Me."
Miraak's voice was low and sounded on edge. Perhaps he was more nervous than I thought he was? My next movements were reckless. Recklessness seemed to be my only sense of courage, right now. I carefully drew his hand towards me and slipped off his glove. He didn't stop me, however his muscles twitched under my touch. I stared at his pale skin for a long while. It was decorated with veins and had a scar stretched over his knuckles. Thanks to the protection of his gloves, his fingernails were in prestine condition. In short, his hands were utterly glorious.
I tilted my face down and pressed my lips against his scar, leaving him breathless. "Does that answer your question?" I asked Miraak with a flushed grin. Without responding, he brushed his thumb over my cheek and felt the entirety of my features. His hand was so calloused and smoothe! I cupped my own against it, keeping it there for as long as possible. Once again, I was pulled into another embrace, this one being much tighter and affectionate. Neither of us decided to speak, and somehow it felt more befitting that way.
With my head resting against Miraak's chest, I could hear his heartbeat quite clearly. It was much slower compared to earlier, more soothing than anything. He wasn't very sure where to place his hands, so he kept one firm on my waist and the other rubbing my hair. Sure, my face was hotter than a bonfire and there was still panic fresh on my mind. Then again, I also felt so calm in his arms. This may have been the first time in my life where I actually felt normal. Everything around me simply fell into place. It was selfish of me to inwardly beg for this moment to never end. As a dragonborn, I had my responsibilites, but for now I kicked those responsibilities aside. I had the right to be selfish every now and then.
"Maybe I should go diving into swamps more often," I teased, breaking through the comfortbale silence. I felt my heart flutter in the midst of him vibrating a soft chuckle. "That would certainly be an entertaining idea. Though I might not get the same reaction from you each time." I peered up at my new love interest with a quirked brow. "What kind of reaction?" In one swift motion, Miraak nudged up his mask to his nose and blessed me with a kiss. It was quick and simple, hardly lingering over my lips in time for me to process it. It was as if I had just imagined it!
Even so, the blush stained on my cheeks was already spreading to my ears. This man was a complete menace. His mask was already tipped back down, but the coy smile he was holding was evident. "You bastard," I hissed. He only shrugged his shoulders at me. "If you fall into the swamp again, I may even give you another kiss," Miraak jested. I proceeded to whack his bicep.
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I bet Miraak got those plump ass lips :^3
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wolfish-trickster · 3 years
Text
Lost traveler
1/?
Loki x female!reader
Word count: 1590
Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld
Summary: A mysterious traveler visits Asgard and thanks to an accident has to stay for longer than she expected. Bonds are created but also shattered along the way.
A/N: reader has elemental powers, something like avatar the last airbender.
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Being a traveler had its pros and cons. Pros: you learn a lot about different realms and make a lot of friends along the way. Cons: you don't have a home, all the friends you make you either never see again or they don't remember you when you visit their planet, and you are alone. 100% of your time. None of the people or creatures you meet want to travel with you. You don't make a big deal out of it, you never did. You liked your privacy and alone time. Even if it hurts you sometimes.
You had your amulet though. A black stone in golden bracelet. Thanks to it you can create portals to travel. Sometimes it felt like the bracelet was pulsing with its own life. It was like a dear companion to you. You haven't taken it off in years, it became part of you. Sometimes it warmed your skin when you went to open a portal. That's how it was usually telling you where the best worlds to visit are. You were always excited when you felt the warmth under your bracelet. It meant it wanted to show you a beautiful part of galaxy you haven't been to yet.
Like now. You were making your way through foggy swamp, looking for a rare plant to study. As you jumped over fallen tree you felt your amulet warming your forearm.
"In a minute buddy, I really need this flower," you said a little too fast. You really needed that plant, but exploring a new world after weeks spent here was just too tempting.
However the stone was stubborn. The warmth escalated into burning. "Argh! Alright, I get it! I'm going, see?" your hand started to draw circles and symbols on the ground in front of you. Your other hand pulled the darkness from your stone, making it light yellow temporarily. The darkness with blue highlits seeped into the ground and teared the air before you, creating a small crevice.
Like an opened window it showed forrest. Nothing too unusual. Some oak trees, grass, wild flower here and there. 'What are you up to my friend?' you thought to yourself as you walked through the crevice. It immediately closed after ypu passed, leaving you alone in a new world.
First rule when you come into new place: find water. Fairly easy. Sound of water was near, a creek maybe? After you filled your bottle you started walking north, looking for any hills or mountains to climb onto and get better view of this realm.
Suddenly a storm like sound broke through the peaceful silence. You looked towards the sky to find clear blue. No dark grey clouds. So why was it roaring as if a thunder was starting? And there was the sound again, from the same spot as before.
You pulled your black leather hood over your head and slowly started to approach the thundering place.
"Thor! Can you stop doing that for at least 5 minutes?!" a voice came from your right.
"And why should I?" came a strong voice from in front of you.
"Because I'm trying to think, which is thanks to you nearly impossible!"
"Unlike you, dear brother, I have mighty powers that need to be controlled. How better than testing how far I can go?"
"That doesn't even make sense."
So brothers. And one of them is lightning thrower. Maybe the one named Thor.
"I don't have enough nerves for this," the Not Thor started to walk further right, away from lightning thrower.
It seemed wiser to aproach the calmer one. You already had the honor to meet a lightning thrower before, never again. Even though this other man could be even more dangerous than his brother. Decisions decisions. One could get you killed, the other even worse.
Eventually your legs started to take you to your right, after the calm one.
The man sat himself on a rock in front of a clear lake. He had black hairygreen and black clothes which looked to be made of leather with golden plates on forearms. He had his back turned to you, approaching him from behind would be stupid. You slowly walked around him, keeping yourself in trees' shadow.
You purposfully stepped on a dry branch to attract his attention. And fair enough, his head shot to you, dagger in hand, danger in eyes. You held your hands up to show you weren't armed and stepped into the light. "Hello," you greeted.
"Who are you?" he asked rather harshly. You're used to people being affraid of you, the cloak made you look scary, especially with a hood on.
"I'm a traveler," you answered simply.
He eyed you suspiciously, hand holding a dagger was slowly lowering. "And what's your name little traveler?"
Just as you wanted to answer a jolt of pain striked you into your shoulder, electricity engulfed you and the last thing you saw was the mysterious man in green and black leather rushing to catch your falling body.
~~~
Mornings in Asgard are usually quiet and calm. This one however was far from it. Loki's older brother Thor finally got into age when he can produce and control lightnings. Well, he tries to. That's what woke young sorcerer. Thor breaking a pillar near his window on accident.
"Love, would you be so kind and take your brother far from anything he can destroy? You're skilled with your gifts, I'm more than sure you will teach him how to control his own," the queen of Asgard asked the still half asleep trickster at breakfast table to which he nodded without even thinking.
And that's how he got stuck with him for the whole day. Alone. They already walked through forrest near Glittertind mountain and currently were trying to find the perfect place for Thor to train.
They were getting deeper into The Great Oak Woods when Thor thought it would be great fun to destroy a tree or two.
Loki was looking at map of Asgard in his head, trying to look for the nearest quarry. The mental gymnastics he had to do to concentrate in such noise was olympic worthy.
"Thor!" his brother turned to him. "Can you stop doing that for at least 5 minutes?!"
Thor's fingers begin to sparkle, teasing Loki. "And why should I?"
Loki pinged the bridge of his nose. "Because I'm trying to think, which is thanks to you nearly impossible!"
"Unlike you, dear brother, I have mighty powers that need to be controlled. How better than testing how far I can go?" he smirked confidently, sparks were now flying uncontrollably from his hands.
"That doesn't even make sense," Loki shook his head and begun walking away from him. "I don't have enough nerves for this."
He found himself a nice rock near his favourite lake. Birds around were chirping in their nests, sparkly fish with colourful fins were chasing each other in the crystal clear lake. Loki could finally relax.
Until he heard a wooden crack coming from his side.
On an instinct he drew daggers and turned towards a danger. Which turned out to be a girl. Bout in Loki's age. Knee high black boots covered by drying mud, dark green trousers and brown leather jacket hidden under black cloak which covered her hair as well. Sparkly curious eyes bore into his as she held up her hands in surrender.
He was more than sure he has never seen her before. She's a stranger.
"Hello," her melodic voice greeted.
"Who are you?" that wasn't probably the nicest thing to say to a newbie but Loki was trained to never trust a stranger.
"I'm a traveler," he expected a name, this answer sparked curiosity inside of him. She sparked a curiosity inside of him.
"And what's your name little traveler?" he started to lower his daggers, she didn't seem like a threat.
She opened her mouth but her face got twisted by pain as lightning struck her side. He quickly rushed, catching her before her head could collide with a rock.
"There, who needs training? One clear shot at first try!" a familiar booming voice came from Loki's left.
"You oaf, you nearly killed her!" Loki yelled at him.
"Her? I simply struck a moose."
Loki gathered her body into his arms and showed her face to his brother. "Does this look like a moose?"
Thor looked down at her, visibly paling. His hand started scratching the back of his head nervously. "Damn. Who is she? Did you know her?"
Loki shook his head and started to walk towards palace. "She said she's a traveler. Look at her clothes. No one on Asgard wears such fashion. Not to say a girl from Asgard would ever wear this," he gestured to her cloak which looked like a snake skin rather than an ordinary leather.
"Where are you taking her?" Thor trailed behind him.
"To fields, she'll make an excelent scarecrow," sarcasm was dripping from every word he said.
The older prince chuckled. "You and your jokes... What will we do with her when healers take care of her?"
"We? I'm not going to do anything with her, but YOU are going to apologize."
None of the princes noticed the white cracks looking like lightning bolts on the traveler's amulet.
57 notes · View notes
jaxsteamblog · 3 years
Text
Healing
Click here to read the entire fic on AO3
The day after the eclipse, Katara still felt weak. But even as she struggled to walk very far on her own, she was still shoving Zuko to leave.
“You are the Fire Lord. You can’t be spending all of your time in the North Pole.” She snapped angrily. Her quilt was piled on top of her but still dragged behind her as she pushed against Zuko’s back. While he was a slender man, he was still taller than her and had been trained to not be pushed around by an invalid. 
“Katara, I can’t leave you like this.” He said.
“I have my family here, plus the palace staff, and the oasis. I’m fine.” She stated.
“That’s all well and good but I, your intended husband who will be caring for you the rest of your life, cannot leave you like this.” 
Katara stopped pushing and rested her head against his back.
“They’re going to overthrow you and, I don’t know, put Azula on the throne and I do not need that pain in my life.” She said. 
“You make a good point and I am slightly conflicted.” Zuko said. He craned his neck to look at her behind him. “I want to talk to Sokka first.” 
“Fine.”
“And you go back to bed.”
“Zuko.” 
Katara yelped as Zuko turned and picked her up, walking her over to the bed and dumping her onto the pile of blankets and pillows.
“The doctor put you on bedrest.” He said.
“I am the greatest healer in all three tribes!” Katara said.
Zuko turned and started to walk out of the bedroom.
“I healed my own wounds in an active battlefield!” She yelled after him. “No one can tell me what to do!”
Zuko said nothing as he left, shutting the door behind him. 
“I bet he’d change his tune if he were stuck in a bed.” Katara muttered, nonetheless burying herself in the warm nest they had constructed over the past few days. 
She must have dozed off, because the next moment had her startle upwards as her door slammed open.
“Shush!” Zuko’s voice was sharp.
“She’s going to kill you regardless.” Sokka said angrily.
Sitting up, Katara pulled her quilt back over her head like a hood. Sokka stood in the doorway with Zuko’s arm around his neck. Her brother held onto Zuko and Katara looked down.
His right leg was in a cast.
“Spirits above, what on earth happened?” Katara asked.
Sokka grumbled incoherently as he staggered forward, supporting Zuko, and led him to the bed. 
“I broke my leg.” Zuko said, easing himself onto the bed as Katara moved over. 
“I can see that, yeah.” Katara retorted, annoyed.
“This idiot got into another fight with our father, tried to do something stupid to prove a stupid point, and fell off a wall.” Sokka clarified. 
“You did what?” Katara exclaimed.
Zuko looked calm as he got comfortable on the bed. He then turned and looked at her, seemingly unbothered.
“I broke my leg.” He repeated.
“Zuko!” Katara grabbed a pillow and hit him with it. 
“Tui’s gills and La’s fins, I hope she beats some sense into you.” Sokka grumbled. 
“I can’t heal you right now!” Katara said. “I’ll exhaust myself resetting a bone.” 
“As you can see, the bone has already been set and I am in a cast. I can heal like the normal people that aren’t engaged to the greatest healer of all three tribes.” Zuko said. 
Katara hit him with the pillow again. 
The palace, remembering Zuko’s previous unannounced visit to the North Pole, was more prepared for his stay this time. A temporary space was made for him in Katara’s office, and Zuko made a call back to Caldera. 
The prime minister, having an irascible relationship with Zuko at best, inquired how long he would be away. Katara had forced Zuko to say three days, as she would have her full strength back and be able to heal his injury at that point. 
His assistant Toyo, a man Katara couldn’t totally pin down, was on a chartered flight that night with all of Zuko’s accumulating paperwork. 
In the North Pole, Arnook was doubly displeased. He had kept to himself after Katara’s coronation, but after Zuko’s own crowning, something had set him off again. 
Katara wanted to assume the former king would be pleased with the results, all things considered. 
Sokka kept Arnook away, yet Katara knew that stressed him out. Things had already been tense with the eclipse, and now it was getting worse. 
“What did you two fight about?” Katara asked as she helped Zuko get ready for bed. 
“It was something ridiculous, and not at all the point.” He said, moving awkwardly to assist more than he needed to. Katara swatted his hands away and gently pulled his pajama pants up over his cast. 
“What do you mean?” She pressed.
“Well it’s obvious they don’t trust me.” He said.
“Sure, but I do and so does Thuy. And we can beat you up if we need to.” 
Zuko gave a bark of laughter and Katara sat back to let him adjust his waistband. 
“Your dad isn’t worried about me hurting you, though that’s what he says. He’s worried about my people.” He said.
“They won’t do anything to me.”
“They already tried.”
“That was your father, you know that.”
“Katara, come on, you know what they’re saying.”
“And? They’re saying the same things about you here.” Katara laid back and Zuko held her awkwardly, the rough cast bumping into her legs. 
“Yeah but-” He started and she clapped her hand once firmly against his chest.
“You matter, stop it. You’re going to be my husband. You are going to be part of the tribe.” Katara stated. 
Zuko held her hand against his chest and looked up at the ceiling. 
“I just want them to know I’m not planning on taking you away. That I want to be a part of the tribe.” He said. Turning his head, they looked at each other. 
“They’ll get it.” Katara said.
Toyo arrived bright and early, immediately putting Zuko to work. Arnook, grumbling about the growing red stain, shut himself in his rooms with his wife. 
Suki and Thuy showed up with Rohan, mostly to make fun of Zuko. Whale Thuy and Rohan pestered both Zuko and Toyo, Suki slipped off to wherever Sokka was hiding.
As she felt better, Katara wandered through the palace, wondering where her family had gone.
Unfortunately, she ran into Malina.
“Oh! Katara!” Malina said, smiling brightly after the surprise. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much.” Katara replied, slipping her hands into her sleeves like a muff. 
“Are you looking for your father?”
“Sokka.” 
“I think they’re together actually.”
“Wonderful.” Katara croaked and Malina’s smile fell. 
“You know, your father misses you terribly.” She said.
“He seems to be filling his time just fine.” Katara shot back. 
Malina sighed but didn’t fight back.
“I think your father and Sokka are in our rooms.” She said and walked away, leaving Katara to make her way alone.
Her family and Arnook kept their private rooms close to Katara’s and it wasn’t an arduous journey by any means. But as she approached the door, she saw Suki outside, leaning against the wall. 
“Hey.” Katara called out. Suki turned and stood up.
“How are you feeling?” She asked as Katara approached.
“A lot better. I might be able to heal Zuko tomorrow.” She replied.
“Don’t push yourself.”
“I won’t.”
The conversation died and Katara tilted her head.
“Is everything okay?” She asked.
Suki sighed and rubbed the back of her neck; a gesture she borrowed from Sokka. 
“Sokka hasn’t been here since before we all went to the Swamp. It’s making him anxious.” She said. 
“What about you?” 
Suki shrugged.
“Is Sokka with my dad?” Katara inquired.
“Yeah. I wouldn’t bother them right now.” Suki said, glancing at the door. 
Katara followed her gaze and frowned.
That night, Katara tested her bending as she washed under Zuko’s cast. It didn’t tire her as quickly as she feared, and Katara knew she’d be able to heal him at the Oasis. 
“How does it feel?” She asked as she dumped the dirty water.
“It aches, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Zuko answered, hopping backwards onto the bed. 
“We’ll get the cast off tomorrow and you’ll be back on your feet by the afternoon.” Katara said, joining him under the blankets.
“Are you sure that’s not too soon?” Zuko asked. 
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She quipped and Zuko grumbled in annoyance. 
“I don’t want to leave you.” He said.
“It’s only a few more months until the wedding. Then I become Fire Lady and I’ll be in Caldera all the time.” 
“No you won’t.”
“Watch me.”
“No one here is going to let you be in Caldera for very long.” 
“No one else here is Queen of the Water Tribes.” Katara snuggled close to Zuko and she smiled as he kissed the top of her head. 
The next morning, the doctor arrived to cut away Zuko’s cast. He brought a wheelchair and Katara pushed him down the halls toward the Oasis. Thuy and Rohan joined them, chattering about the Oasis and other spiritual places in the world. 
To her surprise, a lot of other people were waiting for them at the entrance. Arnook and his wife, Hakoda and Malina, plus Sokka and Suki.
“This is a sacred place, Fire Lord.” Arnook said before Katara could ask about his presence. She frowned but Zuko nodded.
“Of course.” He said.
Katara ignored them and wheeled Zuko in, careful not to jostle his leg as they went over the bricked path. Stopping before the bridge, Katara walked around and started to take off her parka. 
“What’s going on?” Zuko asked.
“I’m getting in.” Katara replied. 
“I thought we were going to the pond.” Zuko said.
“No need.” Katara said, dropping her outer layers on the grass. “I’m close enough to La I can practically hear its weird, fishy thoughts.” 
Walking to the edge, Katara touched her foot to the water. It always surprised her when she found it warm. She continued into the water, slipping a bit on the slick mud under her feet.
When the water reached to her waist, she turned and looked at the gathered audience. 
“Can someone bring him to me?” She asked. 
Sokka stepped forward but Zuko held up his hand.
“Wait, I need you to promise me something.” He said.
Katara crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him.
“What?” She asked.
“You only heal the leg.” Zuko said.
“What?” Katara repeated, confused. 
“Not the lightning and not the burn.” He said.
“Zuko…”
“Only the leg.”
They stared at each other and Katara sighed when she gave up.
“Fine.” She said.
Sokka helped Zuko up and steadied him as he hopped to the bank. He sat at the edge and put his legs in as Katara held out her hands.
“Only the leg.” He said again.
“I promise.” She replied. 
Zuko pushed himself off the bank and Katara caught him as he sank into the water. 
Having him close and being in the Oasis, Katara felt her heart hammering in her chest. With every beat, light shimmered over the top of the water. Joy filled her and Katara squeezed Zuko. He hugged her tightly and they both started laughing. As he was still trying to hold himself up on one leg and with the mud offering nothing in return, they both slid as they held each other. 
Katara gasped when she went under but Zuko hauled her back up, sputtering and trying to shake her hair out of her face.
Blinded by her hair, she jumped when Zuko suddenly kissed her. Still, she relaxed and kissed him back, pushing her hair back after he pulled away. 
“I love you.” He said. 
“I love you.” Katara murmured. 
“You’re soaked.” Zuko said and laughed again.
“Well you’re…” Katara gasped and pushed on his chest. “You’re standing up!”
“Yeah, you healed me.” He said.
“I didn’t!” She exclaimed and Zuko frowned.
The glow on the water dimmed and they both turned to look back at the grass.
Everyone was looking at the pond past the bridges.
Sokka suddenly sat down and Suki crouched next to him, rubbing his back. Arnook and his wife held onto each other, while Hakoda and Malina walked to the water’s edge.
Hakoda held out his hand to Zuko.
“Welcome to the family.” He said.
Zuko hesitated but took the offered hand and Hakoda pulled him out of the water. As water streamed from his clothes, Zuko pulled up his pant leg to look at his injury. The skin was smooth and unbroken, without even a bruise to hint at the break. 
“What happened?” Katara asked, pushing herself onto the bank and looking around.
“When you went under the water, a black circle glowed where you had been.” Malina said and then looked back at the pond. “And the pond glowed white.”
“Yue?” Katara asked anxiously, taking a step toward the bridge.
“No.” Hakoda said. “But, it was Tui.” 
“It was her.” Sokka said, his voice thick. “She.”
He cut off and lowered his head, putting his hands on the back of his neck while Suki hugged his side. 
“She told him he didn’t need her forgiveness.” Suki said. 
“She said we shouldn’t seek forgiveness for falling in love.” Arnook corrected, finally turning around. “Still, I feel I should apologize to you, Fire Lord.” 
“Oh.” Zuko said, moving to stand beside Katara. “It’s okay.”
“Katara.” Hakoda said and Katara glared at him.
“Don’t ruin it.” She said. “I’m not Tui.”
Holding onto Zuko’s hand, Katara used her bending to remove the Oasis water from their bodies. After returning it, she bent down to grab her clothes and walked off. 
She had done the healing she had come to do and that was enough. 
“Hey.” Sokka said, grabbing onto the parka under her arm and forcing her to stop. 
Katara looked down at him and Suki.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
“Can I have a hug?” He asked in reply.
Katara dropped Zuko’s hand and her clothes, falling onto Sokka. They hugged and Katara pressed her cheek against Sokka’s. 
Then again, she’d do anything for her brother. 
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64
34 notes · View notes
gumnut-logic · 3 years
Photo
Tumblr media
“Virgil, you smell.”
“Excuse me?” Pre-flight checks were running through his head, he did not have time for Gordon’s babble at the moment. It had been a nasty situation, it was well into the hour of the wolf, he just wanted to go home.
“You stink.”
“And you are as subtle as always. There was mud, there was swamp, I will be cleaning muck off Two for the next week. Your point?”
The aquanaut threw himself into the co-pilot’s seat muttering to himself. A click and he was secured. Virgil did the last of pre-flight and checked in with Bangladesh Air Control to get clearance.
Gordon wrinkled his nose. “Not swamp, too flavoursome.”
“The hell, Gordon?” He was so tired.
“Hey, I’m just reporting the facts here, Virg. You or something reeks in here.”
“It was a swamp, Gordon. ‘Reek’ comes with the territory.”
“And I said, it was too flavoursome.” The image that accompanied that statement was enough to roil his stomach. Fortunately, Air Control confirmed their ascent path and Virgil was able to begin the launch sequence. VTOL fired and within moments they were airborne. As soon as they were high enough, Virgil kicked in the rear thrusters and the ship threw herself forward, as eager to go home as her pilot.
As her flight stabilised, Virgil let himself slowly sink into his chair. God he was tired. Monsoon season was always a challenge. Flooding, mudslides and the storms themselves often ran them ragged and today was no exception.
“What the hell is that smell? You sure you’re not passing Grandma’s curry?”
“What?! I didn’t eat any of Grandma’s curry.”
“Oh, so that’s why Scott was looking so peeved. Got out of it did you?”
“Nice to know you noticed I was missing.”
“Nah, not a guilt trip, man. Our schedule is shit, you could have been anywhere.”
“Yet you didn’t ask.”
“Obviously didn’t need to.” Gordon slumped in his seat. “If it isn’t the curry, then what is it?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, Gordon. Swamp is swamp. Maybe you’re smelling your own butt. Apparently you had Grandma’s curry last night.”
“Are you kidding me? I sacrificed your pet bromeliad.”
“You did what?!”
“Hey, you’re the one who stuck the pot outside the kitchen door. Obvious target.”
“It’s an epiphyte, Gordon, it doesn’t have any soil. What the hell did you do with the curry?”
His brother blinked. “Oh, well that explains that.”
“What?”
“Why Grandma was yelling at Alan for this morning. She had the mop out and everything.”
“Gordon!”
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” His brother sat up straighter in his seat completely dismissing the topic. “We still don’t know what that damn smell is. What the hell is it? Sure it’s not you?”
Virgil just stared at his brother. Sure, they got sweaty and dirty and were far too familiar with each other’s ‘scents’, but come on. “Swamp, Gordon, swamp.”
Gordon climbed out of his seat. “Too juicy for swamp, Virg, how many times do I have to say it?” He wandered towards the back of the cockpit. “Hmm, definitely less of it over here.”
His brother then proceeded to sniff like some kind of half aquatic bloodhound around the cabin. Virgil still had no idea what he was babbling on about, but then his nose had been stuffy all day. Knowing his luck he had probably caught some tropical fever in that blasted swamp.
Speaking of which, a tissue wouldn’t hurt. Flipping on auto pilot, he pushed back in his seat and creaked to his feet. Damn it had been a long day. He frowned, then sighed. Two days if he counted the hours. Two days of sweltering heat, bugs and mud.
Reaching the overhead locker where he stashed all the personal items that might be needed in flight, he unlatched it and opened it.
“Oh my god!” Even through stuffed nasal passages, the reek watered his brain. “What the hell is that?”
“Shit.” Gordon had fingers squeezing his nose. “I think you located the source.”
“No kidding.”
“Gordon?”
“What?”
“Why is there a baguette in the supply locker?
“A baguette?” His brother looked completely mystified for a moment, but then a light bulb flicked on in his eyes. “Oh, um, yeah, about that.”
“It’s green.”
“Yeah.”
“And furry.”
“Yeah.”
“And it stinks.”
“That it does.” Gordon’s head tilted a little. “Might have something to do with the ham and relish and probably the mayo.”
“What is it doing on my ship?” It had been a very, very long day.
“Food supplies?”
“We have a refrigeration unit for that.”
“Yeah, well, that was too far away at the time.”
Virgil stared at his brother. “Even you are not that lazy.”
“Well, I was distracted.”
Virgil’s frown was going to cleave his face in half. “When?” He stared at the mouldy baguette and realised there was something shoved behind it. Reaching up and avoiding the fur as much as possible, he grabbed the hidden object.
And pulled out a wine glass.
He stared at it. “Gordon?!”
“Uh, I can explain.”
“Were you on my ship with Penelope?”
“Uh…”
“Oh god.”
“Well, she was such a good co-pilot and I was sick last time…” Yes, his brother was backing away.
Virgil felt like breaking something.
The stem of the glass snapped in his hand.
Gordon’s eyes widened and a wrinkle of worry twisted his eyebrows. “Uh, c’mon, Virg, you know how it is on the Island. Hard to find a little privacy and she did show such interest in your ‘bird. You were asleep after that mission in Paris and it just seemed right.” He managed a weak smile. “I didn’t think you’d mind.” And there were the puppy dog eyes of his little brother. Now in a body all grown up and definitely dating a very special woman, but still a puppy. Still the same eyes that had Virgil covering for him when he got himself into strife as a kid.
Damn it.
Virgil turned away and walked back towards his pilot chair. “Just clean it up.” Clipped and hard, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. Reaching his seat, he stared at it a moment. “Gordon, what exactly did you do in my cockpit?”
God, please, not in his pilot’s seat.
“Um, lunch?”
Virgil groaned. “Considering lunch is now a very smelly science experiment, I’m finding that very hard to believe.” A sigh. “You know what? I don’t want to know.” His hands shot out in dismissal. “In fact, I wish I didn’t know any of it. Would be better for my mental health.” If he raked a hand through his hair, he could blame the mess on the swamp rescue. He sat in his seat and refused to think about it. Killing the autopilot, he began the approach for home and his beloved bed.
The miscreant was grinning at him. “Well, Virg, you know the devil’s in the details-“
“Shut up, Gordon, or I’ll help you eat your ‘lunch’.” A thought. “Also, I suspect Scott will be very interested in those details and how they apply to conduct aboard an IR vessel.”
The grin vanished and the puppy eyes widened. “Virg-“
As Thunderbird Two banked into land, Virgil smiled just a little. Oh, the blackmail material he now had at hand.
That he knew he would never use.
A sigh.
“Just clean up the mess and never speak of it again.”
There were some things he just didn’t want to know.
-o-o-o-
23 notes · View notes
justactsupernatural · 3 years
Text
Table for 5
He never stood a chance, not when they were offering him a world of happiness, even if only for one meal. His brothers and him sold their souls to McDonald's.
Based loosely in that one post-credit scene in The Avengers where they are eating shawarma but Thunderbirds.
----------------------------------
It had been a long rescue, like, 17 hours long kind of rescue. The flood, and subsequent mudslide, had hit the town at around 6pm, and IR had first arrived on the scene probably an hour later.
With a disaster of that magnitude, and all the Tracy boys on the Island (with John having come down from Five for the day) it was only natural that they all piled up on Thunderbirds One and Two to answer the call.
And now, hours later, they were tired, sore, covered head to toe in mud and hungry. Very. Hungry.
Which was why the McDonald’s that was just about to enter their flight path on the way back home was perfect.
“C’mon Scotty, there’s even a giant field in front of the place that’s perfect to land the Birds!” exclaimed Gordon, trying to convince the oldest Tracy to let them land and eat a burger or two (or five) in the fast-food restaurant.
The discussion had been taking place for the last five minutes, with both the youngest Tracy’s trying to win over their oldest brother with the promise of greasy food, while the second oldest and middle Tracy’s rolled their eyes and chuckled when the situation deemed it necessary.
“No Gordon, we have to get back home in case another rescue comes in and you know it” Scott said, because someone had to be responsible in this family and it might as well be him, even if sometimes he just wished he wasn’t mature enough to know that throttling his water-loving brother was not acceptable in this year and age.
“But Scott-“ said Alan, before being interrupted by the feeling of Thunderbird Two landing and his middle brother’s voice “I’m sorry Scott, but we’re hungry and tired and we are going to stop for a burger at McDonald’s, you’re welcome to join if you want”.
The whoops and cheering of Alan and Gordon, and the little smirk that John was trying to hide behind his hand and failing told Virgil that he had made the right call, and hearing Scott’s long-suffering sight before he voiced his agreement only proved that even responsible big brother wanted to eat.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 He never stood a chance, not when they were offering him a world of happiness, even if only for one meal. His brothers and him sold their souls to McDonald's.
Scott knew they shouldn’t be doing this, that videos and pictures of them, covered in mud and looking like they just took a dive in a swamp were going to be on the internet before they even sat down, but PR was the GDF’s problem and they deserved this break.
The moment they entered, the smell of oil and fries and food and the look on his brothers faces just kind of proved that point. Sure, everyone was looking at them like they were aliens, and the ones that weren’t were outside taking pictures and videos of their ships, but right now they couldn’t care less.
Joining the line at the cash register they started looking at the menu and discussing what to order, throwing the occasional idea to just order one of everything and to hell with it. After probably what was a too long time for such a discussion, Scott took everyone’s orders and let the others go find a table.
After standing in line for probably five minutes they were next, and the employee, despite her awestruck face and shocked behavior, took their order in stride.
“Hi, could we please have 3, no wait, 4 Big Macs, 3 cheeseburgers, 2 BBQ Crispy Onions, 1 Chicken Tenders, 6 large black coffees, 8 large curly fries, 5 milkshakes, 3 vanilla, 1 chocolate and 1 strawberry; 2 Caesar Salads, 1 Happy Meal and 10 apple pies. Oh and 1 vanilla scone. Thanks”, he said, looking from the menu to the wide-eyed guy and his fellow wide-eyed coworkers and giving them a smile.
The cashier smiled back and uttered a small comment on how their order would be delivered to their table as soon as it got out. With another smile, Scott took off towards his brothers and their table to wait for the food.
The establishment was medium sized and there were quite a few customers, so they had to grab one of the few tables big enough for them and all their food, an 8-person table in the middle of the place.
When he got there, he gave each of his brothers a large soda paper cup and went to the soda machine to serve his, not the healthiest thing to drink but meh. His brothers followed him and served themselves before returning to their table.
“Well, I don’t know you guys, but I think we deserved this after pulling that long ass rescue” said Gordon before taking a sip of his soda. “Language” said Scott while grabbing a napkin and passing it to John, who was trying and failing to clean a smudge of dry dirt in his left cheek.
“I love how you always criticize us for our language Scotty, like you weren´t in the Air Force and have definitely heard or said worse” commented Virgil, prompting a laugh out of Gordon and causing Alan to choke on his coke.
“Alright, I’m going to the bathroom” said John while getting up and patting Alan’s back, who was still choking on his coke and wheezing for breath. Virgil stood and followed his redhead brother to the bathroom; seeing the flash of a camera go off out of his periphery vision, Gordon sighed before turning to look at Alan.
“What the hell Allie just breathe, it’s not that hard!” Alan glared at the aquanaut while taking a gulp of his soda and managing to take a deep breath without choking, and then reaching up to his shoulder and unclasping his chest plate, letting it fall on the chair next to him. At the questioning looks he just shrugged his shoulders and said “What? It gets claustrophobic after a while; you try wearing that thing for 17 hours in a row and then we can talk”.
Scott blinked once before turning to look at John and Virgil’s figures, making the trek back from the bathroom; when his brothers were close enough Scott realized that Virgil had the top half of his uniform around his hips, the blue sleeves tied around his middle to keep the whole thing from falling, his flannel and white undershirt the only clean thing in sight.
He thought about making a comment about how they were supposed to respect the uniform and be presentable while in public or something like that, but that would be a lie because, like all his brothers, Scott had left his baldric in One and it’s not like keeping their uniforms would help to ‘keep their image’ when they were all sprawled on the plastic chairs at McDonald’s.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 45 minutes and probably too much food to be healthy later, they were all silently looking at nothing, all trapped in their own thoughts to pay attention to what was happening around them.
Picking at the leftover milkshake in front of him Gordon spoke up, “Do you guys remember that time, back at the farm, when we tried to sneak out in the middle of the night to get ice cream and Grandma found us because we wanted to take the car and none of us could drive so we tried to push it out the driveway and ended up slamming it against the wall?”.
Four pair of eyes turned to look at him before Alan burst out laughing, Scott, John and Virgil chuckling softly. “I remember that it was YOU who tried to sneak out and we were just trying to stop you” said John, pointing at Alan and Gordon with a look that clearly said ‘cut the bullshit’, and raising an eyebrow when the aquanaut only smiled.
“Meh, tomato tomahto;” chuckled Gordon before throwing an arm around Alan’s shoulders and pulling him close “we did good that night Allie and we shall forever remember how you got us out of trouble with your quick thinking and adorable baby cheeks”. The young astronaut slapped away Gordon’s hand when he tried to pinch his cheeks.
“Get off me Gordo, and if you ever try to do that in front of people again, I’m tying you to Three and taking you to Jupiter and leaving you there”. Hissed Alan while shoving off his brothers arm and straightening in his chair.
“All right, that’s it, let’s go” said Scott while signaling to the waitress for the check and turning to his brothers “we should be getting back and it’s going to be a long trip”. He took out his credit card and handed it to the waitress before smiling and telling her to add a generous tip; taking his card back he got up and signaled for his brothers to follow.
Groans and sights followed but they all got up and gathered the multiple trays to take to the trash in their way out, leaving the table almost as not quite spotless as it was when they arrived. The cameras, flashes and whispers followed them all the way to the parking lot before they crossed the street and walking towards the Thunderbirds.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 It really wasn’t a surprise, but Scott had thought the message would have been sent an hour ago, not just now.
Colonel Casey: Scott Carpenter Tracy you better have a good explanation for this.
Right under the text was the picture of a news article, the headline reading:
INTERNATIONAL RESCUE SAVING RESTAURANT FROM GOING BANKRUP: TRACY BROTHERS SPOTTED AT MCDONALD’S ORDERING ENOUGH FOOD TO PAY FOR THE RESTAURANTS EXPENSES OF AT LEAST A YEAR
Oh well, thought Scott, we probably did anyway.
26 notes · View notes
sp00kworm · 4 years
Text
A Figure by the Lake
Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Female Reader
Warnings: General Slasher Warnings, Stalking, Violence.
A/N: This was an exchange piece with the fabulous @of-devils-and-drawings​ who deserves all the love in the world. I present, the softest of Camp Blood Killer, Mister swamp water man, for your entertainment, in six thousand words. I based his looks off of Jason Lives so take that as inspiration!
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Camp Crystal Lake. Now, it was a refurbished, new living area for holiday makers once again. The small town fifteen miles away had seen enough of the bloodshed to last years, but none of them dared go near for fear of the death curse lingering around the place. The revenge of the Voorhees family. Pamela and Jason. All swore blind the legend was real. Jason Voorhees had lived in the woods for twenty years without his own mother’s knowledge before seeing her slaughtered and extracting his revenge on any who dared to set foot on his territory. The man who filled your car hummed, chewing a toothpick as he eyed up the luggage in the back of the car.
“Where you headin’ missy?” He asked as he replaced the cap on the fuel tank and walked back to your window, wrapped tightly in a thick, sheepskin coat and a heavy scarf. He replaced his gloves and shuddered in the snowy cold as you smiled pleasantly, stroking your Pitbull with gentle movements of your hand. Bronson barked cheerfully from the seat next to you as the man peered into your window.
You were ready for the horror-stricken face as you opened your mouth, “Crystal Lake.” You uttered, “My family has an old cabin up on the outskirts of the place. They’re developing the land. Letting people buy holiday homes.” You continued, watching the local’s face turn dark.
“Do you know what happened up there?” He asked as he sparked up a cigarette, blowing smoke up into the air. You knew for sure it could blow up the gas he was stood next to, but the man didn’t seem to care.
 You knew what happened. The 1980s slaughters were known the world round. A woman and her love for her son, and her son who only sought blood-soaked revenge. You looked at the date in your car. Friday the 13th. You had to smile. Jason’s birthday was the 13th of June. A Friday. It was somewhat ironic.
You shrugged your shoulders at the man, “I know. The killings. I’ve heard the stories in the dinner. I had lunch before stopping here for some gas.”
He shook his head, “Slaughter you mean. There’s been enough killing around here. People stay away. Ain’t no good to come from poking a phantom’s nest. You be careful, ya here? Jason ain’t dead and gone, and he won’t be for a long time.” He slapped the top of your car, “That’ll be thirty bucks for the gas.”
You handed him the money and rolled away from the small gas station, trundling up the new road which the developers had put in for the town. It was a smooth journey until you met the old roads. It was about fifteen more minutes of slow driving through into the old, run down roads that led to the cabins. It was slow going through the mud, and you thanked the gods above when you finally made it to the cabin and parked, just as the snow began to slowly drift from the sky. You thanked the gods again that you had brought enough groceries for the stay. Two weeks in the peace and quiet would be nice. You pulled on your coat and got out of the car, sighing as you looked at the sheer amount of luggage you had to move from the car into the house.
 The noise of a car had drawn him from where he was washing in the streams. The icy cold water still dripped from his hands as he watched from the treeline. The cabins were being worked on, he knew that, but the construction workers were gone for the winter, and Jason was left alone once again. No one had ever shown up in the winter. He watched you shiver and unload the car, making trips back and forth with the load of things you needed. Jason watched you mess around with a large looking dog for a while before he took his shirt and coat from the tree and headed back towards his own home to make his plans. Jason thudded through the undergrowth, exhaling air that turned into mist through the holes of his mask, as he ducked through the trees and into his own, small hut. He closed the old door and peered around before heading towards the rickety chimney he had built. Jason lit a fire with the dry logs he had piled up the wall. It was silent as he lit the fire, the flames taking to the logs quickly from the kindling.
 The phantom watched it burn and pushed his cold hands closer to the fire, feeling the heat in his undead fingers. The dead skin pulsed with warmth until he pulled away to say hello to his mother.
“Hello, my sweet boy. Did you have a good day?” Pamela asked from his stand. Jason nodded as he plucked the skull from table and gently touched the top of the bone, looking at the eye sockets as his Mother smiled back at him.
“Did you see someone, sweetheart?” She cooed, “Did you get rid of them for me? You’re such a good boy, Jason.” Pamela’s blue eyes were soft as Jason looked away from her. He placed her down as he shook his head.
“Did she get away?” She asked softly, “Oh that’s alright my boy.” Jason shook his head ‘no’ again, “What’s wrong then?” She looked at him again and smiled, “Watch her. Winter visitors are such a pleasure to have.” She cooed as Jason touched the moth-eaten jumper and carefully turned her towards the fire, “Thank you, sweetie.” She cooed as Jason settled down next to the fire. He pulled out a pine tree branch and opened his box, intending to put it into the scrapbook he had managed to snatch from one of the visitors a long time ago.
 It took hours to get all the shopping and your luggage away, and even then, it took you a while to get a fire going. The cabin was new, fitted with central heating, but you looked for the logs the company had left and eventually curled up in front of the fire, Bronson by your feet, soaking up the heat from the flames. You hadn’t cooked. It was too late, so you settled for one of the ready meals as you soaked up the heat, wiggling your feet by the fire as you looked at a book open on the side of the couch. The snow was getting worse outside, blowing a gale at the windows. You hoped the power would stay on. They’d installed on-site generators in case of a power failure, but you found yourself enjoying the dark, the fire and a small lamp illuminating your book as you spooned poorly made lasagne into your mouth.
“Well, Bronson, it looks like we’ll be getting a lot of work done while we’re out here.” You hummed as you leaned over to pet his head, stroking the blue coloured fur with a smile, “Though we might not if the power drops out.” Bronson sighed and settled back down to sleep as you got up to throw away the rubbish from your dinner. As you washed the dishes with a sponge, you looked out of the window at the snow. It was slowing down. You smiled as the snow caused the automatic porch light to come on again, and you squinted into the light, looking for any sign of life. You blinked and looked harder into the snow as a shadowed figure appeared at the end of the garden, stalking along the fence. You blinked again and the black shadow was gone.
“It might be a bit of a weird holiday this one, Bronson.” Your dog only grumbled from where he had climbed onto the sofa, laid on his back, soaking in the heat from the fire.
 The next day was just as cold, but the snow had stopped falling. There was a decent covering on the ground, and you opened the door with a smile as you looked at the drifts. Winter was done properly up here by the lakes. You turned to see Bronson in the door, his large mouth open as he waited for the signal to be allowed out. With a whistle, you tugged him back inside to put his jacket and harness on before tapping his butt and watching him sprint into the drifts.
“Bronson!” You laughed as you walked into the snow, wrapped tightly in a heavy coat, scarf, gloves and hat. It was below zero. You laughed at your dog as he snorted and buried his face into another snowdrift. He barked and followed you as you trudged through the snow, towards the treeline. The Pitbull on your heels snorted and barked as you walked into the woods, your hands in your pockets, clutching his lead and the bags you had brought with you just in case.
 Jason watched from the trees as you disappeared into his woods. He hefted the axe over his shoulder and followed, the logs he had come to collect hefted on top of his shoulder. Lumbering behind, he watched from around the trees as you ventured further and further from your own cabin, and closer and closer to his own home, on the outskirts of the lake, hidden behind broken trees and rotting areas of swampy water. It was frozen still this time of year. He followed quietly, keeping his smell away from your giant dog as he watched you climb over the rotting trees and roots that blocked the pathway to his home. Jason stood still, his breath stopping all together as his eyes danced across the surroundings.
 You frowned at the heavy tree in your way and whistled softly as you climbed over the heavy log and then watched Bronson bound over the top of it, his ears flopping as he panted and looked around the snow. You both scrambled over a set of upturned roots before peering into the white surroundings. Bronson pushed his nose into the snow and snuffled around your feet as you looked between the trees. A shack was sat between another upturned giant tree and a set of rotting stumps. The wood was old and rotting in most places. You approached the old panels slowly, Bronson snuffling alongside you as you both approached. It was a very old cabin, homemade from heavy timber. The roof needed replacing, small parts of it having caved in with the rot and winter snow, but it looked lived in. With a frown, you approached the front door. It was as old as the rest of the place, the hinges rusted and the lock a simple deadbolt. It was undone. You swallowed and swung the door open. Bronson peered inside as well, quiet, his ears pressed flat to his skull. You both were quiet as you looked at the smouldering fire and the tins littering around. They were stacked in the corner on top of a very old dresser. A few bones were stacked too. A knife was sat next to the bones and what looked to be a small carving project. Carefully you peered at the small figurine being shaped from the deer bone. It was a beaver. You looked around again at everything.
 A rocking chair swayed with a squeak by the fire, rocking back and forth as the cold wind rushed inside. Everything was rotting. You entered a small bedroom, Bronson protective on your heels as you opened the door. It swung open and revealed a dry room. A table was sat in the corner with a makeshift bed in the other, piled with old shirts, blankets, and pillows. You looked at the table and gasped. A faded photo sat on the top, next to a moth-eaten jumper. You approached and looked at the skull sat next to it. Pieces of dried skin littered the tabletop as well, curling black lumps that looked putrid. The photo was of a young woman and her boy. The blond woman grinned back at you. Pamela Voorhees. You swallowed and tugged Bronson by his collar.
“Come on, Bronson. We don’t belong here.” You ushered him out and looked around the place one last time before you closed the door and rushed through the snow once more. Bronson whined as you both hopped back over the log, trudging back through the snow, “I think we have a certain resident to appease, boy.” Following your own tracks, you were unaware of the killer watching you disappear back into the snow.
 Jason watched you leave with uncertainty boiling in his stomach. You hadn’t done anything to his home. He threw the logs down by the fire and turned to his Mother.
“Maybe she’s a good girl, Jason? Watch her for me sweetie.” She cooed. Jason nodded sombrely and made sure to lock the door as he left his home, covered in a heavy jacket and his work gloves, a machete sheathed on his hip.
 Cooking for one was difficult, and soon you realised you would have more than enough for you and someone else. Bronson was busy chowing down his own food in the corner, and you sighed softly as you plated the leftovers onto another hot plate. You looked out into the cold, still night and wondered if this would be enough to appease the giant killer that might be lurking. It was stupid. He was a ghost story. But you knew to believe in the warnings of spirits. Carefully, you found a plate cover and covered the meal before opening the front door and placing it, shielded from the cold by the entryway box for tools. It wouldn’t remain warm forever, but if he was watching, you knew he’d be curious enough to investigate, spirit or undead monster. You placed the meal down and closed the door, locking it in a small fit of paranoia as you headed back to finish cleaning up before bed. Bronson slumped down by the fire as you finished putting the pots away and headed upstairs for a shower. You sighed at the white canvas you set up by the window, still with no ideas about what to put on it. Hopefully, hot water would ease your nerves.
 The door opened with creak and Jason peered at the light spilling from the house, breathing slowly, evenly, in the trees. You peered out with a plate in your hands, covered to keep it warm, before you tucked it against the toolbox and closed the door once more. Curious. Jason waited. He watched as you moved upstairs, curiously, following you around the house, watching from the bottom floor as you pulled the jumper over your head. His eyes went wide as you pulled off your tank top underneath, revealing the bra you had on. Set, he couldn’t pull away his gaze as he watched skin move and ripple, tilting his head as he moved to catch sight of your backside as well. Naughty. He chastised himself as he turned, moving back to the front of the house to investigate the plate you had put on the porch. His mask turned his breath into steam as Jason stood over the plate. He knelt and picked up the plate in one gloved hand. He opened the top and looked at the hot food on the plate. It looked like the meals his Mother once made. Jason felt conflict churn his guts. Mashed potato. He adored mashed potato as a child. Jason looked at the door in front of him. He glanced at the blade at his hip and the knife by his thigh. He could open the door himself, crash through the wood and slaughter you. Instead, he stole the food away, scaring as Bronson yawned inside, rushing back into the trees with thoughts he shouldn’t have churning in his head.
 “Jason. Have you ended her?” Pamela asked from her seat in the rocking chair. Jason looked at the head and shook his head as he sat by the fire, grinding the details into the beaver’s face with his small skinning knife, “Why not, darling?”
Jason looked at his feet, sheepishly, and pulled out the meal from behind him. He held it up to his mother’s head.
“Oh, my darling boy, she’s a good girl, isn’t she?” Pamela cooed. Jason felt phantom hands stroke his head before he drew out the spoon, he had whittled it some time ago. He could eat but being undead meant it wasn’t necessary. Still, he pushed the mask up enough to reveal his mouth and cautiously ate a spoonful of the cooling potatoes. He grunted, the memory of the food he used to eat as a child making his chest ache painfully.
Pamela smiled from her place in the chair, “Yes, my boy, she is a good, good girl. Just like you, my perfect little boy.” He continued to eat thoughtfully, beside the fire, before realising he had finished the entire thing. The killer looked at the plate sadly before picking up his beaver again. He eyed the little creature’s eyes before setting to work on finishing the tail. Pamela hummed a song before melting into the background again. He remembered to set her head down for the night before he trundled back into the blackness, the empty plate, and the small bone carving in hand.
 The snow when you woke up was horrendous. You peered down the driveway and sighed at the layers of snow melting on your porch. It was terrible weather. You shuddered as you climbed out of the bed, immediately wrapping up in your gown before you patted Bronson, beckoning him up as you started the day. You descended the stairs with a yawn and a stretch over your head. Excitedly, you remembered the plate you had left outside of the door. The keys jingled in your hand as you unlocked the lock and slid the chain bolt free. You swung open the door and watched Bronson bound into the snow again. You watched him for a moment before giving him a tut of disapproval. As you took a step forward, your slipper met the plate. Sadly, you looked down, only to smile at the sight of the empty plate and a small token next to it. You picked up the plate and the small carving. A beaver made from bone sat perfectly in the palm of your hand, its front teeth opened wide as though it was ready to chew through a new piece of wood. You laughed at the carving as you tucked it into your pocket, shouting for Bronson back. The dog bounded back into the house and you looked at the treeline before closing the door and setting to towel drying your now wet dog.
 Jason looked on from the woods as you laughed with the dog in the lounge. He watched as you placed the small beaver on your fireplace. The killer nodded to himself before hiding away in the trees to continue to watch you in peace.
 Over the course of the first week, you made sure to leave food for the legend out on the porch. Every morning it was gone, your plate returned alongside some trinket the man saw fit to leave for you. On the seventh day, you opened the door and saw that the plate was left alongside a small pocketknife. The blade wasn’t long. It was a switch blade and you snapped the thing open to look at the pointed end. It was clean, polished with metal cleaner to be shiny. You smiled and took it inside once again, placing it on the small shelf with the other goods, on display in the window. The snow was still present. Icy but slushy under your feet. You made breakfast and showered before you ventured out into the cold, this time, turning to the right, heading towards the famous Crystal Lake edge as Bronson snorted and ran beside you. The track down to the lake wasn’t huge, a short walk in all reality, but you enjoyed it nonetheless, peering up at the trees as the crows called overhead. Bronson barked and rushed forwards with a stick, his tail wagging as you took it from him and hurled it as far as you could in front of you on the track. He followed happily and you both continued towards the water’s edge. Bronson sniffed at the water curiously before deciding the icy water wasn’t worth the time jumping in. You peered around at the huge lake.
 It was easily a mile across, you surmised, from bank to bank, and the roots of the trees had recently been cut back to give it a more open appearance. It wasn’t as overgrown as it once was, the reeds kept back at the pier and tugged out from around the sides to prevent the water from looking too murky. With a cold inhale of icy air, you wandered closer to the edge, looking at the murky water as Bronson snorted and walked around, sticking his face in every pile of mud he could find under the snow. A crow called again above you. You looked up at the tree and frowned at the bird before it squawked again and fluttered off, leaving a black feather to float down into the snow. Bronson gave the feather a sniff before he moved into the snow again, shoving his face underneath the piles. The pier was new. The rotting boards and support structure were new, the wood painted a white colour. It would probably need redoing when spring rolled around. You walked up, towards the end of the pier and looked out at the icy lake. Parts of it were frozen, thing sheets floating around and clicking into each other. You watched a duck tuck itself into the reeds on the bank as Bronson barked at the end of the pier, gaze set on the trees. Murky water slopped against the wood with a gust of icy air and you shuddered before turning back to your dog.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You chuckled as you turned around and carefully walked back towards the banks.
 Your foot slipped beneath your own weight. Ice, hidden by the white paint, made your grips slip. Suddenly, the water lurched towards your face, icy pain imminent. You closed your eyes and gasped, winded, as arms snapped tight around your waist and heaved you upwards, away from the icy water. Wheezing, you turned your head to look at your saviour. Icy, blue eyes stared back at you through a grubby hockey mask, and you peered down at the dead hands holding you tightly against the man most now only knew as legend.
“Jason…Voorhees…” You wheezed as you were manhandled away from the pier. Bronson barked at the creature and he bared his teeth before he jumped for his arm. Jason’s eyes flicked, and in a swift movement, he snatched the dog by the collar, holding you with one arm, the other holding the hound at arm’s length. Bronson yelped as the grip twisted into the fur on the back of his neck.
“Let him go!” You coughed weakly. Jason’s eyes flashed between you both before he dropped you and offered you your dog. He dropped Bronson on the floor, lowering him to his feet, giving you enough time to wrestle a lead from your pocket to hold him at bay. He cowered behind your legs as you looked up again at the Camp Crystal Lake Killer.
 “You’re real…” You whispered, gazing up at the giant. He was dead, clearly, the skin mottled and dark, pale in other places with rigor mortis, the blood stagnant. Yet, any wound seemed to not have left a scar. You looked at the hands and watched him twitch the fingers. Jason shifted, uncomfortable with the staring, and turned his eyes on Bronson again. The Pitbull cowered behind you.
“I’m sorry if we’re trespassing.” You whispered before finding your voice, “Did you, uh, enjoy the food I left out for you?” You asked the giant man. He paused in his staring, the hockey mask turning to the side, as though bashfully, as his massive head nodded.
He held up his hands in front of him and you watched his right hand move to his ask before dipping down with flat fingers, the palm upturned.
“You sign?” You asked with a smile, “That means ‘thank you’ right?”
Jason nodded twice with two slow movements of his head.
“Well, you’re welcome.” You smiled at him as genuinely as you could manage, “Though I don’t know if you really needed the food. You seem to be able to look after yourself.” With a small sigh, you rubbed the top of Bronson’s head, fear making your heart beat double time, “Are you going to get rid of me?” You asked quietly.
 Jason’s eyes widened a little as he listened to the fear lacing your voice. He shook his head firmly before holding his hands up again in front of his chest, fingers twitching before he signed to you slowly. His thumb pointed to his chin with his fingers curled into a first. He moved his hand forwards before holding up his other hand and pointing a finger out from his right. He connected the finger with his left hand. You frowned, confused, before watching him stick his finger into his other hand repeatedly.
“Does that mean you’re not going to kill me?” You asked gently.
Jason nodded, confirming your guess, before signing the two words again slowly for you.
“Okay, I believe you.” You smiled as Bronson peered back from behind your legs, his nose sniffing at Jason’s heavy combats. The giant recoiled from the dog, his hands clenched by his stomach before Bronson deemed him not a threat, and simply sat down, staring at Jason with soft eyes. Curiously, Jason reached to pet Bronson, his large fingers flipping the dog’s ears around as he gave him a small scratch behind them.
“He likes you.” You laughed softly before awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, “Would you like to come and eat with us?” You asked.
 Jason felt his heart catch in his chest. You asked him to come and eat with you. He was embarrassed. It was very forward. He took a step backwards, glancing at the treeline in contemplation as he wondered what sort of motive you had for inviting him to dinner. Words were empty. He knew that. Jason had been lied to again and again. He knew though, that you did intend to give him food. You left it for him every night. He wished his mama were there with him. He reached for his hip and shook his head.
“She’s a good girl, Jason.”
His mother was right. Jason nodded and looked at the snow covering the ground before stepping away from the lake and pointing back through the trees.
“Sure. I’ll lead the way.” You smiled as you tugged Bronson along at your side. Jason followed to your right in comfortable silence, observing your grins and smiles at your dog with a smile of his own, hidden behind the ruined hockey mask.
 “Is that shack in the woods yours, Jason?” You asked as you reached the edge of the trees. You looked up at the phantom as his fingers curled into a fist and he dipped it down, nodding his head at the same time. You looked over the snow drift and smiled, “It’s a nice place. You seem to be able to look after yourself.”
Jason shrugged his shoulders, his jacket rippling with the movement before he wiggled his hand and his head in a ‘sort of’ motion. He was embarrassed by the praise, though you couldn’t see his face. His blind eye twitched as he watched you trip in his periphery. With a snap of his arms again, he snatched you up from falling face first into the snow.
Winded again, you looked up at the killer as you span in his arms, “Thank you, Jason. Sorry, I’m such a clutz.” You laughed as he placed you firmly back on your feet and held out his hand towards the dog lead. Bronson was happy to bound over to the giant, and you laughed as Jason was tugged around by the dog. Bronson barked, leaping into the snow, only to be fished out a moment later by one, giant, powerful hand. Bronson looked at him with a dumb smile before Jason placed him back on his feet and let him walk in front of the two of you.
 Your cabin porch, at least, was free from snow. You slammed your feet on the wood and watched Jason do the same, shaking snow from his shoulders before he reached down and unclipped the dog lead from Bronson. The Pitbull gave one large bark and licked at the yellow workers gloves over Jason’s fingers before scratching at the door to get back inside.
“Here. You can come in if you want? It won’t take too long to make something.” You offered. You smiled up at Jason and he felt his resolve melt a little as he tentatively took a step into the house. His figure filled the doorway before he peered around, looking for a threat that might jump out at him, before he relaxed enough to carefully step into the lounge area.
“You don’t have to take your shoes off if you don’t want.” You offered as Jason looked down at his boots with concern. They were dirty and your floors were very clean. With a tilt of his head, he leaned over to undo the laces of his boots and carefully tugged them off. He even managed socks. You were amazed at how well put together the gentle giant was for an undead corpse.
“Thank you.” You smiled as you slipped the harness off Bronson and removed your own coat and shoes. Jason looked back and took his coat off as well, thumping over to the coat rack to hang his own mucky coat over a hook.
 “You can sit in the kitchen if you like?” You headed towards the small kitchen in the back and smiled as Jason followed, stepping around the rug carefully before he peered over your head, into the well-equipped kitchen, “Do you like music, Jason?” You asked.
Jason repeated the sign for ‘Yes.’ back to you and nodded his head before continuing, ‘Not too loud. Soft.’, But you didn’t seem to understand those signs.
With a nod you reached over the counter and smiled as you showed him the small manual radio. You swivelled the knobs and caught the frequency of the local radio station. It was something weird and country sounding. You showed Jason the radio, “You can twist the knob to tune into different stations. Try and find something you like.” He took the small thing from your hands and eyed it before quickly setting to work spinning the knobs, searching for something for you to listen to. As he played with the device you pulled out the things for dinner. Jason grew tired of the knobs quickly and settled on where it had been before he had messed around, the soft country playing in the background as he watched you cut vegetables and add them to the pot for a stew. His curiosity made him accidentally turn the wrong knob on the radio and the giant jumped with a grunt as the music screeched. He almost threw the thing, but before he could, you already snapped the volume back down.
“Be careful, Jason.” You chuckled before wiping your hands properly and covering the food, “Now, maybe you should teach me some of that signing? It might be handy.” He nodded and stood from the table, following you to the lounge.
 The food in front of him looked delicious.
“Oh, she is a good girl, Jason.” His Mother cooed from wherever she was, he couldn’t see her, “She’s looking after you, my dear. She could be good spouse material for my darling baby boy.”
Jason shook his head. Surely his mother didn’t think that. She had never mentioned wanting him to settle down. He curled in on himself a little. He knew he wasn’t handsome or even worthy of someone doting on him.
“Are you okay?” You asked nervously, “I thought you might like this, since you like mashed potato so much.”
Jason nodded his head and signed, ‘Thank you’ before he picked up the spoon and then remembered his mask. He looked at the gravy dripping from his spoon and placed it back down into the bowl. With a huff he pointed to his face and looked away.
Instantly you understood what he meant, “You can take it away if you would like?” You asked, chewing the inside of your cheek.
He nodded enthusiastically before placing on finger under his nose and curling it away from himself. Before you could ask him to do it again, he grabbed hold of his shoes from the door, and tied them swiftly. He shrugged the jacket on and took the bowl gratefully from the table. With a nod, he disappeared out of the front door and rushed away as fast as he could manage with the bowl of stew and potatoes.
 You found a book in your cabin later. American Sign Language 101. You looked through at the basic words and frowned at the pictures for the word ‘ugly’. Jason had called himself ugly. You rubbed at Bronson’s ears and shook your head as you looked at the fire burning in front of your feet.
 The next morning you turned from your canvas to a knock on the door. It was still early. Bronson perked up from where he was laid by the fire. Curious, you laid your brushed on your small table and headed towards the door. You opened the door and smiled.
“Jason, what are you doing here?” You asked before the bowl from last night was thrust into your hands.
‘Thank you.’ Jason signed.
“You’re welcome, big guy.” You opened the door a little, “Do you want to come in or are you busy?” You asked, revealing the paint streaked apron covering your body.
Jason shook his head and raised his hands once more, ‘Walk?’ He asked carefully.
“Sure. Bronson needs one anyway.” You left the door open with Jason stood in it as you took your apron off and whistled for Bronson. The dog trotted to the front door and greeted Jason with a lick to his gloved hands. You pulled on your shoes and coat before snatching Bronson’s lead and the book you were looking through last night. Jason pointed curiously as the big book and you held it up for him to see.
“It’s a Sign Language book. I wanted to learn a little bit more, so I can understand you better!” You smiled up at the giant as he appeared a little flustered and lost, his hands twitching by his thighs before he closed your door behind you and pointed in the direction of the lake. You followed with Bronson close on your heels.
 Your visits to the lake became a daily routine. Jason would walk you there just before lunch and you’d both return just in time for you to cook dinner. Jason was conflicted every time you asked him into your home, but he followed you in each time. His Mother was positive. She appreciated what you were doing for him, and Jason was thankful for someone who cared. He even did odd jobs around your cabin, chopping wood and leaving it for you as well as fixing a fence after Bronson chewed a slat free.
“Jason, are you okay?” You asked as you placed his food in front of him. He could see you were nervous, wondering about something. Worrying. The giant reached out and took your hand in his own. He was about to recoil, remembering the cold temperature of his flesh, yet you didn’t flinch away from the icy grip. You squeezed his fingers and looked into his eyes.
‘What’s wrong?’ He signed after letting go of your hand.
“I’m just…” You sighed as you sat down, “It’s what you said when you first took that dinner.” You looked the phantom in the eyes, “That you were ugly.” You made the sign with your finger and scowled, “But I…All I’ve seen is a lonely man who has done nothing but help me…and be sweet.”
Jason looked away, peering into the food you had served him before he turned in his seat and repeated the sign back to you.
‘Ugly.’ He snapped his fingers together with a sigh and you shook your head at him.
 “You’re not…” You chuckled, “Well I’ve never actually seen your face…” You confessed. The killer shook his head resolutely, his hands clutching at the strap of his mask.
‘Ugly.’ He signed again as he leaned back, protective of the hockey mask covering his face. With a smile, you nodded at him and eased back over your own food.
“I understand. You’re not ready to show me…” You stood up slowly and held your hands away from him, “But, when you are ready, just know that I’ll accept it, no matter what.” You promised before you leaned forwards, and pressed a soft, single kiss to his forehead. The mask was as cold as his skin, and you leaned away, dazzling the phantom with your smile.
Jason’s hands shot out, catching you by the wrists before he gently eased them up towards his face, his blue eyes gazing at you in awe as he let you brush the strap on the back of his head. Firmly, he held you in front of him before he raised his hands and fumbled.
‘I love you’ He signed, ‘Protect you.’ He promised before he took hold of your waist again and tugged you into his lap, wrapping his giant arms around your body before he pressed the cool mask to your face.
 “Jason…I’m not here forever…” You whispered against his cold face, “I have to go home.”
His arms tightened as fear pierced his gut, ‘Stay?’ He signed with sad eyes, ‘Come back?’
You gave him a watery smile before nodding, “I…I can.” You thought on the life you had, back in the heat, the warmth of a residential house. Small, cramped, surrounded by other people. Your job wasn’t even most of your income. Your art could flourish. You could be with this loveable, giant phantom. No one would ever know. You took a deep breath and stood up, pressing another kiss to Jason’s head, “I’ll find a way. I have enough money to stay another few weeks anyway.” You grinned, “We can figure it out from there…” You took a giant hand and pressed a kiss to the cold flesh, “I think I love you too.” Jason made a soft noise as he grappled you back into his arms.
 A Figure by the Lake, you thought, as you worked on the canvas the next day, looking at Jason as he walked back towards the water.
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dameronology · 4 years
Text
the one where you take the leap {poe x reader}
summary: you and poe take a late night walk and talk about everything and nothing (and you get tacos)
warnings: language 
just some fluff because i am having a big sad tonight™ and i need some wholesome content. this is about 101 cliches rolled into one but sometimes that is the best thing 
enjoy,
- jazz
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There were very few people that Poe Dameron would wake up at 3AM for. In fact, the list started and ended with your name. You were that important that he was willing to forgo his beauty sleep and that was truly saying something. Everybody in the galaxy and their mother knew that the pilot needed a full eight hours to function and nobody could change that. However, you didn’t fall into the category of nobody. 
That’s how you both ended up trekking across the plains of a jungle planet at an ungodly hour, the squelch of your boots in the wet mud filling the comfortable silence between you. Ajan Kloss was unbearably hot in the day but it bordered on glacial at night; that was how you’d ended up with one of Poe’s jackets. It was far too big for you, almost swamping your body, but he’d insisted you’d put it on before leaving. 
‘Remind me why we’re going on a hike at 3AM?’ Poe’s voice, still raspy with sleep, called from behind you.
‘Because I told you I couldn’t sleep and you said hey, let’s go for a walk!’ You chortled back, peeking over your hood to glance at him. 
‘Poe from half an hour ago was an asshole.’ He grumbled.
You stopped, turning to face him with a grin. The moon was high up above you now, casting the field of green in a yellow glow. Compared to the humid days, you almost relished in the crisp night air, enjoying the cool sensation on your skin as you glanced up at the dark sky and plethora of stars. Late night walks with Poe had become a regular occurrence over the last year - sometimes he initiated them, and other times like tonight, it was you. 
‘The village isn’t far from here.’ You said. ‘Maybe we can see what’s open?’
‘That tiny place that does the tacos is twenty four hours!’ Poe’s face lit up as the thought came to him. ‘C’mon!’
‘Waaaaait!’ You called after him. ‘My legs are tired, Dameron.’
Poe knew you what you were doing - the whole thing was kind of your play. Either that, or the man was so whipped that the first thing he thought to do was carry you the rest of the way there. Whatever it was, he bent down in front of you, signalling for you to leap onto his face. You swung your bag over your shoulder and made a run for it, landing perfectly in place. He wound his arms around your legs and boosted you up slightly, peering up to face at you. 
Now, it should be noted that Poe Dameron was one of the best-looking human beings you’d even seen - and that was on a normal day. But under the light of the moon, with his brown eyes illuminated like a warm, welcoming fire, and a cheeky grin on his face as he turned to look at you, it was something else entirely. It wasn’t just the external kind of beauty either - it ran deeper than that. He was the best person you knew; the kindest and the funniest, the smartest and the most selfless. As far as you were concerned, he was the most beautiful person in the galaxy (and he was carrying you half a mile - for tacos). 
You chattered quietly amongst yourselves but it wasn’t about anything in particular. That was how a lot of conversations went; they were simply natural musings, you two bouncing off each other and giving a thoughtful hmm every now and then. 
Clinging onto the material of Poe’s jacket, you blinked under the bright lights of the village, finally breaking through a clearing in the thick trees. It was a little town made up mostly of retired rebels and business owners. The place was hardly a sprawling city but it provided the Resistance with shops and bars, becoming the hub of different squadrons. 
‘Taco Town is open!’ You cheered, almost falling off of Poe’s back as you pumped your first in the air.
‘Have you summoned up the energy to walk now?’ He teased.
‘I think I might be able to.’ You gave him a light poke. Your boots hit the ground with a dusty thud and then you ran towards your beloved taco place. 
It was a twenty-four/seven shop, usually because of the Resistance soldiers passing in and out all hours of the day. The lady who manned the place at night was an elderly woman - she knew you both by name (and both your orders, because that’s how often you frequented the establishment). 
After gathering your order and paying her a few extra credits as a tip, you carried the food outside to Poe. 
‘You’re the only person who can get me out of bed at this ungodly hour for tacos.’ He muttered, flinging an arm across your shoulder as you sauntered towards a strewn bench. 
He didn’t move it when you sat down, nor did he say anything when you shuffled into his side. The air was still cold, biting at the bare skin on your face as you enjoyed the taco-induced bliss you’d been waiting for. To your right, you could see the rest of the town lights as they stretched out for miles, eventually blurring into a blob of distant light. Poe was on your left, meanwhile, hand absentmindedly rubbing circles on your shoulder as he ate his food. 
‘I wonder how far out this place actually goes.’ You murmured. ‘I’ve only been as a far as the boot shop, and that took me like an hour.’
‘Sorry I set fire to your old ones.’ Poe nudged you, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you remembered the incident. 
‘It’s okay. I nearly grounded your jet so we’ll call it even.’
He didn’t respond verbally, instead giving your shoulders a light squeeze. 
Even with the chaos of the war, Poe felt like an anchor amongst a raging ocean of pure fucking insanity. You’d met people before, ones you’d vibed with and connected with but with him, it was an entire new level of...whatever it was that you had. You’d teetered on the ledge of more-than-friends on multiple occasions, but neither of you had taken the leap. If you did, there was no coming back - you’d be jumping without a parachute. 
‘That was a good taco.’ You declared.
‘Worth the walk.’ Poe nodded. ‘Not that you did much walking.’
‘You offered, Dameron!’ You reminded him. ‘You are my trusty stead.’
‘And that’s all I’m useful for?’
‘Of course not! Sometimes you bring me caff as well.’
Your conversation continued, veering off of the subject of the Uses of Poe Dameron™ and to a million other things. 
You spoke about his X-Wing and the fact that BB-8 had made a point to show every single person in the base his new antenna. You discussed your latest meetings and missions and how Finn had lead his first successful operation the day before. You laughed about something - you couldn’t remember what - and the only thing that pulled you from the conversation was the fact you noticed the sky beginning to turn pink. 
‘Maker, it’s gone 4AM already.’ You pulled up the long sleeves of Poe’s jacket to check your watch. 
That was the thing with you and Poe - when you started talking, or when you were even just in the presence of one another, you completely forgot about the world around you. It felt like nothing else mattered. It was just you, him and the blank canvas of the galaxy ahead of you (and sometimes, a circular droid child). 
‘Let’s stay a while.’ Poe murmured. He dropped his head against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. ‘I have no-where to be tomorrow.’
‘Me neither,’ you reached up to squeeze the hand that was resting on your shoulder. ‘But the Resistance doesn’t wait.’
‘It can for now.’ He shot back. 
Maybe this was it - the moment that he finally found it within him to take the leap and just tell you outright that he was blatantly, irrevocably in love with you. The thought of risking your friendship was painful - but the only thing more agonising was the idea of not knowing if you loved him too. 
(But with the way you looked at him, it was a mystery to everybody around you how he didn’t you obviously were - but more on that later). 
‘What is it, Poe?’ You gave his hand another gentle squeeze.
‘Huh?’ His blinked at you.
‘You’ve gone off some place else.’ You replied. ‘I know that look on your face and it means you’re either in deep thought or you’ve seen a nice butt and given that I’m sat down and the only person here, I’m gonna assume it’s the first one.’
That was the comment that pushed him over the edge. The realisation that you knew him, that you could read him like a book. You got him in a way that no-one else seemed to, understood him in a way that others had failed to. In a galaxy so cold and so daunting, having somebody by his side with a bright smile and a few cheesy jokes was imperative. Every time he thought about his future after the war, your face was always the first thing that popped up.
‘You know I love you, right?’ Poe - for the first time since you’d met him - stumbled on his words.
‘Of course.’ You replied, before silently adding but not in the way I want you to love me.
‘No...’ He shook his head. He shuffled to the side slightly, turning to face you. He put one hand on your cheek, the other resting on your shoulder. ‘I mean I love a lot of things. I love Leia, and I love Finn, and I love Beebs and I love my X-Wing. But not in the way I love you.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying I’m in love with you.’ He got there eventually.
‘You’re in love with me?’ You couldn’t work out if you heart was going a million miles an hour or if it had stopped entirely. 
‘Yeah. What do you think?’
‘I mean...’ You trailed off, chewing your lip for a moment. ‘I think you’re probably in love with your X-Wing too. I saw you cry over the landing gear once-’
‘-Y/N!’ Poe whacked you in the shoulder. 
‘Poe, you’re an idiot.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘Obviously I’m in love with you.’ 
Dropping the remains of his taco to the ground*, the pilot grabbed you, crashing his lips to yours. Just like Poe, the kiss was a lot of contradicting things all at once - it was soft but hungry, demanding but sweet. It was a lot of feelings at once and you could feel every single individual one, finally coming together after well over a year of pining. You’d both taken the leap and the water below was even better than the ledge on which you’d been standing. 
(* you made him pick up the taco wrapper before you walked back to the base - hand in hand, obviously). 
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j-hawthorn · 3 years
Text
An Afternoon With The Boys
(You can read this on AO3 here!  This is part three of my Sybil/Vimes/Vetinari mini-series where they each get a delightful surprise afternoon off with their loved ones) 
Sybil sighed, sitting on the grass outside the dragon pens, holding her hand under the tap. A small, very young swamp dragon nuzzled into her leg, whining softly. Behind her the other dragons chittered and called, snouts up in the air.
'I'm okay, poppets!' She said, reaching down with her other hand to scratch behind the whining dragon's ears. 'I know you didn't do it on purpose, you silly sod.'
He licked her palm, settling down on her boot. The burn wasn't bad, she'd managed to get her hand away quick enough that it was only on the surface. Hurt like a bastard, but that was the better outcome. The burns that go so deep you no longer feel anything were akin to a death sentence. Sybil counted herself lucky to have only come close to that once in her younger years (she counted herself extra lucky that a transient Igor happened to be passing by at the time).
The dragons stopped chittering. Then erupted in excited trills.  Sybil looked up, and beamed. Her darling husband strolled through the pens carrying a small cluster of flowers. He winked at her, ignoring a plume of half-hearted flames from one of the older males. Silly territorial thing.
When he reached her, Sam leaned in to kiss her cheek – then stopped.
'What happened?' He asked, crouching down beside her. He put the flowers down in her lap, peering at her hand still under the tap.
'One of my boys got a bit over excited, that's all,' She said, looking at the flowers. They were very pretty. Yellow roses and baby's breath with a fern for added drama. 'My own fault, really,' she continued. 'Should have kept my glove on. These are beautiful, Sam.'
'Hmm? Oh!' Vimes sat down, arm around her waist, 'Well, uh...good. I thought so. Um, they're for you. Obviously. Are you alright?'
Sybil turned off the tap, and shook her hand, sending droplets of water flying. The dragon on her foot huffed, blinking grumpily. Before she could answer Sam scooped the creature up and held the critter at arms-length, muttering '...Don't like the look of you.' Sybil watched him carry the wriggling dragon to its pen, and toss a lump of coal in.
The dragons all grew silent. Smoke started to billow.
'Sam!' Sybil called, 'You know the rules! If you feed one-'
'Feed em all, I know!'
With a groan her husband carried the bucket through the place, angrily tossing coal lumps into each pen. He set it back on the hook with a huff, holding his hands out to her. With his help, Sybil got to her feet. He gently looked over her hand, frowning at the red and angry skin. With a sigh, Sam kissed her knuckles, the notch in his brow deepening.
Sybil smiled, freeing her hand to trace her fingers along his jaw, 'I'm fine, Sam. I just need to put some cream on and wrap it for a day.'
He bent down to pick up the flowers. Holding hands, they wandered back to the house. He was herding her. Sam shifted from foot to foot as she got out of her dragon keeper's gear in the mud room. He eyed the clock on the wall, then smiled very innocently and not at all suspiciously when he met her eyes. Sam followed her as she went upstairs to their bathroom – then peeled off, nipping into the bedroom. Cheeky bastard was up to something.
Shaking her head, Sybil opened a cupboard and pulled out a small bag. She rummaged, finding the small pot of ointment. Sitting on the edge of the tub, Sybil smoothed the cream over the burn, wincing. It was like small shards of ice seeping into her skin. It passed in a second and was replaced by a pleasant tingling.
There were voices. Sybil cocked her head, listening. Beyond the door there were two voices, men's voices, having an argument. It was hushed, she couldn't quite make out the words but she sure as hell could work out who it was.
Shoulders rolled back, head high, Sybil strode into the bedroom – and caught her husband making an extremely rude hand gesture to Havelock.
'Samuel!' She scolded, shaking her head.
Vimes threw his hands in the air, glowering at Vetinari, 'Oh, come on!'
The patrician snickered, a hand on his hip, 'In his defence, your ladyship, I was being somewhat... Unkind.'
'Why are you always winding each other up?' She asked, holding out her hands to Vetinari.
He kissed her cheek, 'He's very attractive when angry-'
'Push off, I'm always angry-'
'Must be why I find you so appealing, commander-'
Sam flushed bright red, turning away from them to fuss at the flowers that now stood in a vase beside the bed.
Sybil wrapped an arm around Havelock's waist, smirking, 'He does get a certain air about himself, doesn't he? A little roguish. Very dashing. I'm a big fan of when he wears those official stockings-'
Vimes spluttered, truly crimson now, face in his hands. His ears shone like red beacons.
Vetinari cocked his head to one side, and went in for the kill, 'Leaves very little to the imagination. What's that delightful saying? "Hate to see him leave, love to watch him go"?'
Sybil nodded with a contemplative hum, 'I'm also a big fan of his arse-'
'Ye gods woman!' Vimes, about ready to spontaneously combust stomped into the bathroom and kicked off his boots. Sybil erupted into a fit of giggles, clinging to Vetinari's arm. He laughed, hiding his smile behind a hand.
'Ooh, we've done it now,' Sybil giggled, moving to sit on the bed. 'We're going to be in trouble.'
Vetinari joined her, legs crossed, 'Not to worry, my dear. He's outnumbered.' He took her hand in his, then frowned ever so slightly. He stroked his fingertips lightly around the burn, turning to quirk a brow at her.
‘Now, don’t you start,’ she said, shifting back to tuck her legs up under herself.
Havelock simply smiled, and stood. He removed his top layer of slick black robes, revealing his waistcoat, shirt and high waisted trousers. Sybil blushed, his clothing making him look even more streamlined, his waist nipped in, that Sybil couldn’t help but stare. She smirked and patted his backside, ‘You know, I’m also a big fan of your arse too.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ Havelock chuckled, sitting back down on the bed. He moved to her, cupping her cheek with one hand, and kissed her. Soft and tender, the pair lay back amongst the pillows. Havelock stroked a hand over her bald head, his hand resting on her nape as he pressed closer. He was so sweet, his surprisingly soft hands always held her with a gentle reverence. His lips trailed down to her neck, and Sybil hummed, head tipping back.
Stubble brushed her cheek and Sybil was captured in a kiss, Sam hooking his fingers in the belt loop of her britches. She blushed, gasping, tangling a hand in his hair. Trapped under her men, Sybil moaned, muffled by her husband’s increasingly passionate kiss.
Havelock’s nimble fingers were undoing her blouse and she laughed, stretching out and arching under his attention. The pain in her hand forgotten, and her men delightfully attentive, Sybil was in bliss.
This was, she thought, a charming way to spend the afternoon.
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skybiome · 3 years
Text
And when the sun comes up, you’ll find a brand new god.
Chapter 1
Beginning | Previous | Next
ao3 tws! alcohol mentions, non bibilcal deities
Wilbur sat on a barstool inside a damp pub. Everything in the town was damp. Set on the very edge of a swamp, it rained every other day and Wilbur would be surprised if the locals bathed more often than once a fortnight. Still, it was a rather homey and down to earth kind of down.
A bard was playing a set in the corner, getting the drunken townsfolk riled into a joyful frenzy. Wilbur smiled and sipped at his drink. Rural people always partied better than cityfolk.
He was pulled out of his meandering thoughts as the performer yelled something that made the crowd yell even louder.
“It’s time for a new local favorite, The Ballad Of Technoblade!”
A few chords later, the lyrics started up, and Wilbur couldn’t even hear the bard over the drunken mass. They were something about the hero in question killing 3 griffons at once, and then slaying a wyvern without pause. How he never needed food and no one had even seen him sleep. They called him, “A man to rival the gods of the land/always found with a sword in his hand/ Working hard to fight through the fray/never knowing his own true way.”
Wilbur querked a smile at that first line.
The final stanza had a rhyme scheme than the rest of the song. Something this bard in particular had appended onto the song, Wilbur assumed. But the intoxicated crowd only roared louder. Something about a fight with a manticore.
Knocking on the wooden bartop, Wilbur vied for the bartender’s attention. Once she was looking firmly in his direction, he pointed towards the crowd.  “Do you know what that song was about?” He asked.
“The Ballad of Technoblade? Sure! It’s a collection of stories about a  monsterslayer. He’s gotten pretty popular in the last couple of years.” She set the glass that she had been drying down, freeing her hands to gesture as she spoke.
“There’s actually quite a few songs about him, but that’s the first one that has it name on it. I’m fairly certain that the first song I ever heard when I was about yay high was about him.” She held her hand at about waist height. The bartender looked to be in her early twenties.
Wilbur’s eyebrows raised toward his hairline. “Really? I didn’t think monster hunters had a long life expectancy.”
The bartender hummed to herself coyly. She turned around and reorganized a shelf behind her as she continued the conversation. “They do say that Technoblade never dies. He passed through here a few days ago and dealt with a manticore that was killing cattle and sheep.” She gestured around the pub without looking back. “He drank everyone in here under the table and walked out into the rain without stumbling.”
“Well, then,” Wilbur said. “I think I may just need to find this Technoblade. What’d he look like?”
“White shirt with a red cloak, black pants and boots, red sash around his waist, and he always had a crystal sword on his left hip. He left town heading south, probably towards Crosstown.”
Wilbur digested the new info for a moment. He slammed down the rest of his drink, and set the mug on the table. “Thanks for the information. Have a good night and may the gods be with you.”
He slid off the bartop stool and started through the crowd. He got a few steps before the bartender yelled one more thing at him.
“Oh! And he had pink hair!”
Had it not been for Wilbur’s perfect hearing, he’d of thought she said something else.
Once he was outside of the rowdy pub, the god took a moment to formulate a plan. The pink hair would probably be the best way to identify the elusive man. Wilbur didn’t want to get his hopes up, but it had been a good few centuries since a new god had been found.
The deity took a moment to stretch, before transforming into a finch, and heading south towards Crosstown.  He could have traveled there instantly, but the god had always loved the feeling of wind under his wings.
Crosstown was a few day’s walk from the swampy village. Unless Technoblade really didn’t sleep, then he would still be on his way to the city.
After a night of flying uncomfortably close to the ground, Wilbur had yet to spot someone in a red cloak, and the city was in sight. Technoblade have had to walk for over a day without stopping to reach Crosstown. The deity added a mark to his mental “is Technoblade is a god?” list. Landing in an alleyway, he transformed back into a person.
Legally, nothing was stopping him from transforming in public, but not everyone had the highest opinions on public displays of magic. Wilbur had more important things than deal with bigots. Mainly, locating the famous monster hunter.
The only lights in the city came from the crescent moon overhead, and the occasional houses that still had candles burning in their windows. The god had perfect vision though, so the low light wasn’t an issue.
There was a lack of obvious bustle on the street due to the late hour of the night. The city never truly slept, but anyone in their right minds probably would be. Technoblade probably bought a night in an inn. Wilbur decided that searching for him at night would be useless. He’d have to wait until morning to look for the monster hunter.
The god came to stop at the outskirts of a park near the edge of Crosstown.  A few trees were scattered around the grassy area. His attention was drawn to the only other person in eyeshot. Someone in a red cloak sat on the damp ground, leading back against a tree. A crystalline sword sat across their lap, and a few tufts of pink hair stuck out of their hood. Smiling, Wilbur stepped closer.
Technoblade was sound asleep and in desperate need of some personal care. His hair looked roughly cut, like the monster hunter had done it himself. He was caked in mud up to his knees. Tears and large blood splatters covered his clothes, but Technoblade seemed uninjured.
The only belongings that Wilbur could see besides the sword in his lap were a scabbard, presumably for the sword, a smaller burlap sack, and a blood soaked cloth bag tied to his belt.
A piece of his pink bangs were moving along with the man’s even, slow breaths. Reaching down, Wilbur nudged the monster hunter’s shoulder. The next thing he knew, the deity was pinned to the ground. Technoblade had a knee pressed between his ribs and a sword pressed to his neck.
The hunter’s eyes were looking through Wilbur. A second later, Technoblade blinked, and the glaze left the hunter’s vision. He swore softly, and muttered an apology, tossing his sword away.
The knee was removed from Wilbur’s ribs, and the man climbed off of the god. The deity rolled onto his side, feigning discomfort and groaning softly.
Technoblade got to his feet, still looking down at the person he’d just attacked. After a moment, Wilbur uncurled from his ball on the ground. The two made eye contact, and the monster hunter spoke first.
“What do you want?” His tone was somewhere between aggressive and wary. Defensive, is how Wilbur would describe it.
Wilbur took a moment to center himself before speaking. “I’ve heard stories about you, Mr. Technoblade. And I want to see if they’re really true.”
A pause.
“If you’re going to try and kill me, you won’t.” The monster hunter was taking this encounter a lot more seriously than the god.
“It’s nothing like that, I promise.” Wilbur waved his hands in front of him appeasingly. The man seemed very anxious and getting stabbed was not on the god’s to-do-list for the day. “Just a trial or two.”
Technoblade still stood in a defensive stance, with his center of mass lower to the ground. Wilbur didn’t know the first thing about fighting, but the monster hunter seemed more ready to react from an attack by Wilbur, than make the first move.
His hands were away from the sheath at his hip, and instead raised like he was ready to grapple an attacker.
The man glanced around before speaking. “Can it wait ‘til morning? I still have a bounty I need to turn in and the sheriff’s office doesn’t open until daylight.” He gestured towards the bloody bag hanging from his hip.
“Alright.” Wilbur nodded.  “I’ll find you when you’re done.”
When Technoblade blinked, Wilbur vanished from where he had been sitting on the ground. The man jumped backwards in surprise, hand instinctively gripping his sword handle. Hackles raised, Technoblade kept a hand on his sword, and did a patrol of the grassy park.
Wilbur laughed internally at the man’s paranoia. He was sitting in the tree as a robin. Instantaneous teleportation made it fun to mess with people. Being a god made it fun to mess with people.
Technoblade did one more sweep on the area before settling back down against the tree with his sword drawn and settled across his lap. It didn’t look like the monster hunter was going to fall back asleep. The god took off after watching him for a few minutes. A pub a few streets down was calling his name. It would need a substitute bard if the crowd wanted to party until the sun dawned.
The god of music walked back out of the alcohol soaked building at day break. The drunken party was still roaring behind him. With the god’s blessing, the festivities would continue until noon.
Crosstown was alive with business now. The namesake intersection of the north-south and east-west trade road ran through the center of town and the deity had to transform into a sparrow to avoid the caravans and reckless horse riders. In the crowded streets, no one would notice a quiet act of magic. And if they did there were too many people for them to know who had done it.
When he returned to the park, Technoblade had disappeared from beneath his tree. A few children were playing knights with fallen sticks. Wilbur asked, and they pointed him to the sheriff’s office. It was a fair distance away from the main intersections.
Wilbur transformed into a lark, and flew away to the sounds of the children shouting in amazement. He caught up with the monster hunter as the cloak wearing man turned the last corner on the way to the law office. Technoblade jumped when the bird landed on his shoulder and spun around, trying to knock his apparently attacker off his shoulder. Once he realized it was just a bird, the adrenaline seemed to drain out of him. The fighter took a moment to get his heart rate back under control, then started to shoo the animal away.
The deity in disguise simply fluttered to the man’s other shoulder, undeterred. After the lark hopped between his shoulders a few more times, the monster hunter seemed to accept that the bird wasn’t going anywhere and stopped trying to spook it away. He then continued to walk towards his destination.
Technoblade pushed the door to the sheriff’s office and made a beeline for a bulletin board. From his shoulder, Wilbur could read that the papers plastering the cork surface were bounties or wanted posters, whether for people or monsters. The cloaked man pulled down his hood, and tore one of the papers off the wall. He set it on the front desk of the office.
A bell attached to the door had rung when they’d first walked in. A man in a sheriff’s uniform emerged from the back as the monster hunter freed the bloody bag from his belt and set it on the table beside the bounty poster.
The lawman looked perturbed by the sack, dried blood flaking onto his otherwise clean desk. Technoblade untied the string on the bag, showing the contents to the lawman.
From the perch on the man’s shoulder, Wilbur could see the bloody items inside. A scorpion stinger the size of a human head sat nestled between several claws and two bloody canines. Trophies that Technoblade must have collected from his kill to prove his victory.
“Manticore hiding in the swamp to the south by Willowhill that was killing livestock.” He pushed the bounty paper towards the man on the other side of the desk.
The sheriff froze under Technoblade’s gaze. After a moment, he recollected himself and disappeared into the back. He returned with another piece of paper that had several sentences and phrases printed on it. Technoblade stood patiently as the lawman copied several things from the poster onto the new piece of paper.
The monster hunter was apparently familiar with this process. When the sheriff stopped writing and began looking up, the man simply stated his name as, “Technoblade,” before the officer even asked him anything. The lawman wrote on a line at the bottom of the paper, beside the words, “Bounty collected by”. The second piece of paper looked to be an official record that the bounty had been completed.
Once he was done writing, the man rolled up both the new paper and the bounty poster, setting them somewhere below the desk. Wilbur watched the man go into the back room one final time, and return with a sizable big that jingled as he walked. Technoblade took the reward from the officer. He left without another world, almost throwing the lark off his shoulder with how fast he turned around.
Outside, the monster hunter fastened the sack full of coins to his belt and pulled the hood back over his head. The muddy red cloak didn’t stick out much among the colorful city population, but the pink hair was obscenely eye catching.
Technoblade turned to the lark on his shoulder. With resignation in his eyes, he asked, “You’re not going to leave, are you.”
Wilbur chirped once and fluttered to sit on top of the man’s red hood. Technoblade let out an extended sigh, apparently accepting his fate as a taxi for the songbird.
The deity rode for several minutes. Before long, he realized that the monster hunter was returning to the same park as the night before. The man settled back down against the trunk of the same tree after he looked around the grassy area, only seeing the playing children.
The lark hopped off Technoblade’s shoulder. Wilbur sat in the grass, watching the man. When he’d had his hood down in the sheriff’s office, Wilbur was surprised to see that his hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Let down, the pink hair would reach a little past his shoulders.
The monster hunter set both the reward bag, and retrieved the empty, smaller bag from where it was tied to his belt. He moved several fistfuls of the precious coins from the larger bag into the smaller one. Once he was done, Technoblade looped the smaller bag back onto his belt and picked up the larger one.
Getting to his feet, the hunter whistled, grabbing the kids’ attention. He tossed the bag full of money on the ground. He’d left the draw string untied and coins spilled out across the grass. Technoblade turned on his heel, walking away as the children descended on the money like starving vultures. The god fluttered back onto the man’s shoulder.
He stayed there until they were outside of the city. The monster hunter had avoided the main trade routes, instead opting to walk through the alleyways until he reached the forest north-west of Crosstown. Once they were firmly out of eyesight, Wilbur hopped off of Technoblade’s shoulder. The lark hovered in front of the man, before retaking his more human form.
Technoblade blinked slowly, and then cocked his head to the side. “So that was you.”
“What gave it away?” Wilbur felt a grin slip onto his face.
“Well-” the hunter kept his tired gaze locked on the deity, “-if you were a mage sent by the royal guard, you would have already tried to kill me. And most other magicians avoid me like a plague.”
“Why’s that?” The god cocked his head to the side
“Being cursed sucks.”
“Hmmm,” Wilbur rocked from side to side for a moment. “Are you still up to do my trials?”
The man shrugged. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Let’s shake on it, then.” He extended a hand.
Technoblade stared at Wilbur’s hand, then lethargically pulled one of his own out of his red cloak. He hesitated for just a moment, but eventually gripped Wilbur’s palm and shook it.
The next moment, he opened his eyes, and was someone entirely different.
The fighter was standing on top of a massive marble pillar. A glance over the edge revealed a drop into darkness. Even with his perfect night vision, Techno couldn’t see the bottom.
“Technoblade!”
He spun around on a dime, pulling his weapon out of its sheath at the same time. A diamond axe now sat heavy in his hand. In front of him, was the man he’d been speaking to. The pillar he was standing on was taller than Techno’s, and too far to try and jump for.
Gone were the street clothes the man had been wearing. Instead, a black wrought crown sat on his head and he was dressed lavishly in a blue and gold. An overhead light shown from somewhere the monster hunter couldn’t identify.
He pointed at Techno as he spoke. “I’ve heard stories about you, Technoblade. And from what I’ve heard, I think that I may have some answers for you.”
“Cool.” Techno glanced around the void they were standing in. He’d faced a few magic users, but never one that could make an illusion this convincing.
The magician walked towards the edge of the pillar he stood on. “Do you know who I am, Mr. Technoblade?”
“Not very high on my priority list right now.” The hunter spun around to glance at his surroundings, in case there was anything he could use. Only more darkness.
“I, am Wilbur Soot.” The man dramatically pressed a hand to his chest. “God of music and trials.”
Okay, that grabbed Techno’s attention.
The deity gestured towards the nothing around him. “I’ve got a couple of challenges set up for you. And I cannot wait to see how you do with them.”
Techno shifted his grip on his axe.
“I’ll see you in a bit! I really do hope you live up to your legend.”
Wilbur snapped his fingers just as Technoblade released his hatchet. It was aimed directly at the god’s chest. The monster hunter didn’t see if the weapon made contact. The pillar beneath his feet vanished, and he plunged into the darkness below.
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deathsmallcaps · 3 years
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@boopboopboopbadoop
April’s Story
Shrek premiered 20 years ago this month! So I decided to honor it with my own illustrated version of the movie for my Win A Commission Contest! If you’d like to see the illustrations in context with the text, please
Once upon a time, there was a lovely Princess
But she had an enchantment upon her of an awful sort, that could only be broken by True Love's First Kiss
She was Locked away in a tower, guarded by a terrible fire-breathing Dragon
Many brave Knights had attempted to free from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed
She waited in the Dragon's keep, in the tallest room of the tallest tower. Where she waited for her True Love and True Love's First Kiss...
A large green hand ripped a page from the Book and revealed another part involving the whole kingdom celebrating on the Princess and her True Love's wedding day, laughing heartily as he slammed it shut.
"Like that's ever gonna happen!" A Scottish voice said dismissively. "What a load of-" A flush of a Toilet drowned out the last part of the sentence.
We look and see an outhouse. It was made of white birch wood, lashed together with a rope for a handle and a black crescent moon facing the right. There was some hanging moss on the tilted roof growing and a pathway of stones, weeds crowding in between. It was set right in front of a thick wood, facing towards a house. The strange thing about all of this is that the outhouse had plumbing with a flushing toilet.
The door slammed open, revealing no Prince Charming nor a Frog, but an Unlikely Hero: an Ogre. Yawning and stretching out before fixing his wedgie, he shook off a ripped page that was sticking to his shoe and stared at his house.
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He lived in a giant, white, hollowed out mangrove tree, the trunk thinning out into a perfect chimney. Moss, ivy and weeds grew all around or on top of it, and there was a crude door and some small windows set into the side.
The Ogre breathed in and left the outhouse with the door slamming behind him as he began his day.
Using a bucket and scraping up some mud, he carried it over to a branch. The ogre undressed and pulled on a rope, causing the mud to pour onto him. He made an “Oof!” sound when it first hit him, but continued scrubbing himself with the mud like it was soap. He drank the last dregs of the mud and then spat it out, ending the shower.
Then the Ogre brushed his teeth. He grabbed a red caterpillar, and squeezing it like a tube of toothpaste, pushed its innards onto a bone. He scrubbed well, getting the insides of his teeth, then the outsides. It turned his already unhealthy teeth greener, and the putrid goo shown in his hideous smile caused his mirror to shatter and fall onto the floor.
Next, he plunged himself into a lake and made a huge splash, turning himself right and getting ready; the Ogre let out a loud, horrendous and terrible gaseous fart that bubbled behind him. Feeling relieved and making an “innocent” pose with his finger to his lip, he turned to see that there was not one, not two but three red salmon floating up to the surface; murdered by the deadliness of the stench that continued to plague the rest of the underwater native wildlife. He grabbed the one next to him and proceeded to leave.
Later army crawling into a hollowed husk of a fallen tree, pointing diagonally skywards, the Ogre pushed out a ton of mud as he climbed his way forward like a commando in the trenches of a battlefield. The final mud slopped out as his stained face popped out.
He smiled as he found a green slug right outside the tree trunk. The Ogre grabbed it and the slug squirmed in alarm as it was picked up by a giant green hand, leaving the small maggots once underneath the slug exposed to the air.
Closer to sunset, near a lake with verdant hills in the distance, the Ogre began painting a new sign. Having picked out a broken off- plank of moldy wood form his outhouse, he didn’t bother with a base coat of white. He spent several hours painting. Once he finished, the Ogre placed his palette down, took a good look at his newest masterpiece, and out of sheer joy of satisfaction he kissed the ogre in the picture on the lips. It left red paint all across his lips as he posted it next to an older sign that said, "STAY OUT". It was a rather hideous portrayal of his face with red eyes and red writing that stated, “BEWARE OGRE".
After The Ogre had ate his fishy and sluggy dinner and had lit a fire with the strength of his belch, he sat back on the crocodile flesh recliner. Just as he was settling in, the Ogre's tiny trumpet ears picked up a disturbance in the Swamp.
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It was the sounds of people trespassing. With a groan he lurched to his feet and glanced out his window, spotting a group of Ogre Hunters in the far distance, mostly visible due to their torches. Within moments, the Ogre snuck outside his home and was tiptoeing behind them.
The Ogre Hunters, dressed mostly in green and sporting crappy haircuts, pushed aside the tall grass and foliage as they watched the Swamp House, lit from within by The Ogre’s Belch-Fire.
"Think it's in there?" The one with a bowl cut asked
"Alright... let's get it!" The one in the a tall hat declared, holding a torch and about to make a charge forward before he was stopped short by the one with the mustache next to him.
"Hold on, you know what that thing could do to you?" the mustached one said with fear.
"Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's bread!" The one with the bowl cut told him.
They all froze when a loud chuckle echoed behind them.
Turning around, they saw the Ogre towering over them. He spoke in an almost friendly manner, but what he said was the opposite of friendly. “Ha, yes, well actually; that would be a giant!" He exclaimed, causing the men to back off. The Ogre stepped forward each time they stepped back. "Now Ogres, oh.. they're much worse! They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin!"
"No!" A man was horrified
"They'll shave your livers!"
“No!”
"And squeeze the jelly from your eyes!" The Ogre Hunters were cornered as the Ogre added, thoughtfully, "Actually it's quite good on toast."
The bearded Ogre Hunter swung torch at The Ogre’s face. "Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya!"
The Ogre simply raised an eyebrow before calmly licking his fingers and putting out his torch with a pinch and a smile.
"Right..." the Ogre Hunter dropped the extinguished torch.
The Ogre let loose an horrible and fearsome ear bursting roar directly into the faces of the cowering Ogre Hunters. Spit flew in their faces as their hair and hats were thrown back. They screamed in response as their torches extinguished as the roar continued. After a long moment, he stopped and wiped his mouth, but the Hunters continued to scream; when they finally stopped they looked like their wits had long been scared out of them.
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The Ogre leaned in and whispered to them as the crickets and other hidden wildlife in the night went on in the silence. "This is the part where you run away..."
With a yelp they immediately dropped all their pitchforks and weapons and bolted out of the swamp as the Ogre chortled to himself. The bowl cut Ogre Hunter tripped but kept running in desperation.
The Ogre laughed whole heartily and yelled after the retreating party. "And stay out!"
A piece of paper they must’ve left behind caught his attention. He picked it up, and saw that it had the face of a solemn elf with a green leaf hat and white beard. There were bags of gold drawn around it, but no explicit price was given, just the word, “Reward” written in red. Above it he read, "Wanted: Fairy Tale Creatures...".
He realized they had wanted to capture him for the reward money. He looked towards the fleeing villagers in disgust and shook his head, throwing the paper to the ground as he went back inside to spend the rest of the night in peace.
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The next day, as part of his new plan to get people to leave him alone, The Ogre set up some new new signs, even farther from his home. Just as he was setting up his last one (it had a green skull with the words ‘Keep Out!’ in the pupils), something ran into his butt.
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The Ogre turned around to face what appeared to be a terrified mini-donkey.
Someone yelled, "He's getting away! Get him!" and the sounds of guards in armor scared the little donkey into hiding behind The Ogre. "This way! Turn!"
The local Captain of the Guard and his men ran up, stopping when they all saw the tall Ogre who stood before them. "You there... Ogre" The Captain grabbed a scroll his waist
"Aye?" Was The Ogre’s reply, hands on his hips and now seemingly irritated that his day was once again involving contact with humans.
"By the order of Lord Farquaad... I am authorized to place you both under arrest and transport you to a designated resettlement... facility...?" The Captain's voice was shaking and nervous due to the face that the Ogre was walking towards him slowly, now standing right in front of him as a deafening silence fell.
"Oh really?" He asked, leaning down so he was face to face with the Captain. "You and what army?" He asked as his teeth glittered with a smile, glancing behind him.
The Captain turned around to see what was once left of his men as their halberds fell down and a shield spun around onto the ground like a coin. He turned back to the Ogre; the mini-donkey smiled as the Captain took his men's example and made a run for it.
Now that confrontation is over with, the Ogre shook his head and walked away; but the mini-donkey had nowhere else to go and decided to follow his accidental savior. He trotted behind him.
"Can I say something to you?" He asked with the Ogre walking on. "Listen, you were really, really, really somethin' back here. Incredible!"
Now fully irritated, The Ogre turned around. "Are you talkin' to..." The Ogre saw no one else, just the ground lit by the sunlight within the forest of the tall trees. The voice was clearly gone. "Me?" He blinked and shrugged, turning before giving out a startled yell as the Donkey now stood before him.
"Yes I was talkin' to you. Can I tell you that you was great back here? Those guards! They thought they were all of that. Then you showed up and bam!" The little donkey caught up to The Ogre before getting up onto his hoofs in front of The Ogre and made a martial arts move with his right hoof, stopping him again. "They were trippin' over themselves like babes in the wood. I loved seeing that, made me feel happy seeing that"
"Oh, that's great. Really." The Ogre sarcastically replied
"Man, it's good to be free!" The burrito declared as the Ogre turned to him.
"Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with own friends? Hmm?" He suggested, leaning down to the little donkey, before walking off again.
"But... I don't have any friends, and I'm NOT going out there by myself!" Exclaimed the creature. A flash of inspiration came to him. "Hey wait a minute, I got a great idea! I'll stick with you" Donkey returned happily to the Ogre, deaf to his annoyance. "You're a mean green fighting machine! With you, we'll scare the spit out of anybody who crosses us!"
The Ogre halted and regarded Donkey for a moment. Then seemingly out of the blue, he fully turned and gave off an all might roar right into the animal’s face; hoping this would scare him.
The mini-donkey just stared, now with an impressed look drawn on his face. "Oh, wow! That was really scary!"
The Ogre just frowned and stomped away.
"Now if that doesn’t work, your breath will certainly get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic Tacs or something 'cause your breath STINKS!"
The Ogre continued walking, but then looked back when he didn’t hear the none-stop chatterbox for about five seconds, to his relief and hope that he lost the annoyance.
To his irritation and surprise, the donkey appeared looking down at him from above; atop of a fallen tree over The Ogre’s path.
"You almost burned the hair outta my nose, just like the time..."
The Ogre covered the donkey's mouth, muffling his little obnoxious tale. The donkey still did not shut up as he kept it held there; continuing to talk either way; The Ogre removed his hand. "Then I ate some berries, man I had some strong gasses leaking out of my butt that day!"
"WHY are you following me?!" The Ogre asked, losing patience; nothing could shut this donkey up and he just needed to get away right now.
"I'll tell you why!" The animal leaped off the tree as he followed the Ogre, before breaking out into obnoxious song. "Cause I'm all alone, there's no here beside meeeee." He stopped in front of the Ogre as he wiggled his butt, the Ogre's right eye was half closed and his left eye was twitching in madness as the mini-donkey continued. "My problems have all gone, there's no one to deride me... but you gotta have faith-"
"Stop singing!" The Ogre yelled, he grabbed the burrito by the ears and tail as he moved him out of his way. "It's no wonder you don't have any friends!"
"Wow, only a true friend would be that truly honest!" The small donkey claimed.
The Ogre only groaned "Listen, little donkey. Take a look at me: What am I?" He held out his arms and stood tall before him.
The burrito looked from the Ogre's shoes to his head, whose face looked irritated while he thought to himself. "Really tall?" was his first guess. The mini-donkey wasn’t sure what The Ogre was asking.
"No! I'm an Ogre, you know. ‘Grab your torch and Pitchforks!’ Doesn't that bother you?" He imitated an Ogre Hunter before asking.
Donkey shook his head
"Nope." came the response
"Really?" The Ogre was a bit surprised.
"Really, really" The creature happily assured.
"Oh," The Ogre was not too sure on what to say next.
"Man, I like you, what's your name?"
The Ogre looked a little surprised. For all his time living alone in the Swamp, no one had ever asked him of his name. He had always been The Ogre, not a true individual to the people around him.
"Uhh... Shrek." He replied after a moment, before continuing his walk home.
"Shrek?" Th little donkey echoed, seeing if he got it right before following the now and forever named Ogre himself. "Well, you know what I like about you Shrek? You got that kind of I-don't-care-what-nobody-thinks-of-me-thing I like that. I respect that Shrek. You all right."
He continued to follow Shrek up the hill as they came overhead across a small grassy meadow hill above that overlooked Shrek's Swamp. Donkey (for that was his name) stared looked at the scene before him.
"Whoa! Look at that. Who'd want to live in a place a like that?" He asked with a hint of disgust, mostly discomfort, in his voice.
"That... would be my home" Shrek claimed, his hands on his hips before heading down the other side of the hill.
Donkey could only blink in response, he had really put his hoof in it now. "Oh! And it is lovely! Just beautiful. You know you are quite a decorator. It's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget!"
Shrek only shook his head as he continued downwards.
"I like that boulder, that is a nice boulder." Donkey followed him down. He continued after Shrek once again and stopped in front of the three signs: "BEWARE OGRE", "STAY OUT" and "DANGER". Donkey took a look at each of them all and asked,"I guess you don't uh.. entertain that much do you?"
"I like my privacy." Shrek claimed as he kept walking to his front door, Donkey trotting after him.
"You know, I do too. That's another thing we have in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You've trying to give them a hint and they won't leave. Then there's that big awkward silence you know?"
Shrek turned to face him, silently willing Donkey to understand that the creature had just described their exact situation.
"Can I stay with you?" Clearly Donkey did not receive the hint.
"Uh, what?"
"Can I stay with you, please?" He added in the magic word.
"Of course!" Shrek declared lightheartedly as he smiled.
"Really?" Donkey asked.
"No." Shrek bluntly denied.
"PLEASE! I don't wanna go back there! You know what it's like to be living like a freak!" Donkey reconsidered for a moment as he looked at the large green humanoid before him as he pushed Shrek onto his front door with his hooves. "Well, maybe you do. But that's why we gotta stick together! You gotta let me stay, please, please!" Donkey was getting hysterical.
"OKAY! Okay..." Donkey dropped to the floor as Shrek opened his door inwards as he gave his one little stipulation. "But one night only." He was about to enter before Donkey bolted in.
"Ah! Thank you!"
"What are you...?" Donkey leapt onto Shrek's crocodile skin recliner. "No, no!"
"This is gonna be fun! We can stay up late, swappin' manly stories and in the mornin," He trotted around on the chair before sitting down as he finished with: "I'm makin' waffles!"
"Oh!" Shrek groaned as he held his hands out, as though he was planning to strangle the noisy intruder.
Donkey looked around and asked him. "Where do, uh... I sleep?"
"Outside!" Shrek screamed irritably.
Donkey's ears drooped upon hearing that response. "Oh, well, I guess that's cool. I mean, I don't know you and you don't know me, so I guess outside is best, you know. Here I go." He sniffled as got off his recliner and walked out sadly,"Goodnight..." He told him as Shrek slammed the door on him.
The mini-donkey kept talking, of course. "You know, I do like the outdoors. I'm a Donkey. I was born outside. I'll just be sitting by myself outside, I guess, you know. By myself, outside!"
Shrek looked out before shaking his head and sighing to himself, walking away from the door to enjoy himself for the rest of the day as Donkey began singing the same annoyingsong again; although more sorrowfully.
"I'm all alone, there's no one here besides me..."
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That night, as the cauldron hanging by chains over the firepit bubbled solemnly; Shrek was enjoying himself with a nice dinner while Donkey was locked outside of his home. He dropped a eye on a stick into his martini glass and slurped it down as he looked at his dinner before him. There was a slug with orange eyes, what appeared to be green grapes, a jar of eyes, spice, worm stuffed pumpkin and a nice large piece of cooked skinless meat on his plate.
These were the times he enjoyed the most out of his solitary life, he was home, nice and warm and he wasn't bothered by anyone at all. Though he had to pause and glance at his front door. Shrek had ... mixed feelings about his new acquaintance. He talked WAY too much, but he was also the first person in a very long time to actually treat Shrek like a person.
He shook his head and sighed, scooting in further to his table as he felt that there was just something missing from the layout of the table. The man he figured out what ir was. He brought his hand to his ear and started to pull hard and painfully as the earwax built up came out like a spear and placed it atop a candle platform; lighting the wick made of ear hair afterwards with a match. Now he can enjoy his meal alone.
The same could not be said for Donkey, who peeked sadly into the window before making his way back to the front door. He laid down as he smiled bittersweetly and went to sleep at his new friend's doorstep.
Shrek continued to eat and enjoy his meal until the sound of his door creaking interrupted his silence.
He put his fork and knife on the table as he got up. "I thought I told you to stay outside." He was hoping to shove Donkey back outside, if that was what had come in.
"I am outside." Donkey’s voice came from the window.
In confusion, Shrek turned and saw a shadow move across the wall. Who was now moving around near his table? He returned and observed it. Everything was normal underneath the table, but then he heard voices from above.
"Well, gents, it's a farcry from the farm, but what choice do we have?" A blind mouse asked, tripping over Shrek's fork.
"It's not home, but it'll do just fine!" The second of the blind mice knocked over the jar full of eyeballs, spilling out the contents.
"What a lovely bed" The third of the blind mice was bouncing on the Slug, Shrek immediately caught him.
"Got ya!" However it escaped his grasp.
"I found some cheese" the third mouse said, biting Shrek's left ear.
"OW!" He cried in pain, grabbing at the mouse again who was now on his other shoulder.
"Blah! Awful stuff!" The tiny rodent jumped down onto the spoon and inadvertently launched a piece of gravy towards Shrek's left eye, which he wiped away immediately.
"Is that you Gordon?" One of them asked.
"How did you know?" A different one asked back.
"Enough!" Shrek grabbed all three of them by the tail, flipping the wooden spoon off the left side of the table as he turned his back and demanded angrily.
"What are you doing in my house?" The dinner on his table was then violently shoved off and Shrek's back was hit with an gold and glass fashioned coffin, labeled, ‘Here lies Snow White, under the curse by the Poison Apple infected by the Sleeping Death curse’.
"Hey!" He turned and saw the Seven Dwarves, one of the waved at Shrek.
"Oh, no, no, no. Dead broad OFF the table!" He shoved her coffin back to the Dwarves
"Where are we supposed to put her? The Bed's taken!" They shoved the coffin back to him.
"Huh?" Shrek stopped short. He hurried to his bed and opened the curtain separating the rooms and gasped. There laid comfortably and in grandmother's clothing, was a wolf of all creatures.
"What?" The Wolf asked irritably.
Shrek was now on the verge of rage, he dragged the Wolf out of bed and held him in the air through his house as the Seven Dwarves made themselves comfortable.
"I live in a swamp, I put up signs! I'm a terrifying Ogre!" He shoved his door open outwards. "What do I have to do to get a little privacy?!" He screamed as he threw the Wolf out of his house.
Then he saw a sight that would haunt him forever. "Oh no... oh no!" Shrek bellowed.
His Swamp. His lovely, silent, peaceful Swamp was no longer the way he intended it to be. It was now swarming with many, many Fairytale Creatures; many, many beings now living in his precious Swamp. Even the old woman brought her entire shoe to his Swamp, with many children running around. Tents were set up, fairies roamed around in the air, Pinocchio and a short yellow elf with a cone shaped hat were arguing and many people were conversing with each other.
“No!" A witch flew past him. "NO!" He screamed out, three more witches came zooming past him and Shrek had to jump for cover as they came flying down with elves helping them land.
"Wha?" Shrek turned his head to the side with the old woman hanging her clothes with a child and two other children pushing each other.
"Hey, don't push!" A girl in the blue shrieked.
The Pied Piper in red was calling over rats with his flute while many other Fairytale Creatures were waiting in line towards Shrek's Outhouse.
In the meantime, Papa and Baby Bear were sitting by the fire, the latter upset and being comforted by his father; no Mama Bear in sight, as many other Fairytale Creatures warmed themselves up by the fire before them. Elves, Lepricons, Dwarves, Fairies, Witches, Pigs, Wolves, a Unicorn and any Fairytale Creature you can think of were all there in Shrek's Swamp; shattering his peace.
"What are you doing in my Swamp?!" Shrek roared out as he got up, his voice echoed all over the sound of his Swamp; everyone and everything came an abrupt half as it was followed by screams and gasps. The Dwarves who held bowls to be fed with soup from the cauldron by the witch dropped them, the three fairies of Sleeping Beauty flew in the tent to hide and two Dwarves ducked out of sight and appeared holding each other out of fear behind a branch.
Shrek wasn't going to have all this; he eyed everyone and began to walk to some Elves and Dwarves. "Alright, get out of here. All of you, move it! Come on! Let's go! Hapaya! Hapaya! Hey! Quickly, come on!" He shooed them all backwards but some of the Dwarves and fairies ran into his home as Shrek turned back. "No, no! No, no. Not there, not there!" He ran after them as they slammed the door on him and a little green fairy, the door now unable to open despite his best efforts.
He stopped and turned to face the large group before them, especially on Donkey.
"Hey don't look at me, I didn't invite them!" Donkey replied.
"Oh, gosh, no one invited us" Pinocchio confirmed.
"What?!" Shrek came over, demanding to know what happened.
"We were forced to come here" He told the Ogre.
"By who?" He was flabbergasted until one of the Three Pigs told him.
“Lord Farquaad. He huffed and he puffed and he... signed an eviction notice." His brothers nodded in agreement.
"Alright. Who knows where this Farquaad guy is?" Shrek asked.
Everyone looked around at each other with no answer, until Donkey answered. "Oh, I do. I know where he is!"
"Does anybody ELSE know where to find him? Anyone at all?" Shrek was desperate to not to go with Donkey of all people.
"Me! Me!" Donkey tried to get his attention, jumping comically into the air. Baby Bear held his paw up, but was stopped by his father.
"Anyone?" Big Bad Wolf and a Green Wizard pointed to each other while Donkey continued
"Oh! Oh, pick me! Oh, I know! I know! Me, me!"
"Okay... fine." He reigned himself to being annoyed; Shrek knew that he would either go with Donkey or risk asking a human. "Attention, all Fairytale... things. Do not get comfortable, your welcome is officially worn out. In fact, I'm going to see this guy Farquaad right now and get you all off my land and back where you came from!" He pointed to the left before the entire crowd went wild.
Shrek shook his head and groaned before walking, four birds draping him in a flower cloak. "Doh!" He swatted them away as he sharply pointed directly at Donkey. "You. You're comin' with me" He told him darkly as he shoved the cape off him and started walking, the birds returning and dropping a flower crown on his head.
"Alright, that's what I like to hear man: Shrek and Donkey, two stalwart friends, off on a whirlwind big-city adventure. I love it!" Donkey rushed after the ogre.
Shrek tried to grab torch from a Dwarf while walking. He refused to let go, so Shrek simply shook him and then dropped the dwarf into the water where the dwarf resurfaced moments later.
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"On the road again, sing it with me, Shrek. I can't to get on the road again!"
“What did I say about singing?" Shrek sharply turned to Donkey and grabbed his flower crown before throwing it off of him. They crossed a log that bridged the area between Shrek’s little island and the rest of the swamp.
"Can I whistle?" Donkey asked.
"No."
"Can I hum it?"
"Alright, hum it."
Donkey continued to hum ‘On the Road Again’ while Shrek
focused on the road ahead.
The two heroes marched off into the woodlands while being waved off by all creatures.
Art Explanation
So, it’s obvious I copied the title from the movie! It sure did make my life easier!
And I used a lot of references for my pictures. I hoped to make them true to the movie as possible.
The second picture is possibly my favorite, although I didn’t enjoy drawing all the scenery. It isn’t my specialty.
The third picture was fun! I remember being very jealous of Shrek’s belch power when I was little, lol.
To be honest, the fourth picture was my least favorite. It felt too busy.
The fifth picture is my other favorite, because it has Donkey!
The last picture was hard, for sure. I wanted to ge their reflections right, and not make the background look too crappy. It’s hard to adapt things from such a dark scene. But I think it turned out alright, although the scaling is a little funny :).
So, I was hoping to not have to write out these scenes myself, because it’s ten whole minutes of a movie and let me tell you, it’s hard to do from scratch. Luckily, I found a version, which I’ve left a link for below. I just polished it a bit.
Anyways, I hope you’ve enjoyed!
SOURCE
https://m.fanfiction.net/s/450448/1/Shrek-Adaptation
9 notes · View notes
batshitasian · 3 years
Text
Intemartecium- 1. Incarcerated
Dramione- Voldemort wins AU
ON WATTPAD @batshitasian 
TW: Mentions of SA/r*pe, Violence, Death, Mature Themes
Word count- 4948
I will be updating regularly on Wattpad.
~
STRAGGLED FOOTSTEPS were swamped out by the rain, crippling the air.
"They're here early," the blonde girl buzzed from between the bars, "have you been counting?"
Hermione Granger let herself rest upon the freezing wall of her cell, "Not today."
The similar shoes of Augustus Rockwood were coming down the staircase, each girl's eyes perking up. Behind him followed a familiar face, one that hadn't been seen by them since the Battle of Hogwarts.
The dazed witch kept babbling, "They're three days too early. The second of January isn't until tomorrow, and mealtime isn't for a couple more hours-"
Ginny pulled Luna back from the bars of their shared space, "Hush, Luna. They're coming our way."
The harsh clangs of the keys that sat in the loophole of Rockwell's pants echoed in their ears. A hood was over the stranger's face, none of them able to see him due to his obscurations.
"What do you want?" Lavender Brown snottily spat from the cell across from them. A sigh of relief escaped the other girls' lungs when she didn't say anything out of line. Her hair was matted to her head, her appearance significantly more untidy than the other girls.
Everyone thought her to be mad, the glisten of insanity so prevalent in her eyes with every waking moment in the dungeons.
And as the seasons changed, Hermione took note of her fellow cellmates' mental decline; Lavender Brown had an undiagnosed case of Schizophrenia.
They'd discover her talking-- sometimes screaming-- to herself at night. It was almost disturbing to listen to.
During the day, they tried their best to keep Lavender quiet; any disturbances she caused would have her dragged to Alecto Carrow. Each time she'd return to her fellow prisoners, her condition worsened.
Rockwood came to the door of their cell as his accomplice stayed in the shadows, "I'm here for Lovegood."
Hermione stood up from her cot, no longer suppressing the urge to protest. Her throat was dry, and her lips were chapped as she steadily came to the rusty bars of her cell.
Ginny didn't hesitate to step in front of her friend and take her hand, panic rousing her dry throat. "What are you doing?"
The man stepped into their space, his nostrils flaring as he approached the red-haired girl who puffed her chest out and stuck her chin up.
Hermione's brows furrowed as she turned her head to the two girls through the strips of metal beside her, "Be careful, Ginny."
The man continued his advance, backing them into a wall.
"You can't take her! She hasn't done anything wrong-"
Smack.
Ginny soothed a hand over her stinging cheek. Her face turned in the other direction. After all these years, the Weasley girl hadn't lost her spirit.
Not with Luna beside her, at least.
There was no response from the hooded figure.
Rockwood let out a chuckle as he roughly grabbed the blonde by her upper arm, his unrelenting grip provoking her to resist even more, "Come on, you little brat-"
"Don't touch her," the man huskily muttered from the shadows.
His voice was familiar. Almost nostalgic to Luna.
The dirty death eater's hold on her faltered as she turned to look back at Ginny, who wore a perpetual scowl.
Her heart ached as she looked at her friend.
"If you hurt her, I'll kill you," Ginny heaved, getting up from the floor, "Don't listen to them, Luna. They're going to--"
"Come, Lovegood," the figure stood at the archway of her cell, his towering frame nearly too broad to fit in the doorway, "Now."
He offered his hand to her, taking a step into the dark chamber.
Hermione observed silently, taking mental notes in her head of their interaction.
A flush of speculation came across Luna's cheeks in the dim torchlight. She studied the man's calloused hands, taking them into hers as Rockwood continued to glare at Ginny.
Clearly, the cloaked man was a higher rank of Death Eater than Rockwood if he granted him the leniency of time.
Her delicate, trembling fingers came across the palm of his hand, studying the lines across them.
A pair of soft brown eyes could be seen staring at the skin that peeked out of Luna's sleeve, accompanied by a handsome face.
There were burns where shackles used to lay. For a while, they kept her under magic suppressing irons because Luna could easily use wandless magic. But soon enough, her power found its way into the graveyard in her mind, where it lay buried ever since. She was one of the only ones who didn't have access to magic anymore. They had tortured the essence out of the witch until it was controlled-- and soon-- dormant.
Luna stared up at him absent-mindedly and dropped his hands. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Unfortunately for you, I'm not."
"Where are you taking her?" Hermione spoke up. The man now turned to her so that she could see pale skin underneath his hood.
Lavender perked up, "If You-Know-Who sees he's missing a--"
"Voldemort," Hermione corrected. Her glare was stiff on Rockwood, who was ushering Luna and his accomplice out of the cell. "His name is Voldemort."
"I'll cut your tongue out, mud-blood," Rockwood threatened.
Their threats weren't empty.
Fleur Delacour was the only one who had stayed silent in their section of the dungeon. A spell had been cast that permanently stole her voice. She did too much screaming, you see, and for good reason too.
She delivered a stillborn baby boy due to complications after watching Bill's death.
Bill's death was public, almost two years ago. He was chosen to duel one month. His partner was Ginny, and she was forced to kill him. And God knows he'd never hurt his baby sister.
Moreover, Fleur's cellmate was knocked out from a session with Dolohov. Poor Cho had it the worst. Some of the death eaters had a certain fetish for her race, making her an excellent target to fulfill their needs.
Lovegood began to walk up the stairs, her weak eyes meeting the rest of the captives before the cloaked man followed her up.
"Luna, stop!" Ginny cried as her fingers grasped at the rods of metal, "Please don't take her-- She hasn't done anything-"
Rockwood shut her up, "Crucio."
A deafening shriek penetrated their eardrums as she was thrown back to the dirty floor of her cell, Hermione's eyes widening at the sight.
"Stop it!"
"You stay away from her!" Luna shouted. Her call was soft yet demanding. A hand was placed around her waist, which silenced any more protests.
"Quiet, Lovegood," he pulled her back so that she was against him, "Not another word from you or you're next."
"I'll see you soon," she delicately called out. "I promise."
Rockwood stopped his assault, a smirk across his ugly features as he looked down at the girl who stood still against the floor, "Blood traitor."
A horrified glance was exchanged between all the girls as Ginny let out a quiet sob, her hand twitching on the floor. She laid still, but Hermione knew exactly what was racing through her mind.
The footsteps ceased as the three left, Luna being left in the hands of whatever wretched death eater had requested her presence.
"Ginny," Hermione reached through the bars, holding her ankle and rubbing soothing circles on the flesh, "it will be okay. I promise you'll see her again--"
"Did they take her to Dolohov?" Cho had woken up, still drowsy from the drugs they'd administered to her. She rubbed her eyes and noted the absence in the cell diagonal from her and Fleur.
Lavender groaned and sat on her cot. Underneath her breath, she muttered to the wall, her hands moving as if she was speaking to someone. "Luna's better off dead if she's with him," she covered her mouth, whispering to the illusions conjured by psychosis.
The girls tried to ignore her.
"Is everything okay, Cho?" Hermione asked, peeling her eyes away from Ginny only for a moment, "Do you want me to have a look at you--"
"No," she shook her head quickly, "No, thank you."
She nodded.
There was no form of consolation that could be provided for any of them. It was best not to talk about it.
"Try to rest," Hermione raised her brows at the three girls at the other side of the room, "We'll all need it before tomorrow."
A nod of acknowledgment was reciprocated between the group as they assumed their resting positions.
Ginny began to shift and shiver as she pushed herself off the ground. Hermione moved the contact from the girl's ankle to her hand as she collected her bearings, tears tinting her eyes with their shine. Their heads rested together between the bars.
"Match my breathing, Ginny," Hermione suggested, slowly taking an exaggerated inhale, "Come on."
Ginny had clung onto Luna for three years now; they were almost inseparable. Hermione perceived it as codependency.
She took an observation of Lavender, who sat up with her eyes pried open.
Everyone at school always thought Luna was out of it, but as the years passed, Luna's thoughts tended to wander less. Soon, those soothing voices that she heard began to disappear, and she only heard her own.
The voices that Luna heard were in correlation to her belief in the afterlife; Lavender's, however, strayed far beyond the veil of death.
Hermione analyzed her jail mates as they drowned in the tides of distress, their minds bobbing at the surface of the unforgiving waves of brutality for so long. She watched their spirit rot, followed by their minds, and finished with their heart.
It was only a matter of time before she'd decay too.
Fleur's eyes began to flutter shut as Cho faced the wall, curled up into a ball.
Soon, Hermione began to hum a lullaby. A simple tune, something she'd learned on the piano when she was young. It brought her solace. The vibrations were comforting as they steadied the rhythm of her rampant heart, blending with the vulgar lament coming from down the hall.
The boys never cooperated without a fight.
~
"McLaggen was screaming again, wasn't he?" Ginny muttered to her brother, taking a bite out of the stale bread served to them on corroded metal plates. "Infighting again?"
"With Ron," George muttered weakly, not touching his food, "I wouldn't say it was entirely Cormac's fault either."
"How's his temper?" Hermione frowned, fervent to know the status of his crumbling psyche. "After the last battle, I didn't expect him to get any better."
They looked to Ron, who sat with Dean and Neville. He had been dodging Hermione and what was left of his family for the past month out of the humiliation of what he'd done.
He was chosen the most often out of any of them.
Ron's musty, worn features reminded Hermione of Horcrux hunting with him and Harry. This time, his attitude was worse than when he wore that necklace.
As the years went on of their routine, most of them had grown accustomed to the fact that they'd all fall prey to the killing curse from one another's hands. Ron, however, had sandbags upon his shoulders. He dragged those weights around him, unable to let them go.
"He needs to learn to forgive himself for Hannah," Seamus came next to them. He had heard their entire conversation. "She wasn't gonna last here anyways. Weasley did her a favor--"
"It could be you today," Hermione cut in. Seamus had always been unafraid to speak up. "It's best not to talk about what we've all done for survival."
Ginny focused back on her plate, the stale bread and cheese unable to sustain them for long. Some days, they'd get fed stew when there were leftovers from the cafeteria.
"You didn't sleep again, huh. Granger?" George nudged her as he noticed the bags underneath her eyes. She always had them. Since they were kept underground, the concept of time was almost immeasurable. The dungeons of the Ministry of Magic had driven plenty of them mad.
"It was loud." She nodded, not wanting to talk about Luna's departure.
Ginny sat next to her, acting unfazed yet so blatantly impaired. Her fingertips were trembling-- they had been all morning. The repercussions of the Cruciatus Curse were blatantly obvious.
"You should eat, George," his sister suggested, eyeing his food. "You should be at full strength today--"
"Have it," he grimaced, drawing his stare over to behind Hermione. She turned around to follow his gaze.
"George, I--"
"Take it, Ginny."
Hermione and the last Weasley twin tore their glance away from the figure that stood in the doorway.
Draco Malfoy gazed at the wall, sweat glistening off his brow as he walked into the room full of people.
All of them were scattered in litter groups with their remaining classmates. Most of them were quiet, keeping to themselves as they tried to stomach their meals. There were about fifty of them left. There used to be roughly two hundred. Some died from early suicide attempts, the other from the battles. Most of them had died in the first three months when they'd fight with the guards. However, the Dark Lord made a rule of 'no killing the prisoners.'
He made sure each death was public. It kept his supporters and the rest of the wizarding world well aware of his power.
It ensured no rebellion.
Draco's face was expressionless as he took to his usual corner. No one talked to him, really. He was Cormac's cellmate, but other than that, there was no reason for any of them to address him. He had, after all, bullied at least half the room in their schooling days.
Malfoy had fallen from grace in the Wizarding World not only once-- but twice.
"Have a good morning, mate?" Cormac taunted him. "I see you've warmed up for today."
During the Battle of Hogwarts, he chose the right side, but it was also the losing one. There was no praise for him as he betrayed his Slytherin friends and was 'redeemed' in the eyes of the Order. Instead, he was considered a traitor and was punished as such.
The Dark Lord had resulted in killing the Purebloods if they showed retaliation as well, his administration a river that drowned its own fish.
"Ecstatic," he grumbled, coming to his own corner and ignoring another one of McLaggen's pathetic offers at friendship.
Draco had taken these past years to strengthen his frame, his escape undoubtedly arriving soon.  
He wanted to be ready.
He wanted to be ready to reemerge into society as the last victor of the Dark Lord's tournament.
All heads turned as Walden Macnair appeared from the doorway, "It's time."
~
She was dragged out, shackles against her now thin wrists. Hermione had done her fair share of fighting these past moons.
On the 2nd of every month, in remembrance of Harry Potter's defeat, they held a battle between the last of the followers of the Order and anyone in compliance with it.
Three pairs were selected to duel for the amusement of the Death Eaters and their families. Young children were even encouraged to watch, the Dark Lord considered it would be best to show them young.
Annually, in May of each passing year, they'd invite the public to watch.
In the dungeons, they weren't treated half as bad as one would think. Their punishment was far worse than torture.
"Are you feeling okay, Hermione?" Cho Chang muttered from in front of her.
She didn't have the chance to respond as Cormac McLaggen butt into their conversation, trailing behind her with shackles on his large wrists, "Please, we all know the Dark Lord won't risk his Golden Girl on a private match; he's waiting till May. If she's lucky, she won't get chosen until it's just her and bloody Weasley. The 'epic battle' of Potter's famous friends."
Neither of them responded. Even his presence behind them was frightful enough.
The late Hannah Abbott had been taken by the blonde brute before she passed. She was taken by him multiple times.  
Every woman's personal form of punishment.
"Cat got your tongue, Chang?" He chuckled. "Don't worry, we all know you're too popular to let go..."
The girl was never chosen. Cho hadn't been chosen since the day she stepped foot into the hands of the Death eaters because the men simply took too much pleasure with her. But to be honest, she'd rather battle with her peers than be forced to perform another session with one of them again. It truly was a fate worse than death.
"You're vile," Hermione seethed and sent a pitiful look to Cho. The girl had already continued walking.
The Dark Lord sat atop a large granite, throne-like seat, next to Bellatrix Lestrange and Corban Yaxley. His most accomplished subordinates were rewarded well for their series of victories in the first Battle of Hogwarts.
Lestrange and Yaxley were important pillars of the duels. Bella had no hesitation in torturing the contestants in order to increase motivation. Yaxley was proficient in the Imperius Curse, keeping the Minister of Magic completely in his control throughout the battle. If the contenders retaliated or refused to participate, Yaxley made them. The commentators couldn't put a toe out of line with his curse upon them.
The Dark Lord's system worked exceptionally well.
Every other month, they switched off the spectator of the match, a new Order member forced to annotate the strikes cast against the young prisoners. When Ginny and Bill were chosen, Molly was exacted to commentate the murder of her son at the hands of her daughter. Yaxley's curse produced her voice as a sports announcer, her desperate rasp resounding from the walls of the Department of Mystery. She didn't speak for months afterward, repulsed by her sound.
January produced Augusta Longbottom as the interpreter of the match. It always was a bout of irony that someone close to the competitors was chosen.
"Imperio," Yaxley removed his wand from Augusta's harsh gaze, her face turning blank. Her collar was yanked up, bringing her ear to his lips. Whispered words carried her instructions.
"Welcome to the first Occidendum Justorum of the year 2001." The audience of Death Eaters applauded loudly. "This will be an exciting match. Concessions are on the left-wing. Bring out the first pairing!"
Rockwood and Dolohov burst into the arena, dragging the first contestants of the night.
"Ladies and gentlemen, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil! Both former members of Dumbledore's Army and the Order. The Indian one even accompanied Harry Potter to the Yule Ball many years ago... It's rumored that Potter even lost his virginity to her! Wonder if Weasley has something to say about that?"
Ginny's head bowed in shame as the audience booed at her. Most of the people doing the booing were the grown men. The mothers and children stayed put in their seats, their expressions unreadable.
"Let the games begin!" Augusta was ushered to her seat, chains sprung from the arms and legs of the chair, shackling her in to watch.
Lavender and Parvati stood on opposite ends, both 10 paces away from the center.
Numbers were floating on the ceiling; it was the same charm used to conjure a night sky across the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
"Crucio," she aimed her wand at Parvati, missing by a couple of feet.
Everyone watched as they began to circle each other. Lavender was muttering something under her breath, her hallucinations taking place out in the open. No one could see them but the girl as a crazed look came onto her face.
Draco tore his gaze away, seemingly uninterested and too apprehensive to focus.
He eyed the raven at the top of the arena as it spread its wings.
Fuck that blasted creature.
How envious Draco was that he had the privilege to be free of the punishment he was bound to. The prisoner saw it as a blatant mockery of his situation.
That fucking bird wore his colors as well-- jet black. It was almost insulting.
Resentment was carved in the craters beneath his eyes.
"She's gone mad!" Parvati screeched as she called out to the Dark Lord, trying to get a clear shot at her opponent. "Stupefy!"
The color upon his cheeks was almost sickly as he turned his attention back to the fight. A scream erupted from Lavender's mouth as she began to send red sparks towards the audience, a protective shield protecting the bystanders from any harm.
"I'll protect all of you!" Lavender screamed into nothingness, her stance guarding a corner with wide arms. "Avada Kedavra!"
She missed.
Draco almost laughed.
The rest of the contestants had appalled expressions as they watched Parvarti take another hit. Hermione let out a small gasp as red sparks were sent in every direction.
"Who do you think is gonna win?" Cormac's head dipped down to Hermione as she felt his stubble prick against the tip of her ear. "My bet's on Lavender... we all know how reckless she can be."
"These are lives," Hermione scowled, turning to him with ragged and fierce eyes. "You don't place bets on your friends--"
"I'll do what I please, Granger," he shrugged, turning to face her as a loud gasp emerged from the audience. "Unlike you, I'd like to spend my last moments not bloody miserable all the time--"
"Weren't you caught for fighting with Ron last night--?"
"We have a winner!" Augusta's voice boomed, the undertones of fear coating her pitch. "Congratulations, Lavender Brown!"
Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the sight of Parvarti's lifeless body on the floor. Lavender was still in the corner, protecting hallucinations of people as two guards came to her side, disarming her and dragging her out of the arena.
"Told you," Cormac tilted his head to the side nonchalantly. "Reckless."
Padma let out a heart-wrenching scream, running to her sister, who no one had attended to.
Instantly, more guards were sent out to restrain her as well. Her sobs were silent against the loud cheers of the audience.
"Next up... Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane!" The two were dragged out from opposite ends, as usual, wands in hand.
The next duel began almost immediately.
They moved on from her death too quickly-- almost as if it didn't matter.
There were blind tears down Padma's face. Her hand clawed at what was left of her twin sister as they dragged them in separate directions. They held the breathing twin by the arms... and the dead one by the collar of her shirt-- her face was being scraped across the ground.
The expression on Padma's face was a representation of what almost every prisoner felt. Besides Cormac, there's only one man who would give him a run for his grim reputation-- Draco Malfoy.
Hateful, vicious, and merciless.
Draco sat sulking in the corner before Dolohov came to his side, whispering in his ear. Before the blonde could comply with his orders, he looked up at the five poles that held a prisoner.
Four large poles had Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall, Xenophilius Lovegood, and Sybil Trelawny. The fifth one was empty.
Each day, he prayed his mother wasn't in that position.  
He left swiftly, ignoring Romilda, who had already thrown the first shot. No one noticed his disappearance.
"We're saved for another month, then?" Cho's voice trembled as Hermione watched tears crowd at her lash line. Unconsciously, she reached for her friend's hand, trying to squeeze a portion of the charade of courage that Miss Granger radiated.
Hermione squeezed back, the clinking of the metal upon their wrists reminding them that they could easily be next, "Another month..." She had to look away from the scene, unable to watch another one of her classmates murder each other. Many of the others did the same.
She looked up, observing that same raven as it wobbled across the rim of the bowl. Below them was the audience. Then, the pillars of older captives.
Molly Weasley was staring at what was left of her family with tenderness and grief glassed onto her eyes. She was forced to watch her children kill each other for years now. This was the only time she'd ever see them-- when they were about to die.
Ginny refused to kill Bill, through her retaliation, they brought out Molly and used the Cruciatus Curse on her.
They kept her breathing to watch her children kill each other. However, Arthur hadn't survived that far.
That was the consequence of rebellion.
They held Xenophilius Lovegood on a totem too. His eyes searched the line of prisoners for a sign of his Luna, but he never found her. One day, he would understand what happened.  
Their old professors were taken captive as well.
Today, they had McGonagall strung up, her hands above her head in a ragged white gown. Her lips were dry-- bleeding as she begged them to quench her thirst. The once honest and fair composure she held was now abandoned as her head hung low. The poor woman was forced to watch as two generations of her students were killed, if not my Voldemort, by each other.
And Trelawny... She was reminded everyday of how Harry Potter didn't win-- how her prophecy was as good as shit.
Romilda Vane screamed, snapping Hermione back from her daze. Her stare diverted down to Augusta Longbottom, who was heavily sobbing as she narrated Dean Thomas landing a fatal blow on his opponent.
Romilda was dead on the floor.
Cho's sob was heavy in her throat as Hermione held her hand tighter, careful not to draw too much attention. It didn't matter how many times they had seen their friends murdered by each other; it always stung just the same.
"I wanted the girl!" A man called out from the audience and shouted to Rockwood. "She would've been much better use to me, don't you agree?"
"Unless you have a taste for cold pussy," Walden Macnair shouted to him, "I don't think you'll want this one anymore."
Laughs exploded from the men in the audience. They were pigs—every single one of them.
Cormac began to clap slowly; his lack of empathy or any human emotions disturbed everyone in line. Ron sent a dull stare in his direction.
"Last, but certainly not least... the traitor Draco Malfoy and my grandson, Neville Longbottom!" Augusta shrieked, her voice trembling with each word she said. Her expressions were frightful as the two competitors were escorted by no one, meeting the other's hard stares as they prepared to fight for their lives.
"I've been waiting for this one, my Lord..." Bellatrix stood up from her seat, looking at her master, "What a coincidence that my own nephew will be the one to finish the job."
"Ready..." the old woman breathed, the other parents on the totems looking now too.
"Destroy him, Draco!" Bellatrix cackled, a wicked smile dawning on the Dark Lord's snake-like face.
"Set..." Augusta was sobbing as the two boys raised their wands.
"You can do this, Neville," Hermione muttered under her breath, the outcome of this match already wounding her before it had begun.
"Go."
"Expelliarmus!" Neville shouted with an offensive stance.
Draco easily blocked the spell, knowing that he had to drag this fight out longer. The entertainment was what the people wanted the most; he needed to provide that by playing along with these games.
"Protego!" The blonde took menacing steps forward, his pace quickening as he began to block spells cast by Longbottom.
The majority of them had swallowed the pill of Draco being manipulated at sixteen to become an instrument of murder.
But his loyalties were the least of their problems.
"Crucio!"
He did not have a problem killing. He was no longer a sacred boy that was so troubled to find his place in the world. If he could go back to the night he failed to complete his Master's wishes; he would have killed Dumbledore without a second thought.
"Reducto!" Longbottom panicked, Draco's steps corning him as he blocked his offensive spells.
Hermione's hands began to sweat. Her grip on Cho hadn't ceased. If anything, she was now the one squeezing the backbone out of her hands.
The audience was in a frenzy as Malfoy stopped his defensive spells, sending strikes onto Neville's chest.
His hair was unkempt with smudges of dirt upon his cheeks. The sweat that glistened off of his brow was even appealing to some teen girls in the audience.
He was always one of the three pairs in the month of May when the public was allowed to watch. Slytherin girls screamed for him.
"Crucio!" Draco sneered as Longbottom fell to the floor. "Crucio!"
Augusta was forced to remain quiet. The light left her eyes as she witnessed her kin suffer the same fate his parents did by the same line of dark wizards.
McGonagall had long looked away; every adult with the Order did.
And for the first time in so long, Bellatrix gleamed with pride.
It was supposed to be a bitter triumph for each winner, but for Draco Malfoy, it seemed as though it was an easy task.
How else would he pay the price for his freedom? No amount of money could sway the Dark Lord's mind after a betrayal.
He put on a show to entertain the guests... He was a crowd favorite, after all.
"AH!" Neville cried out, tears forming in his eyes as he looked to his Grandmother-- she was the last sight he saw.
"Avada Kedavra."
The crowd went wild.
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