#[ silver wolf. ] ignoring the rules is something she and i have in common. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gravityunforgiven · 3 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me (Kakashi x OC)

Pairings: Kakashi x OC, Jiraiya x Tsunade, Dan x Tsunade

Synopsis:

She was the daughter of a Legendary Sannin, He, a son of a disgraced shinobi. Fate brought them together but life tore them apart. Will they be able to take control of their destinies and find their way back to each other?

...Or will they be another victim of the cruel shinobi world they are both a part of?

Chapter Three

She was barely three when their paths first met. She had his attention for about ten minutes then that was it for the first meeting. It was because of her age and her last name. The Senju clan, nowadays, was only seen or heard in their history textbooks. Now there was one standing right infront of the class.

This is new. He remembered thinking.

They never really interacted because he was a chūnin a week later. She didn’t really notice his departure either. All she knew was the. class celebrated for something and the boy with the scarf was gone.

She stayed in the academy until she was six. She was hardly at school in her first year and the teachers didn’t question it. She was still young after all. She can take her time. She spent most of her days that year in the Medical Division of Konohagakure. She can learn ninjutsu from a lot of people but there was only one person to learn medical ninjutsu from.

Their paths crossed again when she was nine. Her mother just left. Jiraiya was knee-deep in his travels and she was stayed with her master, Inoichi Yamanka, before she moved to her own apartment. The Senju compound was too big for to live in alone.

Minato was teaching her a jutsu when the team he was leading arrived. This time he was able to introduce himself.

“Kakashi Hatake.” He said, almost too impatiently.

“Nice too meet you.” She replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She stayed with them for the rest of the afternoon then tagged along for a couple of B-Rank missions. They never talked more than what was needed. Rin became good friends with her. Obito was amused to see the girls braiding each other’s hair.

Minato, along with Inoichi Yamanaka, took her under their wing. They said she was special.

More than me? He so carelessly thought back then.

He wouldn’t realize until years later that she was so unique she became dispensable.

Because of her training with Minato, Akira became close to his-then girlfriend, Kushina. Kakashi saw how close they became they were almost like sisters.

Akira became a permanent figure in Kakashi’s life. They mostly ignored each other’s presence but he got so used to seeing her in the takoyaki shop he half-expected her to be there everytime he walked by. She wasn’t always with friends, most of the time she ate there on her own, in the same spot every single time.

That was until Team Minato was pulled into a mission. When they came back, she was nowhere to be found. At first no one was really bothered. After all, they were all shinobis and when duty calls, they go. But then weeks turned into months and still not even Akira’s shadow was seen. Rumors began spreading in the ranks about her whereabouts. Some says she was in a long term mission in the Land of Rains, others say she was captured and was being held and even Kurenai, who was like her older sister, together with the rest of their batch had no idea where she was or if she was in a mission. He heard Asuma talking about how he asked the Third Hokage about Akira, however, much to their dismay, his lips remained shut and he simply dismissed his son from his office.

Finally, Rin gathered her courage and asked their own sense if he knew anything about this. Minato fought with himself for a while. It was classified information but seeing the look from his students even Kakashi was enough him to give in. He made them swore to never breathe a word of what he was about to say.

“She joined the ANBU Black Ops.” Rin gasped. Obito’s jaw hung wide open. Kakashi who always seemed to be unfazed struggled to keep his cold composture together. They didn’t see that coming. Not in a million years. Kakashi remembered how her name was so fitting for her. She was always so...bright. She was like the sun on a beautiful day. Wherever you go, or whoever you are she will always graze you with her presence like the rays of a sunlight. She lacked the darkness necessary to be an ANBU. She was the complete opposite of those people.

“The Third Hokage allowed it?” Obito asked. Lord Third treated Akira like his very own grand-daughter. After all, she was the daughter of one of his legendary students. It was only fitting that he looed after all while her mother was unavailable.

“ No. He didn’t.” Minato replied.

“ She joined The Foundation.”

—————

He didn’t see her again until Rin’s death. Once, he had asked Minato why Akira was always sent on dangerous missions. Missions they usually were not allowed to do until they were further into their career. This took Minato by surprise. He didn’t know Kakashi had been observing the girl since he usually ignored her presence and vice-versa. The time the two would acknowledge each other is through their relentless bickering due to the fact that no one wants to admit they’re wrong and often times than not, it ends in a full-blown fight between the two prodigies.

Minato eyed the silver-haired ninja. He was usually not bothered by anything that doesn’t have to do with abiding with the rules but the look on his face was clear enough for Minato to realize that this was not the case.

“Being unique isn’t always good.” Minato started.

“You know she uses Wood Release right?”

Kakashi silently nodded. That was common knowledge in the village. Even in the neigboring lands, her reputation preceded her.

“Villages seek power to protect their lands. Right now, Akira is one of the greatest threats to their lands that’s why we train her as hard as we possibly can. A lot of people wants to hurt her and use her for their own good. They want to use one of our own against us.” He remembered Minato saying.

During Rin’s funeral, he caught only a glimpse of her from where he stood by the trees. She was at the back despite being a close friend of Rin’s. She stood silently and kept her eyes firmly on the floor. Kakashi wouldn’t have recognized her if it weren’t for her golden hair that stood out among the sea of dark colored heads. She’s so different. Everything’s changed so much. After a few hi’s and hello’s, she was once again gone. But despite the dark hole Kakashi fell into, for some reason, the girl with the blonde hair never completely left the his mind.

—————

The first time she actually talked to him first, he just joined the ANBU under the Fourth Hokage’s Command.

“I guess we’re teammates now.’ She said removing a wolf-shaped mask. He looked up from the bench he was sitting on in the locker rooms.

A grin was plastered on her face.He immediately recognized her voice though it’s been years since he last heard it. She was twelve and he was just about to turn fourteen that day. But they were so much older and wiser than the kids their age. They had witnessed so many deaths to be called children.

It was the burden of being one of a kind.

They now worked often with each other since they are now both under the Hokage’s command. Gone were the days of bickering and throwing insults at each other. He now knew the burden of being an ANBU. He wondered how much worse she had to do while under Lord Danzo’s command. How many had she killed? Can she even count it at this point?

Minato, after being named Hokage, recruited Akira back from The Foundation to his own a little too quickly than the elders were comfortable with. But the Yondaime Hokage was adamant to have Akira back on his care knowing how much the irreversible damage The Foundation can cause to a person.

Even now, the changes in Akira’s disposition was easily seen by those who knew her before her time in the Root. She still smiled and laughed like she did before but her eyes no longer had the same shine they had before. She tried to hide it. But Kakashi wasn’t so easily fooled. She was just glad he never said a single word about it.

Kakashi and Akira were placed on different teams. She was already leading a group of three people twice her size when he joined but every now and then, when the circumstances call for it, they will be paired together. An unspoken rule was formed between the two. As the only living members of Team Minato (though she tagged along for only a couple of missions) they were to protect each other as best they can.

Though she didn’t need much protection, Kakashi kept an eye on her for old times sake. Just like a few years earlier, they didn’t really talked much during their time in the ANBU. He was too busy wallowing in his guilt and she was kind enough to leave him in in his own knowing it was what he wanted but not exactly what he needed. All she could do was keep an eye on him and make sure he knows that she was there if he needed her.

Their relationship didn’t change from what it was during the time of Team Minato but this time, they treated each other with the utmost respect. They were comrades now. Though the rules of the ANBU stated that the mission comes first, they both knew they had each other’s back. After all, among their classmates, the two of them are the only ones who understood the loneliness of being an ANBU.

Of being truly and utterly alone.

—————

He knew she was brave. She had proven it time and time again. He had seen it from their time together when they were younger, they had heard stories from the older shinobis who had worked with her, and he saw it again every time they were paired in a mission. There was no question that she was brave but that night during the Kyūubi Attack, he was almost certain she too was looking for an easy way to just die. He had a good reason. Unlike her, he was dispensable. He had no one. All he had was the nightmares that haunt him at night. The faces of his fallen teammates and the cold body of his father playing again and again like a broken record every time he closes his eyes. That was all he had. If he dies, people would mourn, yes, but they would move on and go about their life. They would eventually forget and he would always remain the ninja who killed his friend to others.

He had no real purpose. He doesn’t have anyone left to protect. Or to live for.

She was different. She was loved by everyone. She was alone most of the time but she still had Jiraiya who comes and visit every now and then. She had a purpose. She had a reason to live.

Or so he thought.

They were placed inside a barrier the night of the Nine-Tails Attack. The elders said it wasn’t their fight. They have to sit this one out so they could live another day.

Kakashi looked around the group that they have formed. Most of his former classmates were on the front of the pack together with a few other shinobis their age but as he scanned the crowd, he quickly realized Akira was not among them.

He knew she took her first day off in months today. She had deliberately worked during her time off in order to gain more experience and training. Kakashi always thought how Akira seemed to always seem to act as if she was running out of time and how she wouldn’t take rest until she was forced to by the injuries she acquired during her missions.

This time was no different. She came back from a mission in the Land of Lighting only a couple of days ago and if it wasn’t for the direct order from the Hokage to take a break, she would have been out for another one by this time. He was unusually aware that she was hardly in the village these days.

It was a few minutes later when Akira’s figure emerged from the woods. She stopped dead at her tracks halfway into the clearing. A look of confusion was visible on her face as she scanned the scene ahead of her. What the hell?

Kakashi watched as Akira stopped dead in her tracks and stiffened as she took in the scene in front of her. For a moment, their eyes met and almost instantly, the look of confusion was gone in her face replaced with outrage.

She shoved the two jonins on her either side then she was on the run back to the village. Her path was quickly blocked by more leaf shinobis assigned to keep the younger ninjas safe.

“Lady Akira, please.” Shinku Yuhi, Kurenai’s father, pleaded.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” She spatted back. Her eyes were full of rage. This isn’t where she’s supposed to be. She should be where the fighting is, not kept away from it. This isn’t what she’s been training for.

“We’re just followi-“ He wasn’t able to finish his sentence because Akira was on him. pinning him down with earth style.

Kakashi and the rest of the group inside the barrier couldn’t do anything but watch as Akira battled five jōnins at once. Their mouths hung wide open as they saw firsthand Akira’s proficiency in using the wood style. The group, excluding Kakashi, had never seen someone use wood style in person. Despite the common knowledge that Akira was a wood style user, she only uses it as a last resort knowing that it would only gain more unwanted attention in terms of her capabilities. She usually relies on other nature transformations as much as she can.

This was the first time for most of the people in the clearing see someone use wood style and handle it with such finesse and ease as well. They thought that her skills was on full display that night but Kakashi knew how much she was trying to hold back. He knew she would have defeated them if she wasn’t being as cautious as she is in making sure to not harm any of her comrades and if she wasn’t still recovering from her recent injuries.

Eventually, Akira was outnumbered by the seven jōnins who fought with her and they tackled her to the ground. Her cheek pressed on the dirt as they tied her hands behind her back and made sure she could not weave any more signs.

She could see her classmates staring at her in shock. They haven’t really seen her in action as she didn’t officially join any team after graduation. They had no idea what she can do. Or what I’ve done.

Once she was in the barrier Kurenai quickly untied the younger girl’s hand. Akira was still half a foot shorter than herself but she seemed so much older already.

Akira relentlessly pounded on the barrier. Her right hand was still bandaged but her hits did not falter.

“Listen, I know you have your orders but it doesn’t include me! I can help capture the nine tails with wood style! Don’t you understand that?!” She was practically screaming at her superiors standing only a fees feet away. She was trained to fight. To save the village. To not let anyone get hurt, to help the Hokage the best she can. That was what they drilled into her brain growing up. There was a reason she had all these abilities and she should use to help others. Being stuck inside a barrier wasn’t part of any plan.

“Lord Third specifically mentioned you, Akira.” Shinku replied. Akira was confused. She was the protector not the one who needed protecting. She would gladly lay her life for the billage but now, they’re asking her to sit back and watch the village burn just so she could remain safe?

“Akira, stop.” Kurenai was barely able to grab her arm mid-punch to keep it from colliding with the barrier once again.

“Damn it!” She gave the barrier once last hit and turned around. She didn’t saw it but the rest did as the barrier flickered and for a moment, a crack appeared from where punched the barrier.

Her abilities were one thing, her raw power were another.

“Just calm down, will you?” Kurenai was on Akira’s heels as she made her way to the back.

“Lord Third must have a reason of he wanted you here, Akira.” Gai chirped in attempt to help Kurenai calm the still seething Akira.

“Orders are orders, Akira. We can’t do anything about that.” Kakashi says. He wanted to fight as bad as she does. He knew Minato was out there fighting the kyūubi and having them in the field would be a great help for the village. Kakashi secretly hoped Akira could somehow break them out of this bubble so they could fulfill their duties instead of being forced to watch as the nine-tails burn their village just because they were not old enough.

“You know I don’t care about orders, Kakashi.”She snapped right back at him. She followed orders because it was the right thing to do, but unlike him, she had no problem on breaking it when push comes to shove.

Akira had already decided what she needed to do when Kurenai noticed. “No,no. Don’t even think about it.” Kurenai had grabbed Akira’s arm and gave her a stern look. She can’t do this.

“You can die.” Akira didn’t need any reminder. She was aware of the risks she as taking but she couldn’t care less about that right now. There were just some things that had to be done no matter what the consequences were.

“Only one way to know.” She said, already performing the hand signs for the jutsu. She’ll deal with the consequences for her action later, for now, she’ll do what she knows is right.

“Ghost Transformation Jutsu!” Akira’s body fell on the ground as her soul ascended. She was engulfed in a white glow as the others watched in awe. She didn’t waste any more time and disappeared in the sky like a shooting star to the direction of their village. She didn’t know if she can comeback to her body as she hadn’t mastered the jutsu yet and Inoichi had strongly discouraged in practicing without his guidance. She still haven’t got the right skill and the possibility of her being stuck in this form until her death was much greater than she would like to admit.

Kurenai watched as the girl’s body fell onto the ground as her soul left her body and into the night. She barely caught Akira’s head before her body collided on the soil. She was well-aware of the fact that Inoichi had barred Akira in practicing this jutsu without his guidance proving that the jutsu was more dangerous than what Akira could handle at the moment. It was no simple technique that could be undone in a matter of days. They were talking about life and death on this one.

The people outside the barrier were also alarmed of the what Akira had done. They were former comrades with her father, Dan, and they were well aware of the implications that came in using this jutsu. Even with Akira’s huge chakra reserves, she could still potentially ran out of it if she wasn’t careful of her actions.

They soon realized Akira was not being careful at all as blood soaked through her shirt and the land beneath her darkened from the massive amount of blood leaving her body.

No one knew what happened but a loud explosion was heard from where they were and the next thing they knew, Akira was just bleeding on the ground.

Kakashi was quick to react and firmly pressed his hands on Akira’s wounds on her midsection. There was just so much blood oozing out of her wound despite the pressure Kakashi was putting on. Kurenai was nearly in tears as she held the smaller girl’s head in her lap.

“It’s the jutsu.” Kurenai said when Kakashi’s clearly worried eye met hers. “Whatever happens to her soul also happens to her body.”

She was unconscious for two weeks. People wondered if another name was to be added in the already long list of the people who lost their lives that night.

What happened with her, the Third Hokage was the only one alive who knows.

Next Up: LOTS of Kakashi fluff.

Ask or Reblog for a tag!

51 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Text

Personal Demon (Indruck)

@pantstacular requested: 58 Is such my entire jam I’d pretty much die if you did it with Indruck. “I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now.” SFW

A talented, young warlock will employ the most complex, innovative, and powerful wards on their home.

A seasoned warlock who was never that excited about all this in the first place will employ straightforward but deeply aggravating wards on their home.

Indrid’s nemesis is in that second category. His wards are never fancy, but they’re durable and reliable, an utter pain in his tail to break down. Some cannot be broken by spells at all, and even a demon of his skill could burn through all his power trying to destroy them.

Which is why Indrid simply pays a passing human twenty dollars to kick a gap in the salt barrier, grits his teeth passing through the Rowan trees while his skin feels like he’s getting a full-body tattoo, and uses an oven mitt to open the iron door knob (the door is lined with iron, so he cannot slip as a shadow beneath it), hissing in pain all the while.

“Duck Newton…” He lilts, certain the warlock will be terrified to hear his voice in his strong hold, “it is time to end things once and for all, dearest enemy.”

He keeps his eyes on the present, not wanting to spoil the fun for himself by peeking at the futures. He glides into the human’s bedroom, plants his feet on the floor, “your worthless soul is mine.”

“Ughhhh” a muffled sound, Indrid flicking on the lights to find the human face-down on his bed, “are you fuckin serious? Now?”

“Yes, Duck Newton, now” dark energy crackles in his fingertips.

Thwump

“Ack!” He shakes his head, Duck now sitting up, preparing to throw another pillow at him.

“Get out.” Duck glowers, voice flat.

“You dare to order me-”

Thwump

“Get!” Duck’s eyes are wet, red-rimmed, and Indrid notices he’s in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that’s damp in patches.

“Have you been crying?”

Thwump and his glasses are knocked askew.

“How many of those blasted things do you have?”

Two hovering pillows turn to four and all collide with him at once.

“Clearly you are, ow, in no mindset to, ow, duel me as I, ack, see fit. I shall return!”

He dissolves into shadow and speeds out the door, materializing on the sidewalk and paying a passerby ten dollars to fix the salt ring.

Not willing to let a plan go to waste, he repeats this process the next night. This time, Duck is laying in the darkened living room.

“Now, my greatest adversary, it is time to meet your end--why are you still crying?” He cocks his head as Duck magics the light on.

“Because I’m in my own fuckin’ house and can do whatever I want.”

“But you seem upset.”

“No fuckin shit, sherlock.” Duck raises a throw pillow and Indrid covers his face far faster than he’d ever admit in public.

“I merely mean that, ah, perhaps a duel would be a welcome change of pace?”

“I look like I’m in the headspace to duel to you?”

“Not at the moment, but that could change, yes? I do wish to destroy you, is that sufficient motivation to shake off this fog of misery that’s hanging about your soul like stale cologne?”

Duck groans, but straightens, reaching over the far arm of the couch. Indrid perks up, approaches at a safe distance, certain he will see a familiar sword or spell in a moment.

What he gets is misted with holy water.

He hisses, wiping his face in a hurry. His power is so great that the diluted mixture doesn’t harm him, but it’s as if someone is squirting him in the face with lemon juice.

“I banished you worse ways than this, demon, but I’m fuckin tired and you ain’t worth the goddamn energy and you don’t wanna end up straight back below. So get.” He raises the spray bottle, spritzes him again and Indrid backs away, spluttering and hissing.

“You, you think you can threaten me, shoo me out like OW some common ghost GAh that was in my nose that time fine, fine I am going.” He stumbles over the threshold, falling on his ass on the pavement as Duck slams the door.

Perhaps a new plan is in order.

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

“You wanna know Ducks’ what?” Aubrey taps her spoon on the edge of the potion she’s mixing.

“His favorite food. I wish to cheer him up. Unless of course, you wish to simply tell me what is troubling him.” Indrid grins at the witch.

“You know the rules, Cold; I don’t trade information between sides. And, like, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what’s going on with him. It’s...personal, okay?”

Indrid sighs. He expected that answer. Aubrey is the child of a witch of the light and a witch of the shadows, giving her a rare balance of powers. It also means entities of all moral alignments will come to her for aid. Her rules are simple; no fighting in her house and no getting her in the middle of major conflicts.

For all that, Indrid still has never told her his true name. She calls him ‘Cold,’ as everyone does.

“French Onion Soup. That’s his favorite thing, from the Wolfe Grill downtown.”

“He likes that coffee fudge too, the one Barclay makes” Dani, Aubrey’s wife, adds from her spot spinning fur off a massive angora rabbit.

Barclay is a kitchen witch, one with whom Indrid has a shaky truce (he egged on a fight in the restaurant, needing some quick points with the higher demons. It’s not his fault one of the humans knocked over a candle). He can probably manage to buy fudge without being scolded.

Duck’s added more fortifications since yesterday, and Indrid only needs a few moments anyway. He finds a sliver in a plane that lets him slip into Duck’s mirror, knowing the human is getting ready for bed.

The human senses him, looks up from the sink, toothbrush still in his mouth. He blinks once, to tired to even count as annoyance.

“ ‘wat ‘ow?”

“I have brought you food.” Indrid waits until Duck spits into the sink to pass the two bags out of the mirror.

“Why-”

“It will cheer you up. It is your favorite. Then you will have your fight back, and be ready to face me.”

Duck takes the bags, then several steps back, “y’know, most demons would see this is a chance to get me while I’m down.”

“Well” Indrid sniffs haughtily, “I am not most demons. Besides, what good is claiming your soul if it was like stepping on an ant?”

The warlock looks at the food, then at Indrid, “I ain’t gonna eat this.”

“Bu-wha-I got it specifically to please you!”

“And it could be poisoned or cursed or some shit.”

Indrid growls in frustration, “fine, wallow in your misery.” Then he’s out on the street again, ready to cause some evil. Or to go back to the bakery and drown his aggravation in a caramel eggnog latte.

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

Duck stares at the bags, still sitting on his kitchen counter. If he’s not going to bed any time soon, he should at least eat something. Not that though. Even if it’s his favorite. How the fuck did the demon know that?

Cold has never quite been like other demons Duck’s run across. When he’d yanked him out of Boyd (because Ned decided to read the inscription on a new artifact for the Cryptonomica), he hadn’t taken it personally, but proceeded to try and tempt Duck for two days solid with everything he could think of. Then he decided he liked Kepler and could do plenty of demonic work in it, which had Duck worried. The demon is powerful, he can feel it when they fight. But, while he still worries, Cold sticks to being a mid-level threat at best even if he keeps promising to destroy him.

God that soup smells good.

He picks up a piece of amethyst, runs it over and over the air around the bag. No trace of anything dangerous.

Fuck it.

Twenty minutes later his belly is full, he actually feels kinda sorta almost borderline happy, and he hasn’t turned into a frog or been transported to the underworld.

When Cold inevitably shows up again a few days later, Duck doesn’t even look up from the model ship he’s working on .

“Thanks for, uh, for dinner.”

“How did you know I was here?” The silver-haired man steps out of the hall, red eyes glowing behind redder glasses.

“I may not be able to sense auras or souls or shit, but you and I been dancin around each other for long enough that I can tell when the hair on my neck is standin up thanks to you.”

“Then you are prepared to fight?”

“No. Look, I dunno now how it is for demons, but takes more than nice food to make a fella get over somethin serious.”

“I see…” Cold looks around the room, “are you certain you are not interested in even a small bit of conflict?”

“Nope. Busy.”

“Well I am not!”

“Can’t you just go find another warlock to bother?””

“No! Well, yes, but I do not wish to. You are my adversary, the one I devote most of my time to tormenting.”

“That’s kinda an exaggeration. And it don’t change that I’m workin on this.” He points to the model, “so I’m just gonna ignore you until you leave.”

There’s a huff, followed by the fluttering of his mail as the demon knocks it onto the floor. He glances up and notices that Cold’s tail is now visible and twitching with agitation. When Duck does nothing else, he knocks the remaining mail on the ground.

“That ain’t changin my mind.”

A roll of glass on tile, Cold pushing a water glass towards the edge of the counter with his finger.

“Y’won’t like what happens if you do that.”

The glass tips over. As water spills onto the floor, Duck summons a towel with one hand and a dish of salt with the other. Before the demon can stop him, he draws a salt circle, trapping him in a small spot by the table.

“Erase that this instant.”

“Nope. You been poppin in and out the last two weeks and not leavin when I ask nicely, so now you’re gonna stay right here until I decide you can leave.”

The demon drops down onto the floor, arms crossed and tail thrashing, “I just do not see what is so severe it makes you uninterested in anything but work, sleep, and making ships that cannot go anywhere.”

“Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Yes, but you also will not tell me so how can you know if-” a future flickers into vision, “your romantic partner left you.”

“That’s cheatin’.”

“That is what has upset you so?”

“Yeah, because we were together for six fuckin years, and she watched me grow up since I was eighteen and was my mentor and it feels like a big constant in my life is just fuckin gone.” He leaves out the part where he'd felt it going for awhile, where part of him knew it needed to but the rest wanted things to stay as they were.

The demon cocks his head in that way of his, smirks but says nothing.

“Nevermind. You’re a demon, love ain’t somethin you got a concept of.” He stands, retrieving another bottle of adhesive from the too-empty living room.

As he picks up the next piece, Cold murmurs, “It is not so foreign a concept as you might think.”

Duck shoots him an incredulous look.

“I was a creature of the divine once, beings capable of great love, even if many of them do not utilize that capacity. Even if I was not supposed to in my role. But more than the memory of that feeling, I have moments in which I suspect I can feel it still.”

“Like when you see someone do somethin real wicked?”

The demon doesn’t rise to the paltry bait, “When I go sit in a park, or those woods you like, and draw and watch people coming and going in a thousand little moments of mundanity, I feel something more than mere tranquility. Sometimes I will go to movies or to concerts, to feel the swell of joy and excitement, and it almost seems as if I love those around me.”

It’s the last thing Duck expects him to say, and so all he can do is stare at him a moment before returning to his work. The demon, content with the silence, watches cross-legged. When Duck grabs a packet of cookies from the kitchen he pauses, then hands one to Cold.

The demon sniffs it, proceeds to nibble on the edge before making a delighted sound and shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

“You never had Girl Scout cookies before?”

“No. I do not need to eat, and often only do so when temptation requires it. Or when Barclay makes something with eggnog in it. Which is a pity; I really enjoy human food, you come up with such interesting things. Now it is my turn for a question. Why are you making those?”

Duck looks at the near-complete model, “I dunno. Helps me relax, nice to just be able to focus on one thing rather than worryin’ about work or warlock stuff or dyin’ alone or if you’re gonna randomly turn up in my goddamn bedroom without warnin’.”

“Knocking is not exactly demonic.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, the smile on his face oddly honest, that Duck cracks up. Giggles spill out of him as he rests his face in his hands. His elbows slip on the shiny tabletop, collapsing him forward, laughing loud enough to startle the cat from her hiding place.

“Yeah” he sniffs, finally sitting up while wiping away tears and still chuckling, “guess it ain’t.”

The demon is smiling again, softer than his usual grin that glints like a knife in the dark.

“Will you show me more of your ships?”

“You ain’t gettin outta that circle that easy.”

“I am aware. But you could bring them where I could see.” He seems genuinely excited at the idea.

Duck stands, hands him the packet of Thin Mints, “I could do that, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

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

Duck picks up to the two reusable grocery bags, locking doors and throwing up extra wards behind him as he walks to his car.

He slides into the drivers seat, sets the bags in back behind him. Turns around and finds the passenger seat occupied.

“Venturing forth at last, I see.”

“I ventured forth plenty.”

“That was only for work. You have been the picture of a hermit since you were dumped, Duck Newton.” Cold adjusts his glasses in the rear-view mirror.

“Have not. And it was mutual.”

“Shall we get out of the car so I can destroy you?”

“We could do that. Or…” he points at the bags, the demon peering into them curiously, “we could take these two bags of snacks to a concert in the park.”

Cold bites his lip. Duck holds his breath, already gearing up his spells in case the demon says no.

A seatbelt clicks, “very well.”

They find a spot under some trees, far back from the crowd. Cold is in his human disguise, but Duck would rather not risk being seen if his tail or horns make an appearance. The concert is all movie soundtracks that Duck doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy watching the demon gleefully explore the food he brought (he chose the weirdest desserts and snacks he could find, wanting to give him a taste of things he’d never had) and talking with him about more or less everything.

As they’re getting into the car under the light of the half moon, Cold sighs happily, “we should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, we could. Just uh, don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

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

Duck is up to his elbows in the pieces of an IKEA dresser when Cold’s voice comes through the mirror.

“I need to be let in right now please and thank you.”

He sounds pained, so Duck hurries out to the front yard and opens the circle, allowing the demon to pass through. He’s hunched at an odd angle, clutching at his back. Once they’re inside he strips off his coat, revealing a splinter at the base of his neck.

“Shit, what happened?”

“I materialized in the house of a well-prepared witch and was immediately backed into a Hawthorne bush. Lucky I am not a vampire, but gracious it stings.”

“Why come to me?” Duck is already guiding him to the couch.

“I thought you might be able to help. Also it is movie night.”

Duck examines the injury; it’s a small splinter, but the skin is already looking sickly.

“Should be an easy fix. Lemme get my tools and I can get to work.”

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

Indrid waits patiently for Duck to return, tries not to hiss at him too loudly when he pulls the splinter free. The human works quickly, and soon a tingling salve coats the sore spot.

Rather than pull away, Duck smooths his hands down Indrid’s back, “damn, you’re all knotted up.”

“I was trying not to move too much and aggravate it.”

Duck’s thumbs rub small circles along his back, “here, I can fix that real easy.”

Indrid foresees where his fingers will touch next and let’s his desire overtake his caution. When Ducks hands come down again, he whimpers and wiggles happily.

“Uhhhhh”

“It is my wings. In a way. They exist on another plane when not manifested here, and where you are touching is the place where it feels as you are stroking them.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, but you do not need to continue if you do not waAAhnnnt” he gasps as Duck slowly, steadily, runs his fingers over the spot again and again.

The human leans forward, giggling, and whispers in his ear, “you’re purrin’.”

“I am awarerrrrrrrr.” His tail and horns appear, seeming to understand there is no need to hide here. One of Duck’s hands skates up to his head, petting his hair and stroking his horns.

He whines, pushes his head into Duck’s hand for more.

“Is this-”

“No Duck Newton, it is not sexual. It can be, but at the moment it simply feels comforting and pleasurable.” He purrs louder as Duck rubs the base of one horn.

“That’s a good, uh, good demon? Bein’ so patient while I patch him up.” Duck coos.

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers.

“Lookit you, goin all mushy on me, so goddamn cute. Who knew you had it in you.”

“Duck.” Something is coiling through his veins, warm and ecstatic, as the human keeps up his stream of praise.

“Right here, demon of mine, just relax, lemme tend to you, there we go, you’re bein so good, such a charmin demon.”

Tears prick his eyes; he can’t, he can’t handle Duck speaking this way but speaking as if Indrid could be changed out for any one of his kind. He wants to know he means those words for him, he must, the feelings flooding him are incomplete without it and if they remain so he will wither away.

“Indrid, please, call me that.”

“Indrid.” It sounds joyous in that drawl as Duck adds a hint of pressure to his touches, “Indrid, you oughta stop gettin into trouble, oughta just stay here and put your head in my lap.” The human is getting carried away, the fantasies becoming more elaborate, interspersed with his name, until the name itself becomes the litany.

Indrid cries out, the energy in his veins enveloping him utterly for a moment, wings of absolute darkness flashing into view for an instant

He collapses forward, shaking, hoping the thanks pouring from his mouth are intelligible.

“You, uh, you doin’ okay--Oh FUCK!”

Indrid whirls, finds Duck staring at his arm. There are glowing markings on it, blue and black light fading into a facsimile of ink on his skin.

“What did you do?”

“What did I do? What makes you think this has anything to do with me?”

“Because this wasn’t there a minute ago! And you got one too!”

“I…” Indrid gapes at his forearm, where a matching symbol is setting in his skin. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

“It is, ah, well, it is a soul bond.”

“How in the everlovin’ fuck did that happen--wait, fuck, is Indrid your true name?”

“Yes.”

“Shit! I thought you gave me another false one, or I never woulda kept saying it. I ain’t that kind of warlock, I don’t want a personal demon.”

“I am not exactly thrilled either. I cannot return to the underworld, and for the first few days of the bond I will need to stay very close to you. All the same, that was rash of me and I am sorry.”

Duck rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I wanna do is sleep.”

“I as well. I suspect that took a lot of energy from both of us.”

The human stands, heading off towards the bedroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, pangs pulse through Indrid’s chest.

“Ah, Duck?”

A groan, “yeah, I feel it too. Get in here.”

Indrid hurries to the bed, finds Duck down to his boxers as he turns over the covers.

“I, ah, I can sleep on the floor, or get a blanket for that chair, or lay by your feet.”

Duck pats the bed, “sleepin next to you ain’t nothin’ compared to bein’ soul bonded. Bed feels too big anyway. And none of that by my feet talk; you’re my equal, not my fuckin pet, even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Indrid crawls in beside him, lays stiffly on his back as the lights go out. After so much contact, his body aches to touch Duck again.

A hand rests in the space between them, and Indrid takes it.

“Duck? I, ah, I am glad that if this had to happen to me, it was you who it happened with. I cannot think of another warlock I would actually enjoy being linked too.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” Duck squeezes his hand, voice gentle.

Indrid rolls to face him, and in the dark he can just make out the slight smile on the warlock’s face.

“Goodnight, Duck.”

A yawn, then, “sleep tight, Indrid.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #Indruck #duck x indrid #meet ugly #demon au

29 notes · View notes

letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

Text

Helpless || Kaden & Ariana

TIMING: Before Ariana lost her name and Kaden had stripes PARTIES: @chasseurdeloup & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana & Kaden go to Celeste’s memorial tree to remember her, but end up getting rudely interrupted in a true White Crest fashion. (x)

No matter how busy she kept herself, Ariana couldn’t help the constant dull ache that seemed to be present. Summers had always been Ariana’s favorite as a kid. Even though Celeste usually had to work crazy hours to make enough money for them to survive on, she’d always made time for some summer fun. Whether it was random midnight s’mores, a camping trip, or simply long hikes-- it always seemed like they had so much quality time together while Ari was out of school. It only served to make Ariana miss her sister even more. She wanted to go to Celeste’s tree, talk to her a bit. Maybe reminisce some. The thought of going alone just felt… wrong. She wanted to share those memories with someone else who would help keep them alive. That was why she went against what most would consider her better judgment and invited Kaden out with her. She could give him the knives on the promise he wouldn’t use them on wolves and she could share some stories she knew Kaden would appreciate. They’d been friends after all. He’d want to know where her memorial was, too. And hey, if chatting with Celeste during his hunter existential crisis saved some wolves, it’d be better anyway. She leaned against a tree toward the edge of the wood where they agreed to meet. The familiar smell of spice and cedar of his cologne alerted her to his presence before he was in her line of sight. “Hey,” she greeted, waving somewhat awkwardly, “Thanks for coming. I do have some stuff for you, but I’ve just been… a lot’s been going on and it just makes me miss her more.” She had to assume he’d know what she meant given his own experience with loss. That sinking sensation of wanting so badly to tell the person you love most about a good or bad or even inconsequential thing only to remember you couldn’t.

Kaden kept making one terrible idea after another. That’s how it felt, anyway. First trying to talk to Morgan the other day, then that meeting with Winn at Ricky’s warehouse, now he was meeting a werewolf in the woods. Sure, that werewolf was his friend’s sister but all the same. “Hey,” he said with a nod as he walked up to her, a little unsure of himself. Putain, he didn’t know how to feel about Ariana. All he knew was he couldn’t bring himself to kill someone younger than Blanche, he couldn’t have that blood on his hands. But if she lost control… Well, it’d be a fucking problem, that was for sure. “Yeah, I get it. Sometimes you want to ignore it and just have a day that doesn’t completely suck.” He could feel the chill run down his spine as he stood closer to her, the one that never let him forget what she was. Did he want to? Merde. He rolled his shoulders and did his best to force it back into his subconscious as best he could. “Thanks for showing me where this is. I-- I know it’s…” Private? He wasn’t sure. If she had wanted to keep it that way, he’d understand. Celeste had made a deep imprint on his life even though he had only briefly known her. His hand reached to adjust the small band of black leather around his wrist, the one Celeste had sent him that only arrived posthumously. It still hurt knowing how close she was to forging her own path, how long she’d succeeded only for it to come crashing down on her. He knew he’d always be a hunter, that wasn’t something he questioned. But knowing it and seeing it demonstrated like that? Like what happened to her? It wasn’t the same. “You didn’t have to. Is my point. So thanks.”

For all their differences, Ariana found their common ground comforting. Celeste had been the most important thing linking them together and somehow maintaining that link just felt right. Like in some way, Celeste could still live on because of them. With the pressures of life in White Crest starting to weigh her down, she needed to cling to that sense. Maybe she didn’t quite trust him around other wolves, but somehow she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Plus, he understood what she was going through better than most. “Yeah, it’s harder lately. Probably because literally everything else sucks right now and the only thing I want to do is talk to her about it.” At least pretending wasn’t necessary with Kaden. She decided to take a seat on the ground in front of the tree. A little bit of dirt never hurt anyone and she guessed sitting in the woods was their thing now. She took a deep breath, looking ahead at the tree, trying to feel some small sense of Celeste’s presence even if she knew she passed on. Part of her wished she was a ghost so she could talk to her even one more time, but she knew that was selfish. Celeste deserved peace more than anyone. She nodded at Kaden’s statement, somehow she knew what he meant. She also knew he was important to Celeste which was enough reason to show him this spot. “I told you I would. I know… well, you guys were friends. She cared about you, she’d want you to be able to visit if you wanted or needed to.” As much was true. Her sister had been the most caring person she’d ever known. With that in mind, she pulled her backpack off her shoulder and put it in front of her. She rummaged through it for a few knives she’d set aside to give Kaden. She tentatively held them out for him. “Figured these would be a nice little reminder of her. Just don’t… well, you know, use them on wolves. I trust you not to, just thought I should like… specify. I think their last use was those stupid little finger eating squirrels. We used to practice throwing with them a lot.”

“Thanks. I--” Appreciated it. Needed this. All of that, really. Grief wasn’t linear. Kaden knew that really fucking well by now. But walking up to the tree there, it brought it back like Ariana had just told him. The sting that Celeste was gone felt like a freshly opened wound again. He felt his chest tighten in the familiar way it did as he sat down next to Ari across from the tree. He hadn’t realized how many questions and chats he’d wanted to have with Celeste til he was sitting there looking at the closest thing they had to a grave marker. The full moon was coming up and he’d skipped two. And he felt like just now he realized how few things he’d sorted out since, well, everything happened. What it meant that he was sitting next to a werewolf that he didn’t want to kill. And might actively try not to kill. Were his cheeks wet already? He quickly wiped them off, tried to make it subtle. “Hmm?” His head snapped to look at her, nearly missed she was talking, and then saw the knives. Right. He reached out for them and the leather bracelet fell down his wrist as he did. Reminders of her were all around. And he almost missed the chill down his spine as his fingers briefly touched the wolf’s skin, well, Ari’s skin. “No wolves, I know. Plus, they’re not even silv--” His stomach dropped like a pit as his eyes caught hers. “Sorry, uh, habits.” It was easier to talk to her when he could pretend there was no tension between what they were. Fuck, why did he even want there to be less tension? That wasn’t right. She was a werewolf, he was a hunter, this wasn’t complicated. Then he saw the tree in front of him. That was why. He looked the knives over, turning them to see the make, the balance, the feel. “Small monsters only, pro-- Well, maybe not that word. But you know what I mean.”

“I know,” Ariana responded quietly as she was overcome with a wave of emotion. Looking at Celeste’s tree, she tried her best to feel her presence there, but it just made the void in her feel more noticeable. All she wanted was to see Celeste sitting under the tree, with one of her many books, looking up as she approached with a warm smile on her face, but she’d never get that again. At least not in her waking moments. While she didn’t necessarily like seeing anyone sad, it was a comfort that Kaden missed her almost as much as she did. She liked to think Celeste would approve of this moment. This right here, was everything she stood for. Bringing two worlds together peacefully. If she could somehow cling on to that part of Kaden that wanted to do the right thing, maybe she’d be able to keep an important part of her sister alive. Was that a lot of pressure to put on someone trying to re-figure out their place in the world? Probably, but she needed this. She cringed slightly at the mention of silver, but shook it off. “It’s fine-- I don’t love it, but I trust you.” She gave him a meaningful look, her own eyes still misty. Maybe she was an idiot to trust him, but somehow it still wouldn’t be her dumbest decision recently. With a weak laugh, she retorted, “You’re good. Trying to get out of the habit of using that word myself.” A rustle off in the trees caught her attention and had the hairs on her arm standing at end. She didn’t smell an animal she recognized nearby and squinted to try and make out what was there. “Did you hear that,” she asked, still trying to make out the form before she saw it rapidly approaching. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking me right now.”

Maybe you shouldn’t, is what Kaden nearly said, but he held his tongue, simply nodded. It was strange having her trust him. Well, maybe not that so much as he had no plans to use that trust against her. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The woods were where things made sense. But here, whenever he was around Ariana, everything just felt more confusing. She was an exception. That’s it. That’s what he told himself. But he had a feeling the more exceptions he made, the less they were exceptions and the more they were rules. And then what did that mean for him? For his codes? What did it mean when he went out on the full moon? If he hesitated-- Hell, he’d have to leave his fucking apartment on the full moon first. Maybe he was just a fucking defect of a hunter, just like Celeste. Maybe he should quit while he was fucking behind. But that felt wrong, too. All he could do was sigh, fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist, turning it round a few times over. “Good. You should. If you’re going to be dealing with this fae you mentioned before, you’d better be extra careful. Watch all your words. Every one of them.” Somehow he kept finding himself giving a shit about her. It was fucking stupid. Why not let the fae just get control of a werewolf? Who cared? Well if the fae was hurting humans and having a werewolf under their control would be bad, sure. But it was more than that. He shifted a little in his seat, like he could scoot away from the uncomfortable feeling of it all. “And you talk a lot so you’re going to have to be extra careful.” In the middle of wondering why in the fuck he knew that much about a werewolf, his brow furrowed and listened closely at her suggestion. “Something, yeah, but--” he couldn’t tell what it was. Just some rustling coming from across the way. But Ariana looked concerned. And considering what woods they were in, the town they lived in, she probably had a right to be. He took one look at the knives in his hand and with a shrug, gripped the one and got ready for whatever might be coming. Guess this was one way to test them out. A little sooner than he’d planned, though.

As much as she appreciated Kaden’s warning, she didn’t get a chance to really think it over as there was an ugly monster charging right at them. Instinctively, Ariana jumped up from the ground and let out a low warning growl. Not daring to look away from the grotesque looking monster, she asked, “Do you know what the fuck that thing is? Because I don’t think it came here to make friends.” She dodged out of the way as it tried to pounce her and let out another snarl though it wasn’t nearly as scary when she was in her petite human frame. Her body was itching to turn into a wolf, but she took deep breaths and reminded herself she was with a hunter. Kaden had this under control, right? She reassured herself that the hunter could in fact handle whatever this was and she didn’t need to ruin her favorite pair of jeans for the sake of not becoming someone’s literal snack.

Kaden was up on his feet and ready, facing the same direction as Ariana as a monster leapt out at them. For a moment, Kaden almost forgot who he was with; it almost didn’t occur to him that the growls and snarls were from her and not the long nosed winged monstrosity coming after them. Fuck. The distraction was just enough that he missed any opportunity for an attack and he dodged out of the way. He tried to catch a better glimpse at it while he regained his balance. “Don’t remember the name,” he said as he righted himself. “Pretty sure it’s a vampire, though.” There were entirely too many fucking weird specific types of undead bloodsuckers out there for him to recall them all by heart, especially when they weren’t his bread and butter by any fucking means. He tightened his grip around the knife, ready this time to get out of the way of the beast’s oncoming attack much more gracefully. The piece of shit had a long tongue and slime dripping off of its skin. “Putain de merde,” he called out as it hit him. “Watch the tongue, it's poison. And since I’m pretty fucking sure these knives aren’t ivory we either need to run or take its head off!”

A vampire? That sure as hell didn’t look like any vampire Ariana had ever seen. Given, Carrington was the only vampire she’d ever met, but still. This thing was fucking ugly and she was increasingly annoyed that it was interrupting time that was meant for Celeste. “Fucking great,” she grumbled as she kept slowly backing away from the grotesque looking vampire. That long, pointed tongue was definitely giving her the wiggins. Kaden had a knife, he was a hunter. This was fine. No reason to feel threatened and wolf out in front of a werewolf hunter. Even if she trusted him, she felt uncomfortable at him seeing that side of her. Her eyes widened as he explained, “Poison tongue, what the fuck? We don’t exactly have an easy way to lob it’s head off-- I mean I could…” That thought was cut off by the thing charging toward Kaden again. “Watch out,” she shouted and realized she’d been too late in doing so.

Kaden tried to dodge but this time, he was too slow. The monster reached out and grabbed a hold of his shoulders. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wriggled and wrtithed, trying to break from the vampire’s grips, but nothing was working. He watched as the tongue whipped around towards him. Kaden threw his head to the side, trying to throw his whole body and avoid it. He mostly did but it wasn’t enough. The vampire leaned in and licked a big, slobbery, slimy lick along the side of his neck and up his cheek. Kaden felt his stomach churn watching it, he wanted to turn to the side and heave out his dinner, but it was no longer the grip that was slowing him down. His eyes grew wider as he could feel his limbs start to lock up, no longer able to fight the beast that was hell bent on making him his meal. “Ari” he started to shout. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to tell her, run or help. It didn’t matter. His lips went numb and Kaden wasn’t even sure he could scream anymore.

Panic overcame Ariana as the weird looking vampire pounced on Kaden and he seemed to be immobilized. He did say the things tongue was poison and it was clear to Ariana she needed to act quickly if she wanted to get both of them out of here alive. She let her fight instinct overcome her and her bones shifted into place. Growning. Making her bigger. Making her stronger. She kept the focus of saving Kaden in mind as she transformed to ensure she could keep herself under control. Her limbs elongated and became covered in white and gray fur. Claws extended. Snout grew outward and was already dripping with drool. A low warning growl escaped before she charged forward. Twigs broke underneath her paws and her teeth were sinking into the vampire as it was still distracted on its own meal. The wolf dragged the creature away from Kaden though it struggled underneath her teeth. It’s skin had been easy enough to bite into, but it had some fight in it. The wolf held on to Kaden’s previous words of taking the thing’s head off. She secured the monster with her claws pressing into its shoulder and took her bite to its neck. It was hardly a tasty meal, but it was a necessary one. The wolf was somewhat content as she took chunks out of the things neck as it squirmed under her grasp trying desperately to lick her too. The more she ate away at its neck, the less it thrashed beneath her. Only a few more bites of rotten flesh and they’d be safe. After what felt like too many more mouthfuls of vampire, the thing’s head finally rolled away from the body.

The vampire had him, Kaden was helpless and stuck. Fuck, this was how he was going to die. He felt his flesh starting to almost sizzle, dissolving under the saliva of the monster and all he could do was blink. He tried to scream, but his throat wne tight. He shut his eyes, waiting for the end to come when his body felt lighter, His eyes flew open just in time to see the vampire yanked from off of him by a werewolf. Oh, fuck a goddamn werewolf on top of all of-- Shit. That was Ariana, wasn’t it? Kaden wanted to scream, run away, do anything, but he was still frozen in place. He tried with everything he had to throw his body out of the way of the fight, get as far from both of them as possible. He heard flesh tearing and bones crushing and he hoped like hell it was the monster and not the wolf. What was unfair is he could still feel the crawl down his spine letting him know there was, in fact, a werewolf nearby. One more sickening crunch and Kaden felt the tension in his body unleash, and the scream he was trying to push out, just exhaled out of him. Shaking, he tried to push himself up a little to see what had happened. Vampire was dead, no thanks to him, head torn off. And there was a white and grey werewolf, just like Ariana described herself. Kaden’s eyes were still wide with terror, unsure of what was going to happen next. Sure she’d saved him, but would she keep her control? Was he safe now or not?

The sound of Kaden’s heart thudding against his chest was hard to ignore, but the familiar scent kept Ariana stable. Part of the fight instinct still felt on edge as she carefully watched Kaden moving again. She watched him carefully and channeled her energy to her more human thoughts. As the wolf relaxed, fur and claws retreated leaving a bare Ariana in its place. Her own breathing started to relax seeing the definitely detached head of the vampire on the ground. It left a strange, sour taste in her mouth that kept her nose scrunched up. She wiped some of the blood from her face and turned to Kaden. “You okay,” she asked as she examined him from afar. Once she came to the conclusion that he was in fact safe, she extended an arm and said, “I’m gonna need your jacket.”

Slowly, Kaden felt his muscles relax and his control come back. He also felt the pain, lots of pain. His hand gripped the knife as he watched the wolf intently. As she transformed back into herself, Kaden thought about flopping back onto the ground in relief. “Maybe,” he said, voice shaky and a little slurred, mouth still slightly numb. His brow furrowed when she asked for his jacket. Why was she asking for-- Then it hit him what he was looking at. Sure, Ariana was human again, or appeared human. She was also naked. And stil a fucking teenager. Fuck, gross, fucking hell. He turned away and shut his eyes. “Yeah, yeah hold on.” He ripped his jacket off as fast as he could, which was admittedly not fast due to the lingering tingling and slowness he felt all over. “Here,” he said, tossing it towards her, keeping his eyes fixed away from her. “Tell me when it’s safe.” Funny, that had a few meanings now.

“I’m gonna take that as a not really,” Ariana retorted as it became more clear the effects of the venom were still very much present. It didn’t stop her from snatching his jacket away and being somewhat amused by his reaction. She’d been a wolf long enough that nudity was hardly uncomfortable for her and the last person who was going to be a creep about it was Kaden. The jacket was thankfully long on her and she closed it up enough that she was completely covered. “You’re safe,” she stated before she asked, “Are you able to like… stand though?” She looked over him, still concerned. Whatever kind of vampire that thing was, she hadn’t heard of it before and had no idea how long lasting the effects were.

Once Ariana said the coast was clear, or, well, covered, Kaden tried to push himself up. He grit his teeth as his muscles wobbled and threatened to give out beneath him. “Fine, I’m fi--” He faltered a moment and felt his knees buckle out from under him. He stayed there for a moment, trying to gather the strength to stand. This was pathetic. What would have happened if he was there alone? He would have died, that’s what would have happened. Kaden inhaled deeply, taking one look at Celeste’s tree, and got to his feet, still shaky. “Uh, thanks for…” Kaden wasn’t able to say it. A werewolf hunter needing to be saved by a werewolf, it was too shameful. But Ari wasn’t really-- No. She was. She might have been Celeste’s sister, but she was and always would be a werewolf. Kaden would have to figure out how to feel about that later. “Do you-- can you help me balance?” His stomach churned, he hated being this vulnerable and needy. “Legs are still a little numb.”

There was a small frown on her face as she watched Kaden struggle to get up. Ariana hoped the side effects weren’t long lasting. Hunters were supposed to have quick healing anyway. She raised an eyebrow as he said he was fine. He didn’t look fine, but she’d let him have his moment of being stubborn. After all, it was a trait she shared. She was only a little perturbed he couldn’t bring himself to thank her properly. As she rolled her eyes, she said, “For saving your life? Sure thing, fam.” The use of fam was more for her more amusement than anything else. She knew it was probably hard for a werewolf hunter to admit his ass just got saved by an actual werewolf. Once he asked for a hand, she reached out and helped pull him up. “Here,” she explained as she walked on her tip-toes so she could be tall enough to help him actually keep his balance, “I’ve got you. I’ll help you get home, but you’re totally ordering me some cheeseburgers to get the taste of actual death out of my mouth.”

#helpless #kaden #wickedswriting

11 notes · View notes

ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 3 of 21

Return to theMaster Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO and the

ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck) @ask-de-writer

And

Carmen Pondiego @askcarmenpondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

Writing begun 08/26/15

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Steeling herself, she approached the entrance. As the black glass doors opened, they revealed a confidant looking khaki colored unicorn mare dressed in a stylish, near form fitting red outfit. Carmen Pondiego. Her true mother.

Carmen smiled that sideways smile that she always used when she was about to pull Daring Do’s chain by calling her by her birth name. Daring Do beat her to it.

“Adora hasn’t been home in a long time, Mother. Things have changed a lot. You really meant that about hiding in the open, didn’t you?”

Carmen’s mouth dropped open. Feeling behind her for support, Carmen settled into one of the comfortable overstuffed leather chairs in the VILE foyer.

Softly, she replied, “Yes, dear. I did mean it.” She took a shaking breath and added, “You are in time for the lasagna. I remember how much you used to enjoy it, Adora.”

Daring Do nodded and sat on the arm of the chair. “I did, mom. I still do. I don’t order it often … It reminds me of you.

“I am going to admit that I am really conflicted about the name … and you … and VILE. It is hard but I am here.” She reached down and took Carmen’s hoof.

They sat in silence for several minutes. “Mother, I am not going to ask you for forgiveness. There is too much that I have not forgiven yet.”

Carmen patted the hoof of her estranged daughter and said, “I do understand, Adora. At least you are here and letting me call you by the name that I gave you. That is a first step. I hope, one of many.”

Daring Do nodded slowly. In the Chineighese of Cantron she quoted the proverb, “The journey of a thousand Li begins with a single step.”

Without hesitation, Carmen replied in the same language, “Whether the journey be a thousand Li or a thousand of thousands, the welcoming door of home is the best place for it to end.”

Taking a deep breath, Carmen suggested, “Let’s go see if the lasagna is ready! I had it out, cooling.”

“Now that is something that I hoped you would say, mother.”

They wended their way through the maze of the big building. As they made yet another zig, Daring Do reflected that the Canterlot HQ of VILE was not the biggest nor most impressive of her mother’s organizational HQs. The true nerve center of VILE was the enormous floating island.

They finally entered a comfortable common room with a nice but not fancy dining table and chairs. It was pretty big, which made sense. The whole family was there. Daring Do’s biological father, the alicorn Baron Von Nighthoof sat at one end of the table, space for her mother at the OTHER end showed that they were on the “outs” romantically … Again.

She and her step brother Blendin were next to each other at Carmen’s end of the table. Her Uncle Marehem, or M for short, was down at the end by the Baron. Next to him, at Carmen’s end was Kiros. Technically, Kiros was not family, the others were some form of pony, or at least passing themselves off as one. Kiros was a wolf hybrid with wings. M was a changeling even if he was also Daring Do’s uncle.

This was the only part of VILE that Daring Do could accept, even marginally. Family. And she knew what was coming besides lasagna. Snark.

She was just reaching for her first big slab of some of the best lasagna in Canterlot when she felt it. Virtually by reflex, Daring Do slammed an elbow back just above her saddle bag at the same time that she made a grab with her other hoof as she spun about. The move nailed her half brother Blendin, with her map only half out of her bag.

Smiling sweetly she said, “Be glad that you are family, Blendin. I use the hoof of the last pony to try that as a paperweight!”

Ignoring the comment, which Blendin knew to be perfectly true, he finished removing the map. “Why would you have one of these cheap five silver X'ibian site maps?”

He spread it out and his jaw dropped. “This is the original that you made when you were searching for the Darkling’s Tomb!

“Now it really makes no sense at all! Why did you put that red X on top of Hong Wa? Do you want me to remove it? It is a really simple bit of Librarian’s Magic?”

Daring Do laid a gentle hoof over Blendin’s and said, “No, Blendin. Thank you for the offer but that has become a delightful keepsake to the stupidity of ponies. They broke into my office at the RU and STOLE this. They also broke many of the figurines of the Royal Darkling Collection being kept for study in my office.”

Baron Von Nighthoof’s brows almost hit his horn, they went up so far. He clicked on the big Magic Net mirror for the evening news! The story was not hard to locate.

“Agnes Wordspreader here with This Just IN! Three divisions of the the Royal Guards, the Royal Heavy Armored Infantry and the Royal Armored Pegassi were mobilized today in DOWNTOWN Canterlot! They surrounded the building of the lawfirm Robber, Overthrow, and Tyranny for a short while.

“When the Royal Negotiator emerged, she appeared to be none other than the world famous Antiquities Expert, Daring Do. She spoke briefly with the Commander of the Royal Armored Infantry who, along with the rest of the military and Guard units, then withdrew.”

There were many pictures of the action, including Daring Do emerging from the R.O.T building.

Carmen, a bemused look on her face, pointed her horn at Daring Do and asked, “What were they looking for in your office, Adora, Darling?”

Wincing at the name, Daring Do ate a fork full of her mother’s absolutely heavenly lasagna before speaking. “They expected to find the location of the tomb of Im Farst. That X on the map? It is the EXACT location of it!

“All that I have to do is go to the Necropolis,” Daring raised her eyebrows and made a fair imitation of Tyranny’s voice as she added, “That’s like a graveyard, locate the appropriate tomb and dig it up!”

Blendin, like all the others around the table, was giggling so hard that it was difficult to speak. At last he got out, “The only thing that could make that funnier would be if the 'IT’ that they want is the Heart of Discord!”

In a swiftly planned tactical strike, Daring Do said, “It IS! They do want the Heart of Discord!”

As the whole table exploded in laughter, Daring Do craftily snagged the last two pieces of lasagna.

Uncle M was wiping tears from his eyes and commenting, “I blew lasagna out my nose!”

Sounding almost innocent, Daring Do offered, “Uncle M, I have something else here for your amusement!” She hoofed over the folded sheets of R.O.T.’s offer.

M unfolded them and nearly choked. Tears of joy in his eyes, he implored, “May I make a copy of this? At Allstable we make custom policies all the time. Some of this is the finest pure legal worm slime that I have ever read! Really good stuff!

“There is no way that you can win with this. Even if you fulfill all the terms, the whole expedition cost to them is to be deducted from your payment. You could end up owing R.O.T. thousands in gold.”

Daring Do smiled around her latest forkful of lasagna and swallowed. “Feel free to copy it, M. What I need from you is a copy that actually says what this one purports to.”

M grinned and promised, “Piece of Lasagna, Adora … My seconds! You are eating my seconds!”

Carmen smiled. “That gives you more room for the frozen Pomegranate Gelatto that I fixed for dessert.”

Relaxing with a few candied figs to fill up corners, Daring Do asked, “How did the bidding go for the Golden Necklace of Pharow Underrock?”

Carmen leaned back in a comfortably padded chair and steepled her hooves. “We really only had a little time, Adora. we could do better with more time. The best that I could do on short notice was 1.5 million golden bits.”

She pointed an admonitiory hoof and went on, “THAT is BEFORE V.I.L.E.’s 20% cut. That leaves 1.2 million for you. The money can be deposited in your Equestrian National account by noon tomorrow, if that is satisfactory to you?”

Daring Do nodded, “The money is quite satisfactory. Thank you. I did mention that I had a concern about where the necklace was going. What will happen to it?”

Carmen’s grin was huge. “Our buyer has a project that needs a Royal sanction. He will gift the necklace to Princess Luna for immediate permanent display in the Royal Museum with proper provenance and finder’s credit!”

Her own grin almost as wide as her mother’s at the neatly done cutting out of the Acquisition Committee and Count Umber, Daring Do handed over the simple but perfect wooden case of unmistakable Rom workmanship. Carmen opened it reverently. Her drawn breath was ample reward, really. Daring Do knew that sound and expression on her mother’s face since infancy.

Baron Von Nighthoof leaned over to see it and suggested, “We could duplicate that. Honor requires that the original be given as promised. I can think of no neck in all of Equestria that such a copy would grace better than your own, Carmen.”

Daring Do knew that all would be done as promised. Her mother would kill before breaking the trust of her family. She discreetly took her leave.

The next morning, Daring Do emerged from her room at the Adventurer’s Guild and took a refreshing dip in the Guild’s pool and a quick workout in the gym, followed by a few assorted practice workouts in the projectile weapons range.

Her appetite whetted by the light workout, she sat in the Guild’s dining room and ordered a modest breakfast. The waiter who brought it was familiar. She stopped him and said in X'ibian, “Listening to those with whom you disagree is the first step on the journey of understanding.

“I have listened with care to those whom you and I agree are evil. Now I wish to learn all that you will share. It is clear that you know much more than you have said.”

The waiter stared carefully about before he bowed a formal Eastern bow and replied in X'ibian, “You are most observant. You are also correct. Sadly, most of what I wish to tell is proscribed by ancient oaths.

“I will tell you this. We would far sooner trust you to seek that ancient thing than any other. We know that you will treat where it lies with the respect that is due to our ancient land. Not even we know where it lies any longer.

The Chineighese invasion and conquest a thousand years past destroyed many scholars and their libraries. The hidden location of the tomb of Im Farst was lost and has not been refound.”

Daring Do nodded thoughtfully and divided her bowl of mixed fruits with him. “Share with me the meal of friendship.

“I seek no harm to any ancient thing. I try to find what is lost and restore it to living memory. Sadly, some things need to stay lost but NEVER destroyed. I have provision made for that eventuality.”

He sat and ate his portion while Daring Do ate hers. She divided her Alfalfa Waffle with him too.

Now deeply puzzled, she returned to the building of the R.O.T. lawfirm. Greeting Horsetense, she spoke cheerfully, “I have the expedition agreement ready for the signatures of the partners!”

<== Previous Next==>

Return to theMaster Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #Part 3 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

7 notes · View notes

uzumaki-rebellion · 5 years

Text

“Stark’s New Intern” Chp. 3

youtube

Summary: Erik has lunch with Tony and gets a new roommate...

"Don't let your young life get you down It always had a certain mystery Many changes come to everyone About the time that they turn seventeen Grandma said at times you'll feel a sting There'll be sharp turns and uphills and closed doors Then she said hold onto your faith 'Cause in this world you've got to go and get yours

So you stand up Be strong go out there Hold on to the real things that matter 'Cause no one's gonna hand it to you on a silver platter..."

The Brand New Heavies—"Brother Sister"

Pepper Potts glared at Tony like he stole cash from her purse.

"What have I done now?" Tony asked.

He placed his hands on the table in an open palm stance. A waiter walked up behind Pepper holding a martini and Erik watched Tony shake his head and the waiter slunk back to the bar. Clearly Boss Man wasn't supposed to be at Durangos. And it appeared that he wasn't supposed to be drinking either. Erik grabbed a menu and stuck his nose down in it to figure out how much of Tony's money he was about to use up. He was hungry and bold enough to spend hundreds at that moment.

Pepper ignored Erik and pulled out a file from the charcoal gray attaché case she had slung around her shoulder.

"I told you I needed these physically signed, not electronically, before you left the office. I told you this three times yesterday and now I have a defense contractor in Germany up my butt because of you. You never listen to me."

"You look lovely today, Pep—"

"Save it. Just sign."

She jabbed a pen Tony's way and he quickly signed several forms before handing her back the pen.

"Lovely to meet you, Erik," Pepper said with a little bite in words. She stormed out of the restaurant.

"So...about her..."

"No need to explain to me," Erik said.

Another waiter approached the table.

"The Lobster and filet mignon for both of us. Medium. One dirty martini...two dirty martinis and a Shirley Temple—"

"Coke," Erik interjected putting down the menu. "I'll have the lobster bisque and glazed duck sliders too."

The waiter took the menus and Tony looked at Erik with humor in his eyes.

"How did you like the morning portion of the tour?"

"It was alright."

"Just alright? State of the art décor, cutting edge tech and all you give me is 'alright'?"

"It was cool, man. Whatchu want me to say? I ain't like them other dudes tripping over themselves to get next to you."

"Yeah, you turned down doing this internship twice...seriously...what do you really think?"

Erik took a sip of the soda the waiter brought over to him and sat back in his seat.

"I was impressed."

"Have you decided what department you want to be in?"

"Cybertech."

"Emphasis?"

"Biometrics."

"Good choice. Perfect for your interests. Who is your hotel roommate?"

"Tyler. The dude from Canada."

"Getting along?"

"He's quiet. Keeps to himself."

"When we move you all over to the Oakwood next week, do you want to keep him as a bunk buddy?"

"You can stick me with anybody—"

"No, you don't get just anybody. You are here for three months and I need all my interns focused at the office and not having problems at night."

"Stick me with whoever. I don't care. I'm here to learn and keep to myself."

"See, that's not how this works at Stark Industries. The lone wolf mentality is not conducive to below the line teamwork. I am building a future team. Ten people are going to be kept on, and I want you to be one of those ten. You have to get rid of this individual crusade you got going on."

"It's worked for me so far—"

"At Annapolis?"

Erik looked at his glass of soda.

"They break you down and build you up to be the Borg. I know the drill, Stevens. Cut the crap."

"You gotta stop separating me then."

"I will do that. This is just a little formality to make sure your head is straight."

"I'm straight—"

The lobster bisque and glazed duck sliders were set before Erik by a different waiter and he tucked in right away. By the time he had wolfed down his first course, the lobster and steak were in front of him, and he ate his meal in peace.

Tony sipped on his martinis and checked his cell from time to time. Erik ordered dessert, chocolate bread pudding with French vanilla bean ice cream. When they were finished, he followed Tony out to the valet stand.

"Do your best and your place here is assured, Stevens."

Erik nodded.

But he wasn't there to get a career. He was there to learn what he could use in the future. A future writ in his father's blood.

###

"Fuck."

Erik stood in the lobby of the Oakwood Apartment office staring at his cell phone.

Maria's name and picture stared back at him. They were partnered as roommates. Apartment key card in his hand, Erik rolled his large suitcase and duffle bag to the furnished upstairs unit he was assigned. It was near the pool and jacuzzi and Erik felt his mood sinking even lower because he knew this was going to be the party spot, and he didn't want to be around loud noises. He went back to the apartment office and tried to get re-assigned, but the woman there said there were to be no changes without Mr. Stark's approval. Erik already knew Tony did this to him on purpose. Stuck him with the most annoying person he had met so far.

When he tapped his key card to the entrance and stepped in, Maria was already standing in the middle of the living room with her three bags.

"Roomie!" she said.

He rolled his eyes at her and closed the door.

"I wanted to wait until you arrived so we could choose rooms."

"Whichever one doesn't face the pool."

"Cool! Because I want the other one that does!"

Maria took off to find her room. The good thing about the layout was that the bedrooms were opposite one another. He planned to spend as little time around her as possible.

Unpacking in the slow methodical way he had always done since he was a child, he took time to organize his living space and changed clothes. He was happy to be in a t-shirt and baggy jeans again. He grabbed the bottle of Gullah Red Rooster hot sauce he had wrapped in his suitcase. Slipping his feet into some comfy black slides, he headed into the kitchen to see what they had as far as cooking utensils.

Maria was already there digging in the cupboards.

"They have a rice cooker!" she squealed.

He nodded, happy that he didn't have to buy one. He was always eating rice. At least they had that one thing in common by the way she was pleased by the discovery.

"I cook a lot," she said.

"I do too."

She stared at him as if she didn't believe him. Cooking was something that was instilled into him early by his father. His Mom was a great cook, but his father was exceptional. It was a skill that was passed down to him, and he planned on using the kitchen a lot to get comfortable. If he had to suffer this living arrangement, he would at least eat well and stuff his pain with good food. He opened up the cupboard closest to the stove and stuck the hot sauce on the bottom shelf. Maria stared at him with a smile on her face.

"What?" he said glaring at her.

She held her hands out to him. A bottle of Louisiana's Finest sat in her palm. Erik couldn't help the smile that crept across his lips. She stepped next to him and placed her bottle next to his in the cupboard.

"Pedestrian," he said staring at her bottle.

"Look who's talking with that mild stuff you're depressing us with—"

"Mild?"

"Watered-down pepper sauce—"

"I know you not talking trash 'bout my Nana's shit—"

"Put up or shut up!"

They both grabbed their bottles and snatched spoons out of a kitchen drawer.

"You first," Maria said.

She opened up her fresh bottle and shook a drop onto the spoon. Erik took the spoon and stuck it into his mouth. A subtle smoky-sweet flavor, a slight tingling in his gums—

"Shit!" he said as his eyes watered and his mouth gaped open from the wicked heat.

Maria cackled. Once Erik could see again and his tongue prepped to create a new layer of skin for his burned off taste buds, Maria took his bottle and shook two drops on her spoon.

"Yo, you might wanna go easy—"

Maria stuck the spoon in her mouth with attitude. Three seconds later she was crying and sticking her mouth under the kitchen sink trying to wash away the taste.

"Told ya," Erik said watching her struggle. The sauce burned away the whites of her eyes turning them a watery red mess, and she kept panting as she rubbed her fingers across her tongue. After a full display of histrionics that Erik felt was overexaggerated, Maria leaned against the kitchen stove and wiped more tears from her face.

"You win," she said, her tongue stuck out for him to see.

"Don't bring no knife to a gunfight, girl," he said putting the bottles into the fridge.

"Keep that away from my stuff!"

He placed their sauces on separate shelves.

The rest of their time was spent at the kitchen table going over house rules. Mainly Erik's rules. No talking or loud noises before ten a.m. No house guests without two days' notice. Shared spaces had to be immaculate. No dishes left in the sink under any circumstances...clean as you go. No touching or eating another's food. Bathroom and toilet had to be cleaned daily. No traces of shaved hairs in the sink or bathtub. No hair ties or traces or hair after washing in the tub/shower. Phone conversations shouldn't be heard by a third party. Shoes off in the apartment at all times. Trash taken out every three days even if it wasn't full. No loud noises after nine at night. No smoking indoors unless it was weed.

Maria stared at the list he had emailed to her.

"You have anything to add?" he asked her staring at his own cell.

"Am I allowed to breathe or fart at any time?"

Erik quirked his lips at her and she giggled.

"Can we play music?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just be cognizant of the other person if they are working on something. Use headphones at appropriate times."

"Have you always been this anal?"

"Anal?"

"I know military training is imprinted on you, but jeez dude—"

"I just want to keep the peace. I need order and cleanliness, Ma. For reals. I can't stand living with nasty ass people. Can you deal?"

"I can deal."

They heard music blaring from outside. Maria jumped up and ran to their tiny balcony window throwing back the drapes.

"People are out at the jacuzzi already. We should go down!"

Erik let out an exasperated sigh.

"You are such an old man! Lighten up, Erik. God, I love this song!"

Maria grabbed his hand and dragged him out the front door.

Five interns sat inside the jacuzzi while an additional ten stood around with beers in their hand. Someone already made a beer run? They all wore swimsuits.

Erik glanced around. No Giselle or Curtis.

"Hey look, it's Stark's boy!"

Wesley Bretts. Boston. New money. Ultra redneck vibes masked under an upper-middle-class persona. Trouble.

"I ain't nobody's boy," Erik said with a little thunder behind his tone.

"No harm no foul, man. Just pointing out your favored status."

Wesley grinned with perfect bleached teeth and a phony all-shucks demeanor. Erik could feel all eyes on him again. He was younger than everyone else there, but he wasn't about to let no Boston bum talk to him any ole kind of way. Erik sauntered over and stood toe to toe with him.

"Watch how you talk to me and there won't be no problems in this bitch—"

"Hey, Erik, have a beer," Maria said.

She grabbed one from one of the women there and shoved it into his chest. Someone splashed water on Wesley from the jacuzzi and he wrenched his eyes from Erik's.

"You are so in trouble for that!" Wesley said dropping down into the jacuzzi and splashing water back at a blonde who had her eyes on Erik.

Erik opened the tab on his beer and gulped down the bitter brew.

"He's a dick. Ignore him," another blonde said to him. Her smile was sincere.

"I'm Hayley, that's Irene and Valentina—"

Erik took in their names and faces. Maria introduced herself to them and he stood there feeling uncomfortable, wishing he had stayed inside the apartment. If he couldn't get through a beer bash at an impromptu party, he was going to be on struggle mode the rest of his time there. Better to man up and push through the dumb shit.

"You and I will be under the same project manager," Valentina said.

"What?" he said tuning into her face.

Valentina was a raven-haired beauty with the lightest milky blue eyes he had ever seen up close. They almost looked fake. Her dark hair and tanned skin made her look Mediterranean. She stood out among the bleached blondes and suspect red-heads in the bunch.

She held up her cell to him.

"The team list was just posted," she said. Her smile was genuine and Erik felt himself lighten up a bit.

"Ohmigosh, I'm with you guys!"

Maria gave a little jump. Why was she so excited about every little thing? She held her phone up to Erik. He took it from her hand and scanned the other names. He found Giselle listed with a design and innovations team. He wondered where she was staying in the complex. Why couldn't he be living with her? Or teamed up with her at the office?

Other interns began showing up at the pool and the noise level rose. He was about to excuse himself when he saw Giselle walking into the pool area with a big Swede named Roland. She was caught up in an intense convo with him, and when her eyes caught Erik's, she waved but kept right on talking to Roland.

"See you guys," Valentina said.

"Where you going?" he asked, curious to know her since they would be around each other for three months.

"The pool is heated," she said, "we're getting in."

"We should go get our swimsuits," Maria said clutching his arm. Erik watched Giselle pull off the shorts and shirt she had on revealing a red string bikini underneath that had heads turning.

"Bet," he said. He followed Maria back to the apartment. He threw on an old pair of OP trunks and grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

"Whoa," Maria said when she saw him. Her eyes flitted up and down his body, "You must work out...a lot," she said.

He saw her cheeks turn a little red. He looked at her green one piece. She had a cute shape although she slouched a bit like she was trying to hide her little round body. A swimsuit that worked with her curves instead of against them would probably help her confidence.

"Maybe I should forget the pool," she mumbled throwing her towel around her shoulders and covering most of her body.

"You suggested this, so now we're going," he said.

He headed toward the door and she hesitated following him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Now you wanna be shy all of sudden?"

"Look how you're built. Did you see Valentina's body? Giselle's?"

God yes, he saw their bodies, and he played it off like he didn't, looking hella slick while doing it too.

"Stop trippin' girl. You got a cute shape. Go show it off. Thick thighs save lives too."

Maria started laughing.

"Wait...you think I have a cute shape? You're not just saying that to be nice right? I shouldn't care because men always make women feel like shit if they don't meet some ridiculous beauty standard, but this is real life and I have to deal with this bullshit even if I don't want to."

"I'm not going to lie to you. You really do have a cute shape. Cute face too."

"Thank you. I do think you're lying, but if I walk out with you, they won't notice my frumpy—"

"Listen. If we are going to be on the same team, I can't be with someone who has no confidence. Fake it 'til you make it, Ma. C'mon. Don't be dragging me down with your poor self-image. I'm telling you...you look fine. Act like it or else stay in the apartment. My Nana always told me that a closed mouth don't get fed. So if you want to make a good impression, get out there, mix and mingle and stop worrying about how you look. Let these bitches know who they fuckin' with."

"Easy for you to say when you look like a Greek Adonis and have the brain of an Einstein."

"African Adonis. And better than Einstein. Get it right."

He opened the front door and he felt her rush behind him.

"I'm sticking with you if that's okay," she said.

"When have you not?" he said while locking their front door.

###

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Tag List:

@fonville-designs @soufcakmistress @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon @thadelightfulone @allhailqueennel @bartierbakarimobisson @cpwtwot @shookmcgookqueen @yoyolovesbucky @raysunshine78 @the-illllest @terrablaze514 @l-auteuse @amirra88 @jimizwidow @janelledarling @chaneajoyyy @sweetestdream92 @purple-apricots @blackpinup22 @hennessystevens-udaku @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @bugngiz @stariamrry @honeytoffee

#Stark's New Intern #killmonger #erik stevens #tony starks #black panther fanfiction #black panther fanfic

43 notes · View notes

secretshinigami · 5 years

Text

What’s in a Snake’s Ale?

Author: @thequietonesarethedarkestones For: @misora-massacre Pairings/Characters: Beyond Birthday, Naomi Misora, and L Lawliet Rating/Warnings: Teen and up for mild drinking and language Prompt: D&D AU Author’s notes: It just so happened that I already had headcanons for this, so it was really exciting to finally write about!! I hope you like it~

Wolfmaw was an unfortunate name for a town. According to the locals, the name sprung from pointed rock formations that ringed the area; sharp stones the size of trees arranging a pattern that anyone who’s stared into a wolf’s jaws would recognize.

Lately, though, the symbolism became uncomfortably tangible. Townsfolk often spotted wolves at the edge of their vision, trotting about the outskirts. They never approached close enough to be anything more than ominous. Their presence was threatening nonetheless. The population kept their doors locked with unease, but the animals never gave any real cause for alarm.

It was common to see a pack passing through an area at the turn of the season. The deciduous nature of the region’s forests coupled with wild weather changes throughout the year scared away most animals looking to spend their entire lives there. Wolves came and went often, but rarely bothered a town, and never stayed for more than a week. Even so, the mind often strays to imagination (for it really knows nothing else), and paranoia painted glowing red eyes and silver fangs into the hearts of many. At least, this is what the Naomi Misora’s deity had told her.

The Fairwit Watcher was certainly an interesting patron to serve. He sent her wherever her reason was needed most, wherever mystery held logical tongue hostage. She traveled across the empire on his wishes, solving what she could and earning a reputation.

Misora Massacre, they called her. A human paladin with a razor mind and a roaring heart. It was a grisly name at its core, but it caught all the right attention.

Because of her reputation, the locals of Wolfmaw welcomed Naomi with open relief. They added to the Fairwit Watcher’s intel, telling varying stretched claims about unusual beasts slinking about unchallenged (None were so bold as to claim damage done—they would have done so without evidence).

The wolves were entirely normal. She didn’t have to get up close to see that—none of them looked scrawny or sick, so there was no reason for them to enter the village in the first place. The townsfolk insisted on keeping Naomi close by, however, to ease their nerves. They pretended that she had something to do with the pack’s departure the next morning. She would leave them with a nice sum of coin to guide her.

Through it all Naomi never saw a red eye or silver tooth—it was misguided paranoia after all. After assuring everyone of their safety, Naomi retired to her inn to privately report the results to her patron.

“Very good, Ms. Misora. You said there were eight of them?” His rather deadpan voice jumped from pitch to pitch and layered over itself. Thus, it was easy for his paladin to recognize. The myths said that justice crystallized when he spoke, and that the unjust always heard grating anger in his words. Regardless, Naomi never felt the urge to act particularly valiant when they conversed. His appearance didn’t persuade her to chivalrousness either, on the occasion that he showed himself—his figure barely held it’s form. The body was a loose shadow of blue-black mist that demonstrated little physical acknowledgment to Naomi’s words. Even so, he had her highest respect.

“Yes, the group wasn’t overly large or small—the wolves themselves were unremarkable, really. It was paranoia. I’m guessing they had a rough winter or something.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Do you have anything else for me to do here?”

“Wolfmaw is an interesting place with interesting people—I saw some particularly strange patrons in the bar below, in fact. Enjoy yourself.” As he dissolved away, Naomi decided that these words had been as much of an order as his ‘suggestion’ to investigate the town. That sort of sucked the joy out of relaxing, didn’t it?

The wooden staircase protested noisily under her footfalls, but the band playing below overran the groans with sweet singing of lutes and violas. It wasn’t an exquisite venue, but the town was small. There was a decent crowd of folks who had no other option. A heavy scent of alcohol choked the air, and boisterous laughter mingled easily with the music. Naomi opted for a stool by the bar to watch the chaos from a comfortable distance, and through one way or another ended up with a watery mead.

“Did you do it for justice, or the coin?” The voice came out of nowhere. It was a cobra scraping across rock—rough, uninviting, and hinting at its owner’s danger. However, it had addressed her, so she turned.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” She responded before even looking at him properly. He had certainly snuck up on her, which was admirable considering his conspicuous appearance and Naomi’s adept perception. Most of his look raised no sort of alarm—his bronze skin glittered in the low torchlight, and thick black curls pulled into a short tumbling ponytail gleamed in duet. His clothes were not foreign or even expensive.

What set him apart were startlingly ruby-like scales that patterned his cheekbones, forehead, and bridge of his nose. Naomi recognized him as of partial Yuan-ti lineage.

He had a flask instead of a tankard, and after he took a sip, his lips were lined with the same cherry shade his scales. Naomi could smell the dark drink without leaning in or focusing. It was nauseatingly sweet.

“At least let me introduce myself,” he said, smiling at her like she wasn’t glowering in silence. “Rue Ryuzaki, at your service.” He punctuated this addition with another long drink. Whatever it was, it was certainly alcoholic, but by no means a good or healthy substance. Naomi pulled her glass closer to herself, suddenly grateful for the mead’s weakness.

“At my service for what?” She asked, keeping her name locked close. His personality type wasn’t enigmatic, and she had dealt with it before. It was sometimes best not to give them what they wanted. Ryuzaki did not take long to stitch together a reply even in rather rudely obvious disappointment.

“Anything you’d like. My time is yours,” He said, without much of his previous enthusiasm.

“…”

“Come on, pity me.” At least that wasn’t something that she’d heard before. Naomi cursed herself for letting it hook her interest. She’d just give him a chance to speak. “You could at least answer my question—I’ll even answer one of yours in return.” He wasn’t giving up. Naomi gathered her patience. Ryuzaki was suspiciously suspicious—it was obvious that he was the reason the Fairwit Watcher had ordered her to have fun. This was a work call. It was a responsibility.

“I did it because it was required of me.” She hoped the vague answer would piss him off enough to leave her alone. It was only dry kindling to flame.

“So justice and coin. Sounds like a fun job, then.” Ryuzaki tapped his fingernails against his flask, and Naomi noticed that portions of his hands were also armored with scales. Normal fingernails, though.

“Well, I’m a man of my word. Ask me something,” Ryuzaki said. She figured that if he was being so cooperative (overeager is probably the better word), then she might as well take advantage of it.

“What brought you here?”

“To Wolfmaw? My job. Same as you.” He seemed undaunted by the suggestion that perhaps she had not meant the question on a larger scale, for Yuan-ti were rarely seen in the empire. Most often they chose to settle in the warm marshes that lay outside of the western borders. Naomi had read about them before, and she was familiar with the rude whispers that often followed their name.

They were called abominations, children of chaos. She wondered if Ryuzaki was even aware of this. He was persistent at being ignorant to any insult issued to him, so it was possible that he was only aware of what was starkly presented to him. Naomi already hated him.

At the end of the day, though, she didn’t know him. Anything could be going through his head. If he was good enough at hiding it, she would never be aware.

“Your job,” She repeated with doubt. It wasn’t that she didn’t think he could have one. It was that it had allegedly brought him to Wolfmaw. They didn’t order many commissions. What business could he have if it wasn’t connected to the recent paranoia?

“Yes. I was told to take care of a few things.”

“By who?” Naomi leaned closer despite her instincts screaming not to. She scrutinized his expression with eyes of steel. This town could only barely serve as a tourist attraction, so an aristocrat having interest was doubtful. The fact that the Fairwit Watcher wanted her involved made Naomi wonder if Ryuzaki had been hired by a crime lord of sorts. But what could they want in the area…?

Ryuzaki seemed unalarmed, which was kind of disappointing. He gave her a snake-like grin. When he refused to pull away, Naomi realized in the proximity that his eyes reflected his scales and the stain on his lips—red like nothing she’d ever seen, and with ringed patterns like you’d find on rocks by a lake’s shore. Staring into them was like teetering on the edge of the Infernal plane. It was dizzying, but she didn’t look away. Looking away meant losing.

“Private contractor,” he said, leaning away an inch, “You wouldn’t know her.” Every word he spoke raised another red flag.

“If you tell me, I’ll answer another one of your questions.” That was precisely the opposite of what Naomi wanted to do, but sometimes you had to suck it up for the sake of your patron.

“I don’t have any more questions.” He spread his palms. Naomi gritted her teeth. When had he decided to be difficult?

“You had questions before, are you telling me you aren’t interested in them anymore?”

“Oh? I suppose I am.” He grinned. Naomi had broken her rule, she gave him what he wanted. She was going to pay.

“Here’s a question: who’s your employer? You must have one—I believe in fate, but you’re far too good at your job to have stumbled upon this little mystery by accident.” Naomi’s mead suddenly tasted sour in her mouth. His words glaringly demonstrated that he had kept an eye on her. Was he just going to keep getting more suspicious?

The Fairwit Watcher didn’t request total secrecy. After all, one has to be at least marginally known to gain a following. Still, his name wasn’t one that you were careless with.

Naomi remembered that she was getting shady information in exchange for this, so Ryuzaki would be a hypocrite to scold her.

“The Fairwit Watcher,” she took a sip of her mead to seem nonchalant, “I doubt you’ve heard of him either.” Ryuzaki leaned forward with such force onto the bar that the wood shrieked.

“The Fairwit Watcher? Of course I know him. He’s a total asshole!” Despite his venomous words, Ryuzaki was smiling again, that wide and toothy smile that was so serpentine it made Naomi wonder why he didn’t have fangs or a forked tongue.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on, you agree.” She did, but she couldn’t say that.

“How do you…is he your patron?”

“Was. Does he not treat you like garbage?”

“No?”

“Unbelievable.” He laughed, then drowned it in whatever awful sludge he was drinking.

“Is your new employer your new patron?”

“Excellent work, she is!” The praise made Naomi want to gag. “Her name is Nu.” She indeed had not heard of this deity before. Perhaps she was particular to Yuan-ti?

“She’s a death goddess. Doesn’t attract much attention, though.”

“Does she speak to you?”

“I get vague suggestions. No voices.”

“And she told you to come here.”

“Vaguely.”

“…” Naomi figured that to give someone the name and location of a town, she’d have to be pretty precise. Maybe Ryuzaki didn’t know what vague meant at all.

“Are you sure that’s the work of a deity?” She asked, speaking somewhat slowly.

“Oh, yes. She’s given me what you would call ‘otherworldly powers.’” It sounded like a brag. Naomi almost wanted to list of what the Fairwit Watcher had done for her in rebuttal. She held her tongue.

“Huh…that’s interesting,” Naomi said, mostly as a way to fill the silence that followed the easy flow of questions. Ryuzaki had his eyes glued on her, and she found it difficult to look away. His gaze flitted above her head, then back again.

“Well, I should get going.” He buckled his flask to his belt and pushed his stool back. Naomi felt like she should stop him (you know, out of duty), but really couldn’t bring herself to. Ryuzaki was weird, but he wasn’t malicious. If pressed, Naomi would probably describe him as a social outcast with a disturbingly outgoing attitude. Maybe the Fairwit Watcher was just messing with her.

“No other questions?” Naomi forced herself to ask.

“No. I hope to see you around, Ms. Misora.” He flashed another reptilian smile. She stood up at once, balking at him like he had just told her (very calmly) that he was a banana slug. He waved at her as he sped through the crowd with unabashed cheer, and she had a feeling that she would see him again. The very fact was unsettling.

Mostly because she’d never mentioned her name.

#fanfiction #submission #Naomi Misora #death note #D&D #B's Bitchin Borthday 2k19 #L #B #L Lawliet #Beyond Birthday #alcohol #ratings: teen #pairings: none

12 notes · View notes

lokispettigerr · 5 years

Text

The Accursed’s Assassin (Part 1)- Loki x Malekith’s daughter (Dark elf!OFC)

Fic Summary: Malekith has a daughter whom he raised as an assassin to do his bidding. His daughter learns of her father’s death and decides to set her killing sights on Loki and the remainder of the ruling family of Asgard. While on Svartalfheim she catches Loki’s trail.

Word Count: 2037

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Mentions of child physical and sexual abuse

A/N: This fic takes place post TDW, but before Loki takes the throne of Asgard disguised as Odin.

Note to dearest readers: I am so wary about posting this full fic, but it just needs to be set free. This is my vulnerability showing, but I just feel like maybe something isn’t right, or it isn’t clear, or something is missing. I always want to produce high quality work for you all because I care about you all, and of course I want to continue to learn and improve in my writing. I know that it won’t always be good, but I just felt the need to say something because I don’t want to disappoint you all. None the less, thank you all for supporting me and making this so much fun for me!

Taglist: @malanix @xletmetaste-yoursmilex @loki978

General Taglist: @njavezan @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @avenging-blackwidow @lovelyxserpent-br @kamaroon @britkane-shsl-librarian @not-made-of-glass @archy3001 @witch-loki

I knelt down to study an obvious blood stain on the ground, one of my leather-clad knees grazing the dark sand of my home planet-- Svartalfheim. My half gloved fingers reached out and I rubbed the blood soaked sand. The blood was old, but only by a few hours. I was getting closer. I stood, my silver hair blowing around my face, escaping my long braid, whipping softly into my eyes causing them to tear, and stroking my full lips lustfully. Though the wind filled my ears with whistling, I could still hear the soft steps of Sombra, my shadow. The black coated, male wolf my father gave to me as a balm to his harsh treatment. Sombra approached me and prodded the palm of my hand with his wet, wolf snout. I ignored him momentarily, thinking of my next move. I turned my face up to the winds of Svartalfheim for an answer, it caressed me like a proud father rubbing the moon-kissed cheek of his daughter with pride in his pale eyes.

The wind whispered to me with my father’s menacing voice, “Closer still, you almost have him now--so close to our bloody victory.” It was as if I could feel the presence of my dead father, standing too close behind me, resting his cheek next to my ear as our silver hair mingled in the wind-- the strands twisting, fighting for superiority. His sharp talons dug painfully into my skin as he clasped my shoulders, whispering to me, his lips grazing my ear, “Finish him, my child. Finish him for your father, make me proud”. I nodded, turning my head, hoping to hold his gaze again, but only the wind gripped me. You are your father’s rage, it whispered menacingly. I stepped forward knowing Sombra would follow, my footsteps inaudible on the dark sand. We made not a sound, we were but shadow and smoke as we strode toward Loki, the dying Prince of Asgard.

Have you ever watched as the light of life faded from the eyes of your enemy? Have you ever seen it recede as if you had overturned a pitcher of water and the liquid slowly trickled out until the pitcher was empty, and the water was no more? I have seen it, a thousand times over and more, and not once have I not relished in it. Not once have I not been proud as I saw my good work. Not once. My father, Malekith The Accursed trained me so. He taught me that my wolf and my bone blade are my companions, the only ones I can trust. They are both a part of me and extensions of me. Friends betray you, you can count on that. They will always let you down, but not a weapon--not a wolf. We always fulfill our purpose.

I am an assassin, a “shivarotha”, in the language of my people-- the Dark Elves. Men and women would betray my father or would become his enemies, and I was sent to carry out his unforgiving wrath. To watch them night after night, to prey upon them. It wouldn’t take long to approach unbeknownst to them and stick the blade of my bone dagger into their back. And when they fell, and they always fell, I would sit above them, straddling them to ride them out into the night as their body convulsed and they fought for their life beneath me, their throes futile against me. I would take my delicate hands with their unimaginable strength and crush their throat. I always wanted to finish them with my hands, it was more poetic this way-- or so father always said. I did what father said, and I always went where father sent me. His rage followed. I am my father’s rage. How peculiar it is now, to go where my father has not sent me. But how could he? My father is nothing more than a memory of a people that once were-- a glimmer of a dying star that’s light outshines it even after it is gone.

An eye for an eye, is it? Or better yet, a life for a life.

Odin, the King of Asgard, the Allfather. He thinks he is something special-- thinks he knows everything. You know, he gave his right eye for knowledge, but how knowledgeable is he really? I plan to put him to the test. Will he see me coming with his eye that sees without sight? Odin is a vile, corrupt ruler. He is the cancer that eats away furiously at everything it touches. The only thing left in its wake a fetid, rotting corpse.

Then there is his son Thor, the golden prodigy. He is everything he is told to be, that is our one commonality. He might be fire, more like a spark, but I am the ice that destroys all life to where no fire can be created. Thor is the to-be king, and maybe we can make that happen sooner than he thinks. For a time anyway.

Frigga, the motherly one, not much can be said for her because she is dead. Her soul sent to soar into Asgards home eternal-- Valhalla. Her kind heart made her a fool, and too trusting. She was a sorceress, and a powerful one at that, but her pity made her weak. She died by the hand of Algrim. While Algrim dealt the killing blow, her death came from my father as it was his word that forced the deed. In that way too, each of my kills is the glory of my father.

The last, and certainly not least, is Loki the Prince of Asgard. A charmer that one, arguably the most dangerous in the family. His cruelty rivals even that of mine, and his rage matches that of my father. Loki reminds me of my father, in that way. He is the one I must keep my trained eyes on, constantly. I can never be cautious enough with that one. Yet, I know Loki’s truth. He isn’t really Asgardian, not like the others. That is what makes him so dangerous-- an outsider on the inside. But to whom is he more dangerous, his own family, or me? Loki could prove useful, but one should never let a snake with poison dripping from its fangs come too close. Killing is only in their nature. As it is in mine.

Mine, they will all be mine. The ruling family of Asgard, gods said to possess immense and immeasurable power. How powerful can they possibly be when I can smite them all the same?

And who am I to bring such woe to the house of Odin? XAethera is my name. Now, look at the spelling of my name. Is there a word contained within that you may have heard before? Maybe in a dark, candlelit tavern where travelers from all around go for a bit of rest, a warm meal, and talk of the nine realms. There you sat many moons ago, in a corner cloaked in shadow. You were listening, how smart of you, and then you heard it fall from the lips of a grimey looking stranger with missing teeth, talking to his cohort across the table. As the word escaped his lips, a chill traveled down your spine. Aether.

My name rings like a bell in your memory, striking an ominous chord-- that isn’t unintentional. You are a clever one, aren’t you? So, what then is the Aether to my people? What was it that grimey old man said, and why did he stress the one word as if it had monumental black market value? Why would he have whispered it leaning across the creaking wood table, his eyes glinting as he peered at his cohort, praying no soul could hear them? The Aether is the most powerful weapon-- the most hostile that the Dark Elves possessed. The Aether is a living parasitic force of corruption that converts matter into that of dark-matter and can alter reality itself.

If I am to be truly threatening, then that would be a most fitting name. After all, a name means everything. There is power in a name. I must live up to mine, if I am to ever carry out the revenge of Malekith the Accursed.

Sombra’s imprint on my mind alerted me that Loki the God of Lies was just up ahead, on the other side of a steep a hill. I signaled for Sombra to mimic my crouch so we could continue our stealth approach low to the ground. We both crept like silent death to the edge of the incline and peered over-- my pale red eyes scanned the gloom below.

I could see Loki’s heat signals with Sombra’s eyes. The wolves of Svartlafheim had three sets of eyes-- most of the animals that called Svartalfheim home had multiple sets of eyes as our land was shrouded in shadow. Loki was lying still on the black sands of the desert of Svartalfheim, much like a cast out corpse would be-- a corpse that has been so despicable in life that it was undeserving of an honorable burial. If not for Sombra’s vision, I would have believed the body down below was a cold, stiff corpse. While Loki was close to death, that was clear, his chest continued to rise and fall with each drowning, ragged breath.

This was so incredibly easy…I, or Sombra could end his life within a matter of seconds. There would be no tag teaming, no challenge, no scent of fear in the air. If either of us ended him now it would be a kindness.

Did Loki deserve a mercy kill? Did he deserve kindness after what he did to my father with his “brother” puppet? Never. There would be no pride in this kill and no honor. Father would be disgusted in me, and if he were still alive...Upon my return, he would pretend to welcome me with open arms, as soon as I drew in to receive his embrace he would yank me by my silver hair, dragging me down a candle-lit stone hallway full of skulls, cave lichen, stalactites and the like, down into the deepest recesses of home and chain me up to think on my failure and embarrassment to him. He would scold me for how poorly I made him look and he would use his hands like rabid dogs against me. Tearing at my flesh in more ways than one until I was bleeding and unidentifiable-- luckily, Dark Elves have an impressive wound recovery rate.

I gave a growl of frustration, clenching my jaw, and looked over to Sombra who immediately laid his enormous head on his big, wolf paws to adopt a submissive pose.

Assassinating the Prince of Asgard and avenging my father's death would have to come another day.

For now I would go reluctantly to the stranger sprawled upon the sands. I would have to nurse him back to health. He was as good as dead where he lie and if I left him what would my revenge be then? How could I make my father proud then? Once he was better, and even somewhat of a challenge, and he would always be a laughable challenge against me and Sombra at that, I would lay my blade deep into his flesh as Sombra brought him down to the ground and we would both lay waste to his tortured, corrupt soul.

I stood and rolled my shoulders to release my frustration and tension with our present circumstances.

“Knocht,” I ordered to Sombra, stay, and he lifted his head in acknowledgement.

I bounded down the hill and approached Loki-- swiftly kneeling down next to him, quiet as a creeping mist. Slowly, I extended my long fingers, my skin almost glowing in the swimming gloom. Without my permission my hand began to shake, and I placed it lightly on Loki’s chest. At the point of contact a powerful, sharp shock went through my hand, and the green eyes of the dying prince opened suddenly, and he breathed in a great gust as if he was given life for the first time.

****If you would like to be on the general taglist OR the taglist for this fic please leave me an ask in my ask box. I will make it happen and would be happy to do it! You all make me so very happy! If you enjoyed this, please comment, like, and/or reblog. I love hearing from my readers and LOVE reblogs because it helps me out so much! Thanks friends. Until next time!

If you enjoy my work and would like to support me I have venmo and ko-fi <3

Peace,

Loki’s Pet Tiger

#loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #imagine loki #loki x ofc #loki x reader #loki smut #loki #loki mcu #loki marvel #tom hiddleston loki #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston imagine #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki of asgard #loki of jotunheim #lokis army

28 notes · View notes

orderoftheavengers · 6 years

Photo

The Other Guy

BRUTUS “BRUCE” BANNER

Summary: Ilvermorny potions prodigy, turned giant green werewolf.

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Ilvermorny House: Horned Serpent

Species: Human, werewolf (unique, potion-created breed) Blood status: Muggle-born

Wand: Womping Willow wood, 15 inches, unicorn tail hair

Broom: Tinderblast (not the fastest, but the most durable)

Familiar: Cute little barn owl named Ruffalo/Ruffles

Specialty: Potions

Patronus: Brown Bear

A New Kind of Werewolf

When Brutus "Bruce" Banner was in his first year at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he was taking potions class with the sixth years. His house was Horned Serpent, the egghead house. He was dating Zarabeth "Betty" Ross, of Thunderbird (the "warrior" house), daughter of auror Thaddeus Ross. For his final project of his first year, Bruce was working on an assignment that involved creating a potion that would grant the drinker some impressive powers. Wanting to go above and beyond, Bruce tried to re-create the super-auror serum that had resulted in Steve "the Captain" Rodgers.

Now, mixing the saliva of a werewolf and the blood of a troll into the Polyjuice potion, adding a dash of Doxy venom, a few hairs from a Metamorphmagus, and dropping in a dragon scale to finish it off, and then testing this concoction on yourself probably doesn't sound like a very Horned Serpent or Ravenclaw thing to do. But for an eleven-year-old, Bruce was showing some stunning genius, and took more precautions than most first years in his place would've.

Still, the results were catastrophic. And green. And furry.

On the Run

Thaddeus Ross became obsessed with "containing" the "monster," or worse. (Which is obviously kind of fucked up, since Bruce was still not even twelve yet.) Obviously the Ministry of Magic wasn't going to let Thaddeus kill a kid, but even they couldn't completely control the overzealous auror. Thaddeus's daughter Betty helped Bruce flee Ivermorny. Bruce tried hiding out in some magical communities at first, but soon discovered that the more magic there was around him, the more likely he was to lose control. Maybe it was physical contact with extra magic that made the wolf harder to control, or maybe it was just the stress of being in a community where everyone knew what he was. But in any case, Bruce fled the wizarding world, and lived among muggles in various foreign countries, usually in the sketchiest parts of the cities. A muggleborn, Bruce was already somewhat estranged from his parents, and didn't feel much loss in cutting contact with them.

While hiding out in a muggle favela in Brazil, he kept regular owl-contact with a mysterious pen-pal who went by "Professor Blue," who helped Bruce come up with temporary antidotes for his condition. The now twelve-year-old wizard supported himself mixing colorful paints for those kickass favela buildings, and made a few friends. His next-door-and-one-square-up neighbor was a snake who apparently knew Harry Potter. (Communication between Bruce and his scaly neighbor was limited though, as Bruce didn't speak Parselmouth and the Snake could barely write in Portuguese.) Thaddeus eventually found Bruce, and rode into battle astride a Portugues Longsnout. The dragon's flames however had no affect on the giant green werwolf. Fortunately, no muggles were hurt in the battle, except a group of drug lords who'd just assumed they were hallucinating and didn't get out of the way. Bruce fled into the rain-forest, where he transformed back into a human. He wandered alone for a while until he happened on a friendly chuppacabra that agreed to give him a lift. The chuppacabra didn't speak Protuguese, but told Bruce in Spanish that he wasn't in Brazil anymore. Figuring hiding out wasn't working, Bruce decided to go back to Ivelmorny where most of his old research was, and continue working on a cure. The chuppacabra gave Bruce a ride all the way back to the States, stopping for a few portions of goat for lunch along the way. Bruce reunited with Betty, and together they traveled overseas to Hogwarts to meet "Professor Blue." How did Bruce figure that was where Blue would be? Well in all his letters he kept mentioning "tea" and "ugly Christmas jumpers," and regularly had to be reminded that the asshole chasing Bruce was not a "Slytherin." When they finally met, Blue--actually a forth year named Samuel Sterns--was very disappointed to learn his cover had been blown so easily. (It appears that while Ravenclaws are usually brilliant in some areas, a lot of them lack some ingenuity outside the lab.) While the three worked on finding a cure for Bruce, the Sorting Hat dropped by to inform Betty that she was a Gryffindor, and Bruce a Ravenclaw. (Betty had a mind for science yes, but that was overriden by the courage and fortitude she'd inherited from her homicidally brave father; it takes a Gryffindor to go after a Hulk, and an even bigger Gryffindor to love one.)

Ross caught up to them again, now with a Chinese Fireball. A massive battle ensued all over Hogwarts' grounds. While on his defensive rampage, Wolf-Hulk wound up toppling a few castle towers, uprooting the Whomping Willow, and flinging the Giant Squid through the wall of the Great Hall (insert sushi joke). The Quidditch pitch was also pretty much decimated. This was not a good day for groundskeeper Argus Filch. The battle finally ended when Professor Neville Longbottom (now teaching herbology) announced via microphone-wand-spell that if Thaddeus didn't break off his attack ASAP, he'd call the Ministry on him and he'd have all of his medals and mustache confiscated indefinitely. The Ministry of Magic had arrived by then, and took Betty and Bruce into custody.

Unbeknown to our heroes, a neighbor back at the favela named Emil Blonsky had witnessed Bruce transform into "the incredible green furry," and was overcome with awe and envy. He tracked the heroes to Hogwarts, and cornered Sterns in his lab, demanding the Ravenclaw transform him into a badass like Bruce. Sterns immediately replied, "Holy balls, you look JUST like that guy from 'Four Roo--'" Blonsky's hand around his throat cut him off. Sterns reluctantly agreed to inject Blonsky with Bruce's blood, and then ran for cover (all the way down to the dungeons, past some Slytherins entering thier common room, and diving under a green-and-silver sofa where Tony Stark was reading a dirty "Veela" magazine).

Blonsky transformed not into a green wolf-ogre, but instead, an orange ogre-troll. He bellowed, "I AM ABOMINATION BITCHES!!!!" to the un-phased Hogwarts populace (who witnessed stuff like this every other week), and then promptly began smashing down the towers, Quidditch stadium and Whomping Willow that Argus Filch had just finally finished repairing.

Everyone in Hogwarst was quickly evacuated to Hogsmeade, so Bruce could smash-fight Abomination without worrying too much about collateral damage. Betty however secretly stayed behind, and at the end of the battle, begged Bruce not to kill Abomination.

"Bruce please, he's already died in 'Reservoir Dogs'..."

"Huh?"

"I AM NOT TIM ROTH!"

Bruce punched Blonsky, shutting him up.</b>

The Ministry of Magic quickly arrived to the scene and transformed Blonsky/Abomination into a ferret, before taking him into custody. Ross was about to order his dragon to blast another fireball at the Hulk-Wolf; but seeing human Bruce hugging his daughter, Ross finally admitted to himself, "Maybe there is something a little bit wrong with trying to kill or arrest a twelve-year-old..." The Ministry still wanted Bruce in custody though, and Bruce was forced to flee again after bidding Betty a tear-jerker farewell. After the credits, Thaddeus then went to the Three Broomsticks to get drunk and smoke a cigar; Tony Stark attempted to make a cameo, but didn't get one sentence out before Rosmerta noticed the firwewisky margarita in the underage Slytherin student's hand, and chucked him out.

Order of the Avengers

Bruce went back to hiding out amongst muggles, this time in Asia. The stress of trying to keep the wolf repressed resulted in half a head of gray hair before the poor little wizard was old enough to be bar-mitzvahed. Things got so low that at one point, he stood before a mirror and attempted to cast Avada Kadavara on himself. The "other guy" spit the green death-blast out (incinerating a nearby adult video store and causing a mass UFO conspiracy in the area). So he got passed his depression, and moved on by helping people. He used his magic to cure diseases for sick muggles in the slums of the third world, ignoring the Ministry's rules completely. Then one day, a redhead confronted him with a wand, and introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff. She wasn't here to kill him. She was here to recruit him for the Order of the Avengers. The program was at Hogwarts, so he'd have to go back to school; but at least it wouldn't be the school where his accident had happened, with all the bad memories. Bruce finally gave in, and began classes as a third-year Ravenclaw. Bruce contributed both brains and brawn to the Order, and became "potions bros" with Tony Stark. Bruce learned the hard way that while Ravenclaws and Slytherins make great lab partners, the latter can be a very bad influence on the former. If Bruce had a knut for every time Tony talked him into some experiment that backfired on them, he'd be richer than Harry Potter.

Bruce's other closest friend was fellow Ravenclaw Natasha, who had once been brainwashed by Death Eaters. She and Bruce bonded over the fact that at heart, they're both Ravenclaws, but have been transformed into some kind of monster or another against their will. They began dating, but no one's sure if they're still a thing, or if it was just a fling.

Detention With the Grand Master

In his final year at Hogwarts, Bruce, along with Thor, had to miss out on the epic illegal Quidditch match the other Avengers arranged. (Fortunately, it sounds like Thor and Bruce didn’t miss much, as the whole “civil war” game was less of a “deep clash of ideals” than a “drunken brawl fueled by Idiot Balls.”)

Defense Against the Dark Arts Class. Actually, most of the Avengers were behind in that class. But when Professor Masters--AKA “the Grand Master”--assigned all the failures to detention in the Dark Forrest, Bruce was the only one studious enough, and Thor the only one concerned with his fighting skills enough, to obediently attend their detention instead of playing Quidditch.

In detention, the Grand Master--Hogwarts’ latest eccentric D.A.D.A. professor--forced various badass students to duel each other, for cheering crowds of cheering centaurs, unicorns, merfolk, and other strange creatures. And while wearing ridiculously fruity gladiator outfits. (And the Grand Master’s henchmen will tell you, forcing a giant green wolf into Roman armor is no cakewalk.) Bruce and Thor had an epic duel, before the werewolf noticed Loki, and made like a pooch chasing a screaming, squealing car.

But the group wound up having to play Hooky after all, with Thor’s homeland at stake. Bruce helped Thor and Loki defeat their evil half-sister Hela, and almost caught himself a break....

As if.

Waning Powers

A regular werewolf will change with the moon no matter what. But Bruce was no regular werewolf. The potion that had transformed him had contained hairs from not only werewolves, but Metamorphmagi as well. And those who knew Nymphadora Tonks know that a Metamorphmagus’s powers can be affected by their mood.

Thanos gave the green wolf such a frightening beating, that the “monster” refused to “come out” afterwards, even when Bruce desperately needed him to. Thus, Bruce was forced to fight like a boring regular wizard, on a broom with a wand. Green asshole.

But after Thanos’s Dusting Curse murders half of Bruce’s friends, and half the universe he’d worked so hard to redeem himself by protecting, the wolf returned full-force...

Professor Wolf

With help from Tony and Shuri, and his own Ravenclaw cleverness, Bruce finally found a way to make peace with “the other guy.” He now walked around in the form of a furry green humanoid, taking the name “Professor Wolf.” Since Thanos’s curse and following tyrannical rule exposed the magical world to the Mugggles, Professor Wolf gained some new Muggle fangirls, mainly from the segments of Muggledom that frequented DeviantArt and Fur Affinity.

Time Travel

Deep in Snape’s old Potions dungeon, Tony, Bruce, Rocket, and Shuri–who was not Dusted!–all get together to brainstorm how to use the Spirit Realm for Time Travel (since Thanos destroyed all the Time Turners).

The four geniuses exchange ingenuity and banter, and it is brilliant. Rocket, a niffler, is enamored with Tony’s chest amulet, and steals it, causing some health problems for Tony. This angers Professor Wolf, who chases the niffler/raccoon hybrid around the lab until he catches him and makes him into a violent chew toy.

Shuri snags Rocket from the Wolf, and the amulet from Rocket. Struck with inspiration, the Wakandan princess makes some adjustments to the amulet, to Tony’s embarrassment and begrudging awe. This leads to a “eureka!” moment for the four of them, in regards to the Time Travel problem, and they finally get it solved.

Ravenclaw to Ravenclaw

Bruce gets the Time Stone from fellow a Ravenclaw, the Ancient One. Not battle or trickery is needed for this one; just honest, Ravencalw-to-Ravenclaw reasoning. When Bruce tells her about Strange sacrificing the Time Stone to save Tony, she realizes what this must mean, and hands the Stone over to Bruce.

After losing the Ravenclaw closest to him--Natasha Romanoff--Bruce is as devastated as Clint. Professor Wolf roars, and tosses a bench into the lake. The kids sitting on the bench, Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley, barely react, as they too were close with Nat and are mourning her. Even the Giant Squid is too sad to be bothered by the littering of his lake.

But later, when Bruce is fighting Thanos in the final battle, something extraordinary happens...

Bruce and the Wolf fight Thanos once more, now together, and wielding the red Infinity Wand. Professor Wolf is struggling to simply turn Thanos and his minions to dust, but it’s one Infinity Wand up against another. As the two Infinity Wands blast against each other, a light begins to glow in the middle of the two spells. Bruce suddenly hears a familiar voice, half in his head. “Bruce, give someone else a turn.” Natasha–or a ghostly version of her–is emerging from the middle of the two Infinity Wands’ spells. “Priori Incantatem!” shouts Shuri, from her blue-and-silver panther broom. “Or something like it! Two sets of Infinity Stones blasting against each other, their past spells are regurgitating!” The moment of shock distracts Bruce long enough for Thanos to blast him to the ground. The grape bastard is about to pick up the other Infinity Wand, but spirit-Nat delivers a kick to his face. It’s not a huge amount of damage–she only has the typical strength of a very angry poltergeist–but it buys enough time for Spidey to swing by and snag up the wand with his web, and the battle continues...

Epilogue

Bruce, Sam and Bucky have a brief scare, when it seems that Steve has massacred the timeline for personal gain; but this false Steve turns out to be only a Boggart. The real Steve has returned just a few minutes after schedule, and has only made one tiny change to the timeline; saving Nat.

Professor Wolf is now in the dungeons of Hogwarts, teaching Potions. Bruce can alternate between any of his three forms at will, and actually tends to teach in his boring, adorkable human form (with only the green tail).

Wand, broom, etc. Ollivander has crafted for Bruce a wand from a branch of the Whomping Willow, the only wood green-Bruce can't instantly snap in half. It contains a unicorn hair. Bruce's broom is a Tinderblast; though not as fast as some other models, it's highly resilient, so Bruce can ride it even if he transforms. Bruce's Patronus is a bear (all Patronuses are silver, so Black, Brown, or Polar isn't really a factor here). His specialty, obviously, is potions--his initial first-year accident notwithstanding. A/N: Bruce was blessedly easy to sort, draw, and write a Potter AU for. Tony and Dr. Strange are too overflowing with Slytherin-style heroism for me to let them go to waste as Ravenclaws, just because they happen to be geniuses. Bruce on the other hand, his personality and powers really do revolve around his mind--even his Hulk related ones.f

#bruce banner #hulk #hogwarts house #ravenclaw #werewolf #chibi #hogwarts #potterverse #harry potter #order of the avengers #incredible hulk #mark ruffalo

2 notes · View notes

bonnieberries · 7 years

Text

queen in the north

The King in the North abdicates his throne and pledges allegiance to the Dragon Queen. However, the North remembers, and doesn’t follow suit. one shot 3k+

The walls of Winterfell and the people within them are cold and unforgiving.

This realization is something Daenerys takes to heart. For she is meant to be their ruler, and a good ruler is supposed to be beloved by the people. She cannot be like her father. She is no Mad King.

Despite the chaos of the preparations for war, she tries her best to garner favor with the lords and common folk. She sends Missandei out to deliver bread and warm blankets to the poor in baskets adorned with the Targaryen emblem so that they know exactly which ruler they have to thank for those goods. Missandei assures Dany that she only hears nothing but positive words in gratefulness and adoration for her. This relieves her, but she had always known that the common folk would be easy to sway into her favor. Their minds are ruled by hunger and cold, and they will say anything to ensure that there is a solution to their problem. The real challenge, has been the Lords.

The Lords staunchly deny her, her rightful place. When Daenerys first arrived in Winterfell, smiling proudly besides Jon as he announced his wish to bend the knee, the chaos that unfolded made the smile slip off her lips in a blink of an eye. The Lords sneered and jeered, spitting insults with no qualm. “Dragon Lover”, “Mad Queen” and “Traitor” were popular insults that echoed around the hall. Daenerys had looked at Jon, hoping he would force some sense into their minds, but he was at a loss, his dark eyes lowered, and his shoulders sagged in defeat.

It was the lady of Winterfell who had silenced the crowd as she stood from her place. Jon Snow’s half-sister could not look more different from him with cold blue eyes and auburn plaits. Dany had yet to speak with her. Lady Stark had not been at the greeting party when they first arrived, but she knew Jon had gone to speak with her that night. He had not come back to her chambers, like she had expected, but it was understandable. He was back home after a long while, and if he wanted to spend time with his family, then how could she speak against that?

“My lords,” Lady Stark’s voice was measured. “There is a war brewing outside of our walls, let us not have one brewing inside our walls as well.”

“Tell the bastard traitor that!” Some man spat out in the crowd. Dany watched as Jon’s hands tightened into white-knuckled fists.

Lady Stark stayed composed, but a hardness flickered into her eyes. “I understand your ire, my Lords. Northern independence is what my brother Robb, fought and died for. So many of your own family fought alongside him and sacrificed so much. But, I beg you to understand that our king has not betrayed us. He only wishes to unite our defenses against the Long Night. You have seen proof of what is out there, you know how fearsome it will be, and we cannot fight that alone.”

A young girl stood up imperiously. She could not have been more than one and ten, but she was seated among the lords. “With all due respect, Your Grace,” she nodded towards Jon Snow, “Alliances are a thing of war. Assistance from good rulers, can come without requiring deference.” The girl’s words were dripping with acid, and it was clear from how her black eyes fixated on Daenerys, who the words were meant for. The Lords around her murmured their agreement and more insults were hissed.

Fury surged deep within Daenerys. She would have burned them all if she could, but she restrained herself for Jon Snow’s sake.

Jon Snow spoke, addressing the younger Lady. “Lady Mormont, my decision has not been an easy one. But, again, as Sansa has stated, I have made this decision with the North’s well-being and needs at the forefront of my mind.”

The girl’s brow rose, impetuously. “Truly? I would say you acted contrary to our needs and desires. We proclaimed you, a bastard son, our King in the North. You have given that right away to a foreigner queen, when that right was not yours to begin with. Lady Stark has done excellently in your absence. If you do not want to be king, then she is our choice. Eddard Stark’s trueborn daughter shall rule us in your stead, not the Dragon Queen.” The Lords around her mutter their assent.

Daenerys stared stonily ahead at the Lords, wishing with all her might that Drogon would swoop down and cave in the rooftop. Their king had abdicated to her, and yet they ignore his wishes and instead defer to his sister!

Lady Stark sighed and sat back down, sharing a pointed look with Jon Snow. “I am flattered, Lady Mormont. But, we should not be squabbling about who wears a crown when there is a war to fight. I can think of no better person to lead us in the Long Night than Jon. He led us bravely to victory against the Bolton army and he will do once more with your support.”

“He cannot have our support, if he wishes to abdicate.” It was a gray-haired lord this time, with a trident embroidered on the front of his shirt. “The throne is empty, and we want you, Lady Stark, to sit on it.”

“Hear, hear!” The Lords called. There was a growing din, as the Lords grew emboldened by each other.

“You are the trueborn daughter of Eddard Stark. The right to the throne belongs to you and only you.” The gray-haired Lord knelt and suddenly, the entire room had followed suit. Cheers of ‘The Queen of the North’ filled the room with a deafening roar and Lady Stark looked on, wide-eyed in a daze.

Daenerys could not contain her rage. It was all an affront to her birthright. She twisted around to face Jon Snow, her violet eyes aflame, “Do something!” she hissed.

“I-I cannot.” He mumbled, scrubbing his beard in exasperation. “I told you, the Northern folk are stubborn, loyal to their own.” “It is best to accept their wishes for now, so as not to lose their favor.” Jon murmured. “We can re-negotiate once we are in private with Sansa.”

He is a perfect coward. Daario, Drogo, or even Jorah would have fought for her honor. They killed for her, and this man cannot even speak against his younger sister for her. Daenerys turned away, burning with resentment.

Her hand, Tyrion, is no better than Jon. She unleashes her fury at the Northern Lords upon him and is only met with a chagrined expression. “It was to be expected, I suppose.” He sips his wine.

“Expected?” Her voice raises a good octave. “This is not what should be happening. Their king has abdicated to me.”

“Jon warned you before he bent the knee, we knew this would not be easy. Especially given the tumultuous history between the Starks and the Targaryens. It is best to do as we have been doing. We cannot take the North, not now. The Lords are staunchly loyal to the Starks. We must wait until the end of the war. They will see you astride your dragon and how you fight to protect them. No house will be able to deny you your throne, then.”

“Or I could burn them all in their sleep.” She mutters under her breath. “They would rather have that Stark girl as their queen. She looks pretty in her furs, but what does she know about matters of war.”

Tyrion raises his eyebrows, “Sansa Stark is quite the clever girl. It’s no miracle she’s survived this long, I assure you.”

“Oh? Would you also rather have her as your queen?” Dany snaps.

“Your grace,” The imp replies in a measured tone. “I only meant to advise not to underestimate the Starks. The lone wolf died, but the pack survived. It would bode well for us not to make an enemy of the pack.”

Daenerys turns up her nose, “A dragon has no need for a couple of wolves.”

Tyrion simply takes another sip of his wine. His silence only serves to fuel her anger.

The next week, she receives a servant who brings a message from ‘Queen’ Sansa Stark who requests an audience with her in her solar.

She arrives, strategically dressed in one of her finer gowns, a deep plum silk that brings out the violet in her eyes. A silver dragon snakes around her neck and comes to rest at her collarbones. She will not cow in front of the Stark girl, she is Daenerys Targaryen, mother of dragons, breaker of chains.

“Your grace.” The Stark girl greets with an elegant, practiced curtsey. She is dressed in a black velvet gown embroidered with twin, silver wolves stitched into the waist. It isn’t as eye-catching as the gowns that Daenerys owns, but the Dragon Queen has to admit that this style suits her demure elegance.

Daenerys nods curtly. “Lady Stark.”

The serving girl notices Daenerys’s failure to address her queen properly and coughs nervously.

“Jeyne, please serve Queen Daenerys some wine.” Lady Stark instructs. The servant girl nods hurriedly, and rushes to do as told. Once she does, she scurries out of the room, leaving the two women alone. Daenerys studies Sansa Stark with a critical eye. This is her first time seeing Jon Snow’s half-sister up close. She is a pretty girl, there is no denying it, but there is a distinct hardness in her eyes, and a tiredness in the lines of her face.

“How are you finding Winterfell?”

Daenerys suppresses a snort. She despise small talk such as this, but she indulges the girl. “It is cold. I will be glad when this war is over, so I can return home to Dragonstone.” She says truthfully.

Lady Stark nods, pulling her auburn plait over her shoulder. “And what are your plans for your kingdom?”

She wonders what Lady Stark means to accomplish by asking such a foolish question. “I plan to unite the kingdoms, of course, including the North. This goal of mine has been no secret.”

“An idealistic goal.” Lady Stark replies. “Wouldn’t you say?” There’s a challenge there and Daenerys is damned if she backs down now.

“You don’t think it’s possible.” It’s not a question. Of course, the Stark girl could not understand. She had been sitting pretty in the North while her brother ventured out to seek the other rulers and hunt past the wall for wights. She did not understand the need for the unity of the kingdoms, she was a simple girl who only knew of the North.

Lady Stark’s lips thinned into a tight smile. “Jon may have told you this, but the Northerners are loyal to their own. Some of the Lords would sooner die than accept a Southern ruler. I don’t mean any disrespect when I say this, Your Grace, this is simply what history has shown.”

“Then the choice has already been made.” Daenerys snaps back. “I have done no wrong to them. If anything, I have showed the Lords and the common folk only kindness.”

Lady Stark raises a brow, “By giving them bread from Winterfell’s kitchens and handing them out as though you have brought them from Dragonstone, yourself?” She retorts.

Daenerys’s face goes aflame with embarrassment. “Your people are starving in this winter, I only meant to ease their suffering.”

Sansa sees right through the lie, and her face hardens. “Do not presume I am some silly girl, with no notions of politics. You meant to garner their support with resources meant for our brave soldiers.” She pauses sharply. “I respect, Your Grace, I do. You can have the Iron throne, but the North will be independent. If that changes after the war,” she shrugs, “Then so be it. I will be a queen for however long the North wishes for me to be their queen. For now, I am the Queen in the North, and you are my guest here.”

A heavy silence passes through the room, and the two queens eye each other, testily. Daenerys wishes she could throttle the Stark queen on the spot, to do so would be satisfactory beyond imagination. For now she settles for a saccharine smile, “You are right. Let the people decide. After the war, we will see who they wish to rule. The Queen who rode astride a dragon in battle for them, or the Queen who cowered behind these castle walls.”

A glint comes into the Stark queen’s eyes, and Daenerys imagines that the queen would throttle her too, if she could.

The preparations for battle are tiresome and Daenerys wants nothing more, after conversing at length with Tyrion and Ser Davos, than to find Jon Snow and have him take her to bed. They have not coupled since they have been at Winterfell, and her body aches for release.

Jon was strangely absent from this war meeting, although the Stark girl had named him Commander of the Northern army. The Northern lords predictably grumbled, but they could not deny his great fighting prowess and a dark look from Sansa Stark shut up any Lord that dared to mutter ‘bastard’ in her presence.

She comes to the door of his chambers, and raises a hand to knock, only to notice that the door is slightly ajar. Without thinking, she peers in to see if Jon is in the room, and is taken aback when she sees long, auburn hair instead.

Sansa Stark.

From the opening, she can just make out the Stark girl, sitting at the desk, shuffling through paperwork. She looks different, more casual than the regal, elegant queen at court. There are no heavy furs bearing down on her shoulder, and she wears a simple gray gown with her hair pulled out of its usual braid and fanned about her shoulders.

“Is Arya still training in the courtyard with Brienne?”

Daenerys jumps a bit when she hears Jon’s voice. He moves into her sight now, standing just a couple feet from his sister, pacing around the room in his heavy furs.

“Most likely.” The Stark girl replies. “She wants to fight alongside the soldiers, you know”

“Arya must stay here at Winterfell.” Jon’s voice is firm. “She must stay to protect you.”

“She will do what she wishes.” Sansa replies, simply. “You are not her king, you do not command her.”

There is nothing but silence for a few beats, and Dany watches as Sansa Stark coolly continues to attend to her paperwork, while Jon Snow can do nothing but rub his face in exasperation.

“I thought we were past this.” Jon Snow says, sullenly.

“Past what?” The Stark girl gives an un-ladylike snort. “Past you giving up our home to a foreign queen?” She continues filing through papers, as though she could not care less about this conversation.

“What I did, I did-“

“-In the North’s best interests.” She fills in, with a drawl to her tone. “I know, Jon, remember? I recited those exact words in front of our Lords, myself. I defended you as you wished me to.”

“And for that I am grateful.” He places a hand on her shoulder, and Lady Stark ceases her paperwork, to stare stonily ahead, though she does not move his hand away. Daenerys considers pulling away from the door, to leave the two siblings to their argument, but she finds herself glued to the frame, wondering with bated breath what will happen next. She has never seen the two Stark siblings together like this. In court, they are often seated together, but they hardly converse with one another, if only to interject about a certain war strategy or an issue of castle matters. They keep their distance, so it is a surprise to see the two of them together in Jon’s chambers. She wonders at the back of her mind, if they have met like this, often.

Jon continues, “I know you are cross with me. But, you are still my family, and despite everything, you have stayed with me.” His eyes lower sadly, “I have tried to reconcile with Arya, but it has been difficult.”

Lady Stark turns in her seat to look up at him and sigh, “Arya has told me, she doesn’t wish to see you, not just yet.” Jon flinches and she reaches for his hand. “I don’t say that to hurt you, Jon. I only am saying this so you know. She idolized you, adored you, and to see you come home with Daenerys Targaryen has shattered her expectations of a home where we can all be together as Starks. Although she’s been scarred, and changed so much, a part of her still wishes for that happy ending.”

“And what about you?” Jon murmurs, quietly. Daenerys strains harder to hear his next words. “What do you wish for?

“I don’t wish for much anymore.” There is a sad, mournfulness, to Lady Stark’s voice that breaks Daenerys’s heart just a bit. “I find the Gods have a dangerous way of interpreting our wishes.”

“But if the Gods were kind and generous, what would you wish for?” Jon presses, insistently.

Sansa Stark is silent before she replies, “I wish for happiness with you, Bran, and Arya. I want us to remain in Winterfell until we are old and graying, ruling over a prosperous kingdom. I wish there was no Cersei Lannister, no Dragon Queen, and no Night King.” Her voice lowers, and then she adds fiercely. “I wish they’d all fade away.”

Daenerys realizes now, that she will never be able to fully understand the Starks. Their house is built on something more than ambition and power. It is built on their love for each other, a foreign concept, as she will never know that same fierce loyalty. All she had was the weak-willed, and cowardly Viserys.

She nearly misses Jon’s reply, it comes softly, but she catches his low whisper. “I wish that too.” He sweetly presses a kiss atop her head. The guilt comes now, as she realizes what an intimate moment she has stumbled upon. That moment was only meant to be shared between the two siblings, and she has intruded on it enough.

Quietly, she moves away from the door, and heads off into the dark hallway, her retreating steps illuminated by the flickering torches.

#jonsa #jon snow x sansa stark #jon snow #sansa stark #fic #got #s8 is sansa's stark season yall!!!!

232 notes · View notes

joyfullynervouscreator · 6 years

Text

Silver and Amethyst pt 4

Final chapter! Full Story Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

word count ~2k

Being a father was so much more fun than Natfári had ever expected. It was also terrifying on a level he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, how much it mattered that the small pebble was happy and safe – he worked hard to keep her so, her and Arnóra.

Of course, it wasn’t all fear and worry; he thought little Dori – Halldora was far too long a name for his little girl – exploring Erebor might be among the most amazing things he had ever seen, the sheer joy on her face when she mastered a new skill. He cried the first day she called him adad, speaking the word clearly enough to be understood, and privately he thought that if he was enslaved by Arnóra’s smiles he was at least as devoted to Dori’s.

That was the reason he found himself holding a small hand, walking with Dori at a leisurely pace towards the Guardhouse that he officially worked at, when the world exploded and Natfári knew no more.

The air was thick with stone dust; Dís was wailing in her arms, but Frís had no time to soothe, had simply grabbed her daughter and run, Frerin close behind her. Thorin… Thorin had gone hunting this morning, he must still be outside, she wouldn’t think of him being inside the Mountain, couldn’t think of her oldest, her wolf, trapped in their home, fated to be a Dragon’s feast. No. Frís continued on, ignoring the chaos around her with a single-mindedness that would have surprised those who knew her as the most reasonable member of the Royal family.

There was a glint of light on mithril hair, and for a moment Frís thought of her sister, the half-elf she hadn’t seen since the birth of her daughter; who had snuck into the Mountain to be with her at the birth as she had been for the boys. It wasn’t Geira, of course, though the hair was so similar the little one could have been her daughter. Frís barely registered the hand that the little girl was pulling, the body of her parent trapped beneath fallen rock that she had no hope of shifting. With a silent prayer to Mahal for the girl’s departed family, Frís scooped up the Dwarfling – she was a mother, even if she was not the girl’s mother, and she couldn’t bare to ignore the crying child, setting her on her other hip and handing the small bag she had managed to grab to Frerin with a strict admonishment to keep close.

“Adad!” the girl cried, “want Adad!” but she made no move to escape Frís’ arms, burrowing against her shoulder just like Dís, and continued to cry for her father.

When they were out, she kept hold of the children, breathing out a strangled scream when she spotted Thorin, whole and hale, standing with Dwalin and staring at her as though she were a stranger.

“Amad…” he whispered, picking up Frerin in a bear hug when the boy reached him.

“Thorin!” Frís cried, but she did not put the girls down, simply accepted the way he wrapped his arms around all of them, breathing in the smell that was her firstborn, even beneath the acrid smell of smoke and fear.

“Where’s Adad?” he whispered into her ear.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, feeling a renewal of fear at the thought of Thraín being gone – how would she keep them all from falling apart without him? Thorin was in no way old enough to take up his grandfather’s crown, for all that he was a smart boy. In her arms, Dís mumbled something that wasn’t really a word, and when she looked down the small girls were holding hands, smiling at each other as though they were the best of friends.

“Nen’ar!” The hissed whisper woke Frís from her doze in the back of a cart some intrepid baker had manage to escape with; the bread it had held was gone, distributed as fairly as she could manage, and the baker had insisted that she take the cart for her children.

“Gwathel?” Frís mumbled, blinking her eyes open and staring at the hooded figure standing by the end of the cart. Dís turned in her sleep, tangled up with the other little girl who’d refused to give her name. The cloaked figure dropped her hood, revealing the never-aging face of Rhonith to Frís’ eyes. She smiled.

“Finally!” Rhonith cried, reaching out to hug her close. “I was so worried I’d never find you!”

“How… how are you here?” Frís wondered, gripping her hand just to be sure she was really there.

“I’ve been living in Mirkwood for some weeks now, I was planning to sneak in to see you… I saw the dragon, sister, I’m sorry… we were too late.” Rhonith whispered, tears filling her eyes.

“We?” Frís asked, glancing around her, but spotting no Elves.

“Atheg brought the army, but we were too late to kill the wyrm before it had gained the Mountain,” Rhonith replied sadly. “We met with Thrór, but he is… sister, he is crazy!”

“He is… not himself,” Frís agreed carefully, aware that they were not alone; such talk could be considered treason.

“Frís, he demanded we send out warriors to slay the beast inside Erebor, demanded Thranduil swear fealty to him…” Rhonith’s face twisted into something Frís couldn’t decipher, fury mingled with grief so heavy she thought it would break her to hear the next words.

“Tell me.” She said, her voice never wavering.

“He has banished us,” Rhonith whispered, “any Elf spotted in your camp will be executed…” Frís gasped, her grip tightening involuntarily.

“You must leave, then,” she murmured, though the thought made her sad. “You’re not safe here.”

“I want to help!” Rhonith retorted hotly, “Legolas was going crazy when we didn’t see you with Thraín! Atheg was furious, of course, but we would never abandon you to starvation and death!”

“Thraín is alive?” Frís asked, feeling weak with sudden release of tension. “Oh, thank the Maker,” she murmured, squeezing Rhonith’s hand.

“You… you did not know?” The peredhel asked, her Durin-blue eyes wide in the moonlight. “Ai, I am sorry, Frís, I did not think to ask. I have seen Thorin, also, and Fundin with his sons, though the Lady Cantor is presumed dead… I do not know so many by sight alone, though, and Thrór offered no introductions of those around him.”

“Where is my husband? Perhaps… perhaps we can work around my good-father…” Frís mumbled, staring at her knuckles. This was treason, most likely, even though she and Thraín had been skirting the label for years trying to rule around Thrór’s increasingly erratic decisions.

“I will take you to him,” Rhonith swore, hopping down from the end of the cart and pulling her hood back up to cover her shiny hair – even more conspicuous in the moonlight. Frís sighed, jostling Dís and Frerin gently to wake them.

“Wake up, little ones,” she whispered, “we’re going to find out family.”

“Adad?” The little girl with mithril hair asked, staring up at her with eyes that filled with tears when Frís shook her head.

“I’m sorry raklûna,” she murmured, “I don’t know who your adad is, nor where I could find him. This is my sister, however; she will carry you.” Pointing at Rhonith, who lowered her hood to smile at the little girl, Frís waited for the dwarfling to nod before handing her to Rhonith.

“Zars-nana’.” The girl said, pointing at Rhonith’s pointy ears then at her own hair. “Nana’yê?”

“Iraknana’,” Rhonith nodded, lifting the girl onto her hip. Frís stared – that was more talking than the dwarfling had done since they escaped the mountain; she had wondered if she was so young her vocabulary consisted only of adad and amad, though she looked only slightly younger than Dís. “Let’s go, Frís, I’m sure Thraín will want to see you.”

“Dori!” Arnóra cried, trying to fight her way out of Captain Mundi’s strong hold to no avail. “DORI!” She had run to the guardhouse the moment she had felt the disturbance, but though she had found her good-sister with her friend, she had found neither her daughter nor her husband.

“You can’t go back in, Arna,” Nauma whispered, tears making trails in the dust that clung to her face. “Nati will… Nati will find us, he’ll keep Dori safe, you’ll see.” Clinging to Arnóra’s hand, neither of them admitted that the likelihood of seeing father or daughter again were slim to none.

Eventually, Arnóra hung limply in Mundi’s arms, her despair spent, though she kept turning back to look for any sign of survivors following them.

She saw none.

Rhonith’s plan was not without danger, everyone agreed, but the clandestine plot was the only way to foil Thrór’s edict, the only way they might ensure that their people survived.

Currently, that meant sitting in a circle of dwarflings, handing out small pieces of lembas while she told amusing stories in Khuzdul – her accent in Westron, while common among the Eldar, was noticeable to a Dwarf’s ears and it had been agreed that speaking only Khuzdul was the only way to pull off their scheme with any hope of success. On her lap, little sanzigil-karkith sat quietly, playing with the thin end of one of Rhonith’s braids. No one had been able to convince the dwarfling to tell them her name, but she seemed to prefer to stay with Rhonith, claiming her as her sister from the forest, which no one seemed able to deny the small probably-orphaned dwarfling. Frís still held some hope that the dwarfling’s mother might be found, though it was dwindling the closer they got to the southern edge of the forest where Rhonith would have to leave them.

“You are safe?” he asked, as he always asked, when she found them between the trees, handing over her empty sack for a fresh one filled with lembas. Rhonith smiled, reaching up to stroke the tip of his ears softly.

“I am safe, Legolas, I promise.” She said, as she had said on every night since the first one. “Do not worry. I am careful.” When he nodded, returning the touch, she smiled, turning back towards the camp with little more than a wave for a farewell. She might be safe, but she was becoming a recognised figure among those who camped closest to her, and it would not do to be missed for longer than it took to make water.

No one asked how she obtained the food she gave to the dwarflings – no one had the presence of mind to care, most likely; existing in a numbing fog of grief for all they had s suddenly lost – and Rhonith did not tell. Sometimes she sang, songs she remembered her mother and uncle singing in a long-lost Mountain more than an Age before; sometimes she told stories, stories of Dwarven heroes but also stores of Men and Elves, translated in her mind from whatever language she had originally heard them told. She spoke of vast mountain halls, of forests that stretched beyond knowledge, of seas made of sand, where the men had skin as dark as ink. Fantastical tales to catch the attention of young and old alike had soon made her a popular target of an evening, wherever she would find herself sat by a fire, karkith on her lap and a song on her lips.

“Arnóra!” Captain Mundi called, breathless from running. “Arnóra, I found Dori!”

“You… you found Dori?” Arnóra croaked, hardly daring to believe him. Mundi nodded.

She didn’t even realise she was standing when she began to run, Nauma’s hand still clenched tight in her own as they followed Mundi back through the camp, skirting those who had found spots to rest – Arnóra even jumped over a few prone shapes – in their haste to reach the dwarfling.

“Amad!” Karkith cried, interrupting Rhonith’s story and reaching towards a dam who shared her mithril hair. Rhonith smiled, but she did not think the dwarrowdam noticed, walking the last few steps towards them as though she could not believe her eyes. “Amad!” the little girl cried, and then she was plucked from Rhontih’s lap, cradled against a breast heaving with relieved sobs.

“Oh, Dori,” Arnóra cried, pressing kisses everywhere her kisses could reach, feeling the familiar weight of her pebble in her arms. When she finally managed to lift her head, Nauma’s arms were tight around the both of them, the rotund dwarrowdam shaking with sobs of her own while Mundi was patting her back gently, smiling as though he was paid to do so. Arnóra chuckled weakly, turning to stare at the cloaked dam who had been holding her daughter.

“E gêdul tada makhahsi nathithzi,[1]” she smiled, her blue eyes catching the fire, though Arnóra’s attention was caught by the few strands of hair visible beneath the deep hood. Reaching up, she touched one of her own curly locks wonderingly.

“Zars-nana’, amad,” Dori mumbled sleepily in her arms. “Iraknana’yê.[2]”

“Akhminruki astî,” Arnóra whispered, “I can never repay you, cousin, but… thank you.”

“I did not bring her outside,” Rhonith replied gently, “she was placed in my arms by the Princess Frís, who rescued her from the Mountain. Your thanks should go to her.” With that, she stood, bowing her head once in the direction of the small family and disappeared into the shadows outside the light of the small fire, vanishing beyond their sight almost instantly.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Arnóra found the small bracelet around her daughter’s wrist, tied from mithril hair that seemed somehow shinier than her own or Dori’s, the small knots all meaning little sister.

[1] I am happy that you have found your daughter. [2] Tree-sister, mother. My cousin.

tagging @fountainsofsilver so you can find the other chapters more easily ;)

@life-is-righteous @pandepirateprincess @sassytyphoondetective (your tag still won’t work)

A/N: Natfári did survive - he was knocked out by the same rockfall that crushed the Dwarf Frís mistook for Dori's father - but he did not reunite with his wife until days after they had left the borders of Mirkwood behind, having spent some time unconscious, and moving slowly due to a broken ankle.

#dori #parents of Ri's #Silver and Amethyst #erebor #Dwelf-'verse

8 notes · View notes

blueyesandleatherjacket · 4 years

Text

The Fallen, 6/17

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 6/17.

Pairings: Nine x Rose.

A/N: Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“We've all fallen, but at the same time we're not broken. There is the hint that we are going to get up again.” - Amy Lee.

CHAPTER 6:

“Stay quiet.”

The Doctor’s voice and looks were so similar to his that Maxence was always left speechless whenever they had a meeting. It had happened quite a lot since Christmas. When Maxence had inherited of the Doctor’s legacy, the alien had come to him and had apologised for the mess, for throwing him in such a situation. His personality had become dormant for the Doctor to fully live this year and heal from his traumatising experience with war with a lovely blonde named Rose. It was how it was written in their stories, but the Doctor had broken the rules and changed the lines. He was outstaying his welcome and keeping Maxence away from his family, from a life she should be living peacefully. Instead, he was here, suffering from the apparent solitude of his mind, fully unaware that the Doctor was suffering through the torture his father was making him go through hoping to break him.

“Listen…”

The Doctor was gone into another one of his long monologues. He liked the sound of his own voice and Maxence had learnt how to not listen anymore. The Doctor had been impressive and intimidating at first but Maxence was no longer afraid of him, nor was he frightening by the silver wolf with black eyes prowling around most of the time. The reason for all this matter. The Bad Wolf. Maxence could handle such a power because the Doctor was in control but he wanted them all gone.

“Shut up!” he shouted. “SHUT.UP. You call that pretty boy you’re so angry at and you call him now! I don’t want to be involved in any of your shit anymore!”

“We’ve been trying to reach him.”

The silver Wolf was sat beside the Doctor. It would be weird if it was speaking like a human, like a species with a mouth and vocal cords. The voice was rebounding, echoing, on the invisible walls of Maxence’s mind. They had been sharing this tiny place for months. They were all walking on each other. This place was too small for the three of them. Especially if one was losing his temper.

“And?”

“It’s like he doesn’t get the distress signal.”

“Or he’s ignoring it. We can’t know for sure.”

“That’s not how it works,” retorted Maxence.

He had spent enough time hidden in his own mind to learn the basic things. He also had learnt a lot about Time Lords and about the Doctor himself. It wasn’t him who was deciding. It was the TARDIS and if she hadn’t done around, it wasn’t because she was ignoring them. She would never ignore them. It was forbidden to go back to a former incarnation. It could create paradoxes. But this situation was kind of an emergency. The ship should have come already.

“He should be here. If he isn’t, it means Backfire had a sort of scrambler on the place. Considering what he’s doing here. It’s not surprising. He’s your father…”

The move was so fast that even the Doctor didn’t see it coming. Maxence’s fist connected with his jaw. Once, twice. The Doctor was forced to defend himself and it became a fist fight between two beings who should be collaborating. The Wolf didn’t move. It only watched them fight like boys in schools’ yards. Maxence was having the upper hand but the Wolf soon got annoyed and intervened. Bounds immobilised the two of them. It didn’t stop them from glaring at each other.

“Let him see.”

Maxence was thrown to his body. He had forgotten how to move but it wouldn’t be of anything use. He was tied down to a metallic table, naked. There were noises and silence, fear and boldness, challenge and abandon. Numerous of other things too but his mind would never remember it. He was back in the mental common room. His mind was divided in three parts: his, the Doctor’s and the Wolf’s. Those three parts all met in that octagonal white room. They were stuck here until they figured out how to fix their situation.

Maxence was laying on his back in this octagonal room, breathless. The Wolf had taken him back here after he saw what he had to see. The muffled scream he had let out was the signal to extract him before any damage. He was much safer here. The Doctor was sat on the ground, away from them. Some would say he was sulking but Time Lords didn’t sulk.

“He stays in control not because he feels like it. He does it to keep you safe.”

An ordinary human like Maxence couldn’t handle what was being done to his body in this hospital. They would break him like a twig. Once the mind was out, it wasn’t long for the body to give in, to die. So it was better for Maxence to stay hidden in the corner of his mind. It would take longer to break the Doctor. There were so many more layers to his mind, to his personality.

Maxence kept silent after that. He was sat in his corner, minding his own business, but keeping his eyes and ears open. He wanted to know what was going on out there. The Doctor was protecting him. From what? The glimpse he had had from the Wolf hadn’t been enough to understand and every day, the Time Lord was coming back, rougher than ever, weaker and weaker with the time passing by. The shell was being broken. Slowly but surely. There were cracks and the Time Lord was holding the lapels of his wounds together. The Wolf wasn’t around to fix things. When it could fix them.

“Doctor, look at me.”

There was so much pride in this man that his first reflex was to push away any kind of help. Especially if it came from the human being he was holding prisoner unwillingly. He could deal with his pain and demons on his own. He always had. They had been in this psychiatric hospital for three months already. Three months. He was reaching his limits after three months. It was pathetic.

“You can’t help me,” groaned the Time Lord.

“The Wolf isn’t here! You know as well as me that it’s gonna shut off. It works just like the TARDIS when stuck in a human body. It told it to us itself!”

Maxence was angry at the Doctor for pushing him away all the time. He wasn’t just an ordinary human. The Doctor hadn’t settled down in his body randomly. He had chosen him. There was a reason behind that and it certainly wasn’t because he was a weak human who needed to be protected all the time. The Doctor had been taking all the blows since they were here. It was about time Maxence did his part.

The Time Lord was in bad shape. Maxence couldn’t remember a day where he had been in such a condition before. Not even in his memories, but the most terrible had been kept hidden from him. The Doctor was keeping his secrets… secret, even to himself. He was afraid and ashamed of what he was deep down. A monster. A killer. The man who killed thousands and never found redemption.

“Rose…”

It was a murmur, almost a cry. Maxence had to place his ear close to the Doctor’s mouth so he could hear what he was saying. He was calling Rose obviously. He did that a lot in his nightmares and thoughts, when he was in a vulnerable condition. But he wasn’t asking for her this time: he was explaining him that Jeremy Backfire was leading experiences to get the Wolf out of him – which he absolutely couldn’t do without killing them. This is why he was doing every possible experience to exploit the energy. Blood and sperm mostly. He was still figuring out how to access their mind. But whatever he was doing or not doing, it wouldn’t change a thing. The Wolf wasn’t complete. It needed its other half – that was in Rose’s mind – to work properly. But no one was gonna tell them that. No one was gonna sacrifice Rose.

“I’m gonna find her. Do you hear me, Doctor? I’m gonna get us out of here and find Rose. I promise you:”

Maxence was determined. He would find this Rose Tyler the Doctor was in love with and they would find the other Doctor. Their situation was gonna get better. Maxence stood up, took a deep breath, and entered in position of his body.

He clearly hadn’t expected to find himself pinned to a wall with a hand around his neck, desperately needing air to survive. The Doctor was known to be able to hold his breath for a while. Was it a test? Were they trying to determine how much time he could hold on? The room had violet walls. It smelled like fear and sperm. He understood better what the Doctor meant.

The person whose hand was causing him asphyxiation to him was no other than Nash Grieve. The doctor who once had the esteem and a bit of trust from the Time Lord was now the person torturing him on Jeremy Backfire’s orders. Had she always been under his orders? Or had he found a weak point in her? He was very good at that. Maxence was well placed to know that. He could manipulate anyone into doing what he wanted. Such a power in the hands of a man like him was dangerous.

Finally, the hand released his throat and Maxence collapsed in a heap on the ground, trying to catch his breath. He massaged his throat nonchalantly. He wasn’t gonna betray his identity. He was gonna be the Doctor and the Doctor was gonna be him. Temporarily.

“So that’s it? You lock me down here, you strip me from my DNA, take hairs, blood and sperm and you try to do something with it?” He scoffed. “Nothing is gonna work. You can’t play with the Wolf. It’ll bite your head off.”

Nash washed her hands. He could speak as much as he wanted. She wasn’t gonna change her mind. She had a mission to do and she would get what she wanted. If she didn’t, she would die. Or her friends would die. Just like the Doctor, she was only protecting her life and her friends’ lives. That was a battle she had been fighting all her life, and she was exhausted to do so now.

“Only you can help us all now,” she murmured.

She pressed a button. A contingent of selected nurses came in. They grabbed Maxence, undressed him, tried him down to the metallic table in the centre of the room. He couldn’t move anymore. The nurses left, Nash took her pants off and with horror, he understood what was the next step of this cruel game.

To be continued...

×××

← Last || Next →

English version:

AO3 || TS.

#doctor who #ninth doctor #rose tyler #doctor x rose #dw fic #the fallen

0 notes

stardancereivor · 5 years

Text

NEVER-ENDING SURVEY: EIVØR

RULES: Repost, do not reblog. Tag 10 blogs!

Not tagged by anyone! Just saw some people doing this and thought why not!

Tagging @miqojak @miqo-vynnie @miqo-masha @mai-takeda @vylette-elakha @teknicat @faeriesandberries @gildedandgolden @sagolii-snowflake

BASICS.

FULL NAME : Eivør Viras

NICKNAME : The Star Dancer

AGE : Ninety years

BIRTHDAY : The 8th Sun of the Sixth Astral Moon

ETHNIC GROUP : Viera (Rava)

NATIONALITY : Ivalice

LANGUAGE / S : Vieran, very loose Doman and Hingan (enough to ask for directions), and Eorzean Common

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : She prefers not to label herself, but if nothing else bisexual is acceptable.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Panromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : It’s complicated?

HOME TOWN / AREA : The village Viras in Golmore Jungle

CURRENT HOME : An apartment in the Lavender Beds of the Black Shroud

PROFESSION : Dancer, Astrologian, Huntress, Tracker, member of the Meridian Arrow Adventuring Company

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Black, with loose curls, just past hip length.

EYES : A black right eye and a white left eye.

FACE : Bright and cheerful, dappled with freckles across her nose and cheeks.

LIPS : Soft and plush.

COMPLEXION : A warm brown.

BLEMISHES : Do freckles count as blemishes? If so. Freckles on her face, over her shoulders, down the back of her neck, and down her back in varying sizes. Some of her freckles look more like small splotchy spots than freckles.

SCARS : None.

TATTOOS : None, but she’s open-minded to one.

HEIGHT : 6′7″.

WEIGHT : Average.

BUILD : Lithe, long, curved.

FEATURES : Long limbs, warm skin, sparkling eyes. Sharp fangs, sharp claws. Long ears, long hair. Lots of movement, glittering jewelry, bells in her hair.

ALLERGIES : None.

USUAL HAIR STYLE : Normally it’s left long and free in its natural black mane, but on occasion it will be braided and pulled back out of her face and out of the way if she has something she needs to focus on.

USUAL FACE LOOK : Colorful eye makeup and lips. Bright, cheerful, and happy to see you.

USUAL CLOTHING : Bright colors, form fitting but also free and loose to offer room for movement and flare when she dances.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : Failure, insignificance, being forgotten, being a disappointment.

ASPIRATION / S : To have a family, preferably by having at least one child of her own. To become known for her dancing and her worship of the stars and moon. Just enough fame to be known, but not enough to becomes a hindrance on her life. And to just be happy overall, honestly.

POSITIVE TRAITS : Friendly, cheerful, warm. Confident. Open-minded. Optimistic, yet with a healthy amount of realistic. Caring, motherly.

NEGATIVE TRAITS : Stubborn, recovering narcissist, somewhat uncultured and ignorant at times, overly confident.

MBTI : ENFP-A (Campaigner)

ZODIAC : Nophica (Sorpio)

TEMPERAMENT : Affectionate

SOUL TYPE / S :

ANIMALS : Rabbits/bunnies, cats

VICE HABIT / S : Social drinker. Sex. Mild hedonism. Can eat so many sweets and baked goods.

FAITH : Not necessarily religious but certainly spiritual. Her ‘faith’ is her worship of the stars and moon.

GHOSTS ? : Believe in them? Yes. Have them? .. No?

AFTERLIFE ? : Why not?

REINCARNATION ? : Why not?

ALIENS ? : What?

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Eivør doesn’t pretend to understand or care about politics. What little she does know doesn’t impress her.

EDUCATION LEVEL : Educated by the Viera and by Sharlayan and Ishgardian Astrologians.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Name unknown to her, but she has seen him in passing.

MOTHER : Her mother, Salma.

SIBLINGS : One elder brother fifty years her senior, by the name of Erolvur.

EXTENDED FAMILY : Not really. A few nieces and nephews, technically, that her brother has sired.

NAME MEANING / S : Salma means ‘peace’ in Arabic, but ‘sweetheart’ in Persian. I always saw her mother as someone very warm and welcoming. Erolvur is a Faroese name which doesn’t have a specific meaning on its own, but if you continue to follow it to its routes it’s a combination of two Old Norse names that essentially translate to Warrior Wolf, or Wolf Warrior.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : What?

FAVORITES.

BOOK : Romance, fairy tales, star charts.

DEITY : None.

HOLIDAY : Hatching-tide.

MONTH : Fourth Astral Moon

SEASON : Summer

PLACE : A quiet clearing with an unobstructed view of the sky.

WEATHER : Comfortably cool evenings.

SOUND / S: Crickets, quiet humming.

SCENT / S : Sugar, fresh laundry, fruit.

TASTE / S : Sweets, berries.

FEEL / S : Warm fur, sharp teeth and claws harmlessly biting and scratching.

ANIMAL / S : Cats.

NUMBER : 3

COLORS : Blue, silver, white, gold.

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Dancing, hunting, tracking, calling you on your shit.

BAD AT : Failing, losing a fight, always remembering to think of others, Eorzean grammar.

TURN ONS : Sweet voices, melodious voices, soft hands, sharp claws, sharp teeth. Beautiful eyes. A nice figure. Someone who clearly takes care of themselves. The right touches to her ears.

TURN OFFS : Rudeness, not taking care of oneself, ignoring consent, bodily odors and fluids.

HOBBIES : Reading a good book, dancing, stargazing, meditating, going for walks in the rain, going for walks through the forest.

TROPES : Dance Battler, Hair Decorations, Classical Hunter, Like a Duck Takes to Water, Nature Lover. There’s more, I’m sure, but tropes aren’t something I’m good at.

QUOTES : “Hello, beautiful.” “Just keep an open mind!” Literally any time she mentions stars..

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : I’m... not good at this kind of question. Uhhh, I don’t have an answer for that, because I have no idea.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Bouncy fun Celtic/folk music. Something you can dance to, something that brings a smile to your face. The kind of music that implies a sense of wonder. I also really like the word whimsical with Eivør.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : I have spent the last five or so years writing very dark and political characters. Some of which were very evil and cruel. I wanted someone friendly and sociable, someone people wouldn’t hate.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : I’ve wanted Viera to be a playable race in FF14 for the longest time. 12 is the only Final Fantasy game I actually have, and Fran was my favorite character in that game, and I adored the Viera. So being able to make one was obviously the first thing I loved. Secondly, I kind of just put her together in the benchmark and found I liked her design. It was pretty, but simplistic. Something I could work off of.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I think it’s less Eivør in specific and more I wish there was more concrete 14-lore for the Viera. I’ve gleaned things in-game, but what little I have is based off the 12 lore and interactions through NPCs and quests in Shadowbringers on the First.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : I also love the stars and moon, and I love hanging out in the woods at night (though it’s been a very long time since I could). I also am apparently pretty friendly or something.

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : I’m not sure. She’d be okay, I guess? Other than a recent plotline she’s had it pretty good.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?

A8 : At the moment her most interesting interactions are with her FWB/Partner/Best Friend/Boyfriend?????? Dragomir which is hilarious in and out of character. They have really great conversations, and it gives me a character that I can build Eivør’s backstory with because they’re still in the ‘getting to know you’ phase of their friendship.

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse?

A9 : Dance gifs/videos, certain music that suits her aesthetic, forest vibes, it doesn’t take a lot to put me in the mood to write for her.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete?

A10 : Oh shit I didn’t know this was going to be a question I didn’t keep track. Not accounting for when my internet died for like over two hours and I couldn’t really do any kind of research to get some of the answers, maybe.. a little over an hour? I even took the time to take the Myers-Briggs test for her. The tropes thing took me the longest, to be honest. I know nothing about tropes.

#FFXIV RP #Mateus RP #Crystal Data Center #Final Fantasy XIV RP #Final Fantasy XIV Roleplay #Viera #Rava Viera #OOC #This was interesting but also I found I had to edit a LOT of the formatting? Why are there so many SPACES in this thing?

1 note · View note

marauders70s · 7 years

Note

Could you write some cute Wolfstar? Thank you! (547)

I love wolfstar. For @anxova

1977 - Sixth Year

“I wouldn’t go up there,” Peter said, only halfheartedly trying to stop James.

“I need my Transfiguration book,” James said cheerfully, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Remus and Sirius won’t mind.”

“No really,” Peter tried again, but with even less effort. James’ face would be so funny.

“Need anything while I’m up there?”

“Pictures,” Peter muttered sarcastically.

“What?”

“Just…just a new quill.”

“Right.” James bounded across the commons and halfway up the spiral staircase before he slowed to a walk. At the very top was their door, the brass nameplate turned silver with their permanent dormitory, due to James’ stubbornness at living in the little attic turret. He pushed open the door, his hand covering the cold metal reading SIRIUS BLACK | REMUS LUPIN | PETER PETTIGREW | JAMES POTTER. He took the little ladder-like narrow wooden stairs to the the very top where their bedroom was, the beds arranged in a long row under a sloping roof. In Remus’ bed, second to the left from the far wall, the hangings were drawn. James frowned. They never closed their hangings, unless something was really wrong.

“Remus?” he asked hesitantly. Then a little louder: “Remus? You okay?”

There was no answer, and James guessed Remus must have put up muffliato, muffling sounds going in or out of the shut ring of red velvet curtains. It must be bad if he had tried to keep his crying or something quiet.

He moved forward, stepping carefully and with long practice around the trunks at the end of his and Sirius’ beds and approached the hangings with a hand out, hesitating. He didn’t want to intrude, but Remus was really scaring him. “Remus?” he asked quietly, gently drawing aside the curtain.

The muffliato spell was shattered at the breaking of the circle. James screamed. Remus screamed. And strangely enough Sirius screamed.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” yelped Remus.

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED!” James cried, yanking his glasses off for some sense of blindness.

“WHY DID YOU OPEN THE HANGINGS?” Sirius bellowed.

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED!” James screamed back, blindly backing up until his knees hit Sirius’ bed and he collapsed onto it, cradling his poor, blind eyes.

There was a moment while he heard a sheepish Remus and a nettled Sirius rearrange the covers and sit up also.

“Well I think that should be obvious,” Sirius said coolly, but his tone was still sparking.

“When…how…when…” James sputtered futilely. Then he let out a strangled yell. “I JUST WANTED MY TRANSFIGURATION BOOK.”

“It’s on the dresser,” Remus said patiently. “I put it there this morning so you wouldn’t forget it.”

“Well I forgot it,” James said helplessly.

“Put your glasses back on you dumb deer,” snapped Sirius mulishly. “Good griffins, we’re not going to jump you or anything.”

Gingerly, James slid his glasses back up his nose, but he choked again when he got a look at them, side by side. They were both covered in sweat, and Sirius’ hair was sticking up all over the place. Remus had a very suspicious bruise blooming at the base of his throat.

“How…how…” he managed.

“Not long,” Remus jumped in hurriedly. “Just…just after Valentine’s.”

“When I broke up with Siobhan,” added Sirius.

“And…and I’ve been trying to get you a girlfriend!” James gulped. “Well now I feel jolly stupid.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look and burst into laughter, which Remus interrupted with:

“So you’re not…angry?”

“Angry?” James was baffled. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because…because…” Remus floundered.

“Because we’re woofters,” Sirius said flatly.

“You are not,” James argued. “You’ve shagged tons of girls.”

Remus went a brilliant white, looking down at his fingernails.

“Remus can be a proper woofter,” James went on, winking at Remus.

“Can not,” Sirius argued. “I’m a dog. I get to be a woofter too.”

“He’s a wolf,” argued James. “He’s a super woofter.”

“WE’RE BOTH WOOFTERS,” Remus shouted suddenly. When the two best friends turned to look at him, he tinted faintly pink. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just…” he took a deep breath. “Look. So you’re not freaked out?”

“Freaked out?” James looked bewildered again. “What for?”

“Because we’re shagging each other,” Sirius said, exasperatedly.

“Well I didn’t need to see it,” James stressed.

“You’re the one who opened the hangings. You never open the hangings. That’s the dorm rule.” Sirius was speaking from a very embarrassing experience with Peter in their third year.

“It was Remus,” gestured James. “He’s not like that. He waits for all of us to fall asleep proper-like.”

Remus was choking, and Sirius only hit him on the back sharply a few times. “Yeah, he does,” he beamed fondly. “The polite bastard.”

“You…you…” Remus couldn’t finish, and he slumped onto the discarded pillows, his whole back going red with mortification, the scars lighting up whitely against the surface.

“Is that what that’s from?” James asked suspiciously, pointing at the round bite mark under one of Remus’ arms. “From you?”

Sirius grinned unrepentantly. “Yeah. But we weren’t doing it as dogs or anything.”

“Doggy style,” Remus mumbled into the pillows, and both Sirius and James roared with laughter until Remus managed to pull himself back up, with help of one of Sirius’ arms. He flushed when Sirius left it lying over his shoulders.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Sirius asked again.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” asked James, confused. “You two are my best mates. Saves me the trouble of meeting anyone new and pretending to care about their chatter.”

“James,” scolded Remus, but without heart.

Sirius only gave him a high-five.

“Well put a sign out next time!” James managed.

“THE HANGINGS WERE SHUT,” roared Sirius. “Don’t open the hangings! You can come in and get your stuff and you won’t hear us and we won’t hear you!”

“Okay, okay, sorry!”

“Let me get your transfiguration book,” Remus said quickly, rolling over the other side of the bed and taking the covers with him.

Sirius squeaked, and immediately folded over.

The resultant roar from James and the distant shattering of glass could be heard floors down in the common room, where Peter was snickering into his sleeve.

“What’s going on up there?” asked Lily, looking suspiciously. “Should I go up and have a word?”

“Oh no,” Peter said in horror. “I just tried to stop James from going up there.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened,” Peter grinned. “Nothing most people with eyes don’t know, anyhow.”

Lily’s grin broke out. “He didn’t,” she laughed. “Not even Potter is that stupid.”

“GET OUT! GET OUT!” everyone could hear Sirius roaring, and the clattering of things being chucked down the stairs, one of them the Gryffindor seeker.

James arrived in the commons bright red, breathless, and glasses askew on his very disheveled hair. He came straight over to the table, ignoring Lily, and slammed his Transfiguration textbook down. “Sorry Wormtail,” he said heaving a huge gust as he slung himself in a chair. “I couldn’t get your quill.”

#drabbles

51 notes · View notes