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oldestenemy · 3 months

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a deviation in loyalties - pt 2

Part 1 / whole series

“Well, look who it is. Curse breaker, Banshees Bane! I had a feeling you would catch on.” Gretta doesn’t flinch under their gaze, despite the intensity that they wish could set her aflame like the rest of the street. “I had my eye on you in the beginning you know, you could have been such a promising recruit to our ranks—better than that dingbat you have standing in your shadow—”

“—Shut up!” They snap as they step towards her, feeling the tremors begin to pulse through their bones. “This whole time—from the start—you gave Malistaire information on the Krokonomicon, you set him off on his quest to wake the dragon titan—you, you—” Their words go dark and triple over, burning cold is seeping down their cheeks, anger and Shadow itching outward, outward.

“Wizard?” Mellori sounds scared—about time too—add her to the list with all their other friends.

“Don’t—” they hear Duncan say behind them, see out the corner of their vision as he raises an arm to block Mellori from moving towards them. “—stay back. Trust me.”

“I don’t fear you, Ambrose and the Arcanum might think you’re an asset or at the very least a dangerous ally—oh yes, that’s right we know of the Arcanum, and they know of us.” Gretta smiles, sharp and dangerous, “But they never said, did they? And now you’ll never get to learn the truth.”

What does any of it matter?

Truth.

Lies.

Discovery.

Deception.

“I don’t care,” The wizard replies, words empty and cold “all of you—that’s your mistake—expecting me to care about what the Arcanum wants or thinks when I barely know any of them, when they barely trust me, expecting me to give a damn about Merle Ambrose—No, what I care about—” Duel circle flickering to life beneath their feet, Duncan moving away from Mellori and joining at their side without a word. “—is the reason I was hailed a hero for committing murder at fourteen,” Like the second battle with Duncan, this is like breathing, traps up, blades down. “the reason Cyrus Drake sometimes can’t look at me for fear of what he sees,” The feeling from Nidavellir is back. The creeping danger of something about to go wrong. “the reason I was ripped out of my own life—whether you were aware of it or not.”

“You could have been one of us!” Gretta spits back at them, but her beguile doesn’t have a chance to kick in. Between the summons to the Celestial Calendar, and Duncan’s feint going off, Gretta is blasted out of the circle as it vanishes. “Ione thought so,” She chokes through the settling dust, “you’re right to believe they don’t trust you. But it matters little now—Time slips away like sand between fingers—and you will all be on the wrong side when it runs out!”

The wizard lurches forward as Gretta mounts her broomstick—one hand tightening on their staff, the other curled into a fist with nails threatening to draw blood in their own palm—but finds themself jerked away before they can follow, and Gretta disappears through the top of the cave.

No, no no they want this dealt with, they want justice, they want retribution—

They can feel their skin crawling—

Can feel the urge to dissolve—

Furious, spell-less, they swing their fist around towards whoever had grabbed them—and it collides with a thump! across the side of Duncan’s jaw. Not particularly hard, strong as they are they haven’t actually been in a physical fight in…too many years to count now. Pain radiates through their fingers and hand from a poorly held grip. They probably hurt themself more than him…

“Why did you stop me!” They shake Duncan off with ease while he pushes gingerly at his jaw, a glare matched between them.

“You would have regretted it later!”

He’s right.

“You don’t know that!” Except he really very much does. Him and the rest of wizard city’s necromancers. After following them into Nidavellir. After forcing their way through Darkmoor together. Out of everyone.

“Yes I do! Maybe you would have justified it in the moment, she probably even deserves it! But you would have torn yourself to pieces over it for the rest of your life just like you do over all the other blood on your hands.”

All the other blood.

A mix of red and blue and sometimes gold or inky black.

They step back.

Arms both limp at their sides.

“Uhhh…” Mellori’s voice shakes them back to the present. “I’m gonna go fill Ambrose in on this—and get permission to go to Mirage—wizard, you should go tell the Arcanum what happened.”

Right.

The swirl of all consuming rage blinks out as though they’ve been doused in cold water.

The sands of time.

Old Cob.

They mumble an affirmative to Mellori and she darts off, seeming a little more eager than she usually would be to leave their side. They can’t blame her.

Duncan walks with them back to Ravenwood in silence.

The wizard tries the whole walk to wrap their tongue around any of the questions they have.

Did Gretta train him in Shadow?

Did she seek him out after Darkmoor?

Before?

What had she told him? What had the Schismists promised beyond survival? Anything?

Still, there’s only one thing that keeps coming to front.

“Come with me.” It’s quiet, softer than a lot of the things they say nowadays.

Duncan huffs, barely looking over “Don’t pity me, I don’t need it from you.”

“I mean it, Duncan—you clearly want out of here—come to Mirage with me.”

“Like the Arcanum is going to want someone hanging around that dealt with the Schismists—”

“—I don’t give a damn what the Arcanum wants.” They spit, “I’ve done enough of this alone.”

There is a very long moment of quiet. Where Duncan’s scowl fades out into thoughtfulness and then eventually something more like guilt. “I can’t,” It’s a sharp little drop of a statement, like metal thrown down on glass. “I’m sorry.”

Breathe, breathe dammit. “It’s alright,” They force a smile, they can feel how tight it is, how fake it’s going to look. Especially to someone who has seen how seldom they truly smile. “but if you change your mind—”

“—I know how to find you.”

More than most.

“Where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know, I’m technically still a student, I don’t think I can face Dragonspyre right now—I—”

He trails off and the wizard has a thought.

A good one.

Potentially.

If they can get him there, and if they can say the right things, push the right buttons.

“I could make a suggestion—since Dragonspyre is out, and I don’t think you want to hide in the Gryphonbane’s house forever—” They pause, partially for effect, partially to guage his reaction. “—join the Arcanum.”

He laughs. Startled but genuine. “Absolutely not.”

The wizard takes his hand anyways, because he’s made the mistake of walking them into Bartleby, because it’s easy, before he can continue to protest. And then they are standing by the Spiral Door for the Arcanum.

They watch his eyes go wide in something that is caught between anger and apprehension. They ignore it. “Follow me.”

“Wizard—no—”

“—Just—trust me.”

They half-drag Duncan along through the Panopticon, heading directly for the Hall of Storm—in front of which Librarian Fitzhume is flapping, looking incredibly distressed.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going!”

“In.” They snap the word with more force than needed. They don’t have time for beaurocracy. They don’t have time for polite, or protocol.

“Ione is not to be disturbed at present—she’s—excuse me!”

“Thank you, Fitzhume.” The wizard pushes past him, throwing the office door open.

“You dare storm into my office? With a stranger no less—”

The wizard cuts over her, “We confronted Gretta Darkkettle, and she’s lead me to believe that you’re not telling me everything. If I’m going to stop whatever Old Cob is planning—”

“Spider.”

“—I don’t care what we’re deciding to call him, I dragged him from the Black Hole, I will call him old man eight legs if I so please. You lied to me about knowing who the Schismists were and what they were after—you need to tell me the rest, now.”

“You confronted a high ranking agent of the Schism? I am…shocked.”

The wizard bites down on a scoff. As though they could have ended up doing anything else. Time is running out—quite literally out. But they speed through the explanation in the hopes that it will get them to answers. They need to get back to Mirage. Soon.

“And what of your, friend?” Ione asks, “We are aware of his allyship to the schismists, he is—”

“—Prior,” the wizard corrects, sensing that they are pushing their luck with every new time they cut across Ione’s words. “and I’m willing to vouch for him, as is Baba Yaga’s daughter Mellori, and Cyrus Drake of Ravenwood Academy.”

“Wizard—” Duncan starts in and they don’t give him a chance.

“—shut up.” They don’t take their eyes from Ione, “I want you to initiate him into the Arcanum so he can study under Qismah and Von Venkman.”

“Ah, so he is tainted.”

Of the pair, Duncan is the only one who notices the way the wizard goes rigid at those words. Sees the hand gripping their staff go lighter at the knuckles. Feels the other that hasn’t released his hand tighten almost to the point of pain. He expects it when their next words come out in triplicate.

“He is under my protection. Shadow magic is not a stain on the spiral, it’s a reflection of things already there, knowledge to be gained, techniques to be understood. Like anything else.”

“A child’s naive hope.”

“A child,” The wizard echoes softly, “I haven’t been a child since Dragonspyre. I certainly wasn’t a child when I touched Shadow, and I am not one now. Do not do me the disservice of treating me as one.”

There is a long heavy moment of silence.

And Ione nods.

“Very well, Understudy.” There is a resigned frustration to her voice, perhaps because she too is aware there is little time to argue at present. “Return to your work in Mirage, I believe Mellori has already made her way there. And you—” Ione stares Duncan down, “—provided you pass the exam, welcome aboard, Initiate Grimwater.”

#stevie i hear you cry. slow the fuck down #i will not #wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizzy fandom #w101 #wizard101 fanfiction #wizard101 fanfic #wizard101 fandom #duncan grimwater #mellori #arc 3 #this is a gretta darkkettle hate page

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clubyukhei · 3 years

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a/n: um there’s 1.3k words in this gangster/dad!au filled with fluff and some basic tattoo aftercare. sorry i got carried away, i was feeling very soft and domestic, nothing new lol <3 reposting this due to tag problems. enjoy!

[10:55AM]

on sunday mornings yukhei would be found deep in slumber, his face buried into your pillow and his body sprawled across the california king bed you and him share.

unlike the rest of the week where he’d be out early fulfilling his duties in the underworld, he had the weekends all to himself — and he’d usually sleep past noon to get all the rest he needed before spending the rest of his free time with his family.

today’s a different case though. he’s awake and sitting on a playmat in the living room, watching his little girl work on a new watercolour painting — and it’s only eleven in the morning.

moments like these are when yukhei feels like his life isn’t real.

it’s not that hard to believe that he’s a high-rank, deeply respected member of the triad he’s been with since his youth, and a husband to the love of his life who has stood by his side through all the highs and lows.

but being a father? it’s a role yukhei still can’t quite fathom and struggles with sometimes — even after four years, and even after your countless reassurances that he’s doing a great job.

“what happened to the dragon, papa? looks like you have a big boo-boo.”

the innocence of that question makes yukhei smile. he feels the soft pad of a chubby index finger smooth across the nape of his neck, near the layers of cling foil wrapped tightly around his torso and over his shoulders to protect the freshly retouched tattoo on his back.

he hums tentatively, pondering how to explain such an intimidating concept to a child. it’s definitely not the first time she has asked about the tattoos all over his body — but all the answers he gave back then have long slipped his mind.

“the dragon was… disappearing. it was becoming nothing, remember? i had to draw it again.”

if only it was as simple as it sounded.

throughout the past week, he was at ten’s tattoo parlour, enduring a needle bite into his skin as he lay chest down against a leather bed for at least five hours each day. afterwards he’d come home to you, and you — with all the patience and tenderness in the world — would take extra care of the inked dragon on his back. at the start of each day and end of each night, you’d smooth healing cream across the sensitive skin, taking your time to trace the raised lines as he exhaled in bliss.

it was exhausting for both of you. yukhei thought he’d be free after the tattooing process was finished, but that was only because he completely forgot how troublesome the aftercare process was. after seeing how fast you fell asleep last night, he felt terrible. he woke up earlier today so you could sleep in and phoned his colleague chenle first thing in the morning, telling him to take over his work for the upcoming week.

“it looks like it hurts really bad.” the little girl says softly.

she looks up at him, her big and curious eyes meeting his own. yukhei will always find it endearing how even though she’s pretty much his mini-me appearance-wise, her personality is almost all you.

as a kid he was loud when it came to expressing himself — but she’s the complete opposite. she’d make her thoughts known only when she felt strongly about them, and those moments never failed to tug at yukhei’s heartstrings. like that time she openly disagreed with her friends at school who thought her papa’s tattoos and piercings were strange; or that time she refused to sleep until he got home late at night and read her a bedtime story, then confessing that she missed him a lot.

“it hurts a little.” yukhei says, immediately regretting it when he sees her bottom lip pucker into a pout.

“but it’s okay!” he quickly adds, pulling the little girl closer to him before gently nudging her knee with his thumb. “it’ll be gone soon. when _____-ie fell down and got a boo-boo here, it hurt too but it went away later, right?”

her eyes widen with hope as she nods. “you have to be strong, papa! like me.”

yukhei doesn’t even get to react to her precious statement because she’s already crawling into his lap. he watches her trace the various designs of the huge tattoo sleeve on his arm, her fingertips dancing along his skin before stopping on the angel on his bicep.

“this one’s your favourite, huh?” yukhei presses a kiss to her cheek.

“yeah,” she mumbles, now touching the large wings belonging to the angel. “mama told me it’s her favourite too.”

yukhei feels the corners of his lips curl into a silly grin. of course it’s your favourite — it’s you.

she doesn’t know that though. it’s still a secret between you and him since the intricate details of it aren’t obvious to a four year-old. but when she’s older, she’ll hear the story behind it — how yukhei calls you his angel whenever he’s sappy, and how he enthusiastically decided to have you inked onto his body in a drunken stupor.

“but there’s no colour in it.” the tone of disapproval in her voice makes yukhei chuckle. he rests his chin on top of her head, glancing towards the coffee table where her painting was left to dry. there’s a palette and a few paintbrushes neatly arranged next to it.

“i know, sweetheart. maybe you can help me?”

“how?”

and so began another painting session — except this time, his arm is her canvas.

yukhei couldn’t believe he didn’t think of this idea sooner. the watercolour paint was thick enough to not fade away yet easy to wash off after, which already made his life easier. but it also felt strangely therapeutic lying on his side and watching the empty spaces on his sleeve come to life with all sorts of colours.

a while later, you stroll into the living room in a sleepy state and instantly beam at this adorable scene.

“look at you two.” you coo affectionately, giving your very busy daughter a good morning kiss on the forehead before doing the same to your husband. “you didn’t wake me up.”

“i wanted you to rest.” yukhei replies, watching you smile back at him shyly before looking at the colourful masterpiece on his arm.

“i’m tempted to take a picture of this just so i get to see you two look this cute all the time.” you chuckle as your hand lands on his torso, caressing the lion tattoo on his rib cage that isn’t covered in plastic foil.

yukhei gazes at you for a few seconds, silently taking in everything about this moment — how he’s relaxing in the safety and comfort of his own home, with his two favourite girls close to him, and soaking in the warmth of the morning sunlight falling onto all three of you.

it’s the complete opposite of his day-to-day at work — it lets him shed the cold and gritty exterior he presents to the underworld. he wonders what he did in his past life to deserve this experience, wonders if he could revel in this airy presence with you two in his next life too.

“and maybe i’ll send it to the boys,” you lean in and whisper to him when your daughter scampers off to get more paint. “and show them what their boss is up to when he’s not huang xuxi, watcher of the lion’s heart.”

grinning at your silly suggestion, yukhei engulfs your hand with his, intertwining your fingers. he’s so overwhelmed with contentment that it doesn’t even matter if you go ahead with an idea he’d normally roll his eyes at.

“it’s all up to you, my love.”

#wong yukhei #lucas wong #wayv imagines #nct imagines #yukhei imagines #wayv fluff #nct fluff #yukhei fluff #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #wayv scenarios #nct scenarios #lucas scenarios #wayv lucas #nct lucas

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sarya-lavellan · 3 years

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Take Me

Fandom: Dragon Age/Modern AU

Pairing: Solavellan

Rating: E

Word Count: 2158

Tags: cunnilingus, some dom/sub play, some body worship, they both have a praise kink

AO3

—

She twists the ring on her finger. The light glints off the large square sapphire lined with tiny diamonds. Glancing around her before she enters the hotel bar, she yanks her ring off and deposits it in the front pocket of her purse. She tosses her flaming curls over her shoulder and smoothes her white blouse, undoing an extra button before throwing open the lounge door. She slips in unnoticed. Wanders over to the soft light of the bar, sticking to the shadowed end farthest from the restroom. As she waits for the bartender to make her way over, she checks her makeup in her compact. She touches up her deep burgundy lipstick, snaps her compact closed, then smiles up at the bartender.

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.”

The bartender smiles that fake smile of every worker who’s had enough, does. “Coming right up.”

“Thank you,” she says.

Swiveling in her stool, she folds one leg over the other and surveys the room. Her eyes fall on the man playing piano. He’s seemingly lost in the enchanting melody coming off his fingertips. His tall frame sways with the tune and she watches, mesmerized. He finishes the piece and she gives a small clap. Catching her gaze as he stands, he grants her an alluring smile before coming her way.

“That was beautiful,” she tells him.

“Surely not as beautiful as you.”

Her cheeks feel warm. “You flatter me.”

“I am merely stating the truth.”

“Merely?”

“Declaring it then.”

She smirks. Her heart is already thrumming wildly. He’s good. She’ll give him some credit for that. “I’m Sarya,” she offers her hand.

He takes it, suavely planting a kiss on her knuckles.

“Solas.”

She shivers under his silky intonation and his undivided attention. Then he drops her hand and she curls her manicured fingers around her glass. Sarya takes a sip from her drink as the bartender returns. There’s a part of her that wishes she’d asked for something chilled.

“I will have the same as her,” he says.

Sarya adds, “put it on my tab.”

“Sure thing,” the bartender throws her a wink and a dazzling smile.

Sarya runs a finger round the rim of her glass. Leans in towards Solas as he does the same, knees bumping into one another.

“I do not believe I have seen you here before.”

She’s trying not to think about his knee against hers or the way his lips are so close. But he’s gorgeous in that nonchalant way. The more you stare, the more his attractiveness reveals itself. The smallest dimple in his chin. The faint freckles scattered across his face and the mysterious scar above his brow that only appears when the light hits it just so. The angle of his jaw and perfect pillowy lips. Even his baldness suits him, juxtaposed with all his angles.

“What if I told you I was a regular?”

“Then you must not frequent at this hour.”

“Why do you say that?”

His hand comes to rest on her knee as he leans even closer. Whispers in her ear. “I would have noticed long before tonight.”

“Well, I–“ She clears her throat, downs her shot. At least now she can blame the burn on the alcohol and not his touch.

“Are you staying here?” he asks.

The bartender sets his glass down before him. Refills Sarya’s glass. “Thank you.” There’s a nod before the bartender takes off for a man waving her down at the other end.

“I am,” Sarya says. “I’m here on business.” She can’t stop staring into his eyes. The way he listens when she speaks. The way he makes her feel wanted. “Would you like to accompany me to my room?”

“Yes,” he says and she finishes her drink. “Room 501. Meet me in ten.” She slides her extra keycard over to him. Then she leaves more than enough cash for their drinks and a tip and sashays out of the room.

—

There’s a knock and the door opens.

“I see you found the room easy enough.” Sarya doesn’t bother to tie her silken robes, allowing him to drink in the sight of her. She wears a matching set of soft pink lace which reveals more than enough. He wants her naked already anyway.

“I did.” The door closes with a hushed click behind him.

He doesn’t hesitate at the door. He has no shame, no shyness, only cool confidence. She takes one, then two steps forward. Meets him in the middle of the room and hooks her fingers around his tie, thumb skimming along silk as she gives a tug. He doesn’t stumble. He’s all too familiar with following the lead. He’s maybe an inch away from her lips, his breath laced with alcohol.

“Perhaps I should wait until we’re both sober.”

She releases the tie. One step backward.

“No. I know what I’m doing. So long as you consent and still want the same thing?”

“Yes. Yes I want this. Though I should be honest…”

His expression remains unchanged. Patient.

“I’m a married woman.”

“And for me to judge you would make me a hypocrite.”

He closes the distance between them once again.

“I see,” she whispers.

“What do you require of me–Sarya?”

“For you to touch me. To adore me. To–“ She doesn’t get the chance to finish her words. His lips are on hers and his hands are greedy, grasping for every inch of exposed skin.

She shimmies out of her robe then her fingers work at his tie. They’re a mess of frenzied kisses and erratic breaths as she tries to yank off his shirt. But it gets a little stuck and they both chuckle as he has to do it for her.

“It’s always a seamless transition to being naked in the movies. Sadly I’ve never mastered the same flawlessness.”

“It’s movie magic,” he tells her.

Then he pushes the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

His eyes roam over her body. And she almost covers her stomach where it sags and the stretch marks branch out in white lines. It’s good that she doesn’t or he’d have to yank her hands away. He wants to be gentle. She blushes under his gaze. So pretty and so pink. But Solas doesn’t look at her like those lines are some kind of failing on her part. No, they are a part of her beauty and what defines her as well, her. Instead, he kneels before her and kisses just below her breasts and all across her stomach. His hands slide up her back, fingers feeling for her bra clasp. The pressure of the elastic releases and her breasts spill from the bottom before his fingers rake down her arms and remove the damned thing altogether.

His hand cups one of them and he takes a singular nipple between his teeth. A nibble, a lick and he draws one into his mouth then lets it fall out, admiring the small bounce before stilling against her chest. Both her nipples are hard now, though he’s only tasted the one.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs as his gaze flicks back to her face. Then he takes the neglected breast in hand, lavishing it with just as much attention. Making sure to show no favoritism.

“What does that mean?” she asks. “When you say that?”

He stops what he’s doing to take her chin in hand. Searches those ocean blue eyes of her. “It means I am in awe of you. I could get lost in the visual worship of you–that your image is burned into my memory and whenever I am hopeless, I can remember that you exist and I had the privilege of dwelling within your existence.”

“Well–fuck.” Her hands cling to his neck and she tugs him forcefully to her lips.

He pushes away. Licks his lips. “Sarya?”

“Hmm?”

“May I have the pleasure of tasting you?”

“You can have the pleasure of doing whatever the fuck you want to me so long as praise keeps falling from your lips.”

He chuckles. Then removes her lace thong. His hand trails down her stomach, down past her curly thatch of hair and his fingers are spreading her folds and—he hesitates. Glances back up to see her swallow. Relishes in her anticipatory gaze. Her eyes look heavy beneath her lashes. Full of such longing and impatience. Then she groans as he dips his chin between her legs and licks in long languid strokes.

“Do you like this or–“ he switches to a circular motion with his tongue, “this?”

“That–definitely that,” she murmurs.

He buries himself in her. Surrounds himself in her scent. Succumbs to her flavor and loses himself to those delightful sounds she’s making. She’s close, he can tell and it’s his cue to slide one finger inside.

“More,” she demands.

Of course he obliges with a second finger. Curls them together and he gasps when she grasps the tip of his ears.

“Faster,” she says. “Gods I’m almost–“ She cuts her own words off with a whimper as he brings her over the precipice. Then tips her over the edge.

He pulls back, wiping her slick from his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he looks up to her as she releases his ears. Kneels down before him and grabs each side of his face, nearly tackling him to the ground, flooding him with kisses and touches.

With his back against the floor, each of her legs straddles him and she’s got one hand wrapped around his cock while the other digs into his shoulder. He slips inside so easily and she rides him with a pace that he’s not sure he can keep up with.

“Sarya–fuck–I’m–“

“Not yet, Solas. Don’t come for me yet. Hold up just a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

“Mmm, yes,” he groans. And he doesn’t think it’s a lie.

She loses herself and he watches. Those orange curls flopping around just above her breasts. Open and arched and exposed for him. And she is everything–everything like this.

“So beautiful,” he finds himself muttering over and over. If he focuses on the words, he can maintain the control she needs.

But then she cups his balls and– “come for me. Come for me now, Solas.”

He is nothing but at the mercy of her command. He lets out a shattering cry and spends himself inside her. The way she clenches and squeezes, sends him spiraling in an overload of sensation.

“Good boy,” she says to him then kisses him again. Hard and soft at the same time. And he wants more of this–more of her.

Eventually she slides off and helps him to his feet, dragging him to bed for another go. And then another.

It’s hours before the lights are turned off and they are tangled together for sleep.

“That was fun,” she says curled up against his chest.

“Yeah? I thought so too. You played your part well.”

“Thanks. So did you.” She pauses.

“Hmm–I sense some critique is coming.”

“Not about you! Mmm no, you–you were wonderful. Especially all those smooth lines. Reminds me that you’d get me in bed every time.” She glances up at him to see his smug smirk and it makes her smile too. “I just–do you think it was believable?”

“I think we may have fooled the bartender.”

“I don’t think the bartender gave a shit about us,” Sarya says with a laugh and Solas kisses her head.

“I think the most unbelievable aspect was that you trusted me so quickly and left me with your keycard minutes after we had supposedly just met.”

“Damn.” She lets out a disappointed huff of breath. “You’re right. Can’t say my greatest skills are in acting. Was probably weird we didn’t go up together too. Oh and we missed some fun opportunities! Like making out in the hallway a little? Or getting handsy in the elevator?” Her fingers trail down his chest.

“I suppose we will simply have to try that out next time.”

“Guess so.” She kisses his chest then. “Mmm. Can I admit something?”

“Of course.”

“I miss our kids.”

He chuckles. “Me too, vhenan. I think that is a good thing.”

“But I also like this. It was so nice to be loud and not be half worried the whole time.”

“I agree.” Solas gently combs his fingers through the curls splayed out on the pillow.

Sarya snuggles in closer, lifting her head to meet his loving gaze. She kisses him deeply. When they finally part, too tired to keep it going, she happily sighs.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” Solas says in a sleepy hush.

She lets out a small yawn. “I love you too. So much.”

#solas #Lavellan #solas x sarya lavellan #solarya #dragon age #bear writes #nsft #please mind the tags at the top of the fic

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telli1206 · 3 years

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The Heart Will Follow

Jay’s never had a crush...until he met Carlos. And now he can’t stay away.

Carlos doesn’t know what to make of Jay’s presence, yet. But what should he do, exactly, about a boy that’s both cute AND terrifying?

A collection of Jaylos isle meetings, inspired by this beautiful headcanon I came across randomly that I can’t get out of my head. And thank you to @hersilentlanguage for motivating me to post this!

Chapter 1: The Only Thing I See

"Earth to Jay?? Jayyyy....Jay!”

Mal huffs, blowing a wayward purple strand out of her eye. For what feels like the tenth time today, she draws her hand back to plant a firm smack to the back of Jay’s head.

“Fuck, Mal, what the hell??” Jay screeches, swatting her hand away and rubbing at the newly reddening spot on his head. He whips back to glare at her, but only a second later his eyes wander away...again.

“I could say the same thing to you fuckwad. What’s your deal with the new kid?”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Jay turns his focus back to Mal to prove her wrong, despite his still desperate itch to watch the boy that walked into his life...er, classroom, this morning.

Pretty isn’t good enough to describe this kid, even though it’s the only word that came into Jay’s head when he first saw at him. He could stare at the boy’s soft white curls, starry freckles and brown doe eyes all day. Not that he’d ever let Mal know that.

But she’s a perceptive little shit anyway.

“You’re into him.”

Jay rolls his eyes, his fists curling tightly at the sneer on Mal’s lips. It’s almost too tempting to just try to punch that look right off her face.

“I am NOT. Have you seen the size of Hell Hall? This kid could be a decent mark. I didn’t even know the witch had a son, but I do know she’s probably got some fancy, expensive shit in that big ol’ place of hers.”

Mal taps her chin curiously, turning herself to look at the boy, sitting in the front row next to...Evil Queen’s daughter? Shit, this kid is just begging to get the crap beat out of him. She hums quietly as she watches him, her lips quirking into an approving smile.

“Maybe. De Vil’s not too smart if he thinks Bluebelle up there is the type he should start associating himself with on his first day. He’s gonna be a walking target, just like she is.” Mal clicks her tongue as she watches them. “I wonder what his name is-”

“Carlos.”

Mal raises a brow at him, which Jay catches but refuses to acknowledge. He stays fixated on the new De Vil boy, even when Mal leans into his space and tries to force him to look her way.

“Well well, I guess someone’s already done his homework on the kid,” she taunts, so close he can feel her hot breath on his face. “Did you get anymore stats we can use? Height, weight, eye color?”

“5′6″, 135, brown.”

Jay teases a smile when he finally glances her way, amused at Mal’s wide-eyed expression. She tips her mouth closed only to choke back a snort.

“Seriously?? You’re ridiculous,” she chuckles, her gaze darting to Carlos. “And you’re trying to make me believe you’re NOT obsessed with him already?”

“Oh Mally,” Jay tuts, shaking his head. She scowls and bats at him when his hair tickles her face. “Has no one ever taught you proper reconnaissance? No wonder you always lead with your fists.”

He reaches out to tug at a few purple locks, coiling them slowly around his finger with a snicker as Mal lets out a low growl. “I could teach you how to charm the pants off anything with legs if you’d listen, but you might just be too...hot-headed?...to learn a damn thing anyway.”

Jay delights in Mal’s tense features, the tendon in her jaw flickering as she grinds down hard on her teeth. She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can Jay throws a wink her way and springs himself over the desk, landing sprightly with a wide smile to Yen Sid, who’s in the middle of teaching at the front of the class.

“Jay! Sit bac-”

The bell clangs sharply and annoyingly off-key, stopping Yen Sid short of yelling as the students jump up and clamber their way out the door in a mad dash. Mal grumbles at the rush of bodies blocking her way, noisily shoving through the crowd to walk around her desk and meet Jay, who’s smiling a little too proudly for her liking.

“You’re so full of it, you know?” she murmurs, ducking her head as they shuffle closer to the door. Evie and Carlos are standing just in their path, huddled over and collecting their books.

The pile on Carlos’ desk looks way too daunting to even be worth taking with him. Any normal student at Dragon Hall would have probably chucked most of them in the trash by now. But the twitchy nerd seems entirely too excited by his new oversized textbooks-there’s even a hint of a smile on his lips as he tries eagerly to scoop them all up in his arms at once. And Evie, ever the good samaritan, has his backpack open in front of him, helping him to gather up whatever Carlos can’t carry by hand.

Evil, Mal can’t even begin to fathom how such a goody-goody has survived as long as Evie has on the Isle. Mal would have put money on a pretty girl like her, with silky blue curls, sparkling brown eyes and a way-too-kind smile disappearing without a trace in this hell hole way before she could start high school. And yet, here she is, still smiling all warm and gentle, forcing brightness and beauty in a place where it’s despised and destroyed every second of every day.

Mal forces back an eye roll. Surprisingly, the bluenette’s nauseating goodness is not her problem today. Instead, she’s holding Jay firmly by the collar to pull him along, dragging him with her as he tries with some effort to slow them down.

She loses her cool though, and yanks Jay through the door when she hears him inhale sharply, and catches him leaning in very close to Carlos’s head, eyes closed and lips parted.

Gross.

“Jay,” she hisses, slamming his back against the closest locker. “Don’t be a creep! Get yourself together.”

“Fuck you,” he snaps, but there’s no anger in his tone. “I’m not a creep.”

He sighs and sinks back against the locker, not looking nearly as confident as he did a second ago. It’s sad, really, to see Jay’s arrogance waiver so obviously in the presence of one cute freckled book nerd. Mal actually feels bad for him.

“Duh, I know you’re not,” she comments, dropping his collar to give him a harsh flick to his ear. “But you can’t lie to me, I know you.”

Jay’s arm shoots out and presses Mal into the lockers beside him just as Carlos and Evie walk into view. While Carlos is engrossed in chatter, eyes alight as he flips quickly through one of his books, Jay catches a poignant glare from Evie, which drifts over him to lock onto Mal instead. Mal notices and immediately responds by jutting her tongue out, sneering wickedly at the girl but letting her pass without so much as one snide comment.

Jay raises a brow at her in question, and Mal pushes off the lockers to return to her place facing him.

“He’s leaving.”

“What?” He stares back, confused, following Mal’s eyes as they flit over her shoulder briefly.

“Carlos. It looks like Princess is walking him home.”

“So?”

“Sooo,” Mal teases, jabbing him lightly in the side. “It sounds like a good time to follow him home, don’t you think? Suss out his route? And maybe, once Princess is gone, you’ll have a chance to pack on the charm. Rumor has it you can charm the pants off anyone.”

Jay snorts and cracks a smile at Mal, pushing himself off the lockers and giving her a playful shove as he walks past.

“You’re such a shit,” he jokes, shaking his head as he bumps her again and she stumbles back.

“Just shut up and do your reconnaisance!” Mal shouts at him, watching him break into a jog down the hall to follow Carlos and Evie.

She tries to fight it, but Mal can’t resist the quirk of her lips as Jay disappears with a tiny wave. Big score or not, something about this mark feels good to her.

“And you’re welcome.” She adds smugly, to a now empty hallyway.

#jaylos #jay x carlos #descendants #malvie #jay son of jafar #Carlos De Vil #mal bertha #evie grimhilde #the isle of the lost

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a-simple-imagine · 4 years

Text

The Smarter Witch

Synopsis: You like to consider Hermione your academic rival but things begin to fall apart between the two of you when Malfoy and friends start asking questions. The reader is in Slytherin sorry.

Pairing: Hermione Granger x fem!reader (can be read as romantic or platonic)

Words: 3.5+

A/N - I’ve been rewatching all the Harry Potter Movies at the cinema recently and I think i like it more now than I ever did before. This is my first HP story so go easy on me, okay? Comments are appreciated and requests are open!!

Warnings - Swearing, excessive use of the word mudblood... i think that’s it.

"Granger," You call out, shoving your things into your bag as quick as humanly possible before charging after her. The crowd of other students growing the distance between you as you slip between them but not without almost crashing into people a bunch of times along the way. "Granger- wait." You try but she continues to walk away with Potter and Weasley beside her. You eventually manage to push your way through until you're walking in step with the trio. The girl stands in the middle, guarded by her two best friends.

"Hey," You offer them a smile, "Guess who got a perfect?"

"How?" It's instinctive to turn your nose up when it comes to Ronald Weasley. Not because of his social status like Malfoy suggests but you just found him rather... irritating. You completely ignore his question; breaking formation, you get ahead of the group and begin to carefully walk backwards so you can focus on the girl. She looked anywhere but at you, however, she had a smirk on her lips. Small but visible.

"Only because Snape favours you," The brunette proclaimed. This was routine for the two of you as of late. Always making excuses as to why the other came out on top. Only because of this. Only because of that. It was never as simple as just studying and doing well.

"You're just jealous that I'm a genius." You insist, your smile growing as you teased your own brilliance. Her head shakes a little.

"Since when were you, two friends?"

"Nobody said anything about friends Weasley-" You growl, your once happy expression morphing into one of pure distaste as you look at him. Spinning gracefully on your heel, you begin to walk normally again. "Since I'm so much smarter than you, I can help you study if you need it."

"I don't need any help from the likes of you, thank you," The likes of you? Did she mean a Slytherin? Or just someone who was smarter than her? Although you didn't actually believe you were smarter... well, not entirely anyway. Hermione Granger was often proclaimed as the smartest in your grade, didn't matter how hard you worked; you'd never quite be the promising young witch everyone seemed to think she was. Which is why you find yourself constantly competing. If you can prove to her you were smart then maybe everyone would see you as more than just a Malfoy crony.

You slap your hand against your chest just above your heart; stumbling backwards as if she just shot an arrow straight through. "Oh, how you wound me, Miss Granger. Care to share how well you did? One hundred percent?" She wouldn't have done badly at least not by everyone else's standard of bad. "Ninety maybe?" You turn back to them, coming to halt directly in front of the girl. "Merlin's beard Hermione, don't tell me you got less than eighty? That would be a travesty."

"if you don't mind, we're a little busy." She hadn't answered the question and as she walked around you, you expected she wasn't going to. "Come along Harry," she took his hand. "Ronald." And his before marching away. You watch them as they go, a smirk lingering before slipping off in search of your friends.

Come Friday afternoon and you found yourself in the great hall. The busy castle was beginning to calm and few people sat in the tables alongside the two of you. You take a sip of some water as you watch the gears in her head turn, debated her next move. At this point you already knew you would win; you always did. While everything else was more of a competition; Hermione Granger surprisingly wasn't all too hard to beat at Wizard's chess. Your Fridays together we're brilliant times to chat though, you'd often sum up any achievements from the week just to see who's doing better.

"I can't believe you beat me in history of magic again- I spent hours on that stupid essay. I basically lived in the library."

"I can help you study if you like," she offered, her eyes not leaving the board as she ordered her bishop forward. You watch as the chess piece moves along the board.

"You're not funny Granger," you tease, ordering your knight forward to take down her bishop. "Check,"

A paper ball hit the back of your head, drawing your attention away. Pansy stood with a wide grin on display, you ignored her and returned to your game but Hermione was also focused on your friend. "I think she wants your attention."

Another paper ball collides against your head. You sigh loudly before turning and mouthing 'what?'

"We're going down to the black lake? You coming?" She asked. "Or are you too busy with the Gryffindor?"

"just give me a sec." You wave her away, turning back to the other girl. "Have you moved?" She nods a little, her hair bouncing with the movements. You examine the board trying to figure out who she had moved but it didn't really matter. With a final move of your queen, the king was knocked off the board. "I do believe that is checkmate."

"I'm beginning to think you're cheating."

"Me?" You ask, pretending to be offended by the notion. "Never. How little faith you have me in, Granger."

"Slytherins are known for being cunning."

"We're not all cheating monsters, my dear sweet Gryffindor. Some of us actually have a conscience."

"I find that hard to believe," Her lips were curled into a cheeky smile. You'd never quite noticed the way her eyes crinkle when her smile is so big or how teethy it was. It was adorable.

"I gotta go- same time next week? Maybe I'll even let you win."

"I don't need you to let me win,"

"You sure?" Nothing more than a harmless joke as you stand. "How many times in a row have I won now?"

"Slither away," Hermione smiles as you back away towards Pansy. You had to admit, you did firm Hermione to be intriguing.

Being in the same year, meant you actually saw Hermione rather frequently, however, your actual interactions were limited. Yes, you played Wizard's chess together every Friday but other than that, you basically only had very short conversations. It was like being in two completely different worlds simply because you were put in different houses. This school had a weird obsession with separation by houses. You were a proud Slytherin as were you friends but your ambition to branch out was often looked at as beneath some of the others. It was dinner time and you sat at the Slytherin table but your focus was pulled towards a certain familiar Gryffindor student. She just happened to be sat in your eye line, so you couldn't help but amuse her from afar. With funny faces and playful winks. Her most common reactions were shakes of the head or rolling her eyes but you knew secretly she enjoyed the teasing.

"Are you even listening?" A sharp elbow slams into your side. You bite back a groan as you shove the boy gently.

"The hell Draco,"

"What are you staring at?" There was a particularly bite behind his words but you'd grown used to how aggressive he could come across. He was always trying to be the alpha and frankly, everyone let him be. You simply shrug at his question; grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

"What did you want?"

The grey of his eyes flickers in curiosity as he tries to figure out what had you so distracted. When you look across at Granger, she's chatting to Ginny Weasley about something.

"Sometimes I wonder if the sorting hat got it wrong with you," He muses. "Should have put you in Gryffindor since you're so obsessed with Potter."

"Says the boy who never shuts up about him." You fight back. You couldn't care less about Harry Potter or his chosen one status. You knew Malfoy hated him though; it was a little weird just how much.

"You gravely misunderstand my interest in potter."

"I don't care if you have a crush on him Malfoy," There are a few snickers around the table but he's definitely not laughing.

"Don't be ridiculous." He growled, leaving the table. It was only a joke. You follow after him along with the others.

After dinner, you're lounging in the common room. One leg hooked over the arm of the couch as you read a book all about dragons. Fascinating creatures.

"So are you and the Gryffindor friends?"

"Who?" You question. Not even looking at the blonde as he sits down beside you.

"Granger." He confirms. "Pansy thinks you have a crush or something?"

"Pansy is a liar." The joke isn't as funny when it's against you. Your feelings towards Granger was nobody else's business but your own. You were often left conflicted when it came to her. You roll your eyes, sitting up straight. "I just like proving that I'm better than her."

"You spend a lot of time with her," Goyle adds.

"So?" You finally lower your book. Your brows knitted together in a clear frown as you scan the room. A few people had invited themselves into the conversation. "I spend a lot of time with you but doesn't mean I wanna get into your pants,"

"I don't know why you associate with any of them." This was beginning to feel like a lecture. Why do they even care who you hang out with? You didn't care much for the boys but you liked Hermione. She was kind, funny and really smart. You enjoyed the little time you ultimately spent together but if you admitted that, they would crucify you.

"They'd probably say the same about you lot," you state. Bringing the large book back up to cover your face. "Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to read here,"

"You can tell us if you like her," Pansy contributes. "I mean we all know you have a soft spot for the weak."

"Are you taking pity on her?"

"Maybe she wants to start hanging out with Potter. Can you imagine?"

You grit your teeth, not at all reading the words on the page in front of you. They're just trying to get a rise out of you.

"I can't imagine anything more pathetic," Malfoy chuckles followed by a few of the others. "They're an embarrassment to the wizarding world if you ask me. Parading around like they own the place-"

"We're nothing okay?" You slap your book shut. "Not friends or secret lovers or anything, I would never date someone so.... dirty." The word slipped out before you had a chance to stop. You didn't see her that way; she was much too grand to be considered dirty. And you couldn't care less about pure bloodlines. It didn't make her any less of a fantastic witch. "I'm not joining Potter's Merry band of monkeys, so just drop it okay." Ignoring the snickers and hushed whispers, you march off to bed.

It's the Friday following your little session in the common room. You forgave them all of course; you always did. There was no point in being angry at them over some harmless teasing. You had the chessboard set up and even brought along a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans but she was running late. Normally it was you showing up late; very unusual behaviour from someone known for punctuality. But as time ticked on and you were still left alone, you began to realise she wasn't going to turn up. Packing everything up, you decide it'll be best to search for her; something bad must have happened for her to not show at all.

"Weasley," you shout, jogging up to Harry and Ron who seemed to be missing their third arm. "You seen granger?"

"Why?" Asks the redhead. Harry presents you with a smile.

"None of your business," you spit at Ron. "Have you seen her or not?"

"Last we saw her she said she was heading to the library," Harry answered. You offer a grateful smile but you can't help but wonder why she's decided to head to the library. Was there a test you didn't know about? Was she trying to get the upper hand? Surely she could have just told you that instead of having you wait.

"Thanks, Harry," You skip along to the library but the journey proves pointless when you discover she isn't there either. You would be lying if you said you had searched particularly hard before giving up though. There was always next week. With a defeated sigh, you head back towards the common room. Luck must have been on your side because you spot her on the way back. Perched on a ledge with her head in a book. Typical Hermione Granger.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," you announce as you walk towards her. "I thought we were gonna play wizards chess so I could annihilate you again." The faintest sniffle hit your ears and you froze. Was she... crying? Shit. You don't do well with criers; you never know how to handle situations when people cry. It's always so... awkward. "What's wrong?"

"Go away." Her voice is quiet but echoes through the empty corridor.

"Granger?" You closer to her now, leaning against one of the stone columns.

"I said go away," Her words are harsh; she shoves her face further into the book. Was she trying to hide the fact she had been crying? It was pretty obvious at this point.

"What's up with you?" You wonder, folding your arms over your chest.

"I don't want to talk to you,"

"What did I do?" The confusion is very clear in your voice. You'd hardly even spoken to the girl recently so how could you have possibly upset her.

"You're as bad as the rest of them, now leave me alone," Sharp words as she grabbed her things and stormed off. As bad as the rest of them? What did that even mean? Pushing yourself upright, you follow after her.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Just some filthy mudblood am I?" Venomous words spat at you with the speed of a viper. You stumble back a little; she's never been so angry with you. Tears spill down her rosy cheeks."Malfoy told me what you said- Guess I should have known better considering your so-called friends. You're just as cruel as the rest of them."

"Hermione..." you sigh softly. You couldn't exactly defend your fellow Slytherin friends. "Why do you believe him anyway?"

"So you didn't say it then."

"No, I did," you shrug a little. "Well I said you were dirty, I didn't say... that word."

"Mudblood- Same thing though right? You think you're so much better just because you're of Pure blood."

"I didn't say that, I-"

"Just stay away from me." Her tone has you backing down from the fight. You consider following her as she charges off down the hall but instead, you go back to the dorms.

"You're a right git," you exclaim, storming into the room, grip tight on the book you launch at his head. Platinum blonde hair darts of the way.

"What the hell."

"You told her?" All eyes are on you as you confront him.

"What are you on about?"

"Hermione- you told her I thought she was dirty."

"Your words, not mine." Draco shrugged a little. A huff of a laugh passing his lips which pissed you off even more.

"I-," you look around, picking up a pillow and tossing it at him. "You are such a pain in the ass."

"Why do you care about that filthy mudblood, you said you don't even like her?"

"I don't even like you and yet we're best friends," You shout, looking at the coffee table you grab a mug and aim at the boy. Draco's hand shoots up in defense.

"Don't you dare throw that at me or I swear-" He fought back. You lower your hand and so does he then you throw it anyway, hearing it break as you collapse on the couch. "You don't need someone like that." He muses as he cautiously approaches the couch.

"We can't all be insufferable snobs Malfoy," you grumble, rather casually considering what just happened. "You mess up everything for no bloody reason"

"Probably shouldn't go around calling her dirty then," He argues. "I didn't make you say that..."

The boy hovers over the back of the couch and you shove him away. "I hate you."

You realise you have to be the one because Malfoy's not about to admit he did anything wrong. And you know at the end of the day it was your fault for saying it in the first place. You retire to your bed, no longer watching to deal with other people.

For the next week or so Hermione avoids you like the plague. You'd obviously see her in some of your classes but when you'd try to speak to her after, she'd rush out before you had a chance to so much as saying hi. If you managed to catch her gaze, she'd stare daggers; if looks could kill you'd be six feet under by now. You'd sometimes find her in the library, it was the one place she could cause a scene but neither could you. When you tried to whisper to her, she'd completely ignore you. You were beginning to miss the limited interaction you hard; Half the fun of studying was ultimately doing better than her in the end.

The girl was alone today, searching the shelves. The library was fairly empty and it was getting late. You take the opportunity to make some paper birds and send them fluttering over to her. One by one until she whispers yells at you to stop. You chuckle. Doing it again. This develops into a habit throughout the next couple of days. You'll send paper birds her way, just to get a reacting out of her. You start writing little messages on them too but you don't think she ever reads them before setting them on fire.

It becomes abundantly clear she's not giving in and therefore one day during breakfast you abandon your table and enter what Malfoy would consider enemy territory. Pushing Neville aside to sit next to Hermione. A bunch of lions look to you like you'd just entered their den without permission; in their defense, you never sit here. Hermione gets up to leave but not before you can grab her wrist.

"Can you please stop ignoring me," she yanks out of your grip, walking away to leave you surrounded by kids you've only ever spoken to in passing. You groan loudly.

"What happened between you two?" Ron asked.

"Do you ever keep out of other people's business Weasley or do you have some obsessive need to weasel your way into everything."

"Just tryna help, jeez."

"If you must know, Malfoy told her that I referred to her as a... y'know."

"Mudblood?" Harry continues for you.

"I called her dirty but I didn't mean it."

"Thought you weren't friends anyway," Ron wore a smirk like he caught you out or something so you just ignore him.

"Now she's ignoring me. I just want her to talk to me."

"Have you apologised?"

"How can I apologise if she won't bloody talk to me, Harry? I thought you were supposed to be smart." You comment, dropping your head against the table. "I've tried writing notes but she burns all of them. I'm running out of ideas, I can only be so charming."

"Can't really help you there," Ron replies.

"All the boys in this school are so bloody useless," you sigh dramatically, slamming your hands on the table to push yourself up. "You’re her best friends and you can't help? Pathetic."

You debate joining the others but you decide against it and leave the great hall. You're not hungry anymore.

"You really should stop sending paper birds," The voice catches you off guard, whipping your wand out before realising it's her.

"I'll stop if you talk to me again," You counter, lowering your wand.

"I'm not ashamed of my parents."

"And you shouldn't be." Your head falls, "I really am sorry for what I said, it was definitely a peer pressure thing and I was stupid." You blurt out. "Malfoy can just be a lot sometimes and I was trying to study so... I don't think you're less than just because your parents are muggles Hermione. Not even a little." You take a deep breath. "I just want my friend back."

She hesitates. "Oh, so we're friends now huh?"

"Only if you want to be," You shrug. There was part of you that wanted to say maybe you like her as more than that but you kept it to yourself; at least for now. "I understand if you don't like... I was really shitty."

"So Friday then?"

"What?"

"Wizards chess? I think I may be able to beat you now, I've been practising."

"Pfft not likely," You tease, your smile growing. "Friday sounds good."

// NEXT

#hermione granger #Hermione Granger x reader #hermione fanfiction #Hermione x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #emma watson

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thatpinkbetch · 4 years

Text

Bkdk Fic Rec

I’ve been inspired to write a fic rec! This one goes out to you @lonely-rabbit

At like, the end of 2018 and the beginning of 2019 I stayed up until 4am every night reading fics, and because I’m such a loser, I made a word doc to keep track of all of them so I wouldn’t forget them.... I tried organizing it by length but it got messy cause I’m ridiculous and cluttered, so sorry! (I’ll save my own for the end alskdjflsdkfj gotta self promote you know). This is going to get...really long, so I’ll put it under a read more! Also, just a heads up, these are all on ao3, in case that’s important to anyone!

Disclaimer: Any fics with mature or explicit content I will add a bolded warning for, even if it’s only a little bit. Normally most fics will be tagged as such, but some fics that are rated as teen I’ve found to be more suggestive than some of those rated as mature, so I will try to point it out where it feels necessary, for anyone who wishes to avoid it.

Fics under 1k:

Illuminate by TheQueen (269 words)

Summary: Bakugou watches the first firework launch and fights to keep his face neutral

Very short, plot is about a case of amnesia, also very cute and well written for that length! Not angsty at all imo

sweaty hands holding secrets - shounentwink (563 words)

Summary: Someone said Midoriya holds secrets in his hair.

It’s not true: He holds it tightly in his hands. Bakugou’s seen it.

I really like this writer! You’ll see quite a bit of them in this post alkdsjfalskdjf

Fics 1k - 10k:

Many sunflowers later - Jeka (2395 words)

Summary: Scholar Midoriya Izuku comes back to the person he left behind after his journey through the kingdom, the mighty dragon clan leader Bakugou Katsuki.

Day 1 of Twin Stars Week 2020: Fantasy AU.

First of all, fantasy au!!! Second of all, jeka!!! (I need to read more of your stuff!!) Anyways, so cute, such lovely, pretty writing, wonderful story telling, and they’re so in love TT_TT

Boom Badoom Boom - warschach (3429 words)

Summary: Izuku's working the kissing booth at the school fair, it just so happens Katsuki has been crushing on him since the first grade.

“Did you—“ Izuku parted his mouth with no sound leaving it, “Did you pay?”

“Yea.”

“For a kiss?”

This one’s a little silly but I love it still. It’s got a “kids in the 80′s over summer vacation” vibe, I think. I love warschach! I should read more of their writing... They have SUCH good bakudeku content! *It’s rated teen but there’s some suggestive content, just a heads up!

Hopeless Ramen-tic - lalazee (7155 words)

Summary: Midoriya is a cute guy who works at a ramen stall and Bakugou is thirsty as hell, but has to hide it by being an asshat. Another love story.

Ah, so good TT_TT so much sass, such good plot development and story telling for a simple concept *It’s rated as teen but again, it can be suggestive at times!

I’ll share this with you, so leave it behind - yabakuboi (3508 words)

Suammry: For the sake of the story, All Might is never in need of a successor, and, when Izuku saves Katsuki from the sludge monster, encourages young Midoriya down a different path. Thus, Katsuki and Izuku part ways after junior high, as Katsuki enters U.A. and the Midoriyas move overseas. It’s later that Katsuki realizes that there’s something missing, that he drove that something away.

Years after, Katsuki finds him in the last place he looks, in the cereal aisle at the local grocery store of their childhood neighborhood.

So soft, so sweet, so good if you just want to curl up in a comfy blanket and drink hot cocoa and feel warm and cozy and a little in love

The Secret Deku Box - yabakuboi (2241 words)

Summary: “Y’know, Bakugou never, ever talks about girls,” Kaminari says, his voice thoughtful.

“And I wonder why that is.” Ashido rolls her eyes.

“I’m just curious!” Kaminari whines. Kirishima drags the box out, unlabeled and unassuming, the lid not even fully clasped over the edges. “The guy has to— Whoa, what’s that?”

Kirishima realizes a little belatedly that this is a serious breach of privacy, and Bakugou will actually murder all of them. “Nothing!” he cries, attempting to shove it back under the bed, but Ashido snatches it away.

“Please be his porn stash!” Kaminari whispers as she whips the lid off.

Cute, funny, in canon, in character, and a must read I would say!

daisy bunches and heather branches - halcyonwhispers (5862 words)

Summary: izuku falls in love with the foul-mouthed tattoo artist next door.

Not another flower/tattoo shop au.... aldskjflaskdjfd Okay but punk!Bakugou is ALWAYS a smart move imo

the best part of me (is the worst I can give) - halcyonwhispers (5668)

Summary: Whole sentences usually make up people’s Words, but Katsuki got stuck with a name instead.

Izuku’s name.

I am such a sucker for soulmate aus when it comes to these boys TT_TT *There is some mature content, just a heads up!

Hard to Say - halcyonwhispers (8390 words)

Summary: Izuku is a Halfling, born after his faerie father spirited away his mom and then left her behind. Never quite fitting in with the humans or any of the supernatural beings in his small town, Izuku hoped that going to a diverse college in the big city will help him finally make friends.

Katsuki’s family has been powerful witches for generations, and he’s no different. Talented and a proclaimed genius to boot, he knew he shouldn’t waste his time on this dumbass (disgustingly cute) half-blood.

Or,

two idiots fall in love and don’t get that the other’s awkward cues are just a result of romantic tension.

I am ALSO a sucker for fantasy/mythical creatures au and I LOVED this one - Bakugou absolutely unable to handle how cute Midoriya is? Perfection - but it’s unfinished, and I don’t think it ever will be continued, unfortunately TT_TT

lots to unpack (throw away the whole suitcase) - shounentwink (4315 words)

Summary: “How’d you know?” Midoriya asks.

There’s a hunch to his shoulders that wasn’t there three hours ago. Freckled shoulders are kissed sunburnt and red: he looks like someone ran him over and left him like roadkill in the sunlight. Bakugou’s working with insurance today, but he could see the sparks of green lightning even from his elevated position in their shared agency. Midoriya’s holding his thumb, cracking it over and over — it looks like he’s rubbed it raw.

“Dunno,” Bakugou says. “Maybe you’re just easy to read, nerd.”

I love this one so much, it was one of the first ones I read, it’s so good, and it’s another that really affected how I view their relationship! Idk this one just hit for me

hang the moon from us (it’s a no from me) - shounentwink (1200 words)

Summary: Midoriya’s gonna get sick of Bakugou one of these days, and then the whole ruse will be over, and the balance of power will tilt beyond salvation, but that day isn’t today and it looks like Bakugou knows it.

What an asshole.

Once again, I’m a sucker for the fantasy au... But even more, the diction, the details, the imagery...it’s absolutely all stunning here. I wish I could write this pretty

In Which Bakugou Finds His One Tru Luv - Erina (5862 words) This is the first one of a series called The Misadventures of Explodo-kill Agency!

Summary: Welcome to the Explodo-kill agency! We can destroy your buildings, crash your cars, and help you solve one of the seven mysteries in life: who is Bakugou Katsuki's mysterious boyfriend?!

I’ll admit I’ve only read the first three but by god they are the funniest fics I’ve ever read in my life. I see that Erina has added more since the last time I checked it out! Tbh I was only interested in reading the purely bakudeku ones... (My favorite was the second one!! SO funny and cute!)

i still do - raeryn (9646 words)

Summary: He’s losing him to pieces, but Izuku still tries to make them count. In which a battle leaves Bakugou Katsuki with amnesia, and Izuku finds himself picking up the pieces.

So, this one makes me cry. TT_TT

One Thing Straight - winningshot (9899 words)

Summary: They totally aren't.

Hints of their relationship is found in all of their friends’ social media accounts, but majority of their fans still think that Katsuki and Izuku are in relationships with anybody but each other.

It was amusing up until it became sad.

Lmao it’s a little salty but I guess I can be too. This is a social media fic! There’s multiple ships in this one, too

A Demolition Boy & his Cryptid BF - kewltie (8472 words)

Summary: Bakugou of the Demolition Squad is famous for running one of the most popular Youtube channels on the web that regularly blow shit up and jumped off a perfectly good building for shit and giggles. He's also famous for his Cryptid BF™, never appearing on camera except for a few bodyshots and all information on him is kept locked up tighter than Fort Knox, therefore drawing all sort of attention and curiosity toward his mysterious boyfriend.

Deku from Deku Explains is a hopeless chatterbox who is known for uploading 20-30 minutes video that talked about his favorite shows and comics and have one of the most devoted following on Youtube. He also can't seem to shut up about his boyfriend Kacchan, who regularly make his presence on the channel as a disembodied voice.

They should theoretically have nothing in common except a shared platform to host their content and an army of fans with an endless curiosity and devotion to their Youtubers. Vidcon is where we lay our scene and the internet is about to get a rude wake up call.

Okay kewltie is SO GOOD and very creative! The formatting is phenomenal, it’s like you’re actually experiencing a social media melt down in real time lol

be my good luck charm - writedeku (6785 words)

Summary: See, the thing is, Midoriya Izuku had been born with a curse. It’s not a curse that’s particularly visible. He doesn’t have horns, or a tortured face, and it’s not the kind of silly curse like a friend of his had way down south in Diagnor, wherein the girl had been born without the ability to say the word duck. Midoriya Izuku is just extremely unlucky.

(Or the AU in which Izuku's the world's unluckiest travelling merchant, and Katsuki is someone who may be able to help him. For a price, that is.)

Oh I adore this one! It’s so cute and such a good narrative! Nice and warm, and Bakugou trying his damnedest to be suave, and it somehow working because Midoriya is just as flustered. *Another one rated as teen but some suggestive content.

Smells Like Victory - majjale (2377 words)

Summary: Bakugou takes two steps into the room and stops, clapping a hand over his nose. “Ugh, what stinks like Deku in here?”

"Good afternoon, Bakugou. That would be the amortentia."

I must admit, not a fan of HP, but majjale...TT_TT majjale writes these two boys so well. This one is really, really good!

Cherish Me - Justaperson1718 (2376 words)

Summary: “What?”

Izuku looked back down at his menu and flipped the page, a small smile on his face. “Nothing.”

Katsuki glared at Izuku from across the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be staring at me.”

“It’s just a little funny watching you try to look your best for our date when you always look great anyway,” Izuku explained. He wouldn’t look up from his menu while he spoke, but his words remained ingrained with confidence nevertheless. He considered what he was saying to be fact, and nothing else. “Even when you’re not trying in front of the cameras, it’s still hard to take my eyes off of you.”

This is a sequel to a fic that’ll be in the next section, because it’s longer, called Manage Me. Please read that one first before this one! (Not part of a series, but they’re the same story line)

Fascinating - Justaperson1718 (1556 words)

Summary: “I’m not staring at you,” Izuku replied, his eyes focused intently on Katsuki. He’s still wearing his pajamas, sitting on his knees in their shared bed. He was awake moments before Katsuki, and waited eagerly for the other to awake.

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder after his shirt was on and glared. “You’re fucking staring at me right now.”

Izuku shook his head, humming his disapproval quietly. “I’m watching you.”

“That’s the same damn thing,” Katsuki said while searching for a pair of pants in the dresser. “Your eyes are fixated on me like I’m your life’s fucking goal or some shit.”

“I just like watching you get dressed.” Izuku tilted his head to the side and smiled softly at Katsuki’s confused stare. “I know, it’s weird. But I like it.”

*There is a little bit of implied mature content, but overall, it’s just so sweet and intimate, and I just simply adore this one.

in a place once filled with gold - dorenamryn (9226 words)

Summary: It felt strange to remember such details, for they were things a friend should know, and as far as Katsuki was concerned, he and Deku hadn’t been friends in a very, very long time. He could admit, with reluctance, that they were on the path there, now, even though they would never make it. Katsuki would die before they could get the chance.

or: There is a garden growing in Katsuki’s lungs, and he is helpless to stop it.

“Hanahaki disease” okay, I can explain myself. Okay, I can’t. In any case, you got angst with a happy ending if that’s what you’re into!

Kaleidoscope - DPRenFTW (5141 words)

Summary: Izuku is a witch. He just needs to find his familiar. Enter a boy that is a wolf, and a wolf that is a boy - with wild red eyes and sharp smiles.

And Izuku thinks:

"Oh, it's him."

Just as beautiful and fascinating as the name implies! I seriously recommend for the beautiful writing, the gorgeous world, the mythical creatures au, and the lovely bakudeku romance!

Learning Curve - sensiblysilly (4222 words)

Summary: Deku and Katsuki’s first kiss goes rather differently than planned.

And Katsuki’s quickly learning that relationships can be unpredictable - especially when taking into account the variable that is Midoriya Izuku.

This really is just a careful handling of a teenage romance where perhaps one of them may have shit they’re still working through. It’s really sweet, and a careful study at boundaries and the building of a relationship. I actually stumbled across this while looking for another with the same name and ended up pleasantly surprised. Kacchan can has a little validation, as a treat.

4/20 is a national holiday - Ereri_Garbage (

Summary: Izuku is a drug dealer that doesn't really accept the fact he's a drug dealer, Katsuki is hot as hell as shouldn't be allowed a facebook.

Happy (Late) birthday Katsuki and happy (late) 4/20. I actually half assed an edit on this one so it took longer to post than I thought it would.

Uummmm lmao yes I have a sense of humor. ;ALDSKJFLSKDJF Okay, I say that, but this is not a crack fic, it’s a good story that I enjoy with good writing, and *it has mature, content, obviously for multiple reasons here. It’s rated as mature but there are borderline explicit moments imo. It’s a fun fic and funny, too! And, ngl, it really does remind me of college... But forget about me, the bakudeku is wonderful too of course :)

Drinking Watermelon - warschach (8906 words)

Summary: For whatever reason, maybe divine fate, Izuku turned and looked over his shoulder and waved to them.

Katsuki’s heart full on stopped right then, and his fingers forgot their duty on the rails, and his body neglected its job to keep Katsuki balanced.

Izuku’s summer sweet smile fell into concern as Katsuki went airborne and cracked his skull on the porch.

or Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Love it when people have Bakugou as absolutely enamored with Midoriya; it’s so good and true. Anyways this one makes me like summer camp story lines. It’s funny and also cute and great writing! *It’s got explicit content, just a heads up. Warschach stories just have this youthful 80′s vibe, I don’t know how else to explain it.

there are listed buildings - semiautomatichearts (3309)

Summary: Katsuki first sees colors bloom when he is only three years old. It is timid Izuku, hiding behind the cover of his mother's leg who looks upon him with wide eyes, and Katsuki's world explodes in shades of greens and pinks and blues, and he is so startled, he begins to cry.

His life is then on defined in color, in shades his peers can't see, by the forlorn, timid stare in Izuku's eyes that always lets off more than he is willing to tell. There is a schism driven between himself and his fated other, and Katsuki strives to be better than fate, better than what is defined for him. He is more than the written pages of a book, to be cracked open and read by the gods.

He wonders if it is possible for colors to bloom for someone who will never love you back.

Ah...soulmates :) So interesting how bakudeku fits into soulmate aus like this one when they’ve known each other as kids! And when they’ve had this complex push and pull thing going on all their lives! The writing is beautiful, and so is the story!

Promise Ring - bkdkwritingsdump (3579)

Summary: The midwest in the 1950′s is no place for boys who like kissing boys: something Izuku and Katsuki know all too well growing up there. However, the undeniable bond between the nervous science geek and the aloof delinquent will still find a way to blossom in such a desert.

Cute, sweet, makes my gay heart ache. Longing not just for the one you love, but just to feel right loving them. Very pretty story line, lovely story telling!

Fics 10k - 30k:

Fishy - warschach (19417 words)

Summary: Izuku’s convinced his hot co-worker/neighbor, Katsuki, is a mermaid-or merman- you gotta consider genders even with mythical creatures- and plans to prove it.

(or this is kinda like the show ‘Monster Quest’, except Izuku actually finds said monster, falls in love, and have sexy times.)

Another warschach! I love this one, I love how they write bakudeku, particularly as college students, their stories (at least, the ones that I’ve read) always feel so warm, like a summer’s day, but not a lazy one, one that’s playful? If that makes sense? *This one is explicit, another heads up!

Manage Me - Justaperson1718 (10756 words)

Summary: Izuku caught himself moving forward, his head tilted somewhat to the side, and his eyes shot wide open. His gaze met Katsuki’s half-lidded eyes now that he was no longer in a dreamlike state, and seeing the way Katsuki was looking at him—waiting for him—made him realize Katsuki would’ve let him do it. He might have even wanted him to do it.

“You’re both doing fabulous!” the photographer called out to them, packing his camera into his bag and getting ready to leave. “I just got word that what we have now should be good, so we’ll stop there. Thank you for your time! Lock the door on your way out after you change.”

The pair stayed frozen in place, with Izuku’s arms around Katsuki’s neck and Katsuki’s hands resting on Izuku’s waist, while the photographer and his supervisor left.

“Kacchan,” Izuku cooed once they were gone. “Did you want to…?”

Love the story, love the bakudeku! Very, very good bakudeku TT_TT very sweet *There is some mature content in here as well

point to a map (we’ve been there) - cosmicfuss (10589 words)

Summary: Serendipity / sĕr″ən-dĭp′ĭ-tē Serendipity is the occurrence of an unplanned fortunate discovery. Two men find themselves on a subway, hot coffee on one while the other is in the middle of a screaming match. After that they can't seem to stop finding each other, no matter how far they go.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; this fic owns my entire soul. I love the story, the ease of their relationship, just how lovely they are together. It’s another kind of nice, fluffy fic you’d read on a bad day where you come home and curl up in a blanket and listen to a ten hour video of thunderstorm white noise. *Again, some more mature content in here

Partners - tsukithewolf (13619 words) Another series! Two parts to this one this time

Summary: It is said that in Musutafu there is a charm that one can buy at a temple that will lead you to your destined partner. They say that if the charm works, you would be able to follow the red string of fate to the person you were meant to be with. And if the person returns your feelings, they would be able to see the string as well, proving that both were meant to be.

Three-year-old Katsuki and Izuku misunderstand what the word "partner" means and discover the charm and the rumor behind it is not only true, but more than expected.

Gets a little heavy, depression, bullying, suicidal thoughts, etc. But it must get worse before it gets better, that kind of thing. I also just adore the second part (called Bond) - maybe because it’s much fluffier, what about it?

Learning Curve - iknewaman (10304 words)

Summary: “Izuku.” Uraraka repeats as she motions at the person stood next to her. Green curls, average height, and, well. Up close, not such a bad smile. Uraraka points a thumb at Bakugou and enunciates slowly, “This is Bakugou. He can speak sign language too.”

Wait. Sign language?

The stranger— well, Izuku— looks at him with a raised brow. Their free hand lifts up as they make a slight motion of the hand.‘

Really?’

Bored out of his mind at a house party one night Bakugou is introduced to Izuku, a deaf student who offers to help teach Bakugou sign language in exchange for a favour-- or well, is prompted into asking for a favour.

Ah, I really want to explain this one a little bit? I’d never been into fanfiction ever, only really getting into it with these boys. This was the second one I read, I remember, and it caught me off guard, and it intrigued me. It really surprised me as to what fanfiction could be. Ngl I had biased perceptions of fanfics - I used to be one of those people who thought fanfiction could never be good writing - and this one slapped me in the face with it’s subtle beauty and creative story and heart melting capabilities, and very, very real relationship and growth. Anyways it’s so cute how happy Deku is to teach Kacchan sign language TT_TT Make sure to read the tags!

The Keeper and the Sun God’s Heir - SurelyHeavenWaits (12746 words)

Summary: The Titans' have stolen something important from Izuku, heir of the Sun God, and he wants it back.

This one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one this one- Oh my god this one. Okay so what, I was a Percy Jackson kid, what about it? I love the mythical aus, particularly the god ones. But beyond that, the writing is so beautiful, just like the world, and the imagery. The bakudeku...absolutely stunning. The story itself? Incredible. Cannot recommend more. *There is explicit content in this, though I will say, it’s all in the last chapter, and all of the story is in the first two chapters. There’s also a second part as it’s a series and it’s short but it’s cute and sweet TT_TT

seven days - aaAAAaaahhhhHHHHH (10094 words)

Summary: There’s something about the green haired boy, an aura that just drew Katsuki in before he even knew his name.

[Sometimes your mind forgets, but your heart remembers]

Heed my warning: DON’T read this in front of other people. I bawl every time I read this one TT_TT I know I said I don’t like angst but AJLSKDFJALSKDFJ it has a hopeful ending! I mean yeah you’re gonna cry but...hope? :’) (that username really says it all tbh)

Fics 30k+

Notice me, nerd - useless_donut (40000 words)

Summary: Bakugou is in love with Midoriya. He doesn’t hide it, in fact it’s so painfully obvious that the entire class of 3-A has him figured out in a matter of months (days, in some cases). Too bad Midoriya is the most oblivious motherfucker out there, and Bakugou is too damn stubborn to actually ask him out.

Will the class of 3-A survive the sexual tension? Who will snap first? Someone put Bakugou out of his misery, please, before everyone else dies of second-hand embarrassment.

(a love story as witnessed by the class of 3-A)

Love the idea of Bakugou being brazen and brash, cause yeah, he is. So fucking funny though how that translates to him flirting. Gotta say, thought I was gonna cringe, but his “I’m gay af” outfit really ended up being A Look. Love the mutual pining, it really is strong in this one. *Okay, mature content in this one lads.

While You Were Sleeping - Belkacaramelka (71197 words)

Summary: The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Quirkless AU based on the film; endgame BakuDeku. -- Katsuki didn’t know when the change had happened: how he had gone from asking why Todoroki chose Deku of all people, to wondering why it was Todoroki that Deku chose. Troublesome Deku, who cooed like an idiot at cats, tripped at a random catcall and sang badly. Who, despite everything, proved that it wasn’t the quirk that defined a person. Deku, who was too much, not his, and undeniably off limits to begin with.

Update: Epilogue added

*This one has mature content. If you can, please, for the love of god, read this fic. It’s like, tied with my favorite bkdk fic perhaps ever. It’s based on the movie of the same title, a nineties romcom with Sandra Bullock, but Belkacaramelka has so effortlessly made it into it’s own story, fit it so perfectly inside of the bnha world. I definitely stayed up until 6:30am reading this one. It’s got such good badass Midoriya, who is also sweet, and really really good reconciliation between bakudeku.

All Gifted - fitzefitcher (39129 words)

Summary: The thing about gifts is that they're meant to be given, they're meant to be shared; so Izuku will take his gifts, so freely given to him, and share them with all he holds dear.

Izuku is born without any gifts, as his kind often are, to a witch mother and salamander father, on one sweltering night in July.

This one is unfinished...and I highly doubt it will ever be. But what has been written is incredible. Once again, I’m a sucker for the magic/mythical creatures aus. But the relationship is great! The characterization is great! The found family trope that was building up is great!

under a hollow sun - umbrage (40572 words)

Summary: Midoriya is cursed with emptiness.

Misfortune leads him to a man of ancient magic and endless rage.

To stop an unfathomable evil, their mismatched halves must become whole.

Uuuggghhhh this was so good! I don’t think it’s going to be finished either :( Once again, fantasy au, more amazing writing, on point characterization, incredible pacing, makes you hungry for more story.

all the savage soul requires - majjale (58032 words)

Summary: Bakugou seems to have exhausted his patience for words and no longer acknowledges that Midoriya exists, so Midoriya crosses his legs, stares down at his hands limned in firelight, and makes a list of things he knows.

One. His name is Midoriya Izuku.

Two. He is a Godmarked, future god of life, heir to the divine throne.

Three. The gods have been fighting Death for eons, and now he's coming for recompense with everything he’s got.

This is majjale, so of course, the writing is more than beautiful; it’s absolutely breathtaking. This may be my favorite fic ever - unfortunately I don’t think it will ever be finished either TT_TT There’s the gods/fantasy au, which you know by now I love. But the characterization of our two boys is absolutely perfect, and I mean that as literally as possible. And the story being crafted between the two, the memory loss, the obvious history muddled by it all, it was so dense, and the PINING, so incredibly written, flowing so naturally. It wasn’t even close to being done, but it was wonderful, still is wonderful.

My Writing: (You can skip this if you hate shameless self promotion)

You’re too damn flicking cute (1815 words)

Summary: Bakugou is certain his shitty boyfriend is instigating kisses. Maybe it doesn't help that he keeps giving them away like it's a damn going out of business sale, but the stupid nerd is too fucking cute. Either way, like everything else, this is a competition, and he's going to win it.

Please don’t read this unless you’re going to the dentist afterwards! I’ve been told it’s so sweet it’ll give you instant cavities >_>;;;;

Bakugou Katsuki, you smooth motherfucker (10118 words)

Summary: Everyone around him knows that Bakugou Katsuki has a very special way with words. To the untrained ear he is loud and crass; to those that speak Kacchan, he is caring and inspiring. Yet there are rare moments, moments so fleeting you blink and you miss them, where Bakugou’s words pierce straight through Midoriya’s chest, and surprise everyone around him.

Goddammit, if only he would say them to Midoriya’s face.

Or, the five times Bakugou said something nice about Midoriya, and the one time he said something kind to him (but that was too long of a title).

I think most would consider this my best published fic; it’s one of those snapshot fics, “the five times where x did this, and the one time where they didn’t.” The recurring comment I get on this one is both of them being super in character, so I think that’s it’s defining characteristic! Bakugou and Midoriya have never known a life without the other, and in a perfect world, they never will.

Here, let me fix that (11247 words)

Summary: Bakugou honestly never thought he’d see Deku ever again. And now that they were together in this tiny compartment, alone for the next two and a half minutes, he had no clue what to say. He’d just apologized, right? So perhaps he could leave it at that and carry on with the original plan to never see the green-haired man that reminded him of dense forests, late night adventures, and tear-stained faces, ever again.

Ha! Who is he kidding? These bitches are soulmates.

I’ve gotten some critiques on this one, so sorry in advance if it’s not to your liking! Basically, what if Midoriya never got his quirk? Obviously, life would find a way to put them together because, as previously stated, these bitches are soulmates.

Plenty of Time (16654 words)

Summary: Bakugou found what little sleep he got restless and filled with nightmares that he forgot the second he opened his eyes. Tonight was the first time in a long time where he just had a normal dream - and it happened to be about Deku.

How fucking typical.

In other words, two dorks realize they have feelings for each other but don't know what to do about said feelings.

Ah, my first fic. Very simple, boys being boys, kinda like a slow burn? Idk how to explain this one, just boys figuring out their feelings and trying to figure out what to do about them. Been told these two are a little stupid but I think that’s valid.

We’re all time bombs waiting to explode (39223 words)

Summary: We have now entered the slipstream of time, into an alternate dimension where it neither is, nor isn’t, the 80’s. Two teenagers, burdened with the weight of adolescence in the modern world, find themselves struggling side by side, in part because of each other.

Bakugou, the most popular boy in school, has everything he could possibly want; status, power, and an unbreakable will. Having been dragged along behind him all the way to the top, Midoriya can’t help but wonder how (and why) he ended up standing beside his childhood friend-turned bully-turned friend again, weighed down by their complicated past and present. As the tension between them grows every day, and the arrival of a new, pretty face causes it to peak, it won’t be long before something - or someone - snaps.

I am...very bad at titles, and summaries apparently. This was my Heathers au, but it very quickly diverges from the original (I don’t do sad endings....) *This one has mature content, including implied sexual activity, drug use, and underage drinking, along with other heavy topics; please read the tags! Though tbh Midoriya is 17 for a couple weeks before it hits his birthday halfway through, so keep that in mind I guess? I kind of went heavy with this one, but I think the pay off was immense. This is the one with the most amount of comments stating it’s their favorite bkdk fic ever (and I cry). It’s a rough start, with a rough journey, but so is bakudeku! There’s a lot of petty drama, and then all of a sudden it’s Not That Petty and very much Far Too Real. Many have cried reading the ending, I cried writing it. My sister says it’s her favorite of mine. Now, I did kind of push this out without polishing it so much because I was losing my willpower, so if it feels lacking, that’s one hundred percent my fault.

Okay that was a lot! It took me a couple days...I hope I wasn’t too annoying with all my opinions! Please have a nice day. and enjoy some good reads, even if they aren’t the ones in this post!

#bakudeku #katsudeku #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #bkdk #fics #my writing #god i really hope i didn't fuck up any of this #i spent a long time on it alksdjflaskjdflkasdjf #this is 39 fics without my own #and 44 including mine #i can tell i've forgotten some but #idk it's hard TT_TT #anyways it's 2:30am #if i go to bed at 4am one more time i'm gonna throw myself down a flight of stairs #i hope this is good enough as is!#most of this was written very late so I hope it doesn't sound...crazed

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katherinewilliams221b · 3 years

Text

For A Greater Good 16/18

Not my gif. Before It’s Too Late

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14]

[Part 15]

Warnings: mentions of blood and wounds

Classes were over, grades had been hung in the corridor, and Durmstrang celebrated that another year was over.

Kate was forcing a comb through her brown waves when she heard laughter and hasty footsteps outside her dorm. Returning her attention to her hair, she pressed more insistently on the knot that was refusing to untangle and contemplated the day ahead of her; the Annual Exposition of Dark Arts had arrived and with it, the crushing fear of not leaving Durmstrang anytime soon.

She had told Dumbledore and Rhode she was no auror; she didn’t have training in catching criminals, if that’s what one of these people were.

“Well, it’s not like someone will raise their hand and say ‘it’s me, Kate, take me to Azkaban.’” She murmured to her reflection in the rusty mirror next to the door.

Why? Why had Dumbledore put her there? What was she supposed to do? Almost six months had passed; she had heard from Dumbledore only once, and Rhode was so busy with the school’s events that had practically forgotten why she was there.

But Kate still remembered. She still remembered what happened to Flavia Hodges.

Having abused her locks enough, she attempted to shape them into curls, twirling some hairs around her finger. When she finished, she traced her dragon necklace before securing it under her robes.

Who would be willing to join a Dark Wizard? And why? For a greater good, as Corentin had said? Or maybe for more personal reasons? No one was exempt from guilt, no one was good or bad; Cassandra Steiner was rude and disagreeable, but she was a mediwizard and cared for others; Flavia Hodges was almost murdered and Kent Jorgensen would have protected the man he thought was guilty, but he wasn’t ill-intended and seemed to be a clever man; Leron Angelov was sick and violent with his son, but he had enough problems to be a criminal; Libor Marek was intolerant and prejudiced, adequate characteristics for a Death Eater, but that didn’t make him one; and the only thing that Kate knew about Mer Yankelevich was that she was a liar.

She let out a heavy sigh and made her way to the desk. After grabbing her cloak from her chair and fastening it around her neck, she grabbed the several items she intended to carry with her at all times: her wand, her diary, the list and the trick wand that the Weasley twins had sent her.

The night before, tidying up her belongings, she had found the box that Fred and George had sent her and thought it could be a good farewell gift to Vivien, in case she wanted to give a lesson to Jon Hopkins.

She felt uncomfortable with everything she was carrying on her. The list and her notebook were inside her improvised pockets, and both wands were safely tucked in each sleeve. Impractical for the occasion, but with everyone distracted with the AEDA, it was very easy for someone to slip out of there unseen, and she had no intention of anyone walking into her room and finding those items. After fastening her ankle boots, she headed outside.

Rhode had not been exaggerating when she described the AEDA as the biggest event of the year; the corridors were ostentatiously decorated with garlands and lights; countless carriages arrived on the castle grounds one after another and the doors to the dining hall were open all day, held up by pillars from which people could grab pamphlets describing the event’s activities.

Tables had been rearranged to form the various displays, and the students were dressed in their finest robes to honour the occasion.

The hustle and bustle of the day made the place unrecognisable, characterised by its usual gloom and darkness.

She advanced through the hall, pausing from time to time to watch project demonstrations and congratulate those taking part in the competition. Her eyes fell on a familiar face next to her; Leron Angelov sat behind a table where a seventh-grade girl explained her work to three wizards who, judging by their golden robes, were the judges.

“The potion lets you transfigure into whatever animal or object at will, only for a few minutes…” she exposed. Kate approached Angelov and leaned in to whisper, “Don’t do that.” Leron stared at her and stopped scratching his arms.

After wandering around for a while, she finally reached her own table, greeted her students and settled wizards and witches filed in and out of the room, delighting in the students’ magnificent works.

She wished with all her might that she could share their enthusiasm.

She gave several forced smiles, for Rhode’s sake, as the organiser of the event she wanted everything to go smoothly, but deep inside she was overwhelmed by a deep worry that she didn’t know how much longer she could bear.

“It’s really ugly.” She overheard one of her students, Greta, referring to her umbrella flower. Several of her children were standing behind a table, presenting their work to the audience.

A single umbrella flower, magically modified to remain a medium size, floated above the table; its vibrant red colour stood out among the sober tones of the place. The top of the plant, usually hollow to do justice to its name, now was decorated with thirty-seven fangs all around the base, giving it the appearance of a weird-looking lamp.

“You should be proud,” she reminded them, “You’ve managed to do something wonderful.”

“It’s still horrendous.” Jon Hopkins commented, wrinkling his nose.

“We’ve done next to nothing...” lamented Micael. Kate raised her eyebrows.

“What do you mean, you haven’t? We needed every single one of your plants, remember they didn’t all germinate, and only one of them got these results. And these posters explaining the whole process? They are priceless...”

They were still not convinced, so she kept insisting “In a few years, someone will want to do the same as you and they will be grateful to have your work as a reference”.

A man and a woman approached their table and after reading a few paragraphs of their report, left without comment. Everyone visibly deflated.

“By the way, where is Vivien? I have something for her...” asked Kate. Micael shrugged.

She looked around, but it was impossible to find anyone among the crowd. She saw a few familiar faces; like Jorgensen chatting animatedly with some seventh year students or Sheyi Mawut, who was making his way through the wizards towards her. There was no sign of any other teacher.

“Well, well! This is the first time in a long time I’ve seen first-year students exhibiting. What have we got here?” Mawut looked at Kate with a smile and she touched two fingers to Micael’s elbow. The boy looked at her and Kate nodded.

“We have created the first umbrella flower with teeth, Professor! It’s one of a kind because the species itself is unique. It floats like an umbrella flower and has teeth like a fanged geranium...”

Kate watched proudly as Micael’s other classmates came up to support him in his rehearsed explanation, some interrupting the speech out of excitement at being able to contribute something.

“And you did this on your own?” Suddenly the children fell silent and looked at the ground or anywhere but Mawut’s face.

“They’ve done all the hard work,” Kate interjected, “Finding the plant, germinating it, growing the geraniums, crossing the two species...”

“How wonderful... can I read your notes?” Mawut let out a laugh as a mountain of notebooks were at his disposal in a matter of seconds. “Maybe just one will be enough.”

The teacher’s kindness managed to relax Kate just a little.

“I’ve got better at my flying practice, Coach Mawut!” Greta commented, “Do you think I’ll ever be as good as Lena?” Kate raised her head at the familiar name.

“I’m sure you will.”

“Who?” she asked to extend that conversation.

“Lena?” Mawut pointed to some drawings and nodded, smiling, “Lena Yankelevich, she was an impressive seeker. Several top teams like the Vratsa Vultures or Heidelberg Harriers wanted to make contracts with her.”

“What happened?” Mawut closed the notebook and thanked Micael for his explanation. Greta tugged at Kate’s sleeve, causing the fake wand to brush against her skin.

“She died, Professor Williams...” she lamented.

“In the middle of a match… She disappeared into the mountains and never came back. Some Muggle climbers were in the area and saw her, and we found her surrounded by three men who had stolen her broom. But we shouldn’t have gone...” He paused and in a quieter voice added, “The climbers got scared when they saw us. There was a lot of commotion and they pushed Lena... down the cliff. No one knew how Lena had come to that situation.”

A witch casually approached the table and wrote something down on a piece of paper. Everyone around her watched in silence as she looked at the plant and then nodded before turning away.

Mawut went to add something else, but Libor Marek joined them.

“This is an unfair competition.... and what is this? A plant?” He grimaced, and Kate glanced at Mawut before averting her eyes to the rest of the room.

Astrid Rhode had stepped on the pallet where her lectern stood. After rearranging her papers, the witch cleared her throat and drew everyone’s attention to her.

“I can’t begin to express how wonderful it is to have all of you here on this special occasion. To honour this event, let me introduce you to Lazar Berović, a former winner of the AEDA thanks to his system to identify and capture chameleon ghouls.” Kate joined the round of applause with little interest. The man in question took Astrid’s place and started his speech.

Her mind drifted to the single hair that had fallen on her sleeve, and she dully grabbed it between two fingers as slowly as she could, making an effort of not listening the ghoul-hunting narrative they were being ‘gifted’.

She had a document whose content had expanded over the last month, completing a full page and a successfully finished project. There was nothing to keep her at that school any longer. Nothing, except the original reason she was there: to find a supposed Death Eater.

But I want to leave.

Would Dumbledore be angry if she returned early? But how much longer would she have to stay?

I want to go home. I want to go to Charlie.

Then come home.

Charlie’s voice again, echoing in her head as if he were talking to her right next to her. This time she didn’t panic, it was the push she needed to make her decision. Dumbledore would have to settle for the list.

But she would be leaving a bunch of children in the hands of a murderer. No, she’d figure it out when she was safe. If anyone wanted the scroll Kate had in her possession, she’d have to flee before it was too late.

The speech was over, and the room filled with the previous murmur of happiness and excitement.

“Excuse me...” Kate stepped away from the group, leaving Micael in charge of defending the front, and made her way to the door.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d become accustomed to the noise until she’d walked a few corridors away from the dining room. With everyone partying in the middle, Kate and the silence went hand in hand all the way to the library. Or at least, that was where she was headed, had she not come face to face with Corentin.

“Ah, Katherine, I was just on my way to the exhibition...” The librarian’s smile crumbled at the sight of her expression.

“Corentin...” she whispered, “I think... I need to get out of here.” They both looked around, but they were alone.

“And how do you plan to do that? With a carriage? They don’t leave until the 20th.”

“I have to go get my trunk and apparate. I don’t know... I’ll jump to Romania and... then to England.” Corentin shook his head.

“I’d recommend three jumps at least.”

“I don’t know that many places! I don’t know where we are!”

“Keep your voice down.” They dissimulated again as two wizards passed in front of them. They greeted each other cordially, and when they were out of range, Corentin grabbed Kate’s elbow. “Everyone is in the Dining Hall. In fifteen minutes the band Rhode has brought will start playing so everyone will be paying attention. Go to your room and stay there until I let you know.”

“What are you planning?”

“We’ll apparate together. We’ll do Sweden, Germany, France and you go to England alone.”

“Corentin...”

“You go. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.” The librarian didn’t give Kate a chance to question him, and she watched him march in his bat form down the corridor.

She turned and broke into a jog towards the side staircase on the ground floor, a shortcut that would take her to her bedroom. She slowed when she felt a presence around her. She sensed desperation by legilimency, and it wasn’t her own. Anger too, even fear.

She turned a corner, but someone was waiting for her. Strong but elegant hands clamped over her mouth and grabbed her robe, pinning her against a chest.. Her pulse quickened, as did her breathing. She tried to free herself from the arm that held her, but it was too strong.

Slowly, the hand covering her mouth slid to the side and reached her neck. Kate couldn’t breathe. She felt the hand tighten around her neck and Mer Yankelevich’s needle-like nails made contact with her skin.

“Give me your wand.” Kate made a movement too sharp for the teacher’s liking and she gripped her tighter. “Slowly.” She tried to take a deep breath, but she had begun to shake in such a way she couldn’t concentrate on her breathing. “Give me your wand, now.”

With an idea half-formed in her head, she moved her left arm to release the wand. Seeing her, Mer snatched it from her hand and jabbed it into her back. “Let’s go for a walk. Don’t even think about running or screaming” They strolled to the other end of the ground floor. They passed by several wizards and in the eyes of the world everything was normal.

Just as the teacher muttered “Incarcerous” the Weasley twins’ wand trap rose into the air and began to hit Mer in the head. Taking advantage of her absent-mindedness, Kate broke free of her grip and ran off in search of the front door. She pulled her real wand out of her other sleeve, knowing Mer was very close behind her.

Just a little closer.

She ran through the sea of people in front of the door, hoping to get lost in the crowd. She glanced back as she went, but there was no sign of the teacher.

She left the castle with bated breath, and hastily pulled her diary from her pocket, muttered ‘Reducto’ turning it into a tiny, almost unrecognisable object, and continued running towards the bridge.

Maybe she could take refuge in the forest, go to the coordinates Dumbledore had given her, maybe the stranger would find her if it was an emergency. She cursed when she remembered she had burned the map.

She was about to reach the other side of the bridge when something hit her from behind, causing her to fall to the ground.

With a scream she hit the stone, and from the ground she saw Mer Yankelevich striding towards her. She looked around frantically, searching for her wand. She reached out and drew the weapon towards her before pointing it at the teacher.

Yankelevich paused, pointing her wand at Kate, and waited for her to rise from the ground. Both witches stared down at each other in a duelling stance, and the spells soon began to explode. Kate fought back as best she could, trying to remember some of Marek’s tricks, but Mer was the Charms teacher and she knew that at any moment she would tire herself out until she lost.

“You’ve got something that’s mine!” shouted Mer between curses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kate started to walk backwards, trying to go around Mer and turn her back on the castle, but the teacher was quicker and cornered her against the bridge wall.

“The stone! Where is it?”

“I don’t have any stone!” Kate peeled away from the bridge wall, dodging spells with little grace. One in particular made her ears pop, and she could barely hear Mer accusing her of lying repeatedly.

“How did you get in the room?” shouted Yankelevich, “The column broke!” Kate gasped as a stunning spell hit her leg and she staggered backwards. Focused on not falling to the floor, she didn’t notice the parchment flying out of her robes.

“You broke it?” Kate asked as she tried to catch her breath, “Why?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. That’s the entrance to Grindelwald’s room, and I was trying to open it.” She took a few steps towards Kate, pointing her wand at her. “So tell me; how did you get in?” her accusatory tone made the young witch flinch. Kate bit her tongue, physically, to avoid revealing how wrong she was. In case she didn’t make it out of this situation alive, the teacher must not know her way into the room.

With Charlie in mind, she lowered her wand, hoping to give Yankelevich a sense of security. Band music began to play from inside the castle, conveniently deafening those inside and isolating them from the catastrophe that may or may not be occurring on the bridge.

In only an instant, Kate noticed how the teacher got distracted by the sound of the instruments and took advantage of her glance over her head to begin a duelling offensive. Mer defended herself gracefully, dodging and occasionally returning her opponent’s attacks. Kate’s chances diminished with each spell.

Yankelevich turned her back on the castle, and it was at that moment Kate realised her previous oversight. There, at the feet of the person who might be her executioner, the list of Death Eaters’ names lay within her grasp.

“Mer,” she began cautiously, “all this is for your sister? None of this is worth it.”

“What do you know! Do you have a dead sibling? You have no idea...” It was a stab in the heart without knowing it. The internal debate in Kate’s stomach was making her dizzy, and as she considered whether to tell her story, the teacher crouched at the sight of the document. “We all lose loved ones. Angelov, Jorgensen, Marek, myself.” Mer ignored her.

“So this is how Karkarov intended to communicate with the Ministry...” The parchment flew through the air as Kate’s spell impacted against the teacher’s hand. Both witches began a dance of lights and explosions again, swirling around unknowingly gravitating towards each other.

The castle doors burst open and a third wave of spells shot towards them. Libor Marek was almost galloping in their direction furiously airing his wand.

“Mer!”

Kate let out a choked cry as Yankelevich twisted her arm backwards. She had managed to physically reach her and after pulling at her forearm, one hand with threatening nails anchored her neck against the teacher’s chest; with the other, she pointed her wand at Kate’s temple.

Both witches looked at Marek with completely opposite expressions.

“Mer... Let go of the girl.” He warned, holding up a hand.

“Look, your guardian angel has arrived. Day after day, that man has been preventing you and I from having a friendly chat, always sitting outside your classroom, hovering in the corridors without letting you out of his sight,” she turned to Marek, “tell me Libor, what has this girl done for you?”

“This is not about her. You think I don’t know you were seeing Karkarov on the sly? You think I don’t know that you threatened to turn him in to the Ministry? You think I don’t know that you’re the one who’s been trying to get to that imaginary room?”

“It’s real! She got in with the help of the bat she has as a friend. And now she’s going to tell me how.”

Kate couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You knew?” The accusation was drowned out when the grip around her neck tightened. “She tried to kill Flavia! She practically couldn’t speak!”

“And who do you think stopped her from going to the hospital wing to finish the job, huh?”

“Enough.” Mer finished. She forced Kate to walk to the bridge wall and bent her over the stone. She stared straight into the eyes of the abyss; the fog prevented her from seeing the end, if the cliff had one, and she knew that if she didn’t act soon all that would be left of her would be her memory. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. You found the resurrection stone, where is it?”

“There was no stone!”

She felt the needle stick as if it had happened in slow motion. She brought her hand to her neck as Mer released her and managed to drop to the ground just before the barrage of spells between her and Marek reached her. If she was dizzy before, now she was convinced she was going to throw up.

She slid down the stone to the ground as her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, trying to maintain some control over her body. Spotting her wand near her, she awkwardly crawled towards it, avoiding a violet light that flew treacherously close to her.

She tried to get to her feet, but instantly collapsed again. The nausea was increasing, her vision was blurring more and more, her pulse was throbbing. She pushed her hair out of her face as best she could and rubbed her eyes, but she couldn’t quite focus on the dancing figures circling before her.

Corentin was waiting for her somewhere, probably by the door of her room to take her to a safer place. But she couldn’t reach him, not without the list.

Kate frantically searched for the paper somewhere on the bridge, hoping with all her might that the wind wouldn’t suddenly pick up. Moving her head like that did not help her condition, and the migraines she had been experiencing made their appearance to reinforce her misfortune.

Where were the cavalry? Why was no one from the castle coming to the rescue?

A bitter taste rose in her throat, forcing her to spit out some saliva, which to her horror was whitish.

No one would come to help her. She would have to save herself.

With what little energy she had left, she stumbled to her feet and took a few steps towards the other side of the bridge. The list was at her fingertips, but the world was spinning and twisting, and now both hands were trembling.

The moment her hand made contact with the paper, a spell exploded against the stone above her head. But she couldn’t back out now. She reached out and caught the parchment between her fingers. She pointed her wand at herself, still shaking, and felt the familiar tug in her stomach that would pull her out. Yankelevich looked with terrified eyes at what was about to happen and pointed her wand at Kate.

The green light of the unforgivable curse never grazed her.

Kate collapsed to the floor of the grimy Grimmauld Place street with a sob. Corentin had warned her about this; I recommend at least three jumps, the librarian had said.

Lying on the floor with her arms stretched out on her sides, she looked to her right; her eyes were full of tears and her arm full of blood.

I recommend at least three jumps.

She felt herself choked up again. This time, some foam adorned the corners of her lips, while trying to reach her wand with her left hand.

Three weary taps against the ground caused the building in front of her to awaken, revealing the door of the Black family home. Breathing was getting harder and harder, and with her ears increasingly clogged, Kate tried, to no avail, to stop her splinching from bleeding. Without dittany, it would be impossible.

She raised her wand towards the building with a groan. Unable to utter a word, she concentrated on firing several red lights into the windows. Some bounced off the walls and others off the glass, and she prayed it would be enough, for keeping her arm up was draining her strength.

As the convulsions became more violent, her hand fell to the floor with the rest of her body.

Attempting to keep her eyes open, she made out figures coming out of the house; one was a lanky, black blob she likened to a Dementor by the way his cloak moved; the other was much shorter and rounder with a hint of red hair. The rest of the people who rushed at her were indistinguishable.

Severus Snape forced her eyes open with his fingers, wearing a worried expression. Recognising him, Kate screamed, or at least she thought she did. The only sound that came out of her mouth was a painful sob.

“Darling, darling, look at me, it’s going to be alright,” Molly reassured. Kate wanted to shout that nothing was right, that she was in danger, that the man who was pouring the contents of a potion down her throat was a traitor.

The convulsions hadn’t stopped yet, but the unbearable burning in her arm did. She wanted to watch her wound heal, but Molly clutched her tear-soaked cheek preventing her from seeing the amount of blood that had gushed out from her arm.

“You’ll be fine, sweetheart, you’ll be fine.”

She choked on her saliva and Molly tilted her head to help her spit out the remnants of foam. Several conversations sprang up around her; all seemed distant, like an echo in a cavern.

When the shaking stopped, the relief was almost immediate. Snape forced her jaw open, emptying a vial into her mouth again. The commotion didn’t seem to end; several wizards and witches combed the street for any Muggle witnesses, and others were busy inspecting windows and doors.

Intense pain engulfed her head and mind. Attributing it to migraines, Kate missed the long, silver strand that shot from her temple in the direction of an unknown wand. She closed her eyes, and with one last deep breath everything went black.

[Part 17]

A/N: Oooooooooof I dont know how did you react to this I’m so nervous

Tag List: @eldritchscreech

@meteora-fc

@cazreadsstuff

@the-navistar-carol

@am-i-space

#charlie weasley #charlie x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley x mc #charlie weasley x ofc #charlie weasley/mc #charlie weasley/ofc #kate williams #durmstrang

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alittlestarling · 3 years

Text

The Christmas Market

The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Adam du Mortain/F! Detective (Sophia Laveau) Rating: General Words: 3.5k Read on Ao3

Happy Christmas to @bellarxse !

A cold front blew through town and, almost overnight, the fishing village transformed into something akin to a winter wonderland before everyone’s eyes. Lights were strung from buildings, windows alight with ornaments and trees were already up and ready for decoration.

It felt so bloody normal , which was a relief from the chaos that had upended Sophia’s life when Unit Bravo had arrived in town.

“So, are you excited about your date?” Tina poked her head into Sophia’s office, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at the prospect that Sophia was, indeed, going out after work with a certain someone (her words, not Sophia’s) to enjoy some of the winter splendor.

Well, sort of.

“It’s not a date,” Sophia tried and failed not to bristle too much at her friend’s words, keeping her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. “I have to go.”

The opening night of the yearly Christmas Market brought a whole slew of folks to town to enjoy roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and trinkets sold from stalls that lined the main square of the town. Captain Sung had made it clear that they were to “enjoy” tonight, not in any official capacity, but the intention had been clear to Sophia.

As the only detective in their precinct, it made sense that she’d be out, keeping an eye on things, while hopefully getting a few quiet moments for herself. Without Rebecca all these years, Sophia had learned to make her own holiday traditions, carving them out carefully, keeping them safe at the center of her chest. No one was allowed to taint what she enjoyed, even when she was enjoying them alone. The market was one such tradition that she firmly, almost stubbornly, held tight to the last few years in particular.

“Official or not,” Tina came fully into the office, flopping into the chair across from Sophia’s desk, “but you’ll be walking around with him, alone —“

“Hardly alone.”

“In the romantic lights of the market—“ Tina continued, her voice taking a dramatic tone that she reserved for the juiciest gossip she heard around town.

“There’s going to be a lot of other people around.”

“And I’m sure there’s some mistletoe hanging around!”

“Tina!” Sophia gave a huff of irritation, finally giving her friend and former partner her full attention. It was less like anger, though, and more of something more.

The nerves had been settling in her stomach for hours now as she tried to work through the day, reminded that this was the closest thing to a date that she and Adam had ever attempted. The newness of their relationship was palpable and it was easier to remain a little under the radar rather than falling face-first into everything in front of the entire town.

Christ, she’d never really found herself in this sort of a situation before, her chest constricting slightly at the thought of something going terribly wrong with all of this.

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” Tina’s tone softened, more sincere than before and Sophia tried to clear her mind, a flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at this softness that surrounded her thoughts of Adam.

“I know, I know,” Sophia sighed, running her fingers through her short, dark hair if only to give her hands something to do. “I just wish you’d stop for now, yeah?” Tina didn’t mean any harm by it, that much Sophia knew without a doubt. But the butterflies were bound to turn to dragons in her gut if this line of teasing and questioning continued. “Save it for tomorrow?”

Tina gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. “So long as you give me a play-by-play over tea?”

Sophia couldn’t help the laugh in response as she shooed Tina out. Her computer was already shutting down and, with a glance out the window, she saw snow had started falling again. Nothing heavy like the night before, these flakes were soft and gentle whispers of snow, just enough to add a dusting to the world around them rather than bury them.

Shrugging her coat on, a quick glance to the front offered a brief reprieve. Douglas had gone early, off to spend time at the market with his father, which felt like a blessing in disguise. Shorthanded they had been that afternoon, but it kept both Douglas and the Mayor out of her hair. Going through her mental checklist for the end of the day, she clicked the lights off, locking her office up for the night.

“Going to enjoy the market, detective?” The night volunteer asked, raising their gaze from the computer at the front desk.

“For a bit,” Sophia offered a smile. “Have a good night.”

Cold air mixed with the tang of salty sea air and Sophia felt her breath catch when she stepped out of the station. Partially from the cold, but her gaze caught sight of him just beyond the doors.

It wasn’t uncommon these days for Adam to show up at the end of her shift, hands in his pockets, watching with green eyes that looked upon her with far more warmth than they initially had and the barest hint of a smile on his lips. Walking with him on her way home had become a ritual that Sophia enjoyed more than she could say.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” Sophia offered a small smile that didn’t quite live up to the blossoming warmth in her chest. “Ready to go?”

“Waiting is never a problem,” Adam’s lips curled ever so slightly, turning to fall into step with her as their boots crunched against the film of new snow that covered the walk. “It’s been a while since I have gone to any sort of Christmas market.”

“This is my favorite,” Sophia confided, her voice dropping just slightly as they walked. It felt like sharing a secret, letting him under yet another layer as they learned the steps of this thing between them. “I don’t know that I’ve ever missed a year, except when I was at uni.”

Adam hummed slightly. “I’m glad you’re willing to share this with me.” They walked side-by-side, drifting towards an invisible string that tugged them together, but never quite touching. Her hand brushed against his in motion, her stomach filling with butterflies at something as soft and innocent as that.

Turning the corner, there was no containing the momentary giddiness that rose inside of her as the market came into full view. The scents and sounds were old friends, the shimmering lights a comfort. More stalls had filled the square over the years; what had once been small had gotten a bit bigger with each passing year. Old faces and the new blended together as voices called above the din.

“I was thinking,” Sophia began, tilting towards Adam. “Maybe we could start with-”

“Ah, Detective Laveau, there you are.” From the crowd, Captain Sung strode out. Bundled like the rest of the crowd to battle against the cold, he gave a sharp nod to Sophia, acknowledging Adam with another brief incline of his head. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Is something wrong?” Sophia couldn’t help the shift, sliding easily into work mode at a moment’s notice.

“The crowd’s a bit bigger than I anticipated,” Captain Sung was all business, his gaze trained on Sophia. “I was hoping you could check in with security across the market, make sure everything is going smoothly.”

Disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow as she worked hard to keep her expression neutral. “Of course, sir.”

The details were easy enough to remember as the Captain filled her in on where the security teams should be located across the market. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go, she thought, caught between irritation that she couldn’t have this one thing to herself and the understanding that it simply was her job, even when she was off the proverbial clock.

“Duty calls,” Sophia failed to keep the sarcasm from seeping into her tone once the Captain had moved along, leaving Adam and her to their evening. Well, what would be left of it once she finished running across the entirety of the market. “Looks like tonight isn’t exactly-” She paused, frowning as she struggled to end that sentence.

“I can still accompany you,” Adam didn’t seem terribly flustered over the change in plans. “I’m sure there will be time yet.”

Time, it seemed, which wasn’t quite on their side.

“Sophia!” Douglas was beaming, his raised voice drawing the attention of the Mayor in turn. There was no hiding the bristling, both from the attention that Douglas had been giving her for some time now, as well as having to deal with Mayor Friedman.

“Officer Friedman,” Sophia replied, cordial without being too cold; professionalism had been her go-to route these days, though it didn’t seem to deter the enthusiasm that Douglas showed her. “Enjoying the market?”

“Of course he is!” Douglas’s father responded for him, clapping a hand onto his son’s shoulder. “Why wouldn’t he be? At a splendid event such as this?” Truly, he was laying it on thick, and Sophia schooled her face to keep herself from reacting.

“I really should-”

“Will the rest of your party be joining in the festivities tonight?” Ever eager to make himself important to the agents, the Mayor didn’t bother hiding his enthusiasm about Unit Bravo even being in town. Sophia resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m certain they are mingling,” Adam seemed stiffer than usual, back ramrod straight as he gave what Sophia could discern was a diplomatic answer.

“We really should be going then,” Giving a nod to the pair, Sophia casually slid a hand into Adam’s arm, pulling him firmly along with her. Only when they were farther away from them did Sophia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, shaking her head. “Thank god we didn’t have to linger.”

Adam gave a low laugh and neither of them seemed to mind that her hand remained, lingering longer in the crook of his elbow than strictly necessary.

“After you, Detective.”

---

There was a surprising amount of ground to cover across the market. Adam hung back, for the most part, acting a shadow as he watched Sophia striding to and from security check points, as well as pausing to turn when one of the townsfolk called her name. He knew her not to always be particularly chatty, but she didn’t flinch or leave anyone hanging, necessarily.

He could have spent the evening with the others, not wanting to keep Sophia from fulfilling her job. Felix had been overjoyed at the prospect of the winter market, having never been to one, and Nate was kind enough to follow along with their overly enthusiastic companion. Mason, for his part, had happily opted out, which wasn’t a surprise.

And yet, there was no doubt that he’d stay here, with her, in any capacity she’d allow him.

Silhouetted against the lights strung above them, Adam swore he felt his heart thud against his ribcage at the mere sight of her. There were times in the past when he pushed hard, and fast, to keep these feelings at bay. There were too many variables and, for someone who had lived as long as he had, there was always the eventual demise of those he cared about.

The thought of losing Sophia and having lived through those near misses should have been enough to push him away.

And yet, it only drew him closer.

It was dizzying, this thought that Sophia had become like a center of gravity for him, pulling Adam ever closer into her orbit. No matter how near or far, he always found himself tugged back into a quiet rotation around her. He knew he didn’t need to protect her quite so fiercely (save for her moments of stupidly and brashly charging forward into danger every so often), but he often felt like a sentinel, watching out for those moments when he could do more for her.

He had been ice for so long, one touch from her and he felt like he was melting. The imprint of her hand on his arm was long since gone, but it felt as though she had branded him regardless. The surprising part of it all was that Adam did not mind.

“Ah, Agent du Mortain.” Glancing over his shoulder, Adam offered a thin smile as Sophia’s colleague, Verda, materialized from the crowd. One hand held tight to one of his daughters, the other clutching a bag of what appeared to be piping hot mini donuts. The scent of cinnamon and sugar briefly wafted his way, but it didn’t remain long enough to be a bother. The market was filled with scents and sounds, all of which had faded to a dull afterthought when his attention had fixated on Sophia.

“Good evening.”

“Enjoying the market?” Verda gave a polite smile, lopsided momentarily as his daughter, Cara, pulled on his hand harder than expected.

“I am.” Adam gave a brief nod, glancing over his shoulder to where he’d last seen Sophia. “The Detective and I-”

“You’re here with Sophia?” There was a slight change to Verda’s expression, the polite smile melting into a knowing and pleased sort of smile.

“Yes,” Adam didn’t know how else to react but to nod again. “She had been otherwise occupied most of the night.” Despite his usual demeanor, Adam was surprised to hear the disappointment in his own tone. True, he enjoyed any time he could spend with Sophia, but tonight was supposed to be more than patrols or walking her home.

“I’m sure you two will have some time left before everything is over tonight.” There was a slight, sympathetic note to his voice. Adam’s gaze followed Verda’s, glancing to catch a glimpse of Eric and their other daughter not too far away.

“You speak from experience?” Despite himself, Adam couldn’t help the humor that slipped into his voice. Verda laughed as Cara let go of his hand, her eyes alight as there was movement behind Adam.

“In a manner of speaking.” Verda gave a nod, his smile wider than before, far more personable than polite. “Glad to see you made it out here, Sophia.”

Adam had noted her moving, but it was more than just supernatural senses that seemed to keep him keenly aware of her. He found himself easily slipping into her gravity again, giving a fond smile to his left as Sophia came into view again.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Sophia gave a smile in turn. “I’d be happier if I could enjoy things in bl-- in peace, I mean.” A glance down to Cara, who had plastered herself to Sophia’s leg for a quick hug, had stopped her from cursing, something Adam couldn’t help but chuckle, very quietly, over.

“Everything seems in hand,” Verda glanced around, almost conspiratorial as he added, “If you make a break for it, I won’t tell.”

Sophia paused, chewing on her lower lip a moment. Adam knew that look, one of contemplation, weighing out the pros and cons of any given situation they found themselves in. Adam wasn’t always a fan of this look, keenly aware that she got it right before she was about to do something reckless in the field. This time, though, under the dusting of snow that still fell, there was something terribly endearing about it.

“I’m blaming you if I get in trouble,” Sophia was teasing, even Adam could hear it and, gently giving Cara a hug in turn before extracting her from her leg, Sophia glanced to Adam. There was a question in her eyes, her hand moving forward but leaving enough space that he could deny this request without making either of them uncomfortable.

There was no contest, his hand reaching back, fitting with hers easily, allowing her to tug him along through the crowd.

It was easy to get lost, but her grip on him remained strong, almost resolute as she was. Snow clung to her eyelashes as she turned back, cheeks pink from the cold; Adam couldn’t help but be reminded of how impossibly human she was, that this thing between them might yet break and burst into too many pieces for them to count or heal from.

“I think we’re out of sight,” Sophia’s voice was soft as she slowed, the pair of them caught under an awning of one of the stalls. Little Christmas trinkets were on display, the sound of the waves against the docks louder than the crowds near the front of the market now. “I’m sorry-” and her voice was stilted, uncertain as an apology came without any necessity for it. “-that tonight hasn’t exactly been-”

“There’s no need,” Adam firmly cut her off, still holding her hand tightly in his own. “Any time spent with you is time well spent.” He meant it, but it was no surprise either of them when he said it. It felt as natural as breathing, to simply be together, even if they were both a little skittish and a little nervous about what it all meant in the grand scheme of things.

They were caught in a moment as Adam felt the flutter of her pulse in her wrist, the silence fraught with something more that-

“Sophia, fancy seeing you-”

“Oh my god!” Professionalism shattered as a night full of talking with everyone (it seemed) in town and the pressure that felt like it was building there burst like a dam. Sophia’s hand was out of his as she whirled around. “Can’t I have one moment of peace tonight?” However, glancing above her head, Adam almost choked on a laugh as he spotted Felix and Nate lingering a few steps away.

“Oh, uh,” Nate blinked, though Felix didn’t seem terribly crestfallen. Nothing seemed to dim his rather bright personality, though Adam assumed being antagonized (or perhaps antagonizing was the right word) by Mason was enough to make this slide off him effortlessly. “Sorry, we didn’t know you were in the middle of something.”

Sophia, for her part, was flushed, frowning as she opened her mouth to, inevitably, apologize. Nate held a hand up, offering a small, crooked sort of smile. “No need, Sophia.”

“It’s fine,” Adam answered instead, aware of warmth in his own cheeks, lips curled into a very slight smile. “We’ll catch up with you?”

“Of course,” Nate rested a hand on Felix’s shoulder, steering him away from the stall. “I think I saw some hand-crafted journals here somewhere.”

Felix, however, didn’t lose the enthusiasm. Turning his head, he shouted back to the pair of them, “Hey, did you look up?” There was something rather eager about his tone as Nate shot an apologetic look back before he and Felix vanished into the crowd.

When Adam turned back, Sophia was looking up.

Oh.

“That’s-” Sophia began, scratching the back of her neck.

“Mistletoe,” Adam finished for her, his face far warmer than it had been a moment before. At the very least, this wouldn't be the first time they kissed. If she wanted to, he noted, glancing at her and then back up to the sprig of green above them that seemed to taunt him, if only momentarily. “We don’t have to do anything, Sophia.”

“I know.” But there was something breathless about the way she said it, a soft hesitation that didn’t linger as she met his gaze. Her eyes had always been mesmerising, he mused, catching him and drawing him deeper and deeper every time. He was aware of how close they stood, the way her breathing was a little shallow and how, without hesitation, she leaned up to kiss him.

There was nothing ordinary about kissing Sophia; each time it had happened, he felt as though his world had tilted on its axis and nothing had ever quite been the same after. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb drawing soft circles at her jaw, sinking into the sensation of it. Her nose was cold, her hair a little mussed from the wind and he knew from experience that she was a woman with sharp edges.

They parted, breath mingling together, her eyes still partially closed even in the aftermath. Adam couldn’t help the little smile, brushing his lips against hers once more in a chaste, soft parting kiss.

From beyond their bubble of intimacy, Adam swore he heard a whistle and whooping cheer, no doubtedly Felix. Sophia was flushed and he was certain he looked the same, letting a quick laugh escape. There was nothing embarrassing about this moment though, he thought, fingers tangling with hers easily, keenly aware of the warmth in his chest and the steady assurance of this .

Even amidst the chaos of the world around them, there was comfort to be found as, hand-in-hand, they strolled back into the throng of people. Though, as both would certainly attest, they only seemed aware of one another.

#the wayhaven chronicles #my writing #adam du mortain #a du mortain #female detective #ay yes there be mistletoe #gosh i miss holiday markets #fluff #kissing #felix hauville #nathaniel sewell #mason #douglas friedman #mayor friedman #captain sung #solomon verda #the date that everyone interrupts

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woodelf68 · 4 years

Text

Mornings

A loosely connected series of scenes throughout Loki’s life, from infancy through a future diverging from The Dark World. 9118 words.

(Note: Loki’s age in each scene is as follows, with the years being the Midgardian equivalents -- scene 1, less than a year old. Scene 2, 5 yrs. old. Scene 3, 10 -- picture kid Loki from the movie flashback. Scene 4, about 15. Scene 5, close to 20, canon Loki as seen in his cell in The Dark World. Scene 6, between 25 and 30, it’s reader’s choice as to how much time they wish to have passed between the last two scenes.)

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

The querulous cry of a newly awakened baby rang out in the quiet of the room. From her position with her head comfortably pillowed on her husband’s chest, Frigga held her breath, hoping. Perhaps he -- The cry came again, more demanding. She huffed a resigned laugh and started to push herself up. “At least he waited until we were done.” Odin slid out from under her. “Stay; I’ll fetch him.” Pulling on the robe draped over the end of the bed, he padded across to the cradle on the opposite side of the room and smiled down at his seven month old son, who immediately reached for him. “Hello there,” said Odin, ridiculously pleased, as always, when Loki quieted as soon as Odin picked him up, laying his head against Odin’s shoulder and putting his fingers into his mouth to suck on them. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” He pressed a fond kiss to Loki’s silky black curls, cradling the boy against his chest as he automatically checked his diaper. “Yes, you are. You don’t keep fussing once you’ve got someone’s attention. Now Thor -- well, let’s just say that your brother was always a bit more fond of the sound of his own voice.” While he was more than happy to leave this particular task to Frigga or the servants during the day, Odin was not so incompetent that he could not make quick work of changing Loki into a dry diaper, as he did so now. That taken care of, he picked Loki back up and returned to the bed. “What do you say? Are you hungry? Do you want your amma?” He sat down on the side of the bed and passed Loki into Frigga’s waiting arms. “Hello, my sweet son,” Frigga cooed, bringing Loki under the fur with her and guiding him to her breast. That first day, when a hungry baby had been placed in her arms, there’d been no time to look for a wet nurse, and when Loki had taken the goat’s milk she’d sent for without any problems, she had been reluctant to seek out one, selfishly not wanting to hand him over to another woman every couple of hours. If he was to be her son, she wanted him to look to her for his needs, for comfort and nourishment both, and she knew well enough that there were herbs to bring in a woman’s milk, and had soon found a spell to hasten their effects. They had told the court that she had hidden her pregnancy with magic, lest word of her vulnerable state reach Laufey’s ears and make her more of a target for foul play with Odin and most of Asgard’s warriors away fighting in the war. It had been easy enough to add, to those in her retinue close enough to express concern, that the magic had delayed her milk coming in. She could still remember the fierce rush of satisfaction a few weeks later when she had been able to nurse Loki herself for the first time, her heart whispering “mine ”, that feeling of him becoming really and truly hers. Not born of her body, but nourished by it, and he had thrived and grown apace ever since. If there had been the inevitable whispers that Odin had brought home a war bastard, most died away quickly enough as all saw how she doted on Loki, and Odin had, fortunately, come home for a brief visit around the time that Loki would have been conceived. Loki turned into her now and she felt her milk let down as he began suckling hungrily, his eyes fixed steadily on hers. She relaxed into the comfort of the pillows and furs, running a gentle finger down his snub nose and smiling as his eyes crossed as he tried to focus on it. Odin lay back down beside her and gently took hold of one of Loki’s feet, smiling as the tiny toes curled in response to his stroking thumb and Loki’s eyes cut briefly to him before refocusing on her. “Who’s that?” she asked softly. “Is that your pabbi?” She glanced at Odin and Loki followed her gaze, his small hand starfishing against her. “Yes, it is! And do you know how you can tell, hm? Because you called and he came. There are not many who can command the king of Asgard like that, you know.” Odin chuckled and slid back under the fur, coaxing Frigga’s head onto his shoulder so he could wrap one arm around wife and son both and use the other to run his hand through the long, heavy waves of her hair, shining golden in the gentle early morning light that illuminated the room. “Very true. And two of the three people who can are in this room.”

Frigga made a contented noise and relaxed even further, letting her eyes drift half shut in pleasure. The duties of the day would claim the king soon enough, but in that moment, he was simply her husband, and a father, and she cherished every second of such times.

--------------- “We’re about to be invaded,” Odin murmured, hearing the patter of four small feet and the whisper of hushed voices outside their door. It was his favourite time of the day, that early morning hour when he lay relaxed and comfortable with Frigga and they talked about their plans for the upcoming day.

“One of the perils of having children.” she said, smiling.

“But perhaps also one of the pleasures?” he suggested, smiling back. “Admit it, you will be sad when they have grown too much to come tumbling in like overexcited puppies at the break of day on occasion.”

Frigga laughed. “You are quite right. I shall no doubt be proud of the fine young men they grow into, but I shall miss my little boys.”

"Should I knock? Maybe they’re still sleeping.”

"Knock softly!”

A subdued knock sounded on their door, and Frigga called “Come in!”

Thor and Loki burst into the room, still in their sleep clothes. “Happy Name Day!” they chorused. Thor held up the jar he was carrying. “We got you some flowers.”

“And we drew you some pictures,” Loki added, coming over to the bed with some papers clutched in his hand.

“Oh, thank you, the flowers are lovely! Place them right there on that table, Thor, and come show me your drawings.” She took the papers from Loki and patted the mattress beside her. Promptly Loki climbed onto the bed to snuggle into her side, a small, soft warm presence, while Thor scrambled up next to him and crawled over her body to plop himself down on her other side. Odin sat up and leaned over Thor to see the drawings as well. The top one was done in coloured chalk, perfect for capturing the texture of fur, and Frigga smiled as she recognised the black and orange patches on the rounded white shapes in the center, one large and three small.

“It’s Runa and her kittens!” She’d taken both boys to visit the barn cat and her litter a few days ago, instructing them to sit still and quietly and let the kittens approach them if they wanted to. Thor, ever boisterous, had kept fidgeting and whispering, but Loki had sat perfectly still, enraptured by the three small shapes, and had been rewarded when one of the exploring kittens had wobbled over on unsteady legs and had determinedly pulled itself up onto Loki’s lap, where he’d gently stroked it until it had started purring remarkably loudly for a creature of its size.

“Yes!” He beamed proudly. “Do you like it?’“I do indeed, and I love the flowers you drew around the border; they’re very bright and cheerful.” She moved his picture underneath the other one and saw what Thor had drawn. “Oh, Thor, this is really very good.” She admired the dragon rendered in Thor’s careful pencil work. “I should have you design a tapestry for me.”

“Really?” Thor sounded delighted by the idea.

“Why not? Where is this dragon flying to, for instance?”

“His cave, in a mountain,” said Thor. “And it’s filled with his treasure horde.”

“I hope he’s a peaceful dragon,” said Frigga. “I’d hate for anyone to want to hurt him.”

Thor’s face fell at that, as if he’d already been dreaming about slaying the dragon and winning some glory for himself. “I suppose he could be, if you wanted.”

“I do,” said Frigga firmly. “And perhaps he could have a younger dragon brother to fly by his side?”

“Me and Loki!” Thor enthused. “We could be the dragons! And we live in the cave together and go out and have adventures.”

“That would make a very nice tapestry,” agreed Frigga. “You boys could have it for your room.”

“I’ll start sketching it later today,” Thor promised.

“What about us?” Odin asked. “Can your mother and I live in your cave while you boys go out flying around on adventures?”

“Yes! I’ll draw you two lying at the entrance with just your snouts sticking out. You can be a gold dragon, Father, and you a blue one, Mother. What about you, Loki?”

“Green,” said Loki promptly.

“Well, I shall look forward to this epic picture,” said Odin, ruffling Thor’s hair. “It’s a very good likeness of a dragon, Thor. And I like yours as well, Loki.”

“How big should I make the drawing, Mother?”

“We’ll figure that out after breakfast. Speaking of which, why don’t you two go get dressed and ready for the day and we’ll do the same, and we’ll come collect you for breakfast when we’re ready.” She leaned first to the left and then the right, kissing the tops of her sons’ heads. “Thank you for the presents; they’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.” Loki knelt up on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tightly. “Happy name day, Amma.”

Frigga hugged him back, smoothing a hand over his tousled curls. “Thank you, my darling.” She released him and he slid off the bed, giving Thor room to climb over her and follow suit. He leaned over to give her his own hug once he was on his feet.

“Happy name day,” he echoed. “I’ll help Loki get ready.”

“Thank you, my sweet.” She gave him a squeeze and let him go, watching as he took Loki by the hand and led his little brother from the room. She turned to Odin, beaming. “I think we have the best boys in the entire Nine Realms.”

The skin around Odin’s eye crinkled up. “I’ll remind you of that the next time Thor lets his temper get the better of him or Loki’s curiosity leads him into trouble.”

“I didn’t say they were perfect ,” Frigga said. “Perfect would be boring. And we both know who Thor got his temper from.” She looked at him pointedly.

“I feel like I should be offended but I know you’re right,” Odin admitted. “But if he can learn to channel it, it’ll prove a great asset in battle one day. And at least he got your sweetness of heart to counter it.” Odin leaned over and kissed her.

“Flatterer,” she said fondly. “And what of Loki? What does he have of us?”

“He has your sweetness as well, and your cleverness, and your sensitivity to magic.” Odin looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure what he has of me. My eyes, perhaps,” he joked. “Or my eye; he only ever saw the one.”

“He has your watchfulness,” said Frigga, after a moment of thinking. “He knows how to sit and listen quietly, and remember what he hears. And how to choose his words with care.”

“If he picked that up from me, then I am well pleased,” approved Odin. “Let us hope that he grows up with a taste for politics; those traits will serve him well.” He rolled out of bed. “Come, we had best bestir ourselves before our hungry young dragonlings decide to go foraging for themselves and leave nothing but crumbs and wreckage in their wake.”

Frigga laughed -- but she could picture the scenario all too well. She bestirred herself. ---------------

Loki woke with his heart pounding. Just a nightmare, he told himself, but telling himself that and truly believing it were two different things entirely. It would have been easier if he had been able to simply look to his side and see Thor asleep in his bed, but they had recently been given separate rooms, and he wasn’t sure, at the moment, that he liked it. He sat up, throwing back the covers and swinging his feet down onto the floor. He slipped from his bedroom and made his way across the common room that connected his and Thor’s chambers, the sky outside the windows lit with the brilliance of the stars, and quietly looked into Thor’s bedroom. Thor lay sprawled out on his bed, motionless, but Loki could hear his soft breathing from where he stood and was reassured. He retreated and made his way out into the hallway, and crossed over to his parents’ rooms, feeling the light tingle of the wards that, he knew would permit no one other than himself or his brother to enter once his parents had retired for the night. He passed light-footed through his mother’s weaving room and paused, hovering in the doorway of their bedroom, looking and listening. His parents lay back to back, his mother nearest to him, and after a minute he was sure of the slow rise and fall of the blanket covering her. He moved further into the room, just needing to be sure that his father was all right, too, before he could go back to bed.

“Loki?”His mother’s voice was quiet, sleepy, but Loki nearly jumped out of his skin and couldn’t help letting out a squeak of alarm.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

“Nightmare,” whispered Loki back. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Want to come in?” Frigga held up the blankets invitingly, scooting back away from the edge of the bed to give Loki more room. She bumped back against Odin’s solid form and he grunted and woke.

“Hmphm?” he murmured, still half asleep.

“Scoot back.”

Odin obliged, but lifted his head, confused, when Frigga followed after him and spied a black head silhouetted against the dim light of the room. “Loki?”

“I’m sorry, I just had a nightmare and needed to make sure you were all right before I tried to go to sleep again,” Loki apologised again. “I’ll go now.”

“Are you sure?” Odin moved back further on the wide bed, putting space between him and Frigga, and wished all parenting decisions were as easy as knowing what to do when your child came to you upset in the middle of the night. “You could come in between us, safest place in the Nine Realms."

Frigga smiled and moved back towards the edge of the bed, creating a perfect Loki-sized space in between them and lifted the covers higher. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Loki hesitated a second, then his feet carried him forward and he scrambled over his mother’s body. Up close, his father looked strange with his eyepatch left off for the night, but he had seen the scarred socket before, and he only glanced at it for a moment before nestling down between his parents and feeling his father’s arm drape comfortingly over him.

“That’s it,” Odin pressed a kiss to Loki’s hair. “I’ve got you; you’re safe.”

Frigga turned over and curled around Loki from the other side, letting the covers fall back down over them and reaching out to rub his shoulder. “Do you want to tell us about your dream?”

“I wasn’t in any danger ,” said Loki. “I was just...alone, here in the palace. It was completely empty; I couldn’t find anyone. But then finally, I found you. Except you were lying like you were laid out for a funeral boat, and I knew you were dead.” He took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the scent of her, and felt the lingering dread from the nightmare dissipate. “And then I woke up.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Frigga stroked his hair soothingly. “I’m sorry, what a terrible dream. But I promise you that I am very much here and alive and have no plans to go anywhere anytime soon.”

Odin’s heart ached for his son. It was a common theme that ran through Loki’s nightmares, that of being alone and abandoned. Sometimes he was someplace cold, and crying for help that didn’t come, and Odin knew the source of that one. Sometimes Loki was surrounded by fire, and Asgard was burning around him, and that one worried him. This one...well, he knew how close Loki was to his mother; his mind probably couldn’t think of a worse scenario. “No more do I,” said Odin, hugging Loki just a little bit tighter. He thought of saying something serious, about how he still had a good many years left in him yet despite his age, but decided instead on levity. “You won’t get rid of us that easily.” He tickled Loki’s stomach.

Loki giggled and grabbed at his father’s hand. “Good,” he said firmly. His father turned his hand, slotted his larger fingers through Loki’s own, and left his hand there, covering Loki’s reassuringly. Loki relaxed, feeling warm and safe and most definitely not alone. “You don’t think I’m a baby for not wanting to be alone after a nightmare?” he asked hesitantly, just to make sure.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Frigga reassured him. “I expect you’re still getting used to waking up alone in a room of your own, aren’t you?” She had often enough, through the years, looked in on the boys at night to find them snuggled up together in one bed to suspect that they had found comfort in each other after bad dreams. Certainly Loki hadn’t sought their bed in a while.

“Yes, exactly,” said Loki, grateful that she understood. “I used to be able to wake up and see Thor sleeping in his bed and know that it had just been a dream and that everything was all right.”

“Your mother and I are lucky,” Odin pointed out. “If we have a bad dream, we have someone right here next to us to say that everything is all right and that it was only a dream.”

“I never thought of that,” said Loki thoughtfully. “Do you have bad dreams, Father?”

“I do, sometimes.”

“What about?”

“The usual, I think. Losing someone that I love, being lost. Finding myself in front of a crowd of people and realising that I don’t have any clothes on.”

Loki’s eyes widened and he lifted his head, twisting around to look back at his father. “You have that one, too?”

Frigga laughed. “I think we all have, at one time or another. I used to have that one when I was younger, but no more. I seem to have grown out of it, thank the Norns.” Odin had handled that question well, she thought. Loki didn’t need to be burdened with the details of his father’s nightmares. She heard the first birds begin to call outside, but since the birds had gone to bed hours before she had, she felt justified in ignoring them. “Go back to sleep, little one,” she told Loki softly. “Morning will be here soon enough.”

Loki closed his eyes obediently, and she began to sing softly, the words of the lullaby unforgotten through the years. Frigga watched him, his lashes lying dark against his cheeks, his breathing growing slow, and even, until she was sure he was asleep, and quietly finished the last verse. She glanced at Odin then, to see him watching her, the expression in his eye soft. “I half wish Thor were here as well,” she confessed in a whisper. “Perhaps he’ll come hunting down his brother in the morning. Then I could have all my boys snuggled in safe around me.”

Odin looked amused. “Are you implying that I am one of your boys as well?”

“You are.” Frigga’s tone of voice dared him to say otherwise. “Mine to love, mine to care for.”

“Good,” he said with satisfaction, sounding remarkably like Loki had but a short while earlier, and closed his eye, a contented smile on his face.

Frigga watched her husband and son with a heart full of love. She should suggest that Odin spend some time with the boys tomorrow; both Loki and Thor were always hungry for more of their father's time and attention. And they were old enough now to learn more of the behind the scenes work of ruling the realm; perhaps if she framed it as an educational opportunity, Odin would agree it was worth carving out the time from his schedule. She found Odin's and Loki's joined hands under the covers, and laid her own atop them. falling asleep to dream of the day when her sons would stand side by side and lead Asgard into a bright and prosperous future.

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

“Loki! Why are you still abed? Did you forget that we were going to go hunting this morning?” Thor came bursting into Loki’s bedroom with all of his usual exuberance, undeterred by the fact that his brother was still, obviously, asleep, or had been up until a moment ago.

Loki groaned and buried his head under his pillow. “Changed my mind. Tomorrow’s better. Go away. I’m sleeping.”

Thor spied a familiar-looking book on Loki’s nightstand, the same one he’d been reading last night at supper. “Were you up all night reading?”

“What if I was? Some of us wish to improve our minds.” Thor was quiet for a moment, and Loki had the vain hope that Thor would go away and leave him in peace. Then he felt his covers yanked back, and squawked in protest.

“And some of us wish to go hunting with our brother,” said Thor cheerfully. “Come on, the fresh air will wake you up.” He took hold of Loki’s legs.

“Thor, don’t you dare, I’m warning you --”

Thor pulled.

There was a flash of green. It was followed by a startled croak.

Loki peered over the edge of his bed at the large green frog sitting on his floor. It looked back at him mournfully. “I warned you. Now hop along and stay out of trouble and I’ll change you back this afternoon. If you want to go hunting then, fine, if not, I promise to go to bed earlier tonight and we’ll go tomorrow morning.”

The frog tried to walk, one webbed foot at a time, towards Loki’s bedroom door, before figuring out how to manage his long legs and gave a short hop, then a longer one, and presently disappeared from sight. He was going to be in so much trouble when he changed Thor back, Loki thought, but some things were worth it. He wondered if Thor would brave going to their mother, or if he would have the sense to simply wait the morning out in his rooms. The first option would restore him to his own form faster, if he made it into Frigga’s presence and could convince her of his identity, but it also risked him being seen by a member of the staff and deposited outside in a pond. Grinning at that mental image, he pulled his blankets back up and let his head sink back into his pillow. He reclosed his door with a wave of his hand and sank happily back into slumber.

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

Loki lay in bed and watched the dim lighting of the cell brighten. Morning, he assumed, though really he had no way of knowing, would never see the sky again. How early was it? he wondered. Was the sky still pink and gold from the sunrise, or had it already turned to blue? The constant white glare of the cell bothered him more each day, made him long for the shaded green places in his mother’s gardens (he could not think of her as anything else in his heart), or the dim recesses of the library, lit by the warm glow of lamps, or the muted light filtering in through the curtains in his rooms. At first it had been enough to have a place where he knew he was safe, where he could simply let down all his defenses and rest without fear or pain. He had slept for long stretches of time, those first weeks, while his body healed, waking only to eat ravenously of the food that was delivered to him. He heard the rattle of a meal tray being delivered now, the curt “Breakfast” spoken by the guard before they disappeared again. He rose and went to collect the tray.

It had not escaped his notice that his meals weren’t standard prison fare, that there was usually at least one thing on his tray that was something that he particularly liked. There was always fresh fruit and juice for breakfast, and today, a veritable feast of a mushroom and cheese omelette and hot buttered toast and the spicy sausages his mother knew he liked, because of course it was her doing, he knew that much. There was even, astonishingly, a bottle of elven wine. the explanation for which was in the new book that had accompanied his breakfast tray. He opened it and read the inscription on the flyleaf:

My dearest son,

It seems cruel to wish you a happy name day, but I hope these small tokens of my affection will give you some pleasure on this day nevertheless. I tell myself it is better than last year, when I still thought you dead, and if you are kept apart from me, at least I know that you are alive and well. And I let myself hope that next year will be better yet, that something will have changed, for I refuse to believe otherwise. I will find a way to force it to change myself, if I have to. If you would only tell us what happened to you, give your father a reason to trust you again -- But this is not the time or the place to chide you for that, only know that when you are ready to talk I will be here to listen. And know that I will never stop loving you, nor celebrating the day you arrived in our lives, for you are one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. As always, I remain

-- your loving Mother

He cried bitter tears then, tears of longing to feel her arms around him again, and tears of regret for his lost life. He wanted, desperately, to see the sky, to breathe fresh air, to walk without coming up against a wall after more than a few paces. Would it change anything if he told? He tried to remember why he hadn’t, that first day when he’d been brought back and paraded before Odin in chains. Spite? Anger? Shame? To show his parents how it felt to have a secret kept from them? Yes, all of those, he knew, but were they worth it? Did he want Thanos to come upon an Asgard unwarned, and unready? He thought of the palace littered with bodies, of the palace empty of life save for the slaughtered bodies of those who had had the chance to fight, and remembered, with a sudden chill, the nightmare that he had had more than once as a youth. He thought of his mother dead, and not knowing until one day a meal tray arrived with plain prison fare, no special treats. No more books. Of never seeing anyone again except the guard who delivered the meals, of never being able to have an actual conversation with anyone again. Alone, forgotten. Except no, Thanos would not forget him. Panic rose up and engulfed him, and he reached for the wine, uncorking it and taking a healthy swig.

The wine helped a little, but he couldn’t truly relax until his mother’s projection appeared in the afternoon and the relief that swept through him almost made him giddy. He thanked her for the gifts, and was ashamed at how the basic courtesy made her face light up like the sun.

“I only wish that I could do more.” Her hand rose, as if she would cradle his face. Loki fought the urge to turn into the touch, lest the contact shatter her illusion, and allowed himself to imagine he could feel the warmth of her hand upon his skin. “Tell me what it’s like outside today,” he said impulsively. “Is the sky blue?”

“It is, clear and blue with a few puffy white clouds floating around. It is just past midday, and the garden is full of the scent of the roses in bloom.”

She seemed to know what he craved, and painted a picture of the gardens with her words that invoked all his senses. And when he didn’t stop her, she continued on with all the everyday details of life in the palace lately, what she was doing to fill her time and then what was going on in the greater Realm, slowly expanding his world. She took it as a good sign, that he was finally expressing an interest in the outside world.

Loki knew her time for him was up when she glanced behind her, as someone obviously came into the room where her body stood.

“I must go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised. “Imagine me giving you a kiss and a hug, and I swear that I shall one day do so in fact.”

“Mother,” Loki said quickly, before she could vanish, the careful “Allmother” that he sometimes used never having become easy or comfortable on his tongue. “Thank you for coming. And what you asked of me -- in the book -- I will consider it.”

Her face lit up again. “I am glad to hear that. And I will never, ever stop coming to see you, not until the day that you are able to come and see me .” She held out her hands to him, letting him be the one to dispel her illusion in the little ritual they had developed, and reluctantly, he brought his hands down on hers, an almost physical pang running through him when there was no solidity of contact and she vanished in a shimmer of gold.

“Husband,” Frigga said cooly, turning to face her visitor. “What brings you here at this time of day?”

“Do I need an excuse to come see my beautiful wife?’ Odin asked, a challenging glint in his eye.

“Well, if you have no matters to bring to my attention…” She trailed off, then squared her shoulders and lifted her chin as she faced him. “I wish to see Loki.”

“Do you not already see him?” he countered.

Frigga froze, had he seen or was he only guessing? His face was that inscrutable mask which served him so well as king but which she hated to see on her husband.

Odin sighed. “I know you send your projections to him, you need not worry about that.”

Frigga relaxed. “Ah. I had wondered, but it seemed better not to bring it up if you were willing to overlook it,” she confessed.

“After that first time, when you didn’t press me further to allow you to visit him, I surmised that you had found your own way of seeing him. I know your abilities, and I know you would not let anything keep you from either one of your children if you thought they had need of you.”

“I would not,” she agreed, steel in her voice.

Odin dropped his head, half turning away from her. “I had no right to forbid you from seeing him in the first place. It was wrong, and it was cruel, and I am sorry for it. I wish that I had a better excuse, but in the moment, I was simply angry that he, too, had chosen to attack what he had sworn to defend. Jotunheim I could understand, to some extent, but Midgard?” He closed his eye briefly, feeling the weight of his years, and admitted the ugly truth about himself. “And I spoke what I knew would hurt him most.”

“Yet not sorry enough to take it back once you had spoken.”

“It would have been seen as a sign of weakness.”

“It would have been seen as a sign of compassion!” Frigga snapped, then shook her head. Anger would not get her what she wanted, she knew that much. “So alike, the two of you are, always knowing the words that will wound deepest."

Odin fiddled with a paperweight sitting on a table, a simple, smooth stone with a design on it that had once been painstakingly painted by a young boy. “I remember asking once, what of me you saw in Loki. I had hoped for a better legacy than ‘cruel’ and ‘obstinate’.”

“It is not too late to fix things, Odin,” she urged. “A wise king knows when to admit he is wrong, and to correct his mistakes instead of letting them continue unchecked because he is not man enough to face up to them. When has Loki ever responded well to harshness? Perhaps he would not have stayed so recalcitrant in his refusal to speak of what befell him if you had showed some sign of kindness when he was returned to us. Who knows how long he spent in the Void, unable to think of anything but the fact that he no longer felt that he had a family? That his entire life was a lie? Small wonder he emerged mad, if that is all that happened, but I do not think it is. He did not just stumble onto an army of Chitauri and decide to invade Midgard because he wanted a throne. You did not see his face when I had Gungnir handed to him; he did not expect it, he did not want it. He did not desire rule, only respect, to be seen as Thor’s equal, to make you proud. Would it have killed you to have welcomed him back as his father before you pronounced judgement as his king?” Frigga could not help her voice rising again in condemnation.

“Invading another realm was not the way to gain that respect, nor trying to completely obliterate one!” Odin protested, turning back to her in anger, then his defiance dropped away. He did not want to turn this conversation into a fight anymore than Frigga did. “Never mind Jotunheim, not now. As I said, I understand something of what drove him to attack it, and though I do not condone such an extreme action, it was within his rights as ruling king at the time to retaliate for Laufey’s attack on Asgard. But it is what followed after that complicated matters. I could not simply banish him to another realm to learn a lesson as I did with Thor because I do not know what lesson he needs to learn, and I do not know if that realm would be safe, and most of all, I do not know whether Loki himself would be safe, or whether he might attempt to end his own life again.” Odin looked at her bleakly, the memory of Loki’s face as his son let go of Gungnir and let himself fall into the Void one that still haunted his nightmares. “What else could I have done, other than what I did? And what would you have me do now?”

“It was not what you did but how you did it,” Frigga allowed, for Loki had been a threat that needed containing at the time, even she had to acknowledge that. “But as for now -- be his father! If you want to get him to trust you again, you have to show him that you deserve it. And you can start by letting me visit him, in person.”

“Why now?” he asked, stalling a bit but also curious. “Why have you waited this long to ask again?”

Frigga pursed her lips. “To be honest, until today, I have not been sure if he would welcome my actual presence,” she admitted.

“And today?”

“It was a good day; he was quieter, more settled.”

The corner of Odin’s mouth turned up. “Perhaps we should have sent wine long before this.”

“Do you know everything?” she demanded in exasperation.

“I wish I did. I would give much to know what happened to Loki in the year that he was gone. But do you not think I look in on my son every now and then? I know what today is as well as you do.”

“I don’t think it was just the wine. It had been opened when I arrived, yes, but not enough was gone to influence him in any way. I think he is just...coming back to himself.”

Odin thought of the way Loki had sat quietly and listened to his mother today, as he had watched from Hlidskjalf for a while before withdrawing his Sight and giving them their privacy, no longer the ranting, rage-filled man who had come back to them. It had been a slow change, but a steady one, and he thought longingly of the possibility of one day having his son back. Loki was not Hela, he reminded himself, despite their remarkable physical similarity. The Norns must have been laughing at him when they had sent him Loki’s way. A second chance, to raise a raven-haired child right. And he thought he had done so. Loki had not been molded for war, had not grown up without the softness of love. A succession of memories flashed through Odin’s mind. A baby, smiling and quieting as soon as he was picked up. A small body nestled against his. A boy trustingly slipping his hand into Odin’s. A young man walking with his mother’s hand tucked securely through his arm, love and pride in every line of his bearing. A son grown tall and strong, a son any man would be proud of. Had he told that to Loki often enough, or had he simply assumed that he knew, that that was what Odin had been saying whenever he laid an approving hand on Loki’s back or shoulder, whenever he trusted him with some matter of state, some diplomatic mission? Somewhere along the way they had lost that closeness which Loki and Frigga still had, and Odin had never regretted it more than when Loki had learned of a heritage which did not matter in the slightest to him, but had driven Loki to such despair that he had no longer seen a reason to go on living.

“Odin?” Frigga’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

Odin cast back to the last thing she had said, and remembered, Loki coming back to himself. “I pray that it is so.” He paced across her room, thinking. He was going to agree to Frigga’s request, he knew, but he wondered if he could get something more out of it. Loki’s refusal to talk of what had happened to him during the year he was beyond all their sight irritated him in more ways than the simple defiance of it. Nothing about Midgard made sense; was that simply because Loki had not been thinking rationally at the time or was there a huge puzzle piece there that they were missing? His instincts said the latter, and he wished not for the first time that Thor had managed to bring home the weapon Loki had wielded along with his brother, wondered if there might not be a clue there. If the Bifrost had not been shattered, he would have gone and demanded it of the mortals himself, and not taken no for an answer. Or was he simply looking for a reason which would justify Loki’s actions, that he might give him a chance to redeem himself, as he had given Thor? He nearly growled in frustration as he came up once again against his complete lack of knowledge.

“How much do you think he wishes for your company?” he asked. “Enough to finally tell us what happened to him in exchange for it?”

“I don’t know,” Frigga admitted. “But he did say he would consider talking about it when I mentioned it again today.”

Odin brightened at that. "Considering" was not "agreeing to", but it was the first time that Loki had even given them that much. “Then perhaps we should wait until he comes to that decision. If we give him something that he wants before he does so, it might remove the impetus to give us what we want."

“Odin,” Frigga pleaded, allowing all of her yearning to come through in her voice. “I have not been able to hold my son in over two years. Have not been able to offer even the comfort of a single touch.”

Odin hesitated, then gave in. “A week. We will give him a week, and if he does not say anything more about it, then I will go to him with my offer.” It was hardly any time at all, when Loki had held out this long, but he was tired of being at odds with his wife, and hoped this would help mend the rift between them.

“And if he refuses it?”

Odin looked at her face, saw the fear that she would be further denied the chance to visit her son, and felt shame that he was the cause of it. If Loki scorned him as weak for this, then so be it. He would make this one thing right. “Then you may visit him anyway.”

Frigga’s face lit with joy, and the next thing he knew she had her arms around him. He tried to get his arms up to embrace her back, for he had not been favoured with such attention for a long time, but she was already stepping back, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment while she beamed at him.

“Thank you,” she said with heartfelt fervour.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked hopefully.

“Ask me again when I have held my son in my arms,” she said, but she was still smiling, and Odin’s heart felt lighter than it had for a long time.

As it turned out, they didn’t even have to wait a week. ---

----------

As if thinking of the old dream conjured it back into existence, Loki was haunted by it again that night. Running through the empty palace, looking for someone, anyone, only to find, at last, Frigga, laid out and lifeless and waking to his heart pounding in panicked dread. And for the first time in his life, he could do nothing to reassure himself of her safety other than wait for her visit. When she arrived, he took a deep breath of relief. Only a nightmare, he told himself. But it was harder to dismiss when he woke from the same dream the next morning, except this time he had heard Thanos’s laughter when he had come upon his mother’s dead body, and impossible the third. He was too agitated to eat breakfast and paced restlessly until Frigga finally showed up.

“Tell the Allfather,” he said, having made up his mind that he had to do something, that if the Norns were sending him a message he could not risk ignoring it. If he could not be free to guard his mother’s life, then he must give up what knowledge he had that would allow her to be best prepared to defend herself if and when Thanos broke into the Nine.“That I will answer any questions he may have in return for you being allowed to visit me in person.”

Joy swept through Frigga. “He will be hearing petitioners now,” she said. “Shall I interrupt him or wait till he breaks for the midday meal?”

“Better wait." He didn't want his mother to leave when she had just arrived, and it would give him time to prepare what he was going to say, how much he needed to reveal. "But do it today."

“I will,” she promised.

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

A couple of hours later, Loki came to his feet as he heard approaching footsteps and stood facing the front of his cell, his hands clasped behind his back. He tensed as he saw Odin, but his heart leapt when he saw his mother following behind him.

“Loki,” Odin greeted. “I understand you wish to strike a deal.”

“I do. I will answer any questions that you have in exchange for mother being allowed to visit me whenever she wishes. Inside my cell,” he stressed. When Odin didn’t respond immediately, he swallowed his pride and added “I swear I will not hurt her, nor attempt to use her in any way to escape this place.”

“I never thought that you would hurt her,” Odin admitted after a moment, and glanced at Frigga, then gestured towards the cell. “Very well. Go ahead.”

Two long strides forward and Frigga was deactivating the energy barrier that formed the front of the cell, one more and she was pulling Loki into her arms. “Loki,” she breathed out fervently. “My son.”

It had happened so fast, Loki hadn’t been prepared for it, and flinched back for a second, from the shock of being touched after so long without it, and because for so long before that, touch had always meant pain instead of comfort. He didn’t know what to do for a moment, but then her scent hit him, the smell of herbs and flowers and fresh air, that whispered ‘home’ and ‘safe’ and ‘loved’, and his arms came up instinctively as he wrapped her up tight in his embrace and buried his face against her neck. “Mother,” he said desperately, and then quieter, for her ears alone, “Amma .”

“I’ve got you,” Frigga whispered, burying her hand for the first time in the new length of his hair. “You’re safe.”

Odin heard them both, and relief and remorse swept through him in equal measures. Their son was still in there, still reachable, but looking at Loki’s face was almost painful. Whatever happened today, he vowed he would not keep them apart again. Belatedly he realised he had not reactivated the energy barrier and stepped forward to do so.

Loki heard the faint hum crackle back into life and glanced up, a faint smirk on his face. "A bit slow there, weren't you? I could have teleported right out of here in a second."

Frigga tightened her grip on him. "If you had tried, you would have had to take me with you."

"What an excellent idea, Mother," Loki said brightly. "Where would you like to go?"

She gave him an admonishing shake. "Don't tempt me, you."

"And yet you didn't," said Odin. "Perhaps I am simply choosing to trust my son to keep his word, that he will not try to use his mother's presence in an attempt to escape. Am I wrong to do so?"

Loki shook his head, and raised his chin a notch. "You are not."

For the moment, the mask was gone from his son’s face, Loki’s eyes wide and vulnerable in a too gaunt face, and Odin was reminded of just how young Loki still was. "Good,” he said approvingly. “In return, I ask you to trust me, Loki. Tell me what happened to you. Let me help you, if I can."

“I will save you time and tell you the only thing that you need to know. Thanos the mad Titan seeks the Infinity Stones, and a way into the Nine. Asgard must prepare her defenses and stop him from finding them all.”

Odin's mind instantly flashed back to the conversation that he’d had with Thor on his return to Asgard, when he had grilled him about everything that he could remember Loki doing or saying on Midgard, seeking some clue to his youngest son’s behaviour.

He had a sceptre, with a blue stone, with the ability to control the minds of others.

He was not like himself at all. He looked unwell, and afraid at times, and the manner in which he attacked was so unlike his usual style that I thought he must be in league with someone else.

I thought I was reaching him, when I asked him to stop and come home. For a moment I could see the brother that I knew in his eyes, but then he said that it was too late to go back, and he shook it off and went back to the attack.

A picture was coming together in Odin’s mind, and it was not one that he liked. Loki, his mind already broken, falling into the hands of a being of incomparable power, one who wished to escape his exile outside of the Nine. Thanos discovering that Loki had the ability to walk the shadow paths between worlds. Had the scepter truly borne a blue stone, or had it been a yellow stone concealed in a blue housing? Were the mortals the only ones it had been used upon? The Tesseract. Mind stone and space stone. One risked to gain a second, a ploy that had failed. If Thanos could break into the Nine, it would not only be the Stones he came after, Odin guessed, it would be Loki, for failing to deliver what he had been sent for. For he had no doubt now that Loki had been sent. A year gone, beyond Heimdall’s view. How much of that time had been spent in the Void, how much being broken until his proud, powerful son had been turned into a tool to be used? Had Midgard been offered as a reward for service, or had Loki wanted it as a sanctuary, a bulwark against the Mad Titan when he felt he no longer had a right to claim Asgard as his home?

Oh, Loki, Odin thought, his heart clenching for his son. What did he do to you? He reached out and deactivated the force field at the front of the cell again, and walked in to join his wife and son, meeting Loki’s startled gaze steadily. He had failed his son once, he was not going to fail him again.

“On the contrary, I think I’m going to need to know a great deal more than that.”

Loki, still standing within the circle of his mother's arms, stared. Odin had set the barrier to re-form behind him, effectively trapping him inside the cell with Loki. He would need to call the guard now to let him out. "Was that wise? Locking yourself in with a dangerous criminal? I only promised not to hurt Mother, you know."

"if I have been so poor of a father that I need fear attack from my own son, then perhaps I deserve it." There had been no threat in Loki's voice, though, merely a pointing out of facts, and Odin grinned mischievously. "You can try, though."

Unexpectedly, Loki felt the corner of his mouth quirk up, feeling oddly reassured instead of offended that his own strength and skills were being dismissed. He wanted his father to still be strong, he realised, wanted to feel that childhood certainty that Odin could fix anything, that he could handle any problem brought to him and make everything all right again. He knew that wasn't the case anymore, but still, if Asgard were to stand any chance at all against Thanos, she would need the strength of all her warriors, led by a strong king. And that king needed to be armed with knowledge as well as weapons, knowledge that Loki was tired of bearing alone. If nothing else, Odin could share that burden.

"I would not wish to upset Mother," he said diplomatically, and heard Frigga huff beside his ear.

"No more would I, yet I fear I have done so for far too long. But I am trying to make amends. To you and to her," Odin stressed. "Talk to me, Loki, please. Let me be the father I should have been when you first returned."

For a change, Loki did not feel the need to deny that Odin was his father, knew he could not do so with any conviction at the moment. If not Odin, then who? Certainly not Laufey, who had left him to die. At least Odin had been there, and was here now, apparently still willing to call Loki his son. Perhaps one imperfect father willing to admit his mistakes was better than none. The anger that he had nurtured for over a year fizzled out, and he swallowed hard. "What more do you wish to know?"

"Everything."

His mother's hand gripping his tightly, grounding him, Loki took a deep breath and began to talk.

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

“Amma.”

Sif woke to a small hand tugging on the sleeve of her nightshirt. A pair of clear blue eyes beneath a head of tousled black curls peered at her from just over the top of the mattress.

“What is it, Ullr?”

“I had a bad dream.”

Sif yawned sleepily. “Do you want to spend the rest of the night with us?”

Ullr nodded. “Yes, please.”

He held up his arms to her, and Sif saw that he had his much-loved stuffed bear with him, a present from his Aunt Jane. She sat up and reached down, lifting Ullr up onto the bed and scooted back. Loki, who was always a light sleeper, woke with an inquisitive noise as she bumped into him.

“Mhm?” He rolled onto his side, automatically reaching out to drape an arm over her and draw her close, and came up against an unexpected shape. He woke a little more. “Sif?”

“It's just Ullr. He had a bad dream.”

“Put him between us, then.” He moved back, making room.

“Go on, Ullr.” Sif held the covers up. “You heard your father.” She smiled as Ullr promptly scrambled over her body and was instantly gathered in close by Loki.

Loki nuzzled Ullr’s hair, breathing in the sweet scent of his son and wrapping an arm securely around him as Sif turned to face them, letting the covers fall back over them, enclosing them in a soft, warm cocoon. Ullr didn’t seem visibly distressed, so either the dream hadn’t been too bad, Loki thought, or the memory of it was already fading. Still, there were words which had to be said.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly. “You’re safe.”

#ficwoodelf #loki #frigga #odin #thor #sifki #a bit at the end #marvel fic #mornings

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duhragonball · 3 years

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (153/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

And then there’s these jerks...

[24 December, Age 762. Planet Namek.]

A stiff breeze blew over the azure plains of Namek. The Time Patrol had recruited Luffa from the distant past to hunt down a mysterious enemy who was altering history. She had found them.

They were humanoids with pointy ears, snow-white hair, and ice blue skin. They wore matching costumes of black and red. Towa carried a long spear in her slender hands, while Mira appeared to be the warrior of the pair. With a voice devoid of emotion he threatened to destroy Luffa for daring to oppose them.

Luffa had already taken a beating. Undoing the changes to history had led her to several pitched battles with the Ginyu Force. Her pants were reduced to strips of yellow rags that hung from her waist and boots. Fortunately, her black compression shirt and shorts were much more durable. Since arriving in this strange era, Luffa had found her powers to be a pale shadow of her former glory. Once, she had been the Legendary Super Saiyan, and she would have destroyed the Ginyu Force with a swipe of her golden tail. Now, it had taken everything she had to defeat them one at a time.

She raised her outstretched hand towards Mira, and curled her fingers toward herself, beckoning him to do his worst.

"You acted a bit rashly a moment ago, Mira," Towa said. Usually you ask my permission to attack before you power up. Not that I mind, of course. This Saiyan will make a good test run for you, but I am rather fascinated by how eager you are to fight her."

"He's just smart, that's all," Luffa said. "He knows that I came here to fight, and you two are next on my list."

Mira charged at Luffa and the battle was on. She avoided what she expected was a right punch, only for Mira to grab her by the face with his left hand and drive her into the nearby hillside. She attempted to reverse the grab into an armbar, but he was quick enough to release her before she could lock in a grip. She settled instead for a barrage of punches and kicks. Mira deflected all of these with ease, but Luffa was only testing him at this point. So far, she liked what she was seeing.

"Towa," Mira called out. His voice was louder, but showed no more emotion than before. He spoke like a man reciting passages out of a phone directory, and now he simply raised his voice to be heard. "This is the one who has been interfering with us all along."

"I'd say you're right, Mira," Towa replied from a safe distance. If she was concerned at all about getting hurt during this battle, she didn't show it. It irked Luffa enough that she was tempted to fire a ki blast at her just to make a point, but she didn't want to give Mira any openings. She would deal with Towa in due time, or so she told herself.

"It's a shame, really," Towa said. "We made history a lot more interesting, and then you came along and put everything back to normal again, didn't you? How disappointing. You struck me as somewhat impressive, but all you care to do is maintain the status quo. That's not very adventurous of you, now is it?"

"Is that why you came here?" Luffa asked. "No big plan, just tampering with history for a few laughs?"

Asking that question nearly cost Luffa her head, as Mira fired a large ki blast from his hands that she almost didn't dodge in time. It was like her Galick Gun, but not quite. There was a hint of Saiyan style in Mira's fighting moves, but Luffa wasn't entirely certain what that could mean.

"Oh, I'm here for more than a good time, if that's what you're asking," Towa said. "But speaking of laughs, I did enjoy that part where you switched bodies with Ginyu. Very amusing. You had no idea he could do that, did you?"

"You two were watching us fight the entire time?" Luffa asked. "But none of us sensed your energy. I'm kind of surprised Kakarot and Vegeta aren't rushing over here now to see what I'm up to."

"Your friends will not save you," Mira said in his gloomy monotone. "They have no idea that you're here."

Luffa went low and attempted a kick to sweep Mira off his feet. He avoided her foot, but he failed to account for her tail, which hooked his ankle and flung him over her shoulder. He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to take back the initiative. Luffa pressed on, hammering away at his defenses with rapid strikes. Mira showed no sign of despair or frustration, but Luffa smiled anyway.

"I've been generating a cloaking field around us ever since we came to this time," Towa explained. "It doesn’t obstruct line-of-sight, but it does prevent outsiders from sensing our energy, so that way we can operate and observe without attracting any unwanted attention. That's why you didn't notice us earlier, or on Earth, when we were conducting experiments before."

"Experiments?" Luffa sneered. "That's what you call it? That purple crap you used on Raditz, and then Vegeta and the others?"

"I have to give you some credit," Towa said. "Because of how well you performed against the Ginyu Force, I decided to try the same spell on Frieza's entire crew. I wouldn't have considered trying it otherwise, not that I expected them to beat you, but it certainly made things more amusing. And it seems like you've gotten a little stronger since then. There's something odd about you. I like that."

Mira suddenly set his jaw and tensed his arms, and a bright green field of energy surrounded him, deflecting Luffa's attacks and forcing her away. As the field subsided, he pushed back on Luffa, fighting harder than he had before.

"Getting serious, Mira?" Luffa asked. "Took you long enough. I thought maybe you two were waiting for Frieza or some other goon to show up and bail you out."

"Hmph," Towa said from the sidelines. "I guess you thought I was bluffing before. You're from Earth, aren't you? What do they call it on Earth? A duck blind? Something hunters use to avoid being noticed by their prey. This whole area has been camouflaged, so they won't sense any of us, no matter how hard you and Mira fight. And we're too far away for them to see or hear us. Well, maybe Namekian frogs could pick us up. They have an uncanny power to sense humidity. Did you know that?"

Luffa hadn’t known this, but it explained how she found them. Captain Ginyu had trapped himself in the body of a frog, and somehow he had noticed Towa and Mira from a great distance away. Perhaps his new amphibian senses had picked up the moisture from their breath. If Luffa hadn’t been watching Ginyu, she might not have discovered them. But she had no intention of admitting that.

"So there won't be anyone else joining us?" Luffa asked.

"No one," Mira said.

"Excellent," Luffa replied.

She ducked Mira's next ki blast and then drove an uppercut into his abdomen. Despite his cold, stoic demeanor, Mira's eyes went wide as the breath was driven out of him.

Luffa used the lull in the action to turn her head and spit on the ground. "Don't get me wrong," she said. "I wasn't waiting for someone to help me, and I wasn't worried about someone else showing up to help you. I just wanted to make sure I could fight freely without causing anymore time anomalies. And if no one sensed that little love tap, Mira, then I guess they won't notice this either..."

She balled up her fists and began to scream. Mira recovered from her punch, but he wasn't in any hurry to renew his offensive. He stood his ground and winced as Luffa's ki aura grew stronger. Towa raised an eyebrow, but nothing more.

"You were so excited to fight me, Mira," Luffa said when she finished. "Let's see how you like me now." With a cheerful growl, she raised her left hand over her chest and flung a ball of green energy at him. Unable to dodge in time, Mira tried to block it, only to be stunned as the ki made contact with his body, like his hands had gripped a live wire. The damage was minor, but it gave Luffa an opening to slip behind him and drive her knuckles into the small of his back. To add insult to injury, she grabbed the length of cloth that hung from his waist and swung him around a few times before tossing him into the ground.

"Mira...!" Towa said under her breath.

"You said you watched everyone," Luffa snarled. "Observed all of the fighting. Didn't you pay attention to how those fights ended?"

She pounced on Mira's chest and knocked him over before he could get up. Then she began punching his head as hard as she could. Her hands glowed a furious crimson as she charged them with enough ki to make every blow as painful as possible.

"They ended with my enemies whimpering with fear!" Luffa shouted. "With me slaughtering them like livestock! And you call yourselves the hunters? Not anymore, Mira. Now you're just another victim."

At last, she hit him hard enough to draw blood. It was purple.

"Enough!" Towa gasped as she raised her spear. Luffa caught this motion out of the corner of her eye, and leaped clear of Mira to defend herself.

"So, you finally got bored with watching, Towa?" Luffa asked with a grin. "You're welcome to join us whenever you like. Mira could use a hand, couldn't you, Mira?"

With a horrid look in her eyes, Luffa glared at Towa as she licked Mira's blood off her knuckles.

"You have no idea who it is you're dealing with," Towa insisted. She was almost beginning to look worried. "Mira has defeated far greater warriors than you, little girl. Let me show you..."

The spear began to glow, and Luffa expected an attack, but instead it was Mira who was affected, as he suddenly glowed with a dark red aura, much like the one he had displayed before the fight began. He rose to his feet, and stared at Luffa with a renewed sense of purpose.

"Your fate is sealed," he said, his gloomy voice cutting through the rushing pulse of his ki aura.

"You can make him stronger?" Luffa asked Towa. "Hah! You should have done that in the first place! Do I have to kill him before you'll take me seriously?"

"I had been conserving that energy for other applications," Towa said. Now that Mira was back in the game, Towa had regained her former composure. "But I won't just stand by and let you damage my masterpiece."

Mira wasted no time. As he rushed towards Luffa, she noticed that his wounds had even been healed. Curious, she backed away, retreating into the sky and keeping her distance.

"You two make a hell of team," Luffa taunted. "Mira does the fighting and Towa handles support. Does she fight at all? I was looking forward to seeing what she could do after I kill you, Mira, but I'm starting to think she might not last very long."

Mira didn't answer. Instead, he increased his speed, and suddenly appeared less than a meter away from Luffa, then caught her with a roundhouse kick to her ribs. Before she could fall, he caught hold of her wrist, then wrapped his arms around her and dove head-first to the ground. Just as they reached the surface, Mira released Luffa and jumped clear, leaving her to suffer the impact alone.

"N-not bad..." Luffa muttered as she slowly rose up from the ground. But before she could get to her feet, Mira fired a wide ki blast over the crater she had made. For several long seconds, there was no sign of Luffa from within the intense purple light of Mira's attack. When he ceased fire, she was still alive, but had dropped to one knee, her head tucked behind her forearms in a desperate attempt to defend herself. The burns and scrapes on her skin proved that she had only barely managed to survive.

Mira attacked again, zipping around Luffa with blinding speed, and finally stopping to deliver an elbow strike to the back of her neck. She collapsed, only for Mira to grab her by the collar of her compression shirt and toss her high into the air. He crouched and widened his stance, then held his hands together on his right flank. As he charged his energy again, he spoke.

"Ka...! Me...! Ha...! Me...!"

"Wonderful, Mira," Towa said with a chuckle. "You really do know how to put on a show."

"...Ha!" Mira finished, and he extended his hands, wrist-to-wrist, and fired a burst of blue light directly towards the falling Luffa. The beam caught her in mid-air, breaking her fall and shoving her further into the sky. And further...

And then she stopped.

"What--?" was Mira's only reaction. And then he began to feel something pushing back.

"That... that can't be right," Towa said. "She couldn't be strong enough to handle that attack, especially not after the beating she just took...!"

And then the Namekian skies echoed with raucous laughter.

"Mira! Finish it now!" Towa said. "This is no time to be playing around."

"I'm not 'playing'," Mira said. His expression was as blank as ever, but the strain in his voice was unmistakable. He was doing everything in his power to kill Luffa. It just wasn't enough. And then, finally, his Kamehama Wave deflected at a near right angle. The beam continued on into the sky, leaving only the one who had deflected it.

Luffa dropped to the ground and smiled triumphantly. The yellow rags had all been burned away, and even her black shorts and shirt were beginning to show signs of wear. Her hands were trembling, and her eyes were wide with wild, desperate emotions. But she was still alive, and eager to continue fighting.

"Come on!" she shouted, pointing at her face.

"You've gone mad with terror, then," Mira said. "Very well."

He rushed Luffa again and struck her in the jawline. Luffa absorbed the blow, and responded with a punch of her own. Mira stayed on his feet, but the impact staggered him.

"That's not all you've got, you bastard!" Luffa snarled. "Again!"

"Mira, watch out--" Towa warned, but Mira took the bait. He tried a kick this time, and Luffa winced and gritted her teeth when his boot hit her ribs, but she recovered and fired back with a kick of her own, which landed squarely on Mira's right thigh. He shuddered as his quadricep began to spasm from the impact.

"You used to be a lot stronger than this," Luffa said. "I can read it in your fighting style. You're accustomed to fighting on a higher level than where we are now. But you can't attain that level anymore. You might get back there eventually, but you've got a long way to go."

"I have all the power I require to destroy you," Mira insisted.

Luffa laughed and held her hands behind her back. "You don't have anything," she said as she held up her chin, daring him to take another free shot. Her wide eyes glared at him as she waited for him to answer. "You've got skill, Mira, and you know how to handle all that power, but you've got no spirit, and that's why you'll never win against me."

"You're bluffing," Mira said evenly. "If you think your feeble threats can intimidate me, then you are a fool. I will end this here and now."

"Maybe you're right, Mira," Luffa said. "I honestly don't know myself, and that's what makes it so exciting. But I feel very sure of myself right now. Like the next punch you land is going to push me over the edge. So how about it? What do you feel?"

She held her ground, waiting for Mira to make the next move. For a moment, he hesitated, but only for a moment. "It's over," he said. "Don't worry. I'll use your energy well."

Then he drew back his right arm and prepared to strike, until--

"Hold on, Mira!" Towa called out. He stopped immediately, and waited for her next command.

"Looks like someone's not ready to find out if I was bluffing," Luffa said. "Too bad."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself," Towa said. "I only wanted to ask you a few questions before Mira kills you."

She approached the two of them and stood beside Mira, who seemed mildly annoyed at being ordered to stand down. Towa looked very calm, but Luffa couldn't help but notice how she held the spear in her hands, rolling it anxiously in her slender fingers.

"Who's supporting you?" Towa asked. "Who's backing you up? It's not as if you could have done this on your own."

"Why not?" Luffa said with a grin.

"Don't play dumb with me," Towa said. "You traveled through time, came to this planet, just to fight us? It doesn't make any sense. Someone put you up to this. I'd like to know who."

Luffa's only reply was the sadistic grin on her face.

"I see... So it's the silent treatment, huh? No matter." She gestured to Mira. "Let's leave her for now, Mira."

Mira crossed his arms indignantly, though his blank expression remained unchanged.

"You don't mind, do you?" Towa asked him. "As she is, she's nothing right now. I could extract her energy, but it wouldn't amount to much. But maybe things will be different... later."

Mira harrumphed in reply.

"Well, let's move on to the next era," Towa said.

"What makes you think you can just walk away?" Luffa asked.

The two of them turned their backs to Luffa, and Towa glanced over her shoulder and laughed quietly. "I'll let you live for now... little girl. But if you decide to get in our way again... I'll have you erased."

"Why wait?" Luffa asked, but before she could do anything, Towa and Mira vanished. She couldn't sense them anywhere. For a moment, Luffa considered that they might be hiding again, using the "duck blind" that Towa had spoken of. How long would it take to search the planet? Were they even still on the planet to be found?

Before she could weigh her options, the world around her began to fade into a swirl of colorful light. Luffa had experienced this before. The Time Patrol was bringing her back from the past. For now, her mission was over.

NEXT: The Time Breakers.

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #luffa #towa #mira #namek

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nextgensquad · 4 years

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molly weasley having more grandchildren than anyone every thought possible, and not always through ordinary means, and loving every last one of them unconditionally no matter what.

it starts with teddy: she goes over to andromeda’s house to help with food and diaper-changing and entertaining him so andromeda can get a few hours of peace. harry and ginny, once they get their own place, have him over often enough that whenever molly comes by, he treats her just like he does his own grandmother—cheery, excited, always demanding her attention. when he gets older, he takes to popping by the burrow just to steal some of her cookies and kiss her on the cheek and ask her about her day.

(andromeda tells her once, over afternoon tea, that she doesn’t know if she would have survived it, without molly and her family to help. looking at teddy, raising teddy, with his mother’s heart-shaped face and his father’s guilt and andromeda’s own grey eyes—it’s a kind of pain molly knows well. knows it every time she looks at george.)

and then bill and fleur start having kids, and victoire is the brightest bundle of joy in the weasley family for years. born premature, born on the anniversary of the worst day of molly’s life, named for the victory-that-didn’t-feel-like-a-victory—

it’s not so easy, to love the children who remind you of the one you lost. but molly does, anyway. she holds victoire close and promises she won’t ever let her go, and she does the same with louis, and with dominique, knowing that even with every hand she adds on the clock it won’t bring back the one hand that’s stopped moving.

but you keep going, that’s how it is. you keep building and growing and teaching and learning. charlie comes to her when he’s twenty-eight and tells her, very quietly, “mum, i’m gay, and i want you to meet my boyfriend,” and he doesn’t seem like he knows what to expect until molly tackles him in a hug.

children are children, and all of them are different: this is something molly knows very well. so even though charlie never has kids, she cries up a storm at his wedding, and cries harder when he introduces her to the three baby dragons that have just hatched on the reserve and tells her that they’ve named one of them ‘molly’ after her.

“there’s nobody fiercer than you, mum,” he says, laughing as she clutches the red-scaled baby dragon in her hands. “these are your newest grandchildren.”

percy takes his idea and gives her name to his daughter, when she is born as one-of-a-set, her and her sister lucy, both of them tiny and red and screaming at the world. this is the hardest molly has ever cried at a grandchild’s birth, watching her namesake cradled in percy’s arms, watching lucy cry out for her sister, thinking of two different sets of twins with red hair and freckles and the uncanny ability to always know when their other half was missing.

little molly is seven and licking cookie dough out of a bowl in the burrow’s kitchen when she stops and looks very seriously at her grandmother and asks her, “grandmum, why did you have so many kids?”

molly looks at her tiny granddaughter, with her red hair in a long ponytail and her blue eyes (like percy, like arthur) so full of dreams and questions and puzzles, and smiles before she can help herself.

“well, i had two little brothers,” she explains, a serious answer for a serious little girl. “and i loved taking care of them so much that i wanted a lot of my own children so i could take care of them, too.”

“oh.” little molly nods, her ponytail bouncing. “i get it. i don’t want lots, though. i just want me and lucy and that’s it.”

molly laughs and wipes cookie dough from little molly’s face and sends her scurrying off to find her sister soon after, thinking about molly and lucy and fabian and gideon and george and fred who could never have kids, who would have loved them, too. she thinks maybe that’s why she got to live—so she could learn to love them that much more even with a broken heart.

george and angelina aren’t married when they announce that they’re expecting a kid, and they still aren’t married when fred comes out with his beautiful dark hair and brown eyes he got straight from his father (from molly), and they still aren’t married when roxanne comes along with her long curls and the same brown eyes and sense of humor stolen straight from her uncle, so at some point molly gives up nudging them towards marriage—fred and roxanne are so much more important than a ceremony and a pretty dress, anyway.

molly still cries the day angelina moves out, because maybe some part of her had thought that getting married and having kids would help to heal the brokenness in george’s gaze and the empty spaces in his heart where fred had lived, but he sits her down and tells her softly, “it’s okay, mum, it’s okay, we love each other so much, just not the same way we once did, and she’ll still be around, we love the kids, she loves you.”

he’s right about that, because when angelina falls in love again, after she goes to her father, she brings cho chang to the burrow, almost hesitantly as if worried that molly might reject her almost-daughter-in-law and her new relationship. but molly only draws them both into a hug so tight she never wants to let them go, not angelina with her fierceness and her laughter and her unwillingness to let anybody feel lost, not cho with her silver laugh and her warm hands and her reaching for someone to hold onto after her last marriage failed.

molly weasley doesn’t turn away broken kids. she tells angelina, “i always wanted daughters, and now i have more. i could never be unhappy about that.”

cho brings her daughter over, a girl named emika with quiet eyes and a rare smile used to a house without laughter or love, used to a father who didn’t stay, and not at all used to people who will stay for anyone, regardless of where they come from or who they are. molly bakes her a fresh batch of cookies and george shows her how his latest invention works and when the upstairs bathroom explodes and louis comes storming down with neon green hair and zebra stripes, emika finally starts laughing.

the thing about the burrow is that no matter who you are, you’ll find a corner of it to call your home. and even though they’ve expanded and built rooms and sheds and treehouses, arthur’s never fixed that rackety old door and molly doesn’t even ask him to, anymore. the burrow is for everyone, no matter how lost or lonely or searching.

it’s where ron comes to tell her that hermione’s pregnant, with his hands shaking around a cup of hot chocolate, his blue eyes terrified and desperate and so full of love that it’s impossible to remember a time when he wasn’t in love with hermione. molly and arthur sit with him and promise him that he’ll be a good father and she eases his worries away with a blanket to cover him and a kiss on his forehead to send him to sleep, just like she did all those years ago before the war stole him away.

“you’ll be the best father any kid could ask for,” arthur tells him, hand on his knee, just like when ron was little. “because you’re the best son any parent could ask for.”

and later, watching ron hold little baby rose in his arms for the first time, his eyes shining with wonder and awe, molly knows that they’re right. knows that they raised their kids to do the best they can, just the way they had from the moment the first war began. that this is what they were fighting for all alone—for their son to hold his newborn daughter in his arms for the first time and fall in love all over again.

rose is an easy baby, compared to the potters. molly can’t ever forget the time ginny showed up through the fireplace, james clinging to her leg and albus screaming in her arms, lily yet unborn and kicking in her stomach, and all but collapsed in her mother’s arms, begging to know how she did it, so many times, for so many years.

“a lot of patience,” molly says with a smile, prying james from his mother’s legs so al can have her full attention. “a lot of tears. and a lot of knowing that the best is yet to come.”

ginny sighs deeply, rocking al in her arms until he starts to calm down. “what if we fuck them all up, mum? what if i can’t handle it?”

“ginny,” says molly, “you survived voldemort. you can survive motherhood. and it’s not like you’re alone.”

to prove it, she calls arthur and he shows up with hermione and angelina and audrey and they take ginny away for a day of coffee and shopping and relaxation while she and arthur deal with their two precious dark-haired grandsons until both of them are calm and fed and sleepy on the couch by the time harry comes back to pick them up.

it never really gets easier, in molly’s experience—children are children and your children will always be your children, no matter how old they get. things turn out complicated in new and different ways than they did when it was her and arthur and two boys and percy on the way and a war burning up around them.

so when percy’s marriage fractures under the pressures of his first term as minister of magic, she shows up to his suddenly-empty house and fills in the spaces where audrey had lived with lights and laughter and fresh cooking. he never figures out how to thank her—but then, percy’s never been big on that sort of thing anyway, but she knows he appreciates it because his daughter comes home for christmas holidays and hugs molly tight and whispers, “thank you for looking out for him,” and, well, little molly’s always been the best parts of percy and audrey, anyway.

and when audrey brings home a new daughter from her new marriage and lucy shows up fuming on the burrow’s doorstep, her motorcycle parked haphazardly in the front yard, molly doesn’t tell her that she’ll learn to love her new sister, or that she shouldn’t be mad at her mother for leaving and starting a new family, or that she should be more patient with her father, because that’s not what lucy came to hear. so instead she makes lucy’s favorite spicy noodles and they sit in the living room and lucy vents about how annoying her new sister is until arthur comes home and laughs and they set up ginny’s old bedroom for lucy to sleep in.

all children are different, and this above all else is what molly knows better than anything. so when lucy takes the divorce and the remarriage and her new french step-sister and turns it all into reckless energy that she burns across the skies by stealing arthur’s old ford anglia, she tells percy not to punish her, not to tear her down when she just wants to fly. she lets lucy stay that summer at the burrow, where she never has to run into audrey and her new family if she doesn’t want to, even though her sister molly is taking the brunt of the drama and the tabloid gossip with as much grace as she can manage, and she doesn’t make lucy answer the door when audrey turns up at the burrow’s doorstep and asks to see her daughter.

“i know she doesn’t want to see me,” says audrey with a bone-deep sigh, too used to her daughter acting out and shutting people out and burning until everyone around her is on fire. “will you at least meet clea? i know she’s not really part of the family—”

molly knows lucy is listening from the stairs, but she says it anyway: “audrey, you will always be part of our family. and all your daughters are my granddaughters.”

audrey, who comes from a cold, glittering pureblood family that’s still never learned to treat its daughters as anything but coat hangers for pretty dresses and wedding rings, smiles the small, unsure smile of a woman still learning how love works, even after two marriages and three daughters.

molly doesn’t have to do much to persuade lucy, after that; the two of them go with audrey, lucy sullen and quiet, to meet her step-daughter clea in a coffee shop in diagon alley, and even though clea is french and snotty and tries her hardest to look down her nose at her new step-sister, she still laughs in surprise when lucy tells the story of how she stole her grandfather’s car and flew all the way to ireland before anyone caught up with her, and audrey doesn’t even say anything disapproving, so molly thinks it’s been a success.

clea shows up to the burrow for family get-togethers and potlucks more often than not; she and emika and teddy three different versions of outsiders. teddy barrels his way into the heart of the family, positive and delighted in his place in it; emika speaks quietly with fred, ever-unsure what to do with her step-siblings but slowly getting better at it; and clea picks up a conversation in french between victoire and fleur and carves out a place there even with lucy still avoiding her as much as possible.

of all three of her almost-grandchildren, she doesn’t expect teddy to be the one to disappear from their weekend brunches.

something happens—and she wishes she knew what it was, but it seems that nobody does, not even bill and fleur or harry and ginny—and in the middle of planning their wedding, teddy and victoire break up. it shouldn’t be the end of the world, even though molly had always thought they would end up together, even though they had been dating so long, and she knows that nobody would ever exile teddy just for a break-up, not even dominique or louis, but he seems to take the decision out of their hands when he stops showing up.

“she hasn’t told you why?” she asks fleur over their weekly tea together, watching her daughter-in-law’s face draw down as she thinks about the break-up that split their family. “you don’t think he was cheating, do you?”

fleur scoffs. “not teddy. ‘e would never—i asked victoire and she said eet wasn’t anything like that. she said eet wasn’t anything any of us could understand. i told her, we have all had relationships that did not work out but…”

“every child always thinks their pain is completely unique,” molly says with a sad smile. “maybe it is.”

“if she would tell me, we could help,” says fleur, frustrated. “she eez not seeing the bigger picture—the family—”

“do you remember,” says molly suddenly, “how i didn’t want you and bill to get married at all?”

fleur blinks at her. “of course.”

“maybe you wanting her and teddy to get married is… sort of the same thing.”

fleur sighs. “but he eez good for her—and good to her. we all know this. you can’t fall out of love in a month.”

“love mattered a great deal to us, when everything in our world was about war and death and hate,” molly says thoughtfully. “maybe it just looks different without all that above their heads.”

maybe, she thinks but doesn’t say, victoire still hasn’t found what she’s looking for, and maybe it’s harder to find it with the sun of a victorious world always beating down on your shoulders. maybe it’s hard to know what you want when your parents are legends, war heroes and curse-breakers and good and strong and kind. molly is so proud of the children she’s raised, of the people they’ve married, but she can’t imagine how it must feel on the other side of the family, growing up looking into the sun so long it blinds you.

she sends victoire a care package, and then sends teddy one, too. children are children, and they all need love and support, whether they’re willing to admit it or not.

things keep changing—they always do, whether you want them to or not, this she has learned—and even as she gets older and her grandchildren grow, she finds very little can prepare her for watching these children become who they are, shining in the sunrise of a world without the dark lord, but still with enough shadows of their own. she gives advice as she can, to the ones who bother to come to the burrow—little molly and lucy, now out of hogwarts, stop by the most often, and there’s albus, who comes by to talk to his grandfather about muggle electronics, and sometimes even lily, who will only allow her grandparents to see her without that burnished glory she projects like wildfire to everyone else.

it’s james who rarely visits. james, growing up as the eldest son of harry potter and ginny weasley, james with the endless gryffindor fire that burns everyone around him and then burns him out with it, james who spends most of his days out in a club or on the streets and rarely comes home even when the papers publish photographs of him with a black eye or swollen lip after every dangerous weekend. molly reads all the papers and keeps salves and ointments and practices all the healing charms she knows by heart, just in case he ends up on her doorstep the way he did when he was little and had skinned his knee in the backyard.

he does, though—just once the entire year he is twenty-one, and not with any injuries from once. his face is bleak, his gaze terrified, but he doesn’t smell of alcohol or drugs or anything.

“i’m sorry,” he says when she invites him in to sit on the couch, his hands shaking in his leather jacket. “i wanted to tell you before it got out—abby’s pregnant.”

for a second, molly has to think on who he’s talking about, so distracted by the miserable way her grandson looks, by the way he seems to be expecting her and arthur to start yelling at him. abigail longbottom is another one of the regular invitees to the weasley family gathering, her and her brother jake growing up enmeshed in their family, playing with the potters and their cousins until the skies grew dark in the days of their childhood. molly’s always liked her.

“you’re having a baby?” arthur asks, always clarifying before jumping to conclusions, even as his hand reaches over the couch to take hers and clutch it. they have wanted grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, just as much as anyone else, but james looks so young, so lonely, so wrecked sitting there on their couch, too young to have a child.

“i am. i mean, she is. she’s keeping it. i don’t know if… if she’ll let me be a part of this.” james swallows, his gaze faraway and aching. “but… i’m sure she’ll want you to be a part of it—the baby’s life. i just…”

he drops his head down into his hands and molly moves in a flash to take him into her arms and hold him as he cries. she hasn’t seen james cry in a long time, not since he was twelve and broke his arm in a family quidditch match, and suddenly, all these years later, he is twelve again, sniffling and clinging to her arms as if she can heal everything with a hug.

she wishes she could. arthur goes quietly into the kitchen to make james a cup of hot chocolate and pulls out all the candy that he would have loved when he was twelve, and then they all sit in the kitchen, eating chocolates, and james tells them all about how it happened, why it happened, and how much he desperately wants the kid even though he knows it’s not a good idea at all.

“i mean, shit—sorry—” he hiccups on his second mug of hot chocolate, still unused to swearing in front of his grandparents. “she’s nineteen and i feel terrible. and i’m barely older and it still feels like… i don’t know. it just sucks because if it was vic and teddy having a kid then everything would be fine, but it’s me.”

“james,” says arthur gently, “no matter what kind of a father you are, that child will never have anything less than complete and utter love in their life. that’s not something you need to worry about. it doesn’t matter that it’s you and abby instead of victoire and teddy.”

james doesn’t really look like he believes him, but he nods anyway. “you know, you guys are a lot nicer about this than mum and dad were.”

molly shares a smile with arthur. “well, we have some experience with having kids a little young that your parents don’t.”

james frowns at her. “really?”

“we were twenty-two when your uncle bill was born,” arthur agrees. “it was terrifying then, no matter how much we loved him, and i’m sure it would be terrifying now. you’re never really prepared for children, even when you think you are.”

“everyone feels like they’re the worst parent in the world,” molly says, “and truthfully, nobody can be the best. all that matters is trying.”

she sees it in james’ face the first time he holds his newborn daughter—the same look his father had, that arthur had, that they all have when they see their child for the first time—that he does finally believe them about being a parent. it’s always harder than it seems, harder than it looks, and harder than anybody would believe without becoming one themselves.

“but it’s worth it, right?” ginny had asked her, the first night she had found out she was pregnant with james, her voice very small and her arms cradling around her still-flat stomach, as if terrified something might burst out of there before she was ready.

molly had smiled and tucked her daughter’s hair behind her ear and said, “it’s always, always worth it.”

#hp fic #hp next gen #hp next generation #molly weasley #teddy lupin #and... pretty much everyone else too #ours #writing #pearl #this....got ahead of me somehow

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dicedungeons-and-dragons · 4 years

Text

Scales

Note: As most of you know my campaign has well as truly taken over my life and I’ve been writing little (and not so little) stories based around it. And I’ve decided to post them from time to time, they’re going to be tagged ‘cotd fics’ if you want to blacklist them, I’m also sticking them under a ‘read more’ but I know they glitch a lot so sorry if it doesn’t take. Here’s a little one because I’ve been plagued by the fact that dragon bloodline sorcerers canonically have scales.

His mother noticed when he was five.

She found little patches of pebbled skin on his shoulders, along his elbows and knees, and running along his spine. The skin wasn’t red, or itchy, or like any rash she’d seen but she’d been worried and taken him to the local physician anyway. The older man hadn’t known what to make of the tough little bumps either and had given them a special lotion. Waylan got in the habit of putting it on the patches every night and morning, but the pebbled skin never went away.

***

His father takes notice of it when he’s nine.

His mother has been dead for eleven months and things are different now. There’s no more music constantly drifting through their home, his father works longer hours, and Waylan is silently expected to care for himself. The expectation is distant. His father doesn’t call him a burden, doesn’t scoff or roll his eyes when he asks for something, but he makes a point of showing Waylan how things are done in the house and where things are so that he doesn’t have to ask for them again. So Waylan learns how to make and tend fires around the house, for warmth and cooking, how to do his laundry, and eventually, where the first-aid kit is.

He burns his hand on the fire poker, not having realized that he’d left it resting too close to the roaring flame he’d brought to life. His father heard his scream from across the house and he’d come running. The sharp red line already had two blisters bubbling up inside of it and his father had picked him up and taken him straight to the bathroom, setting him on the edge of the tub before rooting around in the small dresser that sat beside the door. He’d put a thick cream on the raw skin, wrapped it, and warned Waylan to be more careful.

When he’d taken the bandages off a few days later the blisters were gone, but a distinct line of that pebbled skin had risen in their place.

***

Waylan figures it out when he’s fourteen.

After his hands catch fire, after he can suddenly hold a piece of wire and talk to someone over a hundred feet away, after he realizes he has magic. And once he realizes it he starts to research, finding scant moments to slip away from his father when they’re in Creta so that he can buy as many books as his bag can hold about the arcane. And when they’re home he reads. He learns about the different sources people have for their abilities. There are people who use words and songs to pull their magic from the strings of the universe, people who through their own means and study are able to learn the craft like a science, people who draw power from the natural world, and people who are just born with arcane magic. Though his mother had taught him to play piano when he was still little he doubts his fumblings there are the source of the fire he can feel burning under his skin. So he figures he must have just been born like this.

And there are plenty of records of other born sorcerers. There are some who can’t contain their magic and strange, sometimes destructive, things happen around them. But he understands what Sabroth and Dojhan say when they speak draconic and he’s never been taught. And he thinks that maybe he should be more surprised to find out that there’s dragon blood somewhere in his family line. But he’s more relieved just to find some answers. He reads the chapter on mages with dragon blood four times that night. And when he goes to bed he traces his fingers lightly over the raised rough skin along his shoulders and the backs of his forearms.

Scales. Thin and flesh colored, not the metallic (or dare he think, chromatic) color of his ancestor, but another remnant of them. Something left behind to protect him.

He stops using the strange lotions from his childhood.

***

Gadreel doesn’t notice them until after they start to date.

That’s not a surprise really. The protective patches blend in with his skin, they’re pretty nondescript until they’re felt. Gad’s fingers twitch where they’re curled around his hips, his calloused fingers taking note of the unexpected tough texture.

“Scales,” Waylan mutters against his throat. He wants to try and press himself closer into Gad’s lap, but he’s still unsure and off balance. The stump of his arm aches and it would really kill the mood if he fell over because he couldn’t catch himself.

“Scales?”

“Dragon blood.” He says in draconic, nipping sharply along the edge of his jaw. He taught Gadreel the tongue he’d been given by birthright. “Now fuck me.” Waylan adds in the orcish Gad had taught him.

He doesn’t comment on the patches of scales he finds as he runs his hands along the rest of his body.

***

Ray finds out shortly after.

She is their resident healer, though both Lugh and Vani can make due in a pinch, and he is the resident torture victim. He’s got a lot of healing to do. Ray chatters away at him when he seeks her out to take a look at his arm. She healed a lot of the damaged, closed the bone over the marrow and stopped the bleeding when they’d found him. But the damage to the muscles and nerves required a check-up. So he lets her chatter and waits patiently as she finishes unwrapping the bandages to get a better look.

“Oh,” he doesn’t look at her or at the rough stump of his arm. His stomach twists and sinks. That wasn’t a bad sound necessarily, but he doesn’t like the idea that she’s surprised by some new development with the injury. “Does this always happen when you’re hurt?” Teeth clenched, he finally glances down at the stump.

The scales are thicker, thicker then he’s ever seen them anywhere on his body, almost as defined as Dojhan’s. They’re an unhappy, flushed raw color where they’re swelling around the stitches Ray’s supposed to be removing.

“Never been hurt like this before.” He grunts in response. Ray mulls that over for a second. He wonders what inane thing she’ll come up with this time and half wants to yank away from her touch. He’s not half bad with a medical kit himself, he could probably take care of this on his own the slow way.

But instead Ray just says, “Tell me if anything hurts.” And starts trimming away the black thread. When she checks the bandages on his chest as well they find a similar line of rough thick scales.

***

He notices after a few more months of traveling with the party that the scales don’t go back to the way they were before.

The ones around the stump of his left arm are still thick and rigid, a protective insulation against the potential discomfort of his mechanical prosthetic when he manages to procure one. As are the ones tracing the wound left by Gadreel’s axe. But he starts to notice the scales growing thicker in other places. Along his other arm, down the front of his chest and thighs, spider webbing out from the slash the Crimson Sign left across the hollow of his throat. The more they fight, the more his magic grows, the more scales he feels on his skin. They’re still invisible save for the pink tinged ones that line his scars, but Waylan can’t help but note the changes.

The scales are for protection and the gods know he could use as much as he can get traveling with this lot. And when he leaves them, leaves Gadreel, only a few days after the winter solstice to travel to one of the most isolated and dangerous places in the world, he's grateful to carry that protection on his skin.

***

He tells Corzaren.

They’re in the ruined castle, and after weeks he’s finally persuaded the undead creature to remove his armor. Seeing what two hundred years of decay has done to the knight is strange, but in a different way than he’d expected it to be. Waylan had known that Corzaren would be nightmarish. But the skeleton in front of him with red coal bright pinpricks of light burning in its eye sockets isn’t frightening really. Though he wonders if he’d feel differently if he didn’t know Corzaren as well as he does.

“Can I?” He raises his flesh hand.

“Of course.” Corzaren leans forward, still far taller than him even without his thick armored boots and helmet, and lets Waylan carefully cup his fingers over the bones of his face. It is strange to see the mandible part and hear the words slip out with no assistance from lips or tongue. The bones are rough under his fingers and the heavy thrum of necrotic energy that keeps the knight’s soul bound and animating his corpse makes Waylan’s hand start to go cold and numb after a few moments.

“Can you feel this?” He asks, drops his fingers down to the creature’s neck so he can carefully touch the interlocking pieces of his spine.

“Vaguely. I mostly note the pressure. I imagine I feel your touch as much as you can feel this.” He reaches out and runs his fingers along the metal arm. And the magic and machinery that keep the prosthetic going does transmit some of that sensation to him. Mainly a whisper of pressure, and a slight twinge that he suspects is the arm’s magic reacting to Corzaren’s necrotic energies. But no registration of texture or temperature.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I am content being as close to you as I am able.” That makes his heart do a funny thing behind his ribs so Waylan just settles for tracing careful fingers along the thin bones of Corzaren’s instead. They feel brittle, like even he could break them without much effort, but when he does press a little more roughly he finds them solid as steel under his hand. Corzaren doesn’t even acknowledge the attempt, and to be honest Waylan wouldn’t have even tried if he thought for a second he’d actually do the other man harm.

When Corzaren’s touch moves from his prosthetic to his cheek he doesn’t say anything, just leans in to the touch slightly as he continues his inspection of the knight’s skeleton. There’s no flesh left on him, and Waylan’s a little grateful for that. He thinks this would be a lot more unpleasant if Cor looked like some of the bodies mouldering away on the lawn. Instead the old bones are clean, and scarred. A deep gouge in his rib here, a nick along his vertebrae there, and notably a crack, long and thin a few centimeters from his sternum on the left side of his ribcage. When Way’s fingers hesitate there Corzaren says,

“When Westly finished the ritual he asked me to fall on his blade. He was too far gone to sever his own soul from his body, but if I was willing then he could sever mine. Spare me the fate that was coming for everyone in the castle.”

“And avenge him and his mother?”

“No, Westly was a kind man, I don’t think revenge would have ever crossed his mind.”

Waylan doesn’t say anything when Crozaren’s fingers drop to his throat. He’s not wearing his necklace, and the pale pink scar smiles along his throat. “Same person who did almost all the rest of it.” Is all he offers in explanation. He hasn’t told Corzaren about the Sign yet. He’ll get around to it eventually. He doesn’t flinch as the thin bones run over the scar, but they make a loud rough sound in the quiet room despite the soft touch. The undead creature pauses and then does it again, as if he doesn’t know quite what to make of the discordant and unfamiliar sound. “I grow scales over my deepest scars.”

“Were you anyone else I would think that was a metaphor.”

“Good thing I’m not then.”

***

Terran knows he has scales after the first five minutes they speak.

Which is fair, he supposes, considering the man is a real dragon and an old one at that. He’s been around long enough to have seen other sorcerers.

(“Do you have any kids?” He asked one day when the thought crossed his mind.

“Absolutely not.” The other had replied with such an air of disgust Waylan couldn’t be sure it wasn’t intentionally exaggerated as a joke. “I have far more important things to do than contend with offspring or run around spreading my seed like a base animal, unlike some.”)

Waylan doesn’t realize how nice it is not to have to explain himself until he suddenly doesn’t have to. When they start sleeping together and Terran’s hands find the patch of scales running along his sternum, Waylan's mouth automatically opens to speak. But Terran doesn’t hesitate, just scrapes the whisper of claws between the interlocking pattern before continuing on. He doesn’t even blink. And the thing is Waylan never thought he was particularly self-conscious about the patches, but having them treated as if they are no more interesting than any other piece of skin loosens a coil of tension that he hadn’t even realized was taut in him. Terran neither pays them special attention nor ignores them. And that bland acceptance is something Waylan didn’t even know he wanted.

Over the course of the next few months that treatment has Waylan not thinking about them as if they’re anything strange or special either. It’s just his skin. Not his skin and the patches of scales. It’s all just him, and it’s no more worth acknowledgement than his eyelashes or fingernails.

So maybe that’s why he’s so confused when Terran starts muttering, voice low and angry, one rare sunny afternoon as they’re laying tangled in a pile of furs together. He feels the dragon’s fingers on his spine, pressing and pulling at his skin, it’s not painful, but the skin is still tight. The draconic letters he’d had Terran carve into his skin finished healing a few weeks ago, but it’s still tender.

“What’s got your tail in a twist?” He mumbles into the cradle of his flesh arm, reaching back with the metal one to push Terran’s probing fingers away. “If you wrote it wrong I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh no pet, it’s worse than branding you incorrectly.” He hisses, smacking Waylan’s hand away in response and putting his fingers back on his skin. “You’re marked correctly, and I’m afraid I’m debating the merits of killing you.”

A few months ago a statement like that would have actually frightened him. Now, “If you’re going to break up with me at least wait until Corzaren comes back so he can sooth my heartbreak.”

Terran swats him on the ass. “I’m being quite serious, brat.”

“Sure, why are you dumping me?”

“Because your scales are coming in.” Terran half snarls.

And that does give him pause. “My scales? You’ve already seen my scales.”

“Not these,” to accentuate his point he grinds his thumbs along the inner curve of his shoulder blades. Waylan makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, the scales there must have gotten more pronounced because Terran puts a fair amount of pressure when he touches them and they ache as he draws his hand back.

“Ow.”

“Suck it up I have bigger problems.”

“You know what, you’re a jackass, I’m dumping you.” He makes precisely no move to extract himself from the furs and go find his scattered clothes.

“Your wing plates are starting to grow.” Terran finally says.

“What?”

“They serve as a place for you to focus your magic and manifest your wings once you’re able to sustain that kind of power.” Waylan considers this for a moment. He knew that sorcerers like him could eventually learn how to create wings and fly, he didn’t know there would be a physical change to accompany the magical one.

“Okay, so why are you mad?”

“Because your skin is pink.”

“Yes. Sorry I can’t be as sallow and pale as you.”

Terran pinches the back of his neck this time and Way yelps. “You are my blood,” he hisses in draconic. “And we do not come in pink.”

Ah. So that's it. “So you’re saying you won’t love me anymore if we clash colors?”

“I should have known from your affinity with fire.” He laments. “But with your eyes and hair I had hoped. A metallic would be better than--” He lets out a string of curses, mostly in draconic, but Waylan thinks he hears the rough incomprehensible sounds of abyssal thrown in as well.

“Would you rather I be green?” Like you.

“That was never a possibility, pet,” Terran finally says, huffing out a sigh before pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “You’re far too terrible at manipulation and subterfuge for starters.” He doesn’t bother taking it as an insult. “But really? Couldn’t you have been gold? Brass even?”

“I can’t control my blood.”

“Have you tried?” They’re quiet for a few minutes. And eventually Terran’s hands return to his shoulder blades and he runs his fingers over the scales again and again.

“When do you think I’ll be able to fly?” Waylan finally asks.

“I’m not sure, it’ll depend on how quickly you develop your gifts. But I think you’ll enjoy it.” He makes a soft sound of agreement in the back of his throat. “It will be torture to fly that slowly, but when you can perhaps I can teach you a thing or two.”

“You’re going to still want to be seen with me if I am red?”

“I suppose, and if I change my mind swatting you out of the sky will be a very efficient way of solving that problem.” Waylan huffs, but doesn’t say anything. After all, Terran doesn’t stop pressing soft reverent touches to the forming wing plates.

He’s twenty-one when he learns he’s going to have true scales and the wings to match. And he’s greatly looking forward to showing them off.

#call of the divine #cotd fics #waylan #dnd fic #dnd character #ray #corzaren #terran #oc: waylan #oc: corzaren #oc: terran #oc: gadreel #my writing

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thompsborn · 4 years

Text

did someone say “sneak peak for a thompsborn one shot that’s in the works”? no? well here u go anyway!!

TW: it isn’t super HEAVY heavy, but this sneak peak does include hints towards aggressive/abusive parenting, as well as a mention of a tight grip on a shoulder that will likely bruise

—

They meet when they’re six years old.

“Mr. Osborn,” Harrison Thompson greets, dressed up in his finest suit with his facial hair clean shaven and his smile wide. He’s got a hand on Eugene’s shoulder, a gesture that looks fatherly but carries the weight of a threat, silently says that Eugene is not to move. “This is quite the event. I can’t thank you enough for inviting us.”

Norman Osborn is all sharp eyes and a round face and a grin that spells trouble. He shakes Harrison’s hand with purpose as he replies, “I’m honored you decided to attend. Please, introduce me to your stunning family.”

With a turn of the lips that only a master at manipulation is capable of, Harrison ducks his head in some kind of nod, squeezes Eugene’s shoulder when he does so. “This is my wife, Rosie,” he says pleasantly, uses his free hand to gesture to his left, where Rosie Thompson politely smiles. “This is our oldest, Eugene,” he goes on, nodding down at his son and subtly curling his fingers into the space between Eugene’s collarbone and the top of his shoulder, an unspoken order for Eugene not to speak. Even at six, Eugene knows better than to wince at the dull pain his father’s actions bring, and instead offers a toothy grin and a wave when Norman nods at him. “And this,” Harrison goes on, now gesturing to the two year old holding Rosie’s hand, “is our youngest, Jesse.”

“Oh, what an angel,” Norman coos to Jesse, who is too shy to do much more than widen her eyes at him before hiding behind her mother’s legs. For a moment, blatant annoyance crosses Norman’s features, but he schools himself quickly, plasters on a smile once more, like nothing happened. Eugene has seen his father do the same thing on many occasions, when they’re in public and he gets mad but has to pretend he isn’t until they get home. The similarity makes Eugene shift in mild discomfort, though he stills when his father squeezes his shoulder again, hard enough that there may be a bruise come sunrise, and he remains still when Norman leans down at the waist to meet his eyes. “Hello, Eugene,” Norman greets, toothy grin looking menacing in a way that is only easy to detect up close. “It’s lovely to meet you. Tell me, how old are you?”

For a moment, Eugene says nothing, because Harrison has made it clear that he wants his son to keep quiet, but when he remains silent for a solid thirty seconds, Harrison squeezes Eugene’s shoulder again, harder this time—it’s definitely going to bruise, and it’s almost impossible to suppress the urge to wince. “Be polite,” Harrison scolds, in a mildly aggravated tone that sounds more like a gentle yet firm reminder to anyone passing by. “Answer his question, Gene.”

“I’m—I’m six years old, sir,” Eugene says.

Norman nods slowly, curiously. “Same age as my son, then,” he comments, almost off handedly, as he stands up tall once more, straightens out his suit jacket and turns his head to the left to call out, “Emily!�� Only a moment or two later, a woman approaches them, leading a young boy by the hand as they seem to appear from the crowd of other attendees of the Oscorp holiday event. “This is my wife,” Norman tells the Thompson’s, waving a hand to indicate the woman coming to a stop by his side. He then looks to the boy, who is an inch or two shorter than Eugene, with black hair falling across his forehead and wide, uncertain blue eyes glancing around curiously. “This is my son, Harry,” Norman tells them. “Harry, this is the Thompson family and their son, Eugene. Say hello, Harry.”

Harry Osborn looks much more like his mother than he does his father, gentle and kind and genuine as he shyly waves his free hand and murmurs a quiet little, “Hi.”

“Don’t be so shy, Harry,” Norman says sternly. Harry frowns, ducks his head. Eugene tries to offer him a little smile to make him feel better, but Harry doesn’t see it. “Introduce yourself properly.”

“Hello,” Harry says, voice louder, but tone not as steady. “’m Harry Osborn. S’nice t’meet you.”

There’s that twist to Harrison’s lips, something that’s a lot like a smile but always makes Eugene nervous, like he’s done something wrong but can’t figure out what, as he crouches down and lightly pushes Eugene in the direction of Emily and Harry. “I’m sure you two would make great friends,” the man says, in a way that makes it clear it isn’t a suggestion. He stands up, looks to Rosie with something expectant in his eyes, until Rosie is carefully nudging Jesse forward, until Jesse gets the hint and lets go of her mother’s hand in order to grab her brother’s instead. “If it’s alright with Miss Emily,” Harrison says, with the fake tone of sweetness that he puts on in public places, the façade of a loving father that doesn’t exist, “then maybe you can go hang out with her and Harry, huh? How does that sound, Gene?”

It’s not really a question. Eugene knows that. He looks up at Emily with wide eyes, tightens his hold on Jesse’s hand—always holds on tight, because he accidently let go in a grocery store once and they couldn’t find her for ten minutes, and, oh, his father was mad about that—and softly asks, “Miss Emily? Could, um… could me and Jesse stay with you, please?”

Emily smiles, a real one, a kind one, the same kind that Rosie gives Eugene when his father isn’t home, and she nods her head with a simple, “Of course you can, Eugene. We have some toys set up in the corner, for all of the kids. Why don’t we go over there so you guys can play?”

Eugene turns his head, looks up at his father, knows better than to walk away without permission first. Harrison seems pleased by this, almost looks proud, but not in the way a parent might be proud of their child learning the alphabet or bringing home all A’s. Rather, he looks proud in the way a pet owner would be of a dog that’s learned a new trick, of a scientist or an engineer successfully programming an AI or a bot to follow a command. Eugene mistakes this look as some kind of love, can’t help but wear a giddy sort of smile when Harrison nods at him and says, “Go ahead, Gene. Listen to Miss Emily, alright?”

“Okay!” Eugene chirps, and his excitement is enough to draw Jesse out of her shy shell, just a bit, as she looks up at her older brother with some kind of awe-filled admiration and giggles at him. In his burst of happiness, he forgets to tell his father thank you, something that will surely come back to make him regret it later, but in the moment, he just holds Jesse’s hand and follows after Emily and Harry as she leads the three kids to the corner of the room, where the little play area is set up. There’s not a whole lot there, just a large, colorful carpet and a bin full of various types of toys meant for children of various ages.

Jesse refuses to let go of Eugene’s hand for at least ten minutes, still so shy despite being two years of age, taking much longer to warm up to people than her brother had been at two years old. It isn’t until Eugene finds a talking little elephant toy that Jesse relaxes a bit, taking the toy in both hands and blowing a raspberry at it, then laughing when she squeezes the stomach and it sings a little song. Emily approaches the two of them, carefully sits on the floor besides Jesse with her legs tucked beneath her, smoothing out her dress before asking Jesse questions about the elephant, drawing her attention. Eugene hovers for a second, as protective of his sister as he has been since the day she was born, but deems Emily nice enough to crawl over to where Harry is sitting and placing wooden blocks on top of each other carefully.

“What’re you buildin’?” Eugene asks, looking at the unfinished structure with intrigue.

Harry hesitates for a second, then adds another block and answers, “A castle.”

Excitedly, Eugene leans forward, examines it more closely. “What kinda castle is it?”

“Um.” Harry seems confused by that, nose scrunching up his pudgy little face. “A big one?”

The way he says it makes Eugene giggle lightly, leaning back on his haunches and shaking his head a bit. “No, silly! I mean, um—I was—I was watchin’ this show with my mama, and they were talkin’ ‘bout castles, and all the diff’rent kinds of ‘em. Like, the, um—the m… midveil… mid—midieval! Midieval castles, and how there are, um… four? I think it was four kinds of medieval castles, but I don’t—I don’t really ‘member what the names of ‘em were.”

“Oh.” Harry looks thoughtful for a long moment, picking up another block—a bright red painted cone shape—and looking at it while he seems to consider his thoughts. Then, he places the cone on top of what looks like a wall of black rectangular blocks and nods to himself, decidedly saying, “It’s a Harry Castle.”

“I don’t think that was one’a the ones on the show,” Eugene says, a small frown on his face.

Harry shrugs. “That’s okay. It’s a new kinda castle. It’s my castle.”

Eugene falters at that, only to brighten a moment later. “Does your castle have a dragon in it?”

The face Harry makes at him is comically offended. “Of course it has a dragon! His name is Jeremy and I taught ‘im how to play fetch. Kinda like a puppy, but—but Jeremy’s a dragon. Obviously.”

“That’s so cool,” Eugene breathes, eyes wide with wonder. “Can I help?”

For a long moment, Harry squints at Eugene, likely sizing him up, deciding if he can trust him, before his face breaks out in a blinding grin and he holds a block out happily. “Then it can be a Harry and a Eugene castle,” he says.

Eugene takes the block with a wide smile of his own. “It’s gonna be the best castle ever.”

#thompsborn #harry osborn #flash thompson #harry osborn x flash thompson #flash thompson x harry osborn #flashharry #harryflash #flash x harry #harry x flash #my writing

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sophiainspace · 4 years

Note

The five stages of Mick and Len: punching, ignoring, making out, more punching, dragons. -flarrowverse shipyard promptathon, Coldwave (brownies if you show Lisa being Done™ with the pair of them)

“That was bracing,” Greta says, slouching down onto Lisa’s bed. “Why’s your brother in such a shitty mood? And where’s - the other one, what’s his name?”

Through her open bedroom door, Lisa can see Lenny sulking so hard, it’s obvious from five feet away. If she hadn’t guessed it from the way he’d just snapped at them to turn the damn music down, she’d have figured it out from his slumped shoulders, from how he’s practically curling in on himself as he heads slowly down the stairs.

He’s sad.

“Mick.” Lisa shrugs. “They’re in a phase. Hey, what about this one?” She holds up another CD.

Greta scrunches up her big, deep brown eyes. (Lisa tries to ignore how cute she is. This is a challenge.) “What do you mean, a phase?”

Lisa puts the CD case down. Clearly they aren’t going to be listening to Belinda Carlisle while Greta’s being curious.

Admittedly, Greta’s always curious about Lisa’s life. She bombards her with questions - about why she lives with her brother, why that other guy lives with them, why her brother is so hot... (The last one made Lisa ewww and slap her on the arm.)

And once, about where Lisa’s parents were. But only once.

Lisa wouldn’t put up with these dumb questions from just anyone. Just this week, she may have kinda slapped Tonya Beeching a little bit, for telling Haspira Ahuja that Lisa is the worst kind of trailer trash - her brother’s been in prison - and she doesn’t even have a mom.

Greta’s the only one who gets away with giving Lisa the third degree.

(She’s trying not to think too hard about why that is. Really trying.)

Lisa shrugs. “They go through these stages. Right now they’re at ‘ignoring’. I dunno, it’s really predictable and boring,”

Greta purses her warm red mouth. (Lisa might have stolen that lipstick for her. It looks great on her, though - so it was totally a good deed.) “Are him and your brother, like, together together?”

“Duh.”

Her friend’s eyes widen. “I knew it!” Conspiratorially, she wriggles in closer to Lisa. (Lisa’s probably just imagining this feeling of her heart racing. Of her skin tingling where Greta’s hand brushes casually across hers.) “How long have they been together for?”

“Oh, forever. Like, as long as I’ve known Mick, I think. Years and years.” And she doesn’t really want to talk about her boring brother and his boring boyfriend anymore. Still, Greta’s handling the idea better than Lisa thought she would.

(That’s more exciting than it should be.)

Greta settles back against the headboard. She’s got an arm around Lisa, now. (Lisa’s heart kicks up another gear.) “He’s really cool.”

Lisa feels her nose wrinkle. “My brother?”

“Nah, Lenny’s just annoying. I mean Mick! He’s got that motorbike and the leather jacket, and he looks like he goes to the gym...”

Lisa hums. “If you promise not to tell a soul at school, I could tell you a thing.”

Greta’s eyes get wide. Her arm is tighter around Lisa now. (Lisa never wants her to let go.)

She leans in and whispers in Greta’s ear, “He’s an arsonist.”

“A what?” Greta whispers back.

“He sets things on fire.”

Greta’s squealing can be heard all the way downstairs. They know because Lisa’s annoying brother calls up the stairs for them to please keep the noise down, again.

—

“I can’t believe you two are at ‘ignoring’ again,” Lisa complains, as she passes Len on her way to the food cupboard. “You make shit coffee, by the way.”

Len blinks down at the cup of coffee he’s just retrieved from the filter pot. Sure, it’s a bit burned, but he wouldn’t call it shit. It may not be as good as Mick’s, but—

“Also,” Lisa adds, with her head now in the cupboard, “you should call him.”

He blinks at her some more. “That’s a lot of information at once, Lise. Shall we start by unpacking ‘at ignoring again’?”

She sighs, liberating a bag of chips and coming to stand next to him while she crunches on them. Loudly. “You know. You and Mick. You have these phases. Like, at least five of them. First you deck each other - and by the way, it’s shit of you and I do not approve, but at least you’re both shit together...”

Len calmly reminds himself that most of Lisa’s shortcomings are the direct result of things he didn’t teach her. So really, they’re his own fault. For example, avoiding hypocrisy. “Didn’t you hit that girl last week?”

Her scowl is terrifying. Len nearly backs away. “Tonya Beeching is a bitch who can go fuck herself. And I’m not dating her.”

“Cute. Mick and I aren’t dating.”

As expected, she raises her eyebrows so high he worries she’s going to pull a muscle. “Oh, is that right?”

He shrugs, amused enough to keep humoring her (and, if he’s honest, a little curious about the other four phases). “Go on.”

She crunches another chip, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “And then there’s phase two - you start ignoring each other - that’s the phase you’re in now. And Mick moves out and goes back to wherever the hell he lives the rest of the time, which, where even is that? Does he have a good stove there?” Len suppresses a snort. “And he’s gone for, like, months, sometimes.” She pouts, probably unintentionally, and Len feels his eyebrows draw together.

It hadn’t occurred to him that someone else was also missing Mick.

He bumps her shoulder with his own. “Okay. What are the next phases, hmm?”

“Easy,” she declares, hopping up onto the counter and kicking her feet against the cupboard doors. (Well, Len can just replace the hinges.) “The next one is making out.”

“...What?”

“Oh, don’t deny it, Lenny.” She grins. “You think I don’t see you, but I’m not a kid, and I do occasionally notice when you’re both holed up in the same room making up for lost time, and not even being quiet about—”

He puts a hand up, because that’s all about he can take of that. “Thank you, Lisa. I think I get the idea.” Over her laughter, he asks, “Phase four?”

She scowls again. “More punching. And you should stop.”

And somewhere in this conversation, something inside him has dropped from amused to... wishing they hadn’t started talking about this.

Len knows his and Mick’s relationship is screwed up. They’re fucked up people, both of them, and they weren’t exactly raised to talk about their feelings. They were mostly too busy learning to stay out of the way of assholes who should never have been allowed to inflict themselves on children. And kids in juvie who wanted to kill them. And kids at school who wanted to kill them. And people on rival crews who wanted to—

Okay, so the ‘people who want to kill them’ thing has always been a theme. And he’s not agreeing with Lisa, okay - but somewhere along the way, they settled into patterns.

You can only trust yourself.

Hit before they do.

Don’t talk about it.

Never admit what you mean to each other.

And - fuck it, Lisa might be right.

With a start, he realises he’s watching her, while she makes faces over her cup of coffee. And when exactly did she become this observant? He turned around one day, and his baby sister was a canny almost-grown-up with too many opinions and a smart mouth. A little too much like him... but better.

If there’s one damn thing in his life he can be proud of, it’s making sure she had the closest thing to a decent childhood that he could give her. He’s a shit brother, but he’s still a better parent than one or two other contenders he can think of. And, he thinks, staring at this almost well-adjusted young woman, maybe that’s worth everything he went through to get her there.

He sighs. “Okay, smartass. What’s phase five?”

“Fire,” she says decisively, like she doesn’t even have to think about that one. When he raises an eyebrow, she says, “Or theft - if you’re the one apologizing. Grand gestures, anyway.”

Len’s eyes are rolling before he can stop them. “Oh, that is not true.”

He gets a doubtful look back. “You stole him a fancy crystal dragon last month.”

And, yeah, he did. It was a tacky piece of shit, but Mick loved it. Just more proof that Mick never had any taste. If it’s about fire, he’s in.

Or... if it’s about Len.

“Five phases, huh?”

“Yup. You’re currently in phase two. It’s annoying.” She’s pouting again, and this time he thinks she knows what she’s doing. “You could just skip to phase five and apologize in your own stupid way, but you’re too fucking stubborn for that. Him too.”

There’s silence, other than the splatter of rain against the window.

Lisa shifts closer to him.

Nothing good ever came from looking at his shit with Mick too closely. He should walk out of here. Stop talking about it.

Except that he misses the moody, impulsive bastard. Maybe he just wants him back.

He takes a breath. “So tell me, Miss Motormouth with the dumb ideas. You really think I should just jump to... phase five?”

She grins at him. And, oh no. Her eyes are sparkling like when she was six years old and wanted something shiny, and was getting ready to wheedle it out of her big brother.

He’s never been able to tell her no.

“Fine,” he says, on a sigh. He points a finger at her. “I’m not asking you for advice on what to steal for him.”

She damn well beams. “Don’t, then. See if I care.” She jumps down from the counter, heading for the door.

And then he has a thought. Something they’ve danced around before, as if Lisa’s looking for advice. And he’s failed to give it to her, because he’s nothing if not a deflecting asshole. Plus, it’s not like he catches her out of her room much these days - she’s fifteen, after all. So he’d better get the thought out before she disappears back in there for another half decade. “Lise?”

She munches loudly on another chip. “What?” she asks in the world-weary tone of the teenager.

He turns back to the coffee pot, starting to fix a fresh filter. “Learn from my mistakes.”

The crunching stops. “Huh?”

Len doesn’t look up. “Tell that best friend of yours that you like her like that, before you look up and find it’s fifteen years later and you can only communicate through punching, ignoring, making out, punching again, and... dragons, apparently.”

“Oh please,” she says, drawling almost as hard as her brother, and walks out of the kitchen.

A second later, she calls back, from halfway up the stairs, “We’re smarter than you two dumbasses. We’d skip right to arson.”

He decides not to ask which of them, in this scenario, is the arsonist. It’s probably safer that way.

Flarrowverse Shipyard prompts (still taking them, all usual ships! As usual I can’t promise I’ll write every prompt, but I’ll do my best)

@flarrowverse-shipyard

#acesnek #dccoldwave #young coldwave #leonard snart #lisa snart #mick not actually pictured #prompt fills #my fic #ficlet #the flash fanfic

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jelzorz · 5 years

Text

gifts - a fic

[Not on AO3 bc i have to be up in 5 hours and I didn’t want to screw around with tags today. For that anon who sent me that I Wish You Would Write ask where Zym gifts Callum and Rayla the best bits of his hunt].

The first time, it’s a fish.

Nothing too outrageous - just something little from Zym to his human and elf to say thanks for taking such good care of him so far. It’s been a month, maybe, since he rolled out of his egg, tiny and excitable and too clumsy to be of any use to them on their long journey to his supposed home.

The trip has been long. His feet get tired and sore, and the muscles in his wings aren’t quite strong enough to let him fly for longer a few yards at a time. He doesn’t fit in his human’s pack any more, but they carry him anyway. He likes it when his human holds him in his arms, or when his elf lets him sit on her shoulders, and they go out of their way every night to make sure he’s warm and safe before they settle in themselves.

It’s very nice of them to. They’re not like him, as far as he can tell. There’s no obligation to look after him as well as they have been, but they don’t seem to mind. He wonders, at times, if there are ways he can thank them personally - ways he can show his appreciation for all their trouble when they don’t understand his yips and chirps.

He figures out a way the day he follows his elf into the woods to watch her hunt.

She’s very quick. Her footsteps are light, even as steps carefully over fallen leaves and dry twigs, catching rabbits with her hands with such ease that Zym decides it can’t be that hard to hunt, and, little as he is, maybe he can help. He is a dragon, after all. He should learn to hunt for himself.

He thinks breakfast might be a good opportunity to show his thanks.

They fall asleep that night huddled together for warmth, Zym curled up in the crook of his elf’s arm while his human keeps watch, and when his human nods off just before dawn (he tends to, but his elf never knows about it), Zym climbs out of his elf’s arms and sniffs curiously at the morning air.

There’s a river nearby. He can hear it babbling quietly in the distance; can smell the wetness of its bank even from here. He follows it, careful not to stray too far from their campsite so he doesn’t get lost.

It takes him a couple of tries - it’s difficult, being so little that the current might carry him away if he’s not careful - but he manages. He catches one fish for himself; holds it in his paws and chews against it, enjoying the taste of it in his mouth, and, pleased, goes for a bigger one to bring back to camp.

It’s hard work. The fish is heavy in his jaws, but he lugs it back anyway to find his human and his elf in a yelling match with each other about where he might have disappeared to.

He yips.

Sets the fish at their feet.

Grins proudly at his work when their shouting stops immediately, and they stare at him, and then his fish, and then at him again, before his elf visibly relaxes and laughs into her fist.

“Is this for us?”

He nudges it closer to their feet by way of an answer, his tongue hanging happily out of his mouth.

“Aw, bud,” laughs his human. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you, though.”

They crouch over, their animosity gone and entirely replaced by grateful smiles. “Thanks,” they keep telling him. “We’re so proud of you! Good job!”

But their smiles and their affection is all the thanks he needs.

The second time, it’s a deer.

He’s getting pretty big now - not so big that he can carry it off on his own, but big enough that he needs more than they can catch. He’s still growing - his head comes to his human’s elbow now, even though he could swear it’s only been a few weeks more.

He doesn’t get so tired anymore. He flies off somedays - scouts the area for them and makes sure to lead them away from bunkers and roads. He’s glad to be helping them - they’ve done so much for him already, and even though they know he can hunt for himself now, they still go out of their way to make sure he has a whole rabbit to himself for dinner.

One evening, when his elf comes back with only one rabbit, they give it to him.

They don’t argue about it. They take one look at each other and somehow conclude without even talking that his need for it is greater than theirs.

His elf tosses it to him, her smile unfazed by the fact that she and his human will have to make do with berries tonight. They settle by the fire, distracting one another by throwing berries into the other’s mouth, his human cheering loudly when his his elf snaps one out of the air with her teeth. It’s nice, he thinks, that they can be so content even though times are hard, but it won’t do.

He lumbers off, his feet too heavy and too big for the rest of his body.

His elf and his human watch him go, but they don’t stop him. No one’s foolish enough in Xadia to try and attack a storm dragon, and, in any case, he’s big enough now that he can look after himself. He won’t be gone for long.

He finds a family of deer by a milkfruit bush a little way away. He feels a little bad - they’ve done nothing wrong, but the way of life is complicated, and it’s important that his elf and his human have the strength to travel and to defend themselves if they need to. They can’t do that so well on empty stomachs, and between a deer and his companions, he knows which he’d prefer.

He waits in the bushes. Picks one that’s a little bit older, and a little bit bigger, so that at least the young ones might have a chance to live a bit longer. Then he lunges.

The deer scatter, but he’s faster. He catches one in his jaws; bites down on its neck and holds it against the ground; waits for it to fall still and lifeless before he drags it back to camp.

His human is drawing when he gets there. It’s a picture of his elf, he thinks, as she sits by the fire and sharpens her blades. They’re so used to the heaviness of his footfalls now that they don’t even look up when they hear him, and when his human turns at last, he yelps and scrambles backwards, his sketchbook falling out of his lap.

“Is - is that a deer?”

Zym lets out a low purr. A stranger might think it’s a growl, but his human and his elf know better than that. It’s proud and pleased and generous, and he nudges the deer towards them and kneads the ground, glancing between them and his deer in a way that hopes they like his gift.

“Zym,” laughs his elf. “Did you get this for us?”

He purrs again and nudges it once more. It’s only fair, he wants to tell him. They gave him a whole rabbit before, knowing they’d go hungry for it. They deserve a whole deer to themselves.

“Ahaha - thanks buddy,” says his human at last, looking somewhere between bewildered and grateful for an entire deer they absolutely won’t get through. “You didn’t have to do that.”

They don’t have to look after him either, but they do. It’s what family does.

The third time, it’s a horse.

He’s a lot bigger now. Not so long ago, he used to snuggle into his human’s side for warmth and ride on his elf’s shoulders like a dragon scarf. Now, he’s big enough to carry them when they get tired, and they lean against his side, his tail curled protectively around them on the nights they have to sleep out in the open.

They’re getting close, he thinks. He can feel it in his bones, but as nice as it will be to meet his mother at last, he’s sad that his adventure with his human and his elf is coming to an end. They keep talking about his home like it’s this distant, discrete place - “It’s where your family is,” his human tells him, “You’ll be safe there.”

He’s safe here, he wants to tell them. This is where his family is. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to go home if it means his human and his elf will go away.

But he understands. Truly, he does. The war might end, if he goes home. His human and his elf might find a way to be happy together if their people didn’t hate each other so. Things will be better for everyone. He just wishes there was a way they could all stay together.

But they’ll go back to his human’s city, he thinks. The same city his other human - the smaller one with the fuzzier hair - had gone home to where he’s ruling as King. It’d be nice if his elf could stay, at least, as part of his Dragon Guard, but his human needs her. He won’t make it home in one piece without her, and she’ll be happier with his human than she’ll ever be with him.

It makes him sad. He wishes he could tell them.

On their final day of travel, Zym wanders away. Not because he doesn’t want to go home, but because he wants to make sure his human and his elf get home safer, and sooner, and he won’t be around to carry them anymore when their feet get sore or when they’re too tired to walk.

He comes back with a horse.

He holds it gently in his claws, careful not to hurt it; sets it gently on the ground in front of him as they stare at him, wide eyed and unsure.

It whinnies, afraid of him, but his elf reacts quickly, her hand going to its mane to calm it while he looms over head. “Is he for us?” she whispers, understanding.

Zym nods his head, solemn and sad that they’re so close to going their separate ways. He’ll miss them, he thinks. He’ll miss them very much. He’ll live much longer than the both of them, but he’ll never forget them.

He hopes they’ll never forget him.

“You didn’t have to do that, bud,” says his human, patting his snout gently. “Don’t be sad. We’ll come visit. All the time.”

“So often you’ll get sick of us,” adds his elf. “And what will Ezran say if you never visit him?”

He snorts at them both, his breath furling around them like storm clouds on the horizon.

“We’ll miss you, Zym,” murmurs his human. “But don’t worry, okay? You’ll see us again before long. We promise.”

It feels more like a pipe dream than a promise, but they’re determined - Zym’s been with them long enough to know that. He huffs. He’ll hold them to it, he thinks. They’re family, after all.

#rayllum #zym #azymondias #what i wanted something cute #adc has a plot now and i wanted mindless fluff #fight me

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