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gameofdrarry · 4 years

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Wizards Hearts Recs: Hogwarts Eighth Year

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 The Standard You Walk Past by bafflinghaze Rated: Mature Words: 46202 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Some Homophobia in the Wizarding World, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, flangst, Angst, SO MUCH FLUFF, And a bit of sap, Legilimency, Dreams and Nightmares, Slow Build, Prejudice Against Slytherins, Roommates, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy - Freeform Summary: On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened. That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed. Translation links available inside for Indonesian, Chinese, Korean, Russian, Thai, Spanish, and Portuguese ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Montaigne Aspirations by countingcr0ws Rated: Mature Words: 16681 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Head Boy Draco Malfoy, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Good Draco Malfoy, Hufflepuff Common Room, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Has Long Hair, Discussion of Abortion, discussion about consent, Mutual Pining, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Hufflepuff Hermione Granger Summary: Draco’s been trying to be nothing but upstanding since you know what. Between crawling into places every day (oh, the woe) in his new yellow tie, avoiding heterosexual threats to the proper development of his young homosexual self, and being exhausted by how high maintenance Gryffindors are, Draco’s eighth year is still a lot better than he had initially expected. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Only Fools Fall (For You) by welpslytherin Rated: Explicit Words: 6212 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, The Great Lake | The Black Lake (Harry Potter), Skinny Dipping, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Mutual Pining Summary: It’s the summer of '98 and a certain blond Slytherin has amends to make and feelings to get over. Featuring skinny dipping, a bold Harry Potter, and a blushing Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Pinned! by whileatwiltshire Rated: General Words: 4193 Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Pining Harry Potter, Pining Draco Malfoy, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Draco curses a lot in this! Summary: What's your game, Potter?" he asked calmly as Potter's face floated an inch away from him. After their second proximity incident, Draco had taken special care to note the specky git's whereabouts and behaviour; watching him with the corner of his eye whenever he could. And in his observation, he had noticed that while Potter did fumble around like a blind fool without his glasses, not once, once, did he pull anyone as close to his eye level to confirm their identity. It was only Draco. Only him. And Draco needed to find out why. Or, Five times Draco got pinned to the wall by Potter, who was surely, up to something. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Take All That You See by GallifreyisBurning Rated: Teen and Up Words: 19666 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Bullying, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, Coming Out, Leaked Sex Photographs, Off-Screen Reference to Gore, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Has Panic Attacks, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Disowned Draco Malfoy, Supportive Harry Potter, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Hogwarts Eighth Year, H/D Sex Fair 2020 Summary: Draco Malfoy has only two goals for his eighth year are Hogwarts: 1) stay as invisible as possible, and 2) get enough NEWTs to be accepted at a university abroad and get the hell out of the UK. Everything is going according to plan until he is unceremoniously outed by the Daily Prophet and subsequently disowned. Finding himself the unexpected focus of unwanted attention and harassment, he is suddenly dependent on the good will and protection of the last people he would have expected — Harry Potter and his gang of do-gooder Gryffindors (plus Luna Lovegood). With his world turned upside down, how will Draco make it through the rest of the year? And worse still, as he grows closer and closer to Harry, how will he get out with his heart intact? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 For every question why, you were my Because by HugsandButterflyKisses Rated: Explicit Words: 59924 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Coming Out, First Time, Mutual Pining, i'll update as we go on dw, harry is a lil clueless but hes got the spirit, Sharing Clothes, Masturbation, Slow Burn, Shower Sex, Halloween, just a lot of shenanigans by the slytherins Summary: Harry expects his final year at Hogwarts to be simple. Go to class, hang out with Ron and Hermione, and most importantly, no threats of dying. It seems fate, and the Slytherins, have other plans. or The Eighth Year fic where Harry and Draco can't seem to get rid of one another. But...maybe neither of them mind all that much. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 White Lies by cassisluna Rated: Teen and Up Words: 171013 Tags: Slash, Homosexuality, EWE, AU, Mutual Pining, Pining Harry, Pining Draco Malfoy, Hurt/Comfort, Potions Accident, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Era Summary: Draco drinks a potion that makes him know if a person is lying, and Harry, apparently at fault that Draco is this way, is forced to 'help' him with the effects of the potion. For the first time, they deal with each other with no lies to hide behind. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 knickers in a twist by technicolourbeat Rated: Explicit Words: 86461 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Reconciliation, Smut, Crossdressing, Boys in Skirts, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Riding, Topping from the Bottom, Draco Malfoy in a Skirt, Rimming, Lace Panties, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Secret Relationship, Fuckbuddies, Shameless Smut, Sexual Roleplay, Fluff and Humor, Porn With Plot Summary: Draco loses a bet to Pansy and Blaise which leaves him wearing a skirt for a whole week. Harry discovers something about himself. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Blue Roses and Other Impossible Things by Cassiara Rated: Explicit Words: 40283 Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Angst, Fluff, First Time, Bottom Harry, Top Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, POV Harry Potter, Virgin Harry, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Bad Flirting, Loss of Virginity, Podfic Welcome, Pining, Getting Together Summary: After Harry saved Draco from the Room of Requirement there was a moment when Draco gave Harry a look. Harry didn’t know what to make of it, and he had a war to fight so he ignored it. Now though, they’re back at Hogwarts sharing a dorm and Harry is obsessed with seeing that look again. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 In the Midnight Blue by xanthippe74 Rated: Teen and Up Words: 5508 Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Christmas, Light Angst, Developing Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Anxiety, Dreams and Nightmares, Flying, Hopeful Ending, Winter, HP Wireless Festive Minifest 2020, Songfic Summary: On a Christmas Eve broom ride over Hogwarts, Harry shows Draco that he’s braver than he thinks. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Owl Was Well by fencer_x Rated: Teen and Up Words: 66823 Tags: Post-Second War with Voldemort, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts, Animagus, Animagus Draco Malfoy, Owls, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Snarky Harry Potter, Snark, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Sexually Adventurous Blaise Zabini, Humor, Toilet humor, POV Draco Malfoy, Invasion of Privacy, Brief Mention of Animal Death(s), Fighting, Minor Injuries, H/D Erised 2020, Slow Burn Summary: Draco Malfoy is not an owl, really he isn’t. He simply assumes the shape of one on occasion when he wants to find a bit of privacy—a goal entirely thwarted because Harry Potter doesn’t understand you can’t just grab any old bird from the Owlery and force it to send your missives and deliver your packages. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Nightmare Club by Elle Gray (Elle_Gray) Rated: Explicit Words: 85072 Tags: Post-Second War with Voldemort, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Tropes, Banter, Slow Burn, Humor, Trials, Light Angst, Sentient Doors, Male Friendship, Friendship, Misunderstandings, Pining, Jealousy, Jealous Harry Potter, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, Forced Proximity, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Sarcastic Harry Potter, Smut, Sexual Fantasy, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Frottage, Coming Out, Oblivious, Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Feelings Realization, Secret Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Herbology, Herbology Class (Harry Potter), Plants, working together, Veritaserum, Cuddling & Snuggling, Spooning, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Tea, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Awkwardness, Minor Harry Potter/Lisa Turpin, H/D Erised 2018, Community: hd_erised, Bisexual Harry Potter, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Mental Health Issues, supportive friends, wanking, Harry in a towel, Minor slut-shaming?, Feel free to podfic this, Fanart also welcome, remix to your heart's content, tell me about typos you find as well, Gay Mentor Charlie Weasley Summary: Hermione and Ron are going back to Hogwarts to do N.E.W.T.s, Ginny isn't. Harry hasn't decided, until he has, in front of the Wizengamot and now he's responsible for Malfoy as well. A tale of enemies who learn to get along, get it wrong and get it on. Everything is purple, some things are on fire and no-one is sleeping properly. But don't worry, there's tea! ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Read All About It by Samunderthelights Rated: Teen and Up Words: 3247 Tags: Drarropoly: Founders Edition - A Drarry Game/Fest, Epistolary, The Owlery (Harry Potter), Secret Relationship, Drarry, Letters, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Boys In Love, Self-Acceptance Summary: The story of a budding romance between two young men, told through letters found in the Hogwarts Owlery. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Adventures of a Suicidal Gentleman by GallaPlacidia Rated: Not Rated Words: 47794 Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Suicidal Thoughts, suicidal Draco but he's fun about it, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Draco and his new best friend Misty the house elf, Draco is trying to keep his shit together, Pining Harry, Down and Out Draco Malfoy, It's less harrowing than it initially appears, Veritaserum Summary: Draco wants to kill himself, but he's trying not to be dramatic about it. Harry wants to sleep with Draco, but he's trying not to be obvious about it. Misunderstandings! Pining! Grief! Self-loathing but in a kind of charming way? Feat. Misty the house elf who takes shit from no one, an Astoria who has her own mysterious aims, a Draco who is determined to use humour to get through things, and a Harry doesn't know what he wants, except maybe to touch Draco's pretty face. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Sincere Gratitude from the (Heart) Mouth by _Melodic_ (Sae) Rated: Mature Words: 1049 Tags: Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Public Blow Jobs, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Redemption, Oral Sex, Getting Together, First Time, POV Harry Potter, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Hogwarts Express, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Confessions, Romantic Fluff, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff, Fluffy Ending Summary: Harry Potter knew, of course, that everyone was grateful to him for defeating Voldemort and basically saving the world, but he didn’t quite expect the way some of those would go about expressing their gratitude. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Black Me Out by JBankai89 Rated: Mature Words: 43928 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Trans!Harry, FTM Harry, Romance, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mild OoC, Transphobia, Hate Crime, ron & seamus bashing, EWE, PostWar, Hogwarts Eighth Year, References to Mpreg Summary: Since his first day at Hogwarts, Harry has had a secret. Not even his best friends knew, and returning after the war for his seventh year, Harry is looking forward to a nice, quiet, Voldemort-free year. What he hadn't expected was Ron and Seamus discovering his secret and reacting violently to the news, nor did he expect his old school rival suddenly showing romantic interest in him. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Try to Change by meshtams Rated: Teen and Up Words: 1567 Tags: Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Boys In Love, Love Confessions, Getting Together, Fluff, Musician Draco Malfoy, Song fic??, Gay Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, POC Harry Potter, try to change by mother mother Summary: Harry hears music coming from the forbidden forest, and naturally has to investigate. ❤️ Read on AO3

#hogwarts eighth year #drarry fanart #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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trashpandaorigins · 5 years

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The Body Keeps the Score Chapter 2 Xandarians

“You said it yourself bitch, we’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.” Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title “The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma,” by Bessel van der Kolk

And wherever you've gone, and wherever we might go

It don't seem fair, today just disappeared

Your lights reflected now, reflected from a far

We were but stones, your light made us stars”

Light Years - Pearl Jam

Someone was holding him. Hands, warm and spindly were wrung through his fur touching his flesh. No! NO! Rocket bolted upward through a throbbing fog of pain, Quill relinquished his hold and the raccoonoid scrambled free, claws scraping against the mess of branches and leaves. A million little lights cast shadows across the wooden nest. The lights themselves pulsing. Rocket shook his head through the dull ache in his head and limbs. What...where..? He looked around wildly. One of the lights drifted close in front of his nose, golden and perfect. Not lights. Spores. No!

Quyiit - Seventh Quadrant, Seven Months Earlier

“I am G...groot!”

“If you hadn’t given away our position we wouldn’t be in this jam now would we!” Rocket tripped over a large branch. Groot sat in a heap, he’d grown his entire arms around the raccoonoid, making a protective nest around the gunfire. Now branches and twigs lay strewn about in all directions.

“I...I am G...groot.”

“Stop being a drama queen you didn’t die.”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket looked up from his gun sharply, eyeing the flora colossus with momentary fret.

“Tsch, well just don’t do it again you big idiot.”

The raccoonoid sprang over to Groot, his paws clinging to the chest with inscrutable effort.

“No Groot!” He beseeched, “you can’t, you’ll die!” The ship was crashing and Groot was protecting them. The ship was crashing and he, he was the reason for it. For this, for the sap that gathered in Groot’s eyes. Rocket didn’t have a heart but if he had, it would have broken.

Why are you doing this?!” Groot didn’t owe this people shit! The only person he owed anything to was Rocket himself and the only thing he owed him was to...to stay alive flark it! One long vine grew forth from the Flora’s chest, navigating between the gentle spores of light and gently caressing the wound on his temple. A tender, heavy touch. Rocket leaned into it, eyes widening to take in Groot’s sanguine look. The bark around his mouth cracked into words.

“We. Are. Groot.”

For the first time in their short partnership, Rocket did not understand his words. The raccoonoid tried to form a response but the velocity of the fall stole them from him. Strong arms wrapped around his torso, everything shook violently. Groot...g...groot! Something deep and primal within him commanded Rocket to curl into a ball and burrow, burrow deeply against the Flora’s chest, to safety. Small paws clutched to the wood with all his might. Wood split and cracked, a sudden impact, jostled fright. Groot! Groo... a violent smack hit against his temple and Rocket felt no more.

---

The metal in his enhanced spine ached, everything spun. Rocket opened his eyes, holding up one paw against the garish light. The outlines of Xandarians gathered around, watching. His stomach turned,

Flark, Groot won’t like these weirdos staring at us.

It was a strange thought to have coming to, but it was what his frayed mind came up with first upon waking. He looked around for the lumbering flora, probably having a nervous breakdown. He bit back the agony in his limbs, trying to summon the energy to stand. After all this time, after all they’d done to him, all the cybernetics in his spine, it still felt better to be crouched on all fours. His nimble palms felt the roughness of wood below. Something cracked and crumbled as Star-Turd got to his feet. Wood. Rocket blinked, stomach dropping in horror. Branches. No. No, no, no! He looked around frantically. Scattered among the wreck of the ship was a field of burning wood. Rocket tried to swallow, heaved for breath.

Groot... his hands quivered, flakes of wood falling from his fur. He shook his head, more dust of pale wood sloughing off.

“I...I called him an idiot,” Rocket mumbled over the ringing in his head. He plucked the three nearest twigs from the ground, one claw gently stroking them. He shook, trying to calm his nerves, shoulders trembling. He looked at his fur, bits ...there were bits of Groot stuck all over him. The dry taste of wood in his mouth. Rocket stuck two claws down the back of his mouth, forcing himself to vomit. He needed to get out of here, he needed to turn back time to minutes ago when he impulsively decided to crash his ship into the Dark Aster, before any of this shit. He needed to clean himself up. More snapping of wood, making him wince.

There he was, the blue fucker. Rocket forced himself to stand, holding on the three twigs in his hand in a fury.

“You killed Groot!”

He launched himself towards the accuser. Something slammed into his chest, knocking him down to ground once more. He rolled, ducking his head, trying to ignore the sound of Groot’s ruined branches cracking underneath him.

---

Think, think, think! Rocket’s mind may not have been functioning but his hands were and he put them to good use, gathering the remains of the Hadron Enforcer, hot-wiring the thing and aiming it at Ronan as Quill did some weird movements with his hips in what the humie called a “dance.”

“I’m distracting you, you big turd blossom!”

Rocket held the wires together, just enough to make a spark, to let Quill make a run for it, grabbing the power stone. A purple omnipresent energy exploded forward knocking him to the ground once more. The raccoonoid tried to get to his feet as he watched the humie struggle to contain the stone. His heart hammered, run, run, run, get the fuck out of here, run! No. If Groot were here, he’d help them he reasoned watching Gamora’s body constrict in anguish as she took hold of Quill’s hand. Drax followed suit shortly thereafter, the large strongman throwing head back in pain at the force of the stone. His fur stuck on end, get away! Get the fuck away! No...Groot, Groot would do it. Groot who was kind and good and dashed to pieces all around them. Still clinging to his fur and in his ears and between his teeth. Rocket trudged forward, every nerve in his small body pricking with hot electrifying force.

Drax’s left hand splayed out, tense. Rocket grabbing his finger. A flash of terrible racking power coursed through his arm, lighting through the cybernetic enhancements radiating, burning. A shameful yowling yelp escaped the raccoonoid’s muzzle. His breath came in short bursts. The power of the stone slowly relinquishing in its intensity the longer he held on.

“You said it yourself bitch, we’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

The words barely registered in Rocket’s whirling mind. He did not cheer in exuberance with the other Xandarians when Ronan was defeated. The banter between Quill and the blue Ravager man. He only knelt among the turmoil, every sniff of his nose bringing the bitter burning smell of the wood, of Groot burning. He plucked a twig from scorched ground, a brittle fragile thing and held it in his paws. Even here amid all the eyes, he could not keep the tears at bay.

They were not the mewling sickly tears of Halfworld.

They were not the grateful humbled confused tears of the first time Groot held him in his arms.

They were not the stifling strained tears he had tried so hard to keep at bay just yesterday on Knowhere.

I called him an idiot….Groot...after all he did for me.

Rocket stroked the thin piece of wood softly, thick tears running in rivulets down his fur. He lifted the stick closer, ever so carefully, curling around it as if to protect. To hold on to this scrap, this shred of the only being in the dast galaxy who had given a flark about him.

It should’ve been me...it should’ve…

Something touched him. Rocket coiled like a spring ready to go off but...stopped. Drax had sat down beside him and….pat him softly. Warm hands caressing through his fur not unlike Groot. He straightened, allowing his tail to uncurl in mild comfortability. The touch rocked him, soothsaying the darkest of his thoughts as he pored over the piece of Groot in his hands.

“Come my friend,” Drax’s warm voice whispered after some intangible time, “we must go.”

Go? Go where? Groot is here!

Rocket stood, shaking following the large tattooed man clutching that twig to his chest with all the ferocity in the world. He peered over his shoulder as they led him away. The people who had gathered around had already begun to pick through the destruction. Picking branches up and throwing them off to the side. Stepping unceremoniously over the remains of his friend.

---

Bright....too bright...

Rocket’s eyes looked listlessly at the twig he’d picked out among the wreck. He lay on the bed they gave him, squinting his eyes against the light. The walls of the room were white, far, far too luminous Like the lights above on Halfworld. They exposed him and all his imperfections. The gurgle from his stomach beckoned him to rise. In a daze he made his way from the room they assigned him, down the hall, following others towards the dining hall. The eyes of a thousand Xandarian’s watched him as he walked, looking down on him. He selected a tray and waited for the alien behind the counter to serve him.Some sort of red globby sludge. It didn’t really matter, whatever it was. He’d most likely throw it up in a few hours.

He reached for the spoons, too high up. He tried again, the laughter of the onlookers passing through his ears and out again. For once he did not have a smart remark to make, the impulse to shoot them was dulled. If Groot were here he’d beat the living daylights out of ‘em. But Groot wasn’t here, nor would he ever be.

“Your holding up the line! Where’s your owner?” Rocket only blinked, reaching blindly, desperately for the utensil that was so close. Their laughter washed over him and through him. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before. He didn’t have the energy to retort. Hell he just wanted to grab this lousy excuse for a meal and get the flark out of here.

The sharp sound of clanging metal brought him back into focus. Spoons clattered everywhere, Gamrora...who had been in front of him this whole time turned and knocked them over. He made his move, crouching and snatching one up without looking at her.

Don’t need her, don’t need her pity.

He scurried away, sneaking out of the mess hall back toward his quarters. He ate, looking at the little twig and threw up in the bathroom, then laid down again, curling in a tight ball. If he could make himself smaller . ..so small... maybe he could keep reality away. Maybe they wouldn’t see him. If they can’t see me they can’t hurt me. He blinked slowly, laying on the bed cradling the stick in his hands. Rocket dragged himself upward once more going to the small bathroom, on the counter lay several items. A sink, something to brush your teeth or fangs-he couldn’t recall what the contraption was called, and a small container of what looked like stersies. He examined it closely in both hands, it smelled clean, felt smooth. The depth would be enough for some soil. If Groot could regrow limbs maybe he could...

Knock knock.

“Flark it.” Rocket dumped the stersies out and placed the twig in the little white container and running to the door, pressing the button for it to open.

“Subject 89P13. Nova Prime requests your presence.”

Under normal circumstances he would’ve blown the glark off the stupid officer. But his guns were all the way over by the window and they were so, so heavy.

He dashed for the twig, plucking it up and carrying it with him as he followed the officer down the hall, through several corridors and a flight of stairs before coming to a guarded door. The man opened it, ushering Rocket in and closing the door behind him.

Another cage,

The fur on his back and neck raised upward. Breaths coming in and out rapidly as he assessed the room. A single table with two chairs. He could probably reconfigure the light fixture above into something…

“Ahh, Subject 89P13,” he turned to face the woman known as Nova Prime. She appraised him with a smile. “Though I assume you prefer your alias, Rocket.” He nodded. “I wish to express, on behalf of all of Xandar, our deepest thanks for your heroic efforts to save our planet. And…” her eyes fell on the stick held tightly in Rocket’s right paw, “our most heartfelt condolences to you companion who lost his life. His sacrifice will not be forgotten.”

Yeah right.

“Waddayah want lady?”

Nova Prime’s smile disappeared for a moment, then returned with a practiced recovery.

“Will you be joining Peter Quill when he leaves Xandar?”

What the hell, it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. Get rich with Groot and go splurge units on Contraxia or some other divey planet was dream that had died long ago.

“I guess,” he drawled.

“Good. Drax the Destroyer as well as Gamora also plan on joining him. You will make quite a crew.”

“Yeah sure, whatever. What’s this got to do with me?” His voice curled into a growl. Nova Prime nodded, crossing over the table and typing. Rocket watched a hologram appear before her.

Gamora’s record. And I thought I killed a lot of people.

“I have a proposition for you 89P13.”

“It’s Rocket,” the threat was there on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t have the energy to follow through.

“Rocket, of course. We have a proposition for your Rocket. Clearly you are aware of your teammates...colorful history.”

Teammates, that was a strong word. He only snorted, folding his arms.

“We’d like you to ...report on Gamora’s activity. Any of her communications, her trips to and from the ship anything out of the ordinary.”

“You want me to snitch on her?”

“We want you to help us protect the galaxy. As the self-proclaimed guardian of it you should look at this as an honorable duty.” Rockt rolled his eyes, these freaking Xandarians always on about honor and all that crap. Nova Prime must have read the doubt in his face. “We cannot expect a daughter of Thanos to go galavanting freely.”

“What’s in it for me?” Nova smirked, pressing several more buttons on the screen; his file.

“You’ve procured several bounties over time haven’t you? But you haven’t retained them for very long and only turned in four out of…” Rocket watched her eyes scan through his record.

“Three hundred and seven,” he finished, spitting on the ground.

And it was only thanks to Groot we caught those four ...he finally admitted to himself.

“You’d be compensated for any information you can give us. We cannot ask the Destroyer because he is not as attentive to these matters and Peter Quill is too close to her. We’d start you at 100,000 units. Starting today, if you accept and it will increase over time. The more information you give us, the more you will be given in turn. What you do say Rocket, want to get rich?”

---

“What I can’t have a discussion with this gentleman?” He looked up at Gamora who grinned and slowly motioned for him to follow her towards the ship. He carried the little twig in its container, having grabbed some soil from one of the lawns late last night- and heaved it onto his hip. Walking into the refurbished ship Quill had christened the Benetar. He followed them up the gangway into the cockpit.

When he looked over his shoulder, Drax nodded to him. A soft silent acknowledgement of their shared pain. He turned back, something in his chest expanding too far, too much and it would shatter the iron in his bones. He swallowed it down and turned away. Something gurgled and moved. Rocket’s stomach flipped, looking down.

No, it can’t be...stars don’t give me flarking hope. Yet there it was, there he was. Two spindly little arms stretched out, uncurling beautifully. The little head tilting back and yawning widely. Moving, cooing, alive there before him.

Groot.

Rocket’s chest inflated, gazing down at the little thing, so tiny and helpless and oh, so perfect. Perfect . Groot was here. Quill’s “I Want You Back” belted throughout the ship. Drax laughed and Gamora stood between their two chairs.

“We’ll follow your lead Star Lord.”

Groot was with him.

They were all with him.

#my writing #gotg #rocket raccoon #groot #gamora #drax #star lord #peter quill #the body keeps the score fic

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precursorgod · 8 years

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DESPITE NOT BEING A HERO, SAINT, OR EVEN A DEMON KING, I WAS SUMMONED

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Chapter 1 - It’s a deal

There was a bright flash of light, a vague pulling sensation at my core, and then I was standing in the middle of a magic circle. The circle was drawn in dark purple chalk outlined with a sickly yellow glow, had a thin white candle at each of the five points, and once again, I was standing in the middle of it.

I may have scored an atrocious 43% on my last science test, but that didn't mean I was stupid.

Magic circle + weird glow + pulling sensation and sudden teleportation = some poor sap tried to summon a demon or something and ended up with me instead.

Said poor sap was wearing a pitch black robe with a deep cowl hiding their whole face.

"Hi," I said.

They didn't say hi back and instead consulted the thick tome resting beside them.

"Not what you expected?"

"..."

"Yeah, if I was trying to summon a demon - you are trying to summon a demon, right? - for whatever reasons, I wouldn't expect a person wearing a bright red apron and holding a soapy frying pan in their equally soapy hands to suddenly appear either. I was in the middle of washing the dishes, you see."

"..."

"Not really one for conversation, are you? Well, that's alright. I can talk enough for both of us."

"..."

"I like what you've done with the room. It's very dark, dank, and has a really nice demon summoningy feel."

"..."

"Oh, I didn't notice it before, but is that real blood I'm standing in? Wait, stupid question, of course it's real blood. Only the real thing would do, huh? Guess I should have asked if it was human or animal blood."

"..."

"I'm not wearing the best shoes for standing in blood right now though. I don't think I've ever worn the best shoes for standing in blood actually. What would the best shoes for standing in blood even be? Whatever they are, they certainly aren't house slippers."

"..."

"Speaking of house slippers, apparently some households don't require people to take off their outside shoes when they go inside the house. I was pretty surprised when I heard that. But I finally understood what those ads for mops - y'know, the ones with the white suburban mums frowning down at the mud on the wooden floors - were talking about. Of course there's gonna be mudstains all over your floor if your kids don't change their shoes before running all around the house."

"..."

"I know I said I could talk enough for both of us, but some form of acknowledgement would be nice, you know? Like a shrug, or a grunt, or even a 'shut up' would be good."

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Or that. That works. Your voice is surprisingly high-pitched. Those robes billow out so much, I thought you were sitting down. Now I see that you're actually just a kid."

"Answer my question."

"Okay, okay, chill, chill. Yes."

"..."

He went back to reading his book.

"Oi, don't go back to ignoring me now. Oi. Oi. Ooooooiiiiiiiiii-"

"Shut up."

"'Kay."

I managed to keep my mouth shut for a full minute.

"Hate to ask, but mind letting me outta the circle?" I said, taking a step forward. "The smell of blood's-"

The kid's head snapped up at my words and he yelled, "Stop right there!"

I froze, one foot hovering precariously about five centimetres above the ground.

"Uh," I said, "Like, right here?"

"Yes."

"That's real sadistic of you, kid, I'm already tired of holding my leg up like this."

"Not my problem," he said, going back to his book.

"Well that's just mean."

I managed to hold my position for exactly thirty seconds. Then I just gave up and walked out of the circle. I crouched down beside where the kid was intently staring at his book.

"What we lookin' at?"

The kid started, letting out a rather cute squeak, and scrambled away from me until his back hit the only visible door leading into the room. His hood fell off with his abrupt movements, and I raised an eyebrow at his ridiculously bright red (like red red, not ginger red) hair with equally ridiculously bright green eyes. He started spluttering, seemingly in shock that I had stopped doing what he said.

"You- What- How did you-?"

"I walked, I guess?" I replied.

"Not that! You shouldn't be able to leave the circle before your summoner allows you to!"

"Ah." I looked at the circle I had just walked out from. There was a line of bloody footprints blurring the purple chalk and the yellow glow was gone. Good, because that shade of yellow was just appalling. "The circle was probably defective, or incomplete, whatever. Seems like it didn't have anything protecting it from simply being rubbed out by who or whatever was summoned, or was missing that crucial 'trap' piece, which would have, well, trapped me in there. Word of advice, kiddo, next time you try to summon an all-powerful being, make sure to prepare your circle for anything that could go wrong, yeah? You're lucky it was just me this time."

He narrowed his pretty green eyes at me. "How do you know all that?"

"I read a lot. Like, a lot."

"Hmph."

There was a moment of silence, neither of us knowing what was supposed to happen next. I wondered what his name was.

Name: Arswen of Cleimeph Level: 13 Age: 10 Race: Human [Details] Afflictions: None [Details] Occupation: None

HP: 110/110 MP: 30/530

[Attributes & Titles] [Background] [Skills]

...I asked for his name, not a full-on fucking analysis.

The translucent green screen did not answer. I slowly lowered the frying pan to the ground, then slapped both hands on my face, belatedly realizing that they were still soapy and wet. So now I had lemon-scented soap suds on my face, a screen that belonged in a VRMMORPG, and a 10 year old boy named Arswen staring at me.

Great.

"...What are you doing?"

"Regretting the action of slapping my hands on my face."

I finally sat down, stretching my legs out before crossing them.

"So, Arswen," I said, wiping my face with my apron, "were you trying to summon a demon?"

Arswen stared at me for a few seconds longer, then answered, "Yes."

"What for?"

"Why do you need to know?"

I shrugged. "I don't, but it would be nice to know for what reason I was dragged out of my world and into yours."

"What makes you think you're in a different world?"

"Well, last I checked, my world didn't have floating green screens telling me somebody's name, level, age, yadda yah, and-"

"What?"

"I said, last I checked, my world didn't have-"

"-floating green screens telling you somebody's name, level, age, and 'yadda yah'?" he interrupted.

I frowned at him. "If you heard me the first time-"

"Are you absolutely sure there is a floating screen showing you my information?"

"Can you, like, stop inter-"

"Are you absolutely sure there is a floating screen showing you my information."

"Yes," I huffed, gesturing to it."How else would I know your name? Can you not see it or something?"

"No, I cannot," he said, crawling quickly to my side and snatching up his book. He started flipping frantically through the pages, searching for who knows what.

"Oh. Well then."

Arswen finally found what he was looking for and held the book up triumphantly. He shoved it into my face.

"Read it."

I pushed the book away from my face until I could actually read it, and squinted at the cursive in the dim lighting.

I have discovered something interesting. I was interviewing the people in a small village called Shayre, when a young man came up to me and asked to speak to me in private. This was nothing new, as my topics of research have caused much controversy, and situations in which I am surrounded by people with the intention of forcefully discouraging me from my pursuit of knowledge are not uncommon. I have confidence in my ability to defend myself in such situations, however, so I saw no harm in hearing him out. And I am quite glad I did.

This young man first asked me to [Evaluate] him and look at his skills specifically. I did as he asked and recited them to him as well. He then proceeded to tell me my full name, level, age, birthday, and other pieces of information even someone with the highest level of [Evaluate] could not have known. As I was staring at him in amazement, this young man, who does not wish for his name to be mentioned even in my private journal, confessed that for as long as he could remember, instead of hearing the Divine Words, he would see coloured rectangles in the air. These coloured rectangles also appeared whenever he wanted to know about something, and [Evaluate Block] appeared to have no affect on his unique ability.

I skimmed over the rest, and pushed the book back to Arswen.

"So, you think I'm the same as the guy the author is talking about."

He nodded.

"Right. What are Divine Words?"

"They're words that appear in our minds when we gain a level, level up or use a skill, or do other actions, like entering a dungeon. Some say that Divine Words are the words of God, hence the name. The main religion of this world is centred around Divine Words. I don't practise it though."

I nodded in understanding. This world was turning out to be more and more like something right out of a light novel. Well, whatever. That wasn't really important. What was important was:

"Is there anything in that book of yours that can send me back?"

Arswen turned back to the page with the magic circle and read through it.

"...No."

"Yeah, I didn't think so," I sighed. He had been trying to summon a demon, after all, and demons presumably had the means to send themselves back to wherever they came from once they finished whatever task they had been summoned to do.

"Well," I leant back and placed my hands on the floor behind me. "Since I'm stuck here for the foreseeable future, you might as well tell me why you needed a demon. Maybe I can help you with your problem, in exchange for food and board. Sound good?"

The boy thought about it, tugging on a lock of bright red hair. He eyed me contemplatively.

"Fine," he decided. "I'll tell you."

Arswen was the third and youngest son. The oldest, Arsral (20), had gone off to Nonloso, the capital city of Talcapian and where the royal family resided, and become a Royal Knight, one serving directly under the Second Prince. He hadn't been able to come home recently because of the war between Talcapian and its neighbour Esturus.

The second son, Arslop (15), was an extremely sickly person who was confined to a wheelchair. His expensive treatment was a large part of the reason his older brother decided to go apply to be a Royal Knight.

The brothers' parents had died in a monster attack three years ago. Their father had been a scholar (the journal in which Arswen had found the magic circle had been his) and their mother had been a rather powerful mage, which was why all three siblings had a higher magical potential than most. The two had eloped and settled down in the small town of Etir, opening a small shop called Cleimeph, which was a combination of their names.

Arslop had found their father's journal half a year ago and had immediately given it to Arswen, who had far more of an interest in magic and the like. Arswen, finding the circle, had taken three months to gather the necessary materials, and another three to prepare the room and circle, then finally did the actual summoning itself today, which resulted in the situation I currently found myself in.

"I wanted someone to help my brother manage the shop while I was in school, and dive in the local dungeon in search of more things to sell," he finished.

I nodded my head in understanding and said, "So basically, you were curious about your father's circle and wanted to know if it would really summon a powerful being."

He flushed red and yelled, "No! Have you even been listening to what I've been saying?"

"Kid, your words don't fool me." I leveled a flat stare at him. "You're interested in magic, pretty much worship your father if the way your face lit up when you mentioned him is any indication, and a Royal Knight's salary is a hell of a lot. If your brother has managed the shop on his own in his condition for three years, he can manage it for a hell of a lot more."

"His condition has been worsening lately," he countered.

"If you can afford all the materials listed in that journal," I pointed at a paragraph beneath the circle, which included things like 'unicorn hoof blessed by Titania herself', "then you can afford to hire a live-in nurse or just someone to help manage the shop when you're not around. Just admit it, you were fooling around."

Arswen turned his head away petulantly. "Hmph."

I sighed and covered my eyes with a (now dry and soap-free) hand. "Well, whatever. I'm here now. In exchange for food and a place to stay, I'll help you guys out. Deal?"

I held my other hand out for him to take.

Arswen pursed his lips. "I'll have to confirm with Arslop, but fine. Deal."

He shook my hand, and violet fire erupted from where our skin met.

You have made a deal with [Arswen of Cleimeph].

Skill proficiency reached. [Deal] has reached Level 1.

[Deal] Level 1 When your client is about act against a deal, they will receive a warning from the System.

Level 2: When your client is about act against a deal, they will receive a warning from the System. When they break the deal, they will receive a medium electric shock.

I stared at our hands, and then at the messages that had popped up.

Ah, fuck.

#my writing #despite not being a demon #chapter one #mild profanity

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timesorceror · 8 years

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Day 14 (January 20th) - Anders and Templars

Think of this as a vent day, about how much you understand Anders’ hatred of the Templars, or meta about him and why he hates the Templars, or a fic or art of him rightfully destroying, or ranting about Templar abuses.

For @justhanderspositive‘s challenge: [HERE].

Wrote this during a few sprints with some of my DA Weird Shit™ Discord Chat buddies. They really force you to think on your fingers, so to speak.

Anders swung the bladed end of the staff into the side of the Templar's armor, right between the straps that held the side plates together. He grunted when he felt the chilling slickness of a Smite run over him, but he didn't need magic to bring down this monster of a man.

He didn't know this one’s name. Didn't care to.

The templar had betrayed his trust during this transfer in the tunnels beneath the city, and it was Anders' job to keep the mages safe no matter whether he had his magic or not. He could feel Justice in his head, guiding his motions, the swings of the staff becoming smoother now, faster. More fluid. He spun on his heel and danced around the Templar as he knocked over a lantern with his foot, spilling the blazing oil across the ground and blinding him. Anders could only hear the cries of the Templar very distantly as he stepped around the man’s back side and jabbed between another chink in the armor, the butt of the blade sinking deep, jerking as it scraped bone.

The templar groaned, and blood began to seep through the wound quickly when Anders drug the hooked end of the wolf blade through the flesh. So. He hadn't hit a pulse point (he wouldn't be able to, he told the other part of himself –Justice, yes, I'm talking to you– because the blade wasn't anywhere near a place like that), but he was wearing down the other fighter.

He spins around again as the templar gets up, turns around. It's like a dance. A very deadly dance. A dance that demands your life if you fail to execute the proper steps.

I can be your teacher, Justice tells Anders. Let me help.

Anders let Justice seep through, just enough so that they were hovering on that edge of oneness that happened so very rarely. His heart pounded, his blood rushed through his ears. His vision swam with a distant blue-red haze that blurred into purple.

And then a brilliant flash of blue streaked across the battlefield to join in the fray, and even through the haze of his battle blood lust, Anders could taste the spice on his tongue, his skin prickling with the feel of the Fade and the buzzing of lyrium nearby. Fenris was here, somehow, and was helping him fight. Not that he'd needed to, since the Templar was down already, the fire from the oil lamp catching on his clothing and flesh and causing him to scream...

A little of Anders' mana returned just in time for him to silence the Templar before more came running. He breathed out slowly, Justice retreating as he whacked the back of the templar’s head, planted his staff in the ground, and finally leaned against it. He glanced over at Fenris, panting harshly.

"So... why did... why did you come to help? It's not like you to assist with my trips out here." He gave Fenris an accessing stare. "I mean, this was a job for the Underground, if you remember me telling you as much this morning."

Fenris shrugged, and turned back around to where a young woman, heavily pregnant, was huddled in the arms of an elven man. Both of them were obviously mages, wearing Circle robes and –at least the man was– carrying a staff.

"Does it matter, mage?" Fenris muttered, offering the two mages a hand up.

"It does," Anders replied in kind, "but perhaps that sort of thing can wait until later."

Fenris looked back at the dead, burning Templar. "What about him? Wasn't he your contact?" Anders shook his head. "Contact of a contact. I'll have to let them know that he's not coming back..." Fenris frowned. "Should probably clean up. Do you have any more mana yet?" Anders' brows knit together in concentration.

"I think... I think so," he huffed quietly.

It was like dragging sap from a tree, but he managed it. He commanded the fire to consume faster, so that the organs, flesh, and other flammable bits of the man were turned to ash. Then the fire died off, leaving only the partially melted pieces of armor behind. Fenris helped Anders stash them and the bones of the skeleton in a nearby crate. While the armor was no longer usable, the metal was good for selling, which would help out the clinic, if nothing else.

"Well," Anders said as they secured the crate, "if nothing else then the man will have performed some sort of service this way."

"Oh, you think?" Fenris shot back, herding the skittish mage couple so that they were between the two of them, with Anders leading the way. He had enough mana now to cast a small light, since his lamp was out of oil. Despite being frightened, the mages held it together until they arrived back at the clinic, where Anders helped the woman settle onto one of the cots with the elf –her partner, Fenris assumed– sitting nearby.

Anders also busied himself with collecting some clothes for the couple that weren't robes –too much attention, he insisted– that he hoped would help them on their way out of the city. Anders turned to the couple, two sets of clothing in his arms.

"You'll have to change into of these at some point. I know those robes are comfortable," he winked, offering them a small smile, "but they'll out you as a mage before you can say 'Templar', I promise you." The elven mage nodded, glancing behind him at Fenris, his fingers trembling as he took the clothing.

"How long will we be able to stay here?" he asked worriedly. "She's... Elaine..."

"She's close, I know," Anders told him. Anders knelt down next to the human woman, so slight she might've been mistaken for an elf, and ran his hands over her belly, his fingers full of healing magic. Once he was done, he looked up at the man. "The underground took care of your phylacteries, yes?"

The man nodded. "We were told they would. I couldn't have done it myself."

Anders spoke with the woman for a few moments longer and sighed when he stood up again.

"You're lucky to have gotten out when you did. She's very close indeed. If she hasn't gone into labor by the end of the week, then I'll see what I can do about inducing it, because I can't give you much more than a few days afterwards to recover." The woman nodded in understanding. "Of course, healer. Even a half day would be too much too ask, and yet you continue to offer more and more than we need."

Anders just offered her a sad smile.

"I would do the same for anyone. Mage or not."

"Even a Templar?" Fenris asked from behind. Anders looked back at him where he stood, washing, drying, and folding linens. Anders paused for a moment. "Well, I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't say yes, wouldn't I?"

Fenris raised a single eyebrow at him. He wasn't challenging or being obtuse. In fact, it was difficult for Anders to tell what he was really getting at, seeing as how he was so hard to read sometimes.

"That's not what I asked, and you know it."

"I don't hold any great love for Templars, considering the one that was supposed to help with the mission today ended up turning on us, but..." He paused, thinking of Alistair, Rashia's dearest love next to him. While the man hadn't ever worn the armor, he'd been trained as one right up until the day before he was to be sworn in when he'd been conscripted. Alistair was the sort of man that, if Anders had to live in a world where the Order would always exist, all Templars should be like.

Kind. Understanding. Dedicated.

"...I knew a few decent ones, once upon a time. And while most of the ones here must have been scraped from the bottom of the most vile barrels of slime and villainy imaginable... there's at least two good ones that I could name right off if you asked me to."

"Ser Thrask," said the woman quietly, and Anders turned to her, feeling his surprise take over his face. "Yes, he's one of them. He's been helping me and the underground the most."

"And Ser Keran," her partner added. "I believe he was the one who helped take care of our phylacteries. Without them, we'd likely not be here."

Anders nodded thoughtfully.

"I hadn't know that Ser Keran was helping out with the underground. I shall have to find a way to thank him." And he walked back to help Fenris with cleaning the rest of the linens, leaving the couple to revel in their newfound freedom privately. Fenris looked up at Anders as he approached, catching the mage's gaze.

"You meant what you said," Fenris muttered quietly. Anders nodded. "I did. As I said, I hold no great love for the Templars and their Order, but at the end of the day, I'm a healer. If a person requires healing, I am compelled to address that."

"But what about..."

"Justice?"

Anders smiled at Fenris' fleeting expression of surprise before the elf summoned his usual mask of stoicism.

"Once, he wouldn't even tolerate the presence of them. I mean, you saw... no. You weren't there, were you? No, I don't think you were."

"What?" Fenris pressed gently.

"The night Hawke went with me to the Chantry all those years ago, when... when I discovered that Karl had been made Tranquil." Anders fussed with a folded linen, and Fenris reached out to settle him. He'd removed his gauntlets at some point, Anders noted. It felt good to feel someone else's skin against his own; it grounded him.

"No, I wasn't there for that," Fenris confirmed, "but I heard about it, eventually. Justice overwhelmed you when you found out that the Templars had made him Tranquil, and you killed most of them. But your words make me think that... that reaction has changed?"

Anders shrugged. "Sort of. When we were attacked earlier, I was able to fight on my own, even when my magic was drained. Justice helped me a little then, but didn't outright take over. It was better to be subtle."

Fenris chuffed. "I wasn't aware that you knew what subtle was." Anders debated between rolling his eyes and flicking the elf on the nose. He settled for the eyes, snorting with pretend derision.

"But I did notice your foot patterns were different," Fenris added. "Is that how Justice was helping?" Anders nodded. "Yes. When Justice was possessing the body of the Grey Warden Kristoff, he used a sword and shield." Fenris inclined his head. "A warrior, then."

"Yes. And Justice was a warrior in the Fade, too. Being in my body must be an entirely different experience, but that doesn't mean I'm not capable of being a warrior. I've even worn armor before, though I had to use a bit of magic to help augment my strength." Fenris raised a single eyebrow, and Anders simply shrugged in response.

"Rashia taught me how to do it. It's the strangest thing. But, anyway... just because I'm a mage doesn't mean I'm useless without my magic. Though, I'm thankful you appeared when you did today. Why did you come by?"

Fenris merely offered him a sly smile. "I had a feeling you might need me. But... you didn't really. You had things quite well in hand by the time I arrived."

Anders chuckled, leaning in close for a quick kiss.

"Oh, Fen... I always need you."

Fenris closed his eyes as their foreheads pressed together and he hummed contentedly. "Good to know, mage." Anders smiled and leaned forward for another kiss.

#anders #fenris #fenders #templars #mage underground #januanderstakeback #timesorcerorwrites #canon typical violence #tw: blood

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