#but i call it the furry incident so nobody gets any more ideas!

[ectobiologoof]

thatsillyjohnkid replied to your post “that post is just reminding me of that awful time that shall not be...”

th... the furry incident?

famelicose-sanguine replied to your post “that post is just reminding me of that awful time that shall not be...”

the fuckin what

the furry incident.

[pl-panda]

The vines that bind us - Chapter 9

Chapter 1 || Previous || Next

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She opened the window and picked a pencil. With deadly precision she tossed it. The wooden tool sailed through the air until it hit the binoculars and broke one side of them. She huffed and closed the window before pulling the curtains closed. How rude.

Jason cursed under his breath. Any other day he would probably avoid the projectile, but it caught him completely by surprise. By all accounts, it was physically impossible to use a pencil with such precision and force to destroy military-grade night-vision binoculars. At least the memory card was safe so he could give it to replacement later on for analysis.

Still in bad mood after having his gear ruined, Jason zipped to Dupain-Cheng’s window and gave a light knock. No response. Another knock. Still no response. Finally, after the third knock, the blinders opened and the window itself followed, revealing a very angry girl. Jason finally had a chance to get a better look at her. She did, in fact, have blue hair and now that he’d seen it close, he would bet half his paycheque that it was somehow a natural color. The purple too. She must have had her hair dyed for the first day of work. Her eyes were another part that he memorized. They were blue and iridescent green at the same time, giving a slight unnatural aura. Or maybe it was just that she looked ready to murder him.

“Are you done staring?” She asked, clearly annoyed. “You are not my type and much too old. And the stalker routine is plain creepy. Get lost old guy.”

She was about to close the window when he started speaking.

“I actually came to apologize. I did not ‘stalk’ you, thank you very much. I was just checking on you, miss. You do realize that you single-handedly kicked Riddler’s ass and got quite a bit of publicity.”

“Suuure. You do that for every brave citizen?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and a small grin. “You would be really short-staffed. I hope that overgrown furry does pay you for the overtime.” Any traces of amusement disappeared from her face. “Now get lost before I sic Chloe on you. She recently started dating Damian Wayne and the two seem to bond over ruining people. I’m sure you would make a decent target.” Without further ado, Mari closed the window and put the blinders back in place, completely cutting him off. 

Jason didn’t protest. He was too busy processing the fact that Demon Spawn apparently started dating someone. Oh, he would have so much fun teasing the little menace. 

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

When the motorbike entered the Batcave, Jason expected to meet perhaps the Replacement or Demon Spawn. He definitely did not expect to see the entire family sans B and Alfred. 

“Do you want to perhaps explain why dad received an angry call about ‘some idiot in red bucket’ stalking her through the window?” Barbara asked. frowning deeply. 

“Or at least why were you stalking her?” Dick added.

“Or where you hid my coffee?” Tim joined.

“Timothy!” Several of them shouted.

“What? It’s important!”

“Back to the matter at hand.” Dick turned back to Jason. “What exactly were you thinking?!” He screamed.

“Geez. You thought about joining some opera?”

“Tt. Answer the question.” Damian interrupted.

“That reminds me. Did you know Demon Spawn got himself a girlfriend?” Jason asked, trying to deflect. He really did not like how they jumped at him.

“Not… important.” Cass stared daggers at him. “Talk.”

“Fine!” he threw hands in the air. “I followed a hunch. And I was right. She is a meta!” He procured his destroyed binoculars. “There is no human way to destroy military-grade equipment like that with just a pencil.”

Tim picked it up and quickly tossed it onto the table nearby. A blue light scanned the products and the bat-computer started to display the scan plus introductory analysis.

“Well, he is right. There is no way that a simple pencil could destroy it.” He pressed some buttons and recording from the last seconds of the item’s life played. They could clearly see her throw a pencil at it and then everything went black. “Or I was wrong.” Tim started to do a series of calculations. 

“Bucket-head might be onto something. With her muscle mass, it would be impossible to throw a pen with enough force. Actually, it’s almost impossible to make that throw. Not with human muscle density…”

Barbara rolled over to him and the two started to work side by side. “But that’s also not probable since the body is not…” 

“She would probably…” 

“Plant fibers have a similar structure, but she would…” 

“Maybe… Unless she is not strong and instead…”

“Um… earth to nerd corner. Can you explain?”

“Jason might have hit the bullseye.” Tim grinned and several groans could’ve been heard. “She is definitely a meta. It still doesn’t explain why you stalked her.”

“Is that not reason enough?” Red Hood asked. He immediately regretted it when Duke stared daggers at him. 

“You do realize, that metahumans are not as rare as it was believed at the beginning?” Tim asked.

“What?”

“Roughly ten percent of humans are born with dormant meta-gene and the number is increasing each year. And about one in twenty people have an active meta-gene. They just don’t go around wrecking everything or don a cape and run around beating people.” Tim spoke in a matter-of-factly tone. 

“What?”

“Yeah. Eidetic memory, or perfect recall for our uneducated bucket-head,” Tim snickered while Jason grumbled.

“I hate that name.”

“I think it will stay for a while.” Stephanie was smiling. “She does have a way with nicknames. First an overgrown furry, then red Buckethead…” She was on the verge of laughing. “I wonder what she does next?”

“As I was saying,” Tim regained the control of the conversation, “eidetic memory is actually one of the earliest forms of registered active meta-ability.”

“What?”

“The gene tends to activate under extreme duress, but, as we learned, the definition of extreme duress varies from person to person.”

“So what? A guy afraid of failing an exam might accidentally unlock super memory?” Jason dismissed it.

“More like if someone lived in years under pressure and is about to crack.” Dick pointed. “I mean there was even this large awareness campaign about four years ago led by Beast Boy. Where were you?”

“Dead.” Jason deadpanned. “I was dead.”

“Oh… I guess you didn’t see Garfield’s movies then?” Steph asked, being the first to break through the heavy atmosphere.

“She is still a meta.” Jason tried to fight, but his arguments were wavering. 

“Which changes nothing. You will go to her tomorrow and apologize.” Tim said categorically. 

“Ugh! Fine. But I got one more interesting fact: Demon Spawn got himself a girlfriend.” He grinned and turned to Damian. Everyone followed his gaze.

“Tt. I have no idea what you are talking about Todd.” 

“That blonde! Charlie saw you two sitting and eating pastries together! She is the new intern!” Dick had a big fat smile on his face and his eyes were almost glittering. “Who is she? How did you two meet?”

“Blonde?” Tim suddenly paled considerably. “There is only one blonde intern. Please tell me you aren’t dating Chloe Bourgeoise of all people!” He squeaked.

Damian wanted to deny it further, but seeing the Replacement’s reaction he changed his mind. The grin that formed on his face was borderline malicious before turning back to the emotionless mask he wore every day. “Yes. She finally admitted that I was not at fault for the cake incident. She is actually tolerable now.” 

“What cake incident?” Steph asked, smelling some juicy story about her ex. That kind of story was the best.

“Tt. When we were at this gala in Paris two years ago, Replacement attacked me and we fell into the birthday cake.”

“It doesn’t sound…” Dick started, but Damian interrupted him.

“The cake had six levels and was about as tall as I am now. Mayor Bourgeoise was not happy that we ruined his precious princess’s birthday.”

“So that’s why we no longer go to Paris?”

“Tt. No. That’s because Jason almost trashed the Louvre.” 

“Right…” Tim mumbled while his eyes closed. In just a moment, he was snoring away on the chair.

“Damn. I thought it would work faster.” Barbara complained while peeling the near-invisible sticker away from his neck. 

-----

Thursday actually passed without any trouble for Marinette. The class finally got it through their collective single brain cell that she had the power to end their trip with two words. She was slowly getting the grip on the work and after some talk with Penny, where the woman practically forced Mari to listen to some additional advice. She was actually offended that the girl didn’t call her immediately. 

She did have to practically drag her barely conscious boss to a meeting in the afternoon, but he didn’t put up much of a fight after she gave him a Tikki Special Coffee. The small goddess giggled inside her pocket the entire time as the boy begged on his knees.

After work, she and Chloe went to the Gotham Zoological Garden. At first, she wanted to go to the Botanic Garden first, but their class was supposed to visit there after work, so the girls went to Zoo instead. Gotham had a much broader collection of birds than Paris did. And the less chance of running into their classmates, the better.

“...He did what?” Chloe asked louder than necessary, but nobody paid the two girls in smart outfits any attention.

“Yeah. But don’t worry. I gave him a piece of my mind.” Mari dismissed it.

“It’s still creepy.”

“I know. That’s why I sicced the police at him.”

“That’s my girl!” 

“Well, I threatened to send you and Damian after him, but I decided it would be too cruel.” She smiled. “Besides, I’ve seen that Red Buckethead is trending already.” She pulled out her phone and showed a post there was a picture of Red Hood next to a reversed red bucket.

FashionMari @QueenGoldie Someone in a red bucket was stalking me. I was torn between calling the police and criticizing their fashion choice. In the end, I did both. 

“Only you Goldie. Only you…”

--------

Friday was press conference day. For once, Mari woke up earlier and got dressed in record time. Chloe watched from the side-lines as the girl moved around like a tornado, preparing everything and triple-checking all arrangements. She changed outfits four times before finally the blonde grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to sit down. 

“Goldie! You know I love you and I would kill for you,” She started, “but if you don’t calm down I will tie you up and leave you here for the day.”

“But…!” Bluenette tried to protest, but Chloe cut her off.

“No buts. We are only sixteen. I for one came here to learn a bit and maybe meet someone. You are supposed to be learning. Nobody said anything about getting a full-time job.”

“The deal…”

“So what if they fire you?” Chloe raised her hands over her head. “Ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous! You have Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeoise fighting over who will get you while Jagged Stone is willing to fly over half the world just to give your references in person. You run a very successful flower shop and even more successful boutique.”

“But…” She tried to muster a weak protest, but Chloe’s angry gaze made her wither. 

“I will not let you run yourself dry!” The blonde stated firmly. “So either you take a step back and breathe or I will call your uncle.”

“Not uncle Jagged! he already banned me from drinking coffee!”

“So you will behave?” Chloe asked with a smirk. 

“Fiiiinneee!” Mari couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Queenie. I needed this. I’m glad I have you as my friend. And sister.” 

“Well of course you needed me! Everyone needs me!” She huffed before her expression became more gentle and she pulled Mari into a hug. 

Downstairs the class was waiting for them. Probably they finally gathered the courage to confront her about Alya’s fate. The girl shouldn’t have lied while filing for promotion. Mari and Chloe stormed past them not even sparing them a glance. Outside, Adrien was already waiting inside the limousine with Gerard at the driver’s seat. 

“I’m glad your driver is finally here.”

“Me too!” The blond boy was practically beaming. “I’m free from Lila’s clutches.”

“Could you drop us at… No. 2 Twine Street?” Mari asked the gorilla, who only grunted in response.

“Um… We should be going to Wayne Tower.”

“Nope.” Mari popped the ‘p’. “You,” she pointed at Adrien, “are an intern in PR. I asked for you to be present at the press conference to help move stuff around and so on.” 

“And me?” Chloe asked. “If you expect me to…” 

“You’re there to support your boyfriend. He was the one that practically demanded that I get you there. He hates publicity.”

“Oh… Good then. Let’s go.”

“Boyfriend?” Adrien asked curiously. “You mean Wayne?”

“Yeah. Apparently Chloe found herself a partner in scheming.”

“I bet that their dates are filled with planning to take over the world.”

“We could’ve taken the world over by lunch if we wanted.” Chloe looked almost offended. “The question is what way would be the most suitable one.” 

All three of them broke into laughter as the car rode through the city of crime.

----

About fifteen minutes before the press conference was scheduled to start, Tim Drake was still not there. None of the Waynes were there in fact. She sent about fifteen angry messages to Mr. Drake and he was still not here, which only fueled her stress and anger. 

The press had no idea so far and they were eagerly awaiting whatever news the company wanted to present. She bit her lower lips. Chloe was on the phone, trying to reach her boyfriend.

“If that idiot doesn’t get here in the next ten minutes, I’m going to consider stabbing him.” 

“Damian?!” Chloe shouted into her phone. 

“Tt. What do you want?”

“First of all, that’s not how you talk to your girlfriend. Second of all, where in the world is your excuse of a brother?! Mari is an inch from going ballistic!”

“Tt. He’s asleep.” Damian answered in an impassionate tone.

Mari leaped over and wrestled the phone from Chloe. “You go to him right this moment or I swear to all that’s holy and…”

“I get it.” He interrupted her, showing signs of irritation. There were some static and the camera blurred for a moment from the fast motion. When it returned, she saw barely awake Tim Drake wearing blue onesies. 

“wah…”

“Get yourself cleaned up and into a suit in the next three minutes!” She shouted. God bless the soundproof backstage.

“Um… But I will never make…”

“I’m certain you have a great webcam somewhere in this big mansion of yours. Set it in the library and call me in the next few minutes. I so hope you were not supposed to be the model because gods help me…” She took a look at his terrified face. “Of course you were…” 

“In my defense…”

“Shut up. Get going!” She hanged up and turned to Adrien and Chloe, who were looking at her with a mixture of fear and awe. “What are you waiting for?!” She tossed a package to the boy. “You get dressed in the new product.” She pushed him outside and into the janitor’s closet on the other side. “And you’re coming with me!” She dragged Chloe toward the main room. The blonde was sent to the technics room to get the feed started while Mari stepped on the scene. The chatter died quickly and all reporters turned to her.

“Hi. Please forgive us for the slight delay. We have minor technical difficulties that are being solved as we speak. In the meantime, you are free to take the seats. The conference is about to start.” 

Behind her, a screen slowly descended. She saw Adrien leaning from the doors leading backstage and smiling at her. 

“Without further ado, I present you Tim Drake, CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

The image of the teen with black hair appeared on the screen and he waved everyone. He was holding a red cup of coffee with black polka dots, the same Tikki summoned for him the first time. 

Satisfied with herself, Marinette allowed herself a moment of rest. The conference was going well and after a minute of silence for the dead in the recent attack, the presentation began. Adrien was a natural model so it all went great. Wayne Tech in co-operation with Gabriel brand was introducing a new line of ‘smart’ fabric that could withstand medium stress and was almost impossible to dirty or stain. She had to admit it was quite amazing. Apparently, it was partially how Mr. Agreste got her class internship. Granted, Adrien was not supposed to be the model but you don’t look a gifted horse in the mouth. 

Everything was going great until the doors to the room were kicked open and several goons barged in, followed by none other than Two-face. Everyone immediately fell onto the floor. Mari couldn’t help but sigh exasperatedly. Why did it have to go wrong at every turn?

Ignoring the terrified stares, she stormed toward the intruders. “Excuse me, sir?” She asked with an emotionless face.

“What?” The man looked clearly irritated.

“I don’t see your name on the guest list. Did you remember to call in advance?”

“Of course not! Do I look like…” The criminal was clearly angry. 

“Then I apologize, but I must ask you to leave now.” 

“Do you have any idea who I am?” Two-face pulled his gun.

“I’m sorry, sir, but if you are not on on the list, I can’t let you stay.” She said in an emotionless voice. Mari was honestly too tired to care at this point. Maybe at least the evening would be better.

“I’m not sure you get the situation, miss. I’m not here for the interviews. Everyone pull out your wallets and drop them in the sacks!” He shouted while his men started to walk around.

“Hm… That won’t do.” She said. After muttering something under her breath, Mari tossed her clipboard. The spinning board hit one of the mooks in the head, knocking him cold, before bouncing and hitting the next one. After that, it returned to her hand. 

That was enough for Two-Face. He aimed his gun at her, but she moved faster than he anticipated. Within seconds, she grabbed his wrist and pushed it up so he was aiming at the ceiling. She squeezed it hard enough to make him drop the gun right into her other waiting hand. The girl let go of his wrist and disassembled the gun into pieces in what could become record time. 

Now irritated, Mari grabbed Two-face by his tie and pulled him down until they were at the same eye-level. 

“I was trying to do it peacefully sir. I am now ordering you to leave. Otherwise, I will actually have to hurt you.” She leaned closer until she was able to whisper. “And don’t make mistakes, Dent. I can and will hurt you.” For a moment her eyes lost the blue coloring and became entirely iridescent green, glowing slightly. 

Harvey Dent rarely felt fear. His life was more often than not guided by the toss of a coin. Now though, he stared in the eyes of Poison Ivy, except ten times scarier. He was already afraid of that woman after she almost fed him to her ‘precious’.

“I… I am deeply sorry madame.” He spoke carefully. “Men! We are moving out. Leave the bags!” And with that, they were all gone. 

Most of the reporters gave Mari big applause. There was only one angry old man that stared daggers at the girl. 

“You let that scum go away!” He shouted. “He was a criminal.”

“Sir. You are free to go after him if that’s your wish. I’m at work and my job description never included chasing after criminals.”

“But… But…” 

“Anyway, we were in the middle of the press conference if I’m not mistaken.”

-------

NEXT

[quentinblack]

Australia Magizoo (link to full story on FF.Net)

Australia Magizoo really was quite something.

Their day had begun with an extremely filling breakfast that could’ve possibly put even Hogwarts to shame, as Ron loaded up on copious amounts of poached eggs, bacon and sausages.

Hermione had settled for a few freshly made French pastries and a slice of toast with something called Vegemite spread onto it. Ron was not sure what exactly Vegemite was, but it had an awful smell to it and did not look up to too much cop either – his girlfriend reassuring him that it was just a type of yeast extract did not particularly sell it either. It looked like it had been scooped out of the bottom of a cup in one of Professor Trelawney’s tea-reading classes.

Following their stomachs being filled by their respective breakfasts, they had spent nearly the entire day exploring the gigantic grounds of Woollahra’s wizarding tourist attraction – and Ron could see why it was such an attraction.

The park was filled with almost every creature that you could possibly name, with a large section even being dedicated to housing non-magical creatures of interest too - such as lions, giraffes and even wild polar bears in a sub-zero arctic section!

A lot of the magizoo’s star attractions were dedicated to beasts that Ron and Hermione had been fortunate (or unfortunate) enough to encounter before. He had never really considered how lucky they’d actually been over the last seven years, at least in terms of seeing such a wide array of creatures.

Children and adults alike were crowding round for a glimpse of a phoenix in the flesh, which Ron shrugged off as nothing too exciting, as he’d seen Dumbledore’s one countless times before in their former headmaster’s office– and he’d even been flown out of the Chamber of Secrets by it in second year.

They balked at a massive queue that had formed for rides on the thestrals, with many lucky adults and children very excited at the prospect of riding on a beast that was invisible to them. Hermione read on a sign that outside of Britain the wild populations of thestrals were dwindling quite a lot, so for many non-Brits this would be their first and possibly only chance to ever see, or indeed, not see a thestral, which any British student would obviously just take for granted - they were even used as a mode of transport at Hogwarts!

If they had thought that the queue for the thestrals was large then that paled in comparison to the one for the hippogriffs, as everyone longed to receive a bow from one of the delightful, but deadly part-horse, part-eagle creatures. They did not linger there too long, as again, unlike much of the world’s population they had also had their fair share of experiences with hippogriffs.

The next portion of the park following the hippogriffs was dedicated to the world’s deadliest beasts – and after Ron hastily hurried Hermione away from the acromantulas, they spent a while looking at the magnificent Antipodean Opaleye dragon. The purple dragon was a New Zealand-native and as such, one of the more locally sourced creatures in the entire magizoo, although they soon noticed that the next part of the tour was actually dedicated entirely to the magical creatures of Australia.

At first they were introduced to the bunyips which were based in a large swamp. They were peculiar creatures, with big tusks, flippers for feet and large bushy tails. A sign near them spoke of how over the years there had been several infamous incidents where rogue bunyips had got loose and attacked muggles, with the beasts coming out at night in the cover of darkness to attack small children, women or defenceless household pets.

One of the world’s last living muldjewangk was housed in a lake not far from the bunyips. The muldjewangk, who did not surface whilst they were at the lake, were described as kind of like a cross between giant squid and merpeople.

It was said that in centuries gone by hordes of muldjewangk terrorised muggle fisherman all over the Indian Ocean, but in the last hundred years they had become an endangered species thanks partially to pollution in muggle waters, but mostly due to wizarding-poachers hunting them for their teeth and blood, with both apparently fetching a pretty penny due to their rarity and variety of uses.

It was just as they were walking away from the lake, somewhat disappointed at not glimpsing a sight of the muldjewangk, that they bumped into Tezza, who was the porter that had taken their bags upon arrival and asked about You Know Who’s nose. It seemed that Tezza performed an array of roles at the hotel, one of which also seemingly involved working with the creatures themselves.

“Alright guys?!” he chirped excitedly when he spotted them, as they said hello and made some small talk.

“Didn’t get to see the muldjewangk? Don’t be too down guys, they don’t like coming out during the day much anyways. The kids here are always devo at missing out like, but let me show you some little buggers that I think you’ll both be stoked on seeing.”

They followed Tezza over to some large gum trees, which had magical protections placed just in-front of them, indicating how dangerous whatever beasts they housed must be.

“Now these little ones might look cute, but trust me, they’re fierce little bastards especially if they’re after a bit of grub,” he said, as he pointed to what looked like a tiny little bear climbing the tree nearest to them.

“Isn’t that a koala bear?” a confused Hermione asked, as Tezza burst out laughing.

“They might look like koalas, but take a look for yourself,” Tezza said, before waving his wand and erecting a human-like mannequin on the ground about 10 metres directly below the creature. It noticed and after a brief second of contemplation it instantly threw itself down through the sky, claws first, soon landing on the head of the mannequin, tearing it apart with both its paws and teeth.

“Bloody hell!” Ron swore.

“You can say that again, mate!” Tezza replied. “That little bugger is called a drop bear and well… it lives up to its name,” he added, as the little beast tore furiously at the prop, before Tezza conjured it up a few dead rats for it to feast on instead as a treat for its part in the show.

“Do they mind being here… at the magizoo… with all these people ogling at them?” Hermione asked Tezza.

“The drop bears?”

Ron felt a little awkward as he guessed the train of thought and line of questioning that his girlfriend would have for Tezza.

“Yes, the drop bears, but, well, all of the creatures and beasts you house here really. Do they like it here… rather than being in the wild?”

“To tell you the truth Miss Granger,” Tezza said, as he paused for a brief moment before continuing. ”For most of them now there ain’t no wild no more anyway... what with all the poachers like, and it ain’t as easy as it was years ago keeping ‘em away from exposure to muggoes neither. It’s the same way most the muggo animals are going too. Woollahra’s the best place for ‘em I say.”

Hermione seemed content enough with Tezza’s response, although Tezza was hardly going to turn round and admit the creatures all hated it there if they did anyway.

The magizoo worker began guiding them away from the drop bear enclosure and further along to a stretch of grassland in the distance.

“Course, we don’t house any beasts that are sentient,” Tezza continued, as Hermione nodded along in approval. “You won’t find no centaurs, vampires or werewolves here… ‘tho all the guests would be clamouring to see ‘em if they were, as you can imagine, like.

Fancy that ehh? Seeing an actual centaur or werewolf in the flesh, now that would be proper gnarly!”

Ron was once more left feeling a bit spoilt by his education.

He couldn’t quite believe that Tezza had never seen a werewolf or centaur in the flesh, at Hogwarts they’d had a werewolf and a centaur among the faculty at varying intervals of his stint at school.

“What about house elves?” Ron asked nervously, as he stole a quick glance at Hermione, who looked even more interested in Tezza’s response to the latest question posed to him, as they walked past a giant, yellow warning sign that read:

“CAUTION: YOU ARE NOW APPROACHING THE YARA-MA-YHA-WHO ENCLOSURE. THIS BEAST IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS! DO NOT ENGAGE IT IF IT ESCAPES! CHILDREN UNDER THE AGE OF 15 MUST BE ACCOMPANIED BY A RESPONSIBLE PARENT OR GUARDIAN!”

“You certainly won’t find no house-elves here!” Tezza said in a slightly bemused tone. “Not working for us anyway… course we get lots of rich families from America, India and France come and visit who bring theirs along for the trip… ya’ kno’, funny thing is I’d never even seen one in the flesh before I started working here myself!”

“Why is that?” Hermione asked. “Are house-elves against the law in Australia?” she added, with a hopeful tone in her voice.

Tezza audibly chuckled.

“Against the law? We’d have to bloody have some for ‘em to be illegal! Never really caught on down here since nobody could bloody afford one. I’m sure whoever cooked up the idea for this place could have their pick of them now though, like, you know I-

“WHAT’S THAT?!” Ron burst out, as Hermione instinctively grabbed his hand, as she too saw a giant bear-like creature waddling towards them.

It was just their luck.

The one time they visit the magizoo was the time that the extremely dangerous creature broke out.

Why was it always them?!

At least Tezza would know what to do.

He didn’t look in the slightest bit afraid, which reassured Ron that he must know how to handle the very dangerous looking beast heading towards them.  

“What’s what?” a bemused looking Ted asked them, as Hermione and Ron both drew their wands, which confused him even more.

“Over there!” Hermione gasped, as she pointed over to the furry giant which was getting closer to them, albeit at a fairly slow pace.

“HA-HA! You can’t mean… oh you think that silly bugger is the dangerous beast that sign was warning yous about?” he asked with a patronising look on his tanned face, as Ron nodded awkwardly.

“HA-HA! You wait until all of the lads hear about this one!” he blurted out, with a furious grin washed across his face. “Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger frightened off their rocker by a silly old yowie! COME HERE YA BIG WALKING CARPET!” Tezza shouted, as the yowie responded to his call and quickened his pace, although only slightly.

“They’re clever creatures, yowie’s, but they’re bloody pussies. Wouldn’t hurt a mozza, even if it was biting on one of their balls!” Tezza joked, as he stretched his arms out for the yowie to give him a hug.

The yowie towered over him, it must’ve been at least seven foot, but he showed no fear when it barked softly and wrapped its furry arms right round his thin-frame, almost lifting him off of the ground with enthusiasm as it hugged him.

“We call him Chewy,” Tezza said excitedly, as the yowie released him. “You know, like the wookie from Star Wars.”

“What’s Star Wars?” Ron asked blankly.

“Only one of the greatest bloody movies of all time, mate!” Tezza replied indignantly.

“I’ve never watched any movies,” Ron responded.

“You ain’t ever seen a single movie in ya’ life?”

Tezza looked in a state of shock, perhaps he was a half-blood or a muggle-born and had grown up with the muggle television.

Ron shook his head in response.

“Blimey. Where did you find this guy?!” Tezza quizzed Hermione.

“It’s kind of a long story,” she replied, before smirking a little at both Tezza and then Ron himself.

“Now you run along now Chewy,” Tezza ordered to the yowie. “Shouldn’t be out here near the yara-ma-yha-who anyway you daft git,” he added, as he poked his bear-like companion. The yowie obeyed, sauntering off in the opposite direction after uttering what sounded like it could only be a laugh at Tezza.

“Oh my goodness,” Hermione mouthed, seemingly noticing something in the distance. “Is that… is that…

“Too right-o, Miss Granger,” Tezza replied. “That is a yara-ma-yha who.”

Ron saw it out of the corner of his eye, rested on a similar tree to the one that the drop bear had been grasping to before it flew out of the sky.

The yara-ma-yha-who was a slightly slimy, amphibious looking red creature that can’t have been much bigger than the average goblin.

Its dark blood-red body resembled a frightening cross between a frog, an octopus and a common garden gnome.

It was truly hideous.

It hung to the tree by its tiny red hands, but it also had thin, slippery suckers on the rear of its body which it used to swing around the tree too, almost like a monkey would do with its tail.

“That little bugger is damn-near the most deadly beast in this entire magizoo. If I had to face the dragon or that thing without a wand – I’d choose the dragon every bloody time… you wanna kno’ why?” Tezza asked, pausing slightly for effect.

Ron suspected that he would tell them the answer whether they wanted to hear it or not, but nonetheless he humoured Tezza all the same.

“Alrite, I’ll tell you why… you run into a hungry dragon on a bad day, it’ll smoke you alrite… but dragons don’t play with their food… a dragon will roast ya’ long before it thinks about eating ya’ to stop ya’ from runnin’ away… but these things… mate… ya kno’ what these things do to ya? It uses those suckers to drain you of your blood, but not enough to kill ya’… na’, it takes just enuff to weaken ya’ and keep ya’ within its grasp… then it will swallow ya’ whole… they can swallow up to four time their body weight… but that’s not the last of it, oh na’, wouldn’t be so bad if it was, like, but that’s only the start of it… ya’ see once it falls asleep it pumps oxygen right through the victim’s brain and airwaves… acts kinda like an oxygen tank in there… to try and keep ya alive… then as it gradually comes out of its slumber it slowly regurgitates ya’… then… when it wakes up… it starts the process all over again. They can sometimes keep their prey alive for over four days before finally killing it for good.”

Hermione said nothing, but she had a look of utter disgust and horror on her face.

“And has one of those…things… ever actually escaped?” Ron managed to muster.

“Oh Christ no!” Tezza jibed. “They’d probably shut the whole place down if one of those got out and killed a poor little ankle biter or somethin’. Can you imagine the bad press we’d-

“ATTENTION ALL STATIONS!”

A loud, slightly muffled booming voice came out from what looked like a small, portable muggle radio on Tezza’s belt.

“WHO WAS THE LAST OF YOUS TO HAVE SEEN OUR BRITISH VISITORS? I REPEAT, WHO WAS THE LAST OF YOUS TO HAVE SEEN OUR BRITISH VISITORS? OVER!”

Tezza smiled slightly.

“Funny you should ask that, Zoe,” he said into the radio. “I’m with ‘em right now. Over.”

“Is that you Terrence? Over.”

“Sure as hell is, Zoe, you see-

“What’s your nearest assembly point? Over.”

“Well… we’re just by the old Yara-ma-yha-who enclosure… so I’d say…erm… ah ya! The Great Barrier Reef café. Over.”

“That’s great. Head over with them now… I’ll meet you there in ten minutes. Over.”

“No worries, Zoe, mate. I’ll bring ‘em right down. Over,” he said into the radio, as he started heading east, then motioned with his hand for them to follow him.

The Great Barrier Reef café turned out to be a massive muggle-style aquarium, with a sizeable restaurant in the back serving up mostly seafood-based cuisine. The aquarium hosted mostly exotic fish found in the seas of Sydney, but there were also other creatures like sharks and turtles housed there too.

Tezza stayed with them in a waiting area of the main reception, which housed a large open-tank filled with different types of rays, which people, mostly children, were able to reach in and feed if they so pleased.

Whoever had designed the hotel had really gone all in on the muggle-theme, as this particular section even had a large boxed television raised up high on the wall, with some kind of muggle wildlife program playing.

“That man on the television. Is he a muggle?” Hermione asked, as the blonde, burly man in a khaki outfit stalked a large crocodile whilst he talked to the camera.

“Who? Steve Irwin?! He’s only one of the most famous muggoes in all of Australia! Surprised you ain’t heard of him,” he replied.

“But how… but how is he able to avoid being killed by that crocodile? If he’s not a wizard?” Ron quizzed, as he too began watching on at the TV in surprise.

“Beats me, mate. But he ain’t in no danger – those crocco’s love him,” Tezza said with a wry smile on his face, as he placed his left hand into the water and reached down. “Why… Steve-o up there’s in no more danger with one of those crocs than I am with this little sting-ray,” he added, as he caressed one of the floating flat creatures with his fingers.

“AH YA C***!!!!” Tezza blurted out, splashing water everywhere as he quickly removed his hand from the tank.

“The little bastard stung me!” he exclaimed in outrage.

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 24

You can read it on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

Tuesday floats by without incident. Stiles eats lunch at the popular table again, this time joined by Danny and a bunch of other people—including Allison and Scott—so werewolf business if off the table, but it’s kind of a relief to be talking about normal, boring high school stuff, even if half the cafeteria is still watching like they’re expecting Stiles and Allison to get into a throw-down fight.

Please. Stiles isn’t that stupid. Allison would wipe the floor with him, and he knows it.

Stiles does get the chance to talk to Scott in Biology though, because Mr. Dalloway is a year away from retirement and stopped giving a fuck about a decade ago.

“You have to stay away from Allison for a bit,” Stiles warns him. “Like, her grandfather is as psycho as Kate. If he finds out what you are, he’ll kill you.”

Scott’s brows draw together in a worried expression. “I mean, I get it, but she needs me right now, you know?”

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. “Scotty, bro, invite Ally to your place or something, but do not go to her place, okay? Look, her parents aren’t going to complain she’s not spending time with dear old granddad, trust me, even if they hate your guts.”

“They really do,” Scott agrees.

“So promise me, okay?” Stiles presses.

“Yeah.” Scott’s forehead creases. “I promise.”

A part of Stiles breathes a little easier. The rest of him continues to quietly freak the fuck out.

***

“Take your Adderall,” Dad reminds Stiles on Wednesday morning, which is a good point, because Stiles woke up like he was trying to climb the walls, and now, after breakfast, he��s twitching like a strung-out squirrel.

He gulps down his pill with the last of his orange juice, and grabs his keys. “Stella, let’s go!”

Derek walks them to the front door.

“You feeling okay, big guy?” Stiles asks him. “With the moon and stuff?”

“I think I should be asking you that,” Derek says. He reaches out and squeezes Stiles’s shoulder gently.

“What?” Stiles might have missed the question because he was staring so hard at Derek’s mouth that he somehow didn’t hear the words that fell out of it.

Derek smiles at him, and is it Stiles’s imagination or is there something a little sharp in that smile? Something a little knowing. Something a little smug even, like he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking when he’s staring at his mouth.

Stiles doesn’t know if he wants to kiss that mouth, or just watch it work its way all over his body. With bonus teeth and tongue. And maybe even some growling.

Derek leans in close and says, slowly, his breath hot on Stiles’s ear: “Are you feeling okay, Stiles?”

Stiles’s breath hitches, and he turns his face.

Too late. Derek is already leaning back, so a scrape of stubble against his jaw is all Stiles gets. Somehow though, that’s still enough sensation to go straight to his dick.

“Um,” he manages. “’m good.”

Derek suddenly looks way too fucking innocent, the asshole. “See you after school, Stiles.”

Stiles just blinks at him dumbly as Stella pulls him through the door.

The news van has finally given up and gone, so at least there’s not video evidence of Stiles’s face right now.

***

Dad’s working on Wednesday night, so Stiles and Stella and Derek make tuna casserole. Well, Stiles does. Stella makes a mess grating the cheese, and Derek makes her clean it up. So it evens out in the end.

The night is bright, the worm moon bathing the town in silver light.

“Okay,” Stiles says, as they wait for the casserole to cook, “so if we weren’t all under house arrest, what would an Alpha werewolf do on the night of a full moon?”

“When I was a kid, the pack would all gather in the Preserve, and run,” Derek says.  “In wolf form if we could, but in beta form if not. Sometimes even the humans ran with us too. My cousin Kellan, he was twelve. He always used to run with us, and then get tired, so we’d have to take turns carrying him home again.”

Stiles’s chest aches at the mention of Derek’s cousin. Just another name on the black granite Hale memorial now. The unfairness of it makes him want to cry, or scream.

“Where would you run to?” Stella asks from the floor, where she’s sweeping cheese bits into the dustpan.

“Just around the Preserve,” Derek says. “Nowhere special. It’s… it’s hard to explain.” There was a time when Derek would have stopped right there, but those walls have long since tumbled down. He makes the effort now, for Stiles and Stella. “The moonlight has a pull, like it’s magnetic. It’s stronger when it’s fuller. It’s… it’s our territory, and our blood, and our pack. Running as a wolf under the moonlight is… joyful.”

Except his voice cracks on that word, and Stiles’s eyes sting as he thinks of the magnitude of Derek’s loss once more. Even the faint echo of brought forth in conversation feels like too much, and he’s struck again by how astonishing it is that Derek’s still here, still standing. Stiles wouldn’t be. If he’d had to carry the weight of Derek’s grief, he thinks it would have crushed him years before.

Does Derek even know how strong he is?

“I’m sorry,” he says, and swallows. He crosses the kitchen to where Derek is leaning against the counter. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

Derek swallows too. His green eyes shine as he holds Stiles’s gaze. “I like sharing things with you.”

Oh, fuck it.

Stiles steps forward, and doesn’t even care if he smells like tuna casserole. He reaches out and cups Derek’s face with his hand. Feels the scrape of stubble on his palm. And then he’s leaning into Derek’s space, his eyes fixed on Derek’s lips as they part slightly, and they’re kissing.

Stiles closes his eyes, and Derek’s hands come to rest on his hips.

It’s amazing.

It’s heart-stopping.

It’s—

“Gross!” Stella exclaims, and Stiles flails away from Derek.

“Um,” he says, and at least Derek looks as flushed and embarrassed as he does, right?

Stella’s stare judges them both harshly.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says. “Don’t you have homework or something?”

“Don’t you?” she shoots back.

“Well,” Stiles says feebly, “this is awkward.”

Derek laughs, and reaches out and threads their fingers together. He looks at Stella, eyebrows raised, and is the Alpha werewolf actually challenging the eight-year-old girl? Stiles thinks that’s what’s happening. He also has no idea who’s going to win, honestly.

“Gross,” Stella mutters, but shuffles forward so that Derek can pull her into a hug with his free arm.

Crisis averted, Stiles supposes, until Stella spills her guts to Dad and then Stiles has to explain what just happened. And honestly, he’s not sure how that’s going to go down just a few days after his ‘honest, Dad, we’re just being friends for now’ talk. Facebook is right. Relationships arecomplicated, and Stiles feels is very much on a learning curve here. And, for the record, Stiles doesn’t like learning curves. He likes the learning part, just not the part where he doesn’t already know everything about any given subject. And on that note:

“Hey, Derek,” he says. “Is there some kind of amazing Werewolf for Dummies book, but in Latin, floating around or something?”

“What?”

“Lydia said she found all everything she knows from a book,” Stiles says. “If there’s been a book this whole time, and I’ve been accidentally clicking on links to furry pages for the past few months, I’m going to be annoyed.”

“Maybe,” Derek says, and shrugs. “Deaton probably has some, I guess.”

“I don’t think Lydia knows about Deaton though.”

“I mean, my family had books,” Derek said. “But most of them…” He shakes his head. “I guess there were some in the vault, but nobody can get into that.”

“Oooh,” Stiles says. “A vault! I have ten bucks and a lock-picking kit that calls you a liar!”

“No, I mean nobody except a Hale can get into it,” Derek says. “It’s magically protected.”

“So much for my lock picking kit,” Stiles says. And then, for Stella’s benefit: “Which I don’t own and was totally lying about.”

She side-eyes him.

When the oven timer dings, Stiles takes the casserole out and sets it to cool for a few minutes. Stella grabs the jug of water from the refrigerator, and Derek hunts down the plates and cutlery and glasses. Stiles like the familiarity of this. He likes how easily Derek has slotted in to their little family, and he’s pretty sure that Derek does too.

They eat at the kitchen table.

“So tonight’s the worm moon,” Stiles tells Stella. “That sounds super creepy, right?”

Stella shrugs. “I like worms. If we didn’t have worms, farmers wouldn’t be able to grow food.”

“Point,” Stiles says around a mouthful of tuna casserole.

“We have a worm farm at school, Stella says, and proceeds to regale them with tales of the worm farm. Stiles won’t lie, he’s had worse dinner conversations, and he likes watching Derek’s smile while Stella chatters at him happily.

His phone chimes in his pocket and he digs it out. It’s a message from Scott: Allison’s grandfather is in town. I’m staying away like you said.

It’s followed a moment later by a message from Dad: Gerard Argent has arrived in town. Stay alert.

Stiles sucks in a deep breath, and shows the messages to Derek and Stella.

“At least the grapevine’s working, I guess,” he says.

“Nobody will get in here, Stiles,” Derek tells him firmly. “I’m going to watch out for both of you, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, and picks up his fork again. “We’ve got this, right?”

***

Stiles dozes off sometime around ten, thinking about the kiss he shared with Derek and fantasizing about where it might have ended up of Stella hadn’t been there. He flails awake again at an indeterminate point later when his phone blasts at him, the screen lighting up his bedroom. He reaches for it, misses, but gets it on the second try.

He squints at the screen, and answers it. “Jackson?”

“Stilinski,” Jackson says. He sounds tense. Like someone-stole-his-hair-gel tense. Worse than that though, he sounds scared.

Stiles is instantly awake. “Jackson, what’s going on?”

Stiles is aware of his door opening, and Derek standing there. Werewolf hearing, right.

“We’re out at the Hale house,” Jackson says.

“Why the fuck are you—”

Jackson cuts him off. “Right now Gerard Argent is pointing a gun at Lydia’s head. I’m so fucking sorry, Stiles, but he says if he doesn’t get Derek within the next twenty minutes, he’ll kill us.”

The call ends, and Stiles’s blood runs cold.

[ambivalentangst]

May They Rest at Ease

Hi!!! Long time no motivation!!! I realize I've been absent for awhile after I shat out that one thicc one shot, but I finally have something to post! It’s an original idea that I got attached to really fast: the concept of the soldiers that stayed loyal to Lotor being assigned to guard the Garrison trio, and upon learning how young they were, decided they would do pretty much anything to protect them. Involving some angst, whump, and comedy, I really like how this turned out, so I hope you do too!

tw: panic attacks, implied violence, and use of derogatory language

Trivars and Lovan were not what one would call prime soldiers, by any stretch of the imagination. Lovan had trouble doing more then a poor sprint, and Trivars currently had little to no muscle mass to speak of. Still, they’d been trained, like every other Galra in the empire. Everyone was enlisted to serve from the ages of twenty one phoebs to thirty one. For a time, they’d been in shape. They of course had to graduate top of their faction to be stationed with the main fleet, but it was easy to let loose a little when the fortress was hardly large enough to comprehend, and nobody ever actually attacked.

The rebels went after more remote locations, where it took longer for backup to reach and got the runts of the group. They got to reap the rewards of a few movements of hard work, and even when the new emperor ascended the throne, he appeared to have no desire to ship them out, which was good.

Truth be told, neither of them were all too eager to leave their little outpost, despite the fact that there’d been considerably more traffic their way ever since Voltron had been resurrected. There’d of course been the murmurs of dissent. The emperor was a half-breed, their commanders sneered, vitriol harsh in their tones. Lovan had personally looked to Trivars. They’d arrived to their current station essentially at the same time, despite the fact that their training ships were several galaxies apart from one another. It was generally kind of hard to dislike one another when they were both equally committed to staying out of as much conflict as possible, and were more content waging war on the old and very blind cook for extra servings then saying “vrepit sa” and blowing up their own ships.

“Meet me on the rec deck for cards?” Trivars mouthed, while Commander Nermant raged on. Lovan nodded, and that was the end of any protest from them towards the power switch.

It was with that kind of attitude that they got assigned to food patrol, and despite the fact that most of their superiors had jumped ship upon Lotor’s seizure of the throne, they didn’t really want their positions, so they did as they always did. Quajants, the cook, was too old to care much about the shift in rulers anyways. As long as he had his grill and pitiful variety of seasonings, he’d work.

When Lotor assigned them to the comfort and care of three of the paladins, they started to be a little mindful of his rule. The paladins, green, blue, and yellow at least, were absolute freaks, and had apparently very little regard for their own lives. They’d chased them across the ship for blowing up food packets--certainly nothing Quajants approved of--but quiznack them both if they sometimes needed a break from the surprisingly tasty brick impersonations he made. Lovan in particular had bemoaned that later, his legs aching from the exercise they hadn’t endured in quite some time. Still, there was no escaping it, and they at the very least could admire the artistry in launching the sentry out of the robeast coffin. It was a lot less disconcerting then the--shudder--witch using it for her own vile purposes, so they sucked on their popsicles and didn’t say anything about it.

It was only later that they realized that their antics were not the work of young adults having too much free time, and rather the products of cubs who desperately needed a break from the war they fought.

Lovan had first seen it, when the blue, red? It was very confusing and there were bets going around about which lion he actually piloted, but regardless, when the paladin had shown up from a recon mission out in the quadrants still in turmoil.

He had of course been there to greet him, because yeah they weren’t motivated, but they at least did what few duties they were assigned well. The paladin came from the hangars rubbing his back, stumbling into walls and clacking his teeth occasionally for no apparent reason. Lovan’s brows scrunched tightly together. He was not well versed in the way of the paladins’ species, but from what he had observed it was not normal behavior.

“Paladin, do you need to be taken to the infirmary?” he asked, and the boy had stopped, bracing himself against a wall.

“No, no, I’m fine. And I told you to call me Lance. I just got a little close to another explosion, and I still get some pain sometimes from one that got me awhile back. First foot battle I’d fought, actually,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Lovan still had his concerns, but Lance waved him off.

“I’m ‘gonna go lie down in one of the spare rooms. Lotor mentioned where they were when we first arrived, so you don’t have to show me,” he told him. Lovan resisted the urge to argue, and watched the paladin stumble away. He’d be fine, probably. He was a warrior.

Lance did not come out from the rooms quickly, and it was in fact Lovan who came in to check on him. The Altean castle ship stayed near Galra headquarters, which was certainly a change up from the norm but not entirely unwelcome. It was a symbol of peace, at the very least, a reminder that though they were soldiers they might not have to fight. Regardless of its proximity, Lance appeared to not care if the way his body was pressed wholeheartedly into the mattress was any indication.

“Uh, Lance, right?” The name was odd on Lovan’s tongue, and it came out strangely with the way he stressed different sounds. “Is there anything you need? By Galra standards, you’ve been down for quite some time,” he told him, standing off to the side. He did not care to do anything that wasn’t authorized, and have the emperor find out. Lance turned on his side with a hiss of pain, staring out at Lovan through glassy eyes. He bit his lip, seeming to debate it for a moment before asking,

“Do you have a heating pad somewhere?” Lovan nodded.

“Of course, I’ll have it brought it immediately, sir.” The “vrepit sa” he usually added at the end of such an address was on the tip of his tongue, but he shoved it down and turned away. Only out of the corner of his eye did he see the way Lance rolled back onto his stomach, hands twisted into white knuckled grips around the fabric of the sheets. He frowned.

Lovan came back to give him the pad as requested, and found Lance as he had left him.

“On your back?” he asked, and the paladin nodded. Lovan carefully set it across the boy’s skin, smoothing out the lumps in the gel as gently as he could. He was a solider, but he was not cruel. He was inspecting his work when he heard Lance sniffle, and smelled the faint salt that came from his tears.

“Lance?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation. “Are you alright? Was I too rough?” Lance waved him off, not moving from his position on his stomach.

“No, no, it’s not you. I’m just--it hurts is all. Coran had some meds for it, that’s our, uh, advisor I guess, but we ran out and I’ve been meaning to ask Lotor but he’s been busy so I just need some time. I’m fine,” he explained, but his hands hadn’t unfurled from their positions. Lovan examined him, unsure of how to respond, but knowing that if he made a move to leave, the emperor would have his hide. In line with how contradictory he was to most of what the Galra represented, the emperor had instructed both he and Trivars to treat the paladins with utmost care. With his orders in mind, Lovan crossed to the other side of the bed and sat. There was a surprising amount of room, considering how small the paladins were.

Lovan remembered his sister, older then him and with cubs of her own. He had liked being an uncle, on the rare time he had off. He didn’t know how old Lance was, the subject had never before been broached, but he did feel like something had to be done to comfort him. He stared at his hand for a moment, flexing clawed fingers experimentally, and then settled them delicately into Lance’s hair.

The boy tensed for a moment, shoulders hunching, before he let out a soft cry of pain at his own action and relaxed. Lovan twisted his hair gently in his fingertips, ran his hands gently over his scalp and down the back of his neck. Cubs calmed quickly with ears scratched and pats lavished atop their heads, but Lance did not have the same furry features Lovan was accustomed to, so he made do. He said nothing, but Lance didn’t pull away and soon the tension in his body melted away along with his tears. When Lovan looked over and saw his eyes closed, he felt content.

Lovan later told Trivars about the incident through time spent cleaning their rifles, to which he replied that he’d experienced something similar with the green paladin, or Pidge, as she preferred to be called.

She’d come back from a mission worn, a scuff on her glasses that she was apparently trying to buff out but was being stubborn. Trivars had offered his assistance, but he’d been shooed away until she absolutely burst into tears, to which he panicked because he had his orders, and he wasn’t so great with emotions.

“Pidge was crying and she started telling me about how her dad and her had gone with her brother to pick out the ‘frames’, and her dad had gone back home and Matt was on a mission. She cried for awhile, and then I got her to step away from her computer and take a nap.” Trivars stated it plainly, tongue poking from the side of his mouth as he rubbed his rag over a particularly hard to reach area. Lovan took a moment to process the information, and it wasn’t until they were putting their blasters back onto the rack that he wondered aloud,

“How old do you think they are, anyways?” Trivars paused, already halfway to the door. His lips pressed together, ears twitching.

“They’re warriors. I’d assume they’re young, if the incident with the sentry means anything, but after a year spent in training, they’d have to be twenty two phoebs, at least. I don’t know what they’re supposed to look like at that age. Humans,” the word was stretched awkwardly to accommodate fangs and a fumbling tongue, as many involving the paladin’s were, “Age differently, of course, but that’s a good guess.” Lovan nodded. Young, but not obscenely so. He didn’t dwell on it for too much longer, and raced Trivars to the rec room. He wanted the good chair, without any of the common rips in it that usually came from a botched game some soldier got sensitive about.

A few weeks later, the paladins that Lovan and Trivars were in charge of again stayed on emperor’s ship, as was becoming routine with the continuing negotiations between Voltron and what technically constituted the empire. The ship was on its sleep cycle when the alarms began to ring, and the whole thing shuddered violently, an explosion able to be heard off to the west. Lovan and Trivars, who were sleeping peacefully in their bunks, jolted awake and stumbled over each other in an attempt to get to their guns first.

They both raced down the halls, yelling at each other.

“Lotor is going to kill us!” Trivars announced loudly, cringing as the ship shook again.

“The paladins are up ahead. They said something about a ‘sleep over,’ and apparently are staying in the same room for the night. We can corral them there,” Lovan told him. He was not so out of breath as he had once been, traipsing after their charges while doing damage control for their antics. The paladins had gotten the both of them back into shape unwittingly, but effectively.

They burst into the room to find the three suited up, but crouched around the yellow paladin, who sucked in wheezing breaths as best as he could, and seemed to curl further into himself every time there was a particularly loud bang to be heard. Lance rubbed his back, while Pidge held his hands to keep his nails from biting into the skin of his palms.

“Hunk, Hunk, it’s okay. We’re all okay. Lotor and Allura and Shiro can take care of it. It’s just some of the rebels. Remember? Unorganized, scattered. It’s nothing like before.” Trivars looked to Lovan, unsure of how to proceed. Lovan shrugged. If he had to guess from their conversation, the yellow paladin was agonizing over memories of a nasty fight where an accident had happened. He’d seen soldiers in similar states under Zarkon’s rule, except of course their superiors weren’t nearly as forgiving. They could hear footsteps from down the hall, sloppy, limping. Trivars’ ears twitched, the sound still too far off for the paladins to hear.

Hunk continued to gasp, and Lance’s expression darkened, eyes narrowing.

“He’s seventeen. I’m seventeen, and I’m on the floor helping him get a panic attack under control so we can go out and fight the thing that caused it. This is fucked,” he hissed, knowing Hunk wouldn’t register it at the moment, and Pidge nodded her agreement. She kept her grip gentle on Hunk’s hands regardless.

Lovan looked to Trivars, trying to understand what had been said. They didn’t use the same terminology, but they got the gist. Lovan’s finger moved to the trigger of his blaster, and he willed himself to keep from firing. There was no enemy at the moment, and the sound would only exacerbate whatever was occurring with the yellow paladin, no, with Hunk. Trivars’ voice was hard when he spoke, claws denting the metal of his own gun.

“We’ll be in the hall. Keep yourselves safe. The rebels will be dealt with,” he explained, and Lovan followed him out the door that slid shut behind them.

The rebels came skulked towards their location with smoldering clothes and a fire in their eyes.

“Stand down,” the apparent leader sneered, despite the disarray of himself and his men. “Don’t waste your lives in defense of a half-breed.” Lovan thought of the way Lance had melted into his touch, and Trivars remembered Pidge’s hysterics after her father and brother left, even only temporarily. The memory of Hunk’s fear was fresh. Where the rebels were scorching in their intensity, they were cool and frozen over with resolve. They looked to one another, guns growing hot under their paws.

They weren’t fighters for the empire, exactly. They could care less what Lotor did as long as it was easy for them. They were, however, willing to be protectors of the cubs, their cubs, that were caught in a war they shouldn’t have to deal with.

“Vrepit sa,” Trivars and Lovan snarled, and fired away.

[anuschkalova]

No Words Needed (Newt x Reader)PART 1

A/N: Okay, so here is the Newt x artist!Reader series. Most of you voted for this story and I’m glad you like the idea. So to sum it up briefly: Reader is an shy artist who lives in London, but has a hard time becoming successful. However, through an incident she meets Newt and his friends and gets the opportunity to draw the illustrations for his book. Newt and reader grow fond of each other and spend a lot of time together. But after the celebration of his published book, something happens that gets them apart...

Enjoy! :)

Pairing: Newt Scamander x artist!Reader

Words: 1,679

Part 2  Part 3 Masterlist

A sigh escaped your lips at the sight of the endless numbers on the papers.

It was the end of the month, and the bill of utility cost came on the dot, as always. You in comparison weren't a great example as you trended to pay not punctually. It was a miracle that your landord hadn't kicked you out yet, but maybe the old woman believed in you becoming an famous artist so she could preen herself with your glory.

You snuffled at the thought, letting yourself fall on your couch.

Today was a rather bad day. And you had a lot of these latley. To be more accurate, since 54 days. That's how long since you had been moving to London.   Your head leaned lazily against the leather cushion, eyes observing the passing grey clouds. A sea gull fought against the storm, but lost. It was forced to take the other direction.

You turned your gaze away and focused on the canvas instead. Most of them were painted, others were still blank. You stood up and walked over to the little table next to the entrance door. There was a bag with freshly baught paint inside.

You were so excited when you had spotted this striking navy blue colour in your favourite shop this morning. Of course you had to buy it, the shop-owner gave you an all knowing smile as you walked away with the purpose to use it immediently.

But as you arrived home you were greeted by those blocked out bills.

Being an artist wasn't easy in a big city like London. The market of successful selling paintings was huge, the chance of becoming one of them was very low.

Tiny paws tiptoed quietly over your wooden floor, the soft noise making you look up. You smiled at the black cat who eyed you curiously.

“Maybe I should start painting you... You are a very beautiful cat, ain't you?”

The cat meowed, rubbing her furry head against your leg and jumped elegantly on the window bench.

“Just think about it, okay?” You opened the window and the cat disappeared into the the grey, cold fog called London.

You took a deep breath, the fresh air filling your lungs. It blew the negative thoughts a little away. You still felt down, but that was nothing a hot chocolate could fix. So you grabbed your cout, keys and bag with your most needed belongings.

...

You had discovered this nice little café a while ago. Even though it had a shabby look from the outside with the cracks and squeky plaque that was being rocked by the wind, the inside was quiet charming. The door-bell announced your entering and you lowered your head as some curious eyes landed on you.

You took a seat close to the door with your back against the wall. It was the perfect spot for observing people. The waitress took your order and you used the waiting time to study discreetly the guests. A lot of them were familiar, but one face caught your attention. It belonged to a blonde woman. She was sitting on a table with two people, a woman and a man, both sitting with their backs to you. The blonde woman however sat opposite of them.

Your hot chocolate arrived and after you thanked the waitress you pulled out your sketchbook and pencil. You waisted no time, starting to draw the woman. Her smile was so warm and full of sympathy as she talked to her friends. Her short wavy hair bounced feathery as she shook her head laughing. You tried your best to capture her beauty. It was refreshing to witness such a bubbly personality among this stiff faces.

You didn't notice the door-bell. Your pencil shooed over the paper with precise strokes, adding shadows to give your drawing depth. You were so consumed by your doing that you let out a little scream when someone bumped into you. Your sketchbook dropped on the ground and the stranger apologized.

“So sorry, Miss, I was in a hurry.” The man was out of breath, cheeks reddened from running. You just nodded and avoided eye-contact.

“It's okay, no harm done.” You reached out for your sketchbook, but the man was faster. He picked it up and your heart stopped beating for a second.

He stared at the drawing and it only made you more nervous. He must be thinking you were a total weirdo, drawing strangers in a café. But as you tried to come up with a sentence, the man grinned widely. You frowned.

“Hey, Queenie! Darling! Look at this!” He yelled, making you wish the ground would swallow you up. The blonde woman looked over to you, causing her friends to turn around as well.

“She drew you! Ain't it beautiful?” The woman eyed the sketchbook that the man wiggled excited in the air. The other woman, who had the same haircut but in a dark colour, smiled and turned fully around. The man next to her kept his position, his eyes peeking over his shoulder, wandering between you and your sketchbook.

People started to whisper, some giggled and some followed the incident with an amused expression.

It was too much for you. Without saying anything you grabbed your bag and left the café behind with your sketchbook and untouched beverage.

You heard somebody screaming after you, but your feet didn't stop. You just had to get away. The possibility of confrontation scared you and after all, you didn't ask for permission to draw her. So, instead of facing the most likely consequences, you ran away. You hated yourself for doing it, but it couldn't be helped.

You were grateful that your apartment wasn't too far away as your legs started to hurt. Panting, you heaved yourself up the stairs, grabbing your keys from your pocket.

You smashed the door behind you, threw your bag on your couch and laid down on the floor. The cold surface was cooling and felt wonderful against your heated skin. The running had exhausted you, but it was much needed to release the anger.

“Why am I like this?”, you asked into the silence, fully aware that there won't be a response. But when somebody knocked on your door it made you jump up on your feet.

You looked over with wide eyes and held your breath. Nobody ever visited you, simply because you hadn't made friends yet. It was silent again, so you tiptoed a little closer to investigate who was standing behind your door. Maybe it was the police? The woman must have complained about you and now you were in trouble. As you were just a meter away from it, the knocking came back.

You flinched, pressing your hand against your mouth to hush any noises.

“Excuse me? Hello?”, a male voice spoke with an heavy british accent. He didn't sound like a police officer, the way he talked was too... unsettled.

You debatted wheter you should open the door or not, but in the end you decided to face your fear and grabbed the doorknob.

“Hello”, you greeted the stranger through the crack in the door. He seemed reliefed and offered you a crooked smile.

“Hello. I am really sorry to bother you, but could I come in for a second?”, the man asked and as you'd guessed, his whole body language was unsettled. This eyes went everywhere except yours, and he held a brown leather case in his hand.

“S-Sorry, but I'm not interested...”

The man met your eyes, surprised. He followed your gaze and the realization hit him as he looked down on his case.

“O-Oh no! No, I don't intend to sell anything to you. I'm just... hold on...” He fumbled with one hand into his long blue coat and held something familiar out: your sketchbook.

That's when you regonized him. He was sitting at the table with the woman that you drew.

Amazed, you took it.

“Thank you, but... how did you know that I live here?”

A quiet “Oh” escaped the man's lips as he lowered his gaze, the messy long fringe hiding his embarrassed smile.

“I may have followed you. I didn't want to scream after you and potentially scare you. I'm sorry.”

He peeked through the curtian of hair to catch your suppressed grin.

“Don't worry, it's okay. I am the one who should apologize.”

You bit on your lower lip, feeling ashamed for your behavior at the café. The stranger looked up at you, his expression puzzled, as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

Then, he offered you his hand.

“Newt Scamander. Pleased to meet you.” He gave you a short smile that revealed his perfect white teeth. The wrinkles around his eyes let the freckles on his sun-kissed skin dance.

You took his hand. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. The pleasure is mine”, you said politly. You both shook hands and then you stepped aside. “Would you like to come in?” In your head, you begged that the stranger would refuse your offer, but luck wasn't on your side this day.

Instead, the man walked straight inside your apartment, nodded as he passed you.

He came to a halt in the middle of the living-room, his speedy eyes examined every corner. You felt slightly uncomfortable, but you pulled yourself together.

“Do you want some tea?”

“Ah, yes please!” You smiled shly and disappeared into the kitchen. You couldn't explain it, but this man behaved odd. As you fetched out two mugs from your cupboard you realized that you forgot to ask him which type of tea he preferred.

So you walked back into the living-room.

“Excuse me, Mr. Scamander, but do you prefer black or gre...-” You stopped as you caught Newt riffling through your bag.

His alarmed look met your surprised one.

You pointed at the door without a second thought. “Get out! Now!”

Part 2  Part 3 Masterlist