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mystra-midnight · 1 year ago

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How Bright The Moon

summary: the duke would be furious to learn that his swordmaster had compromised his daughter. yet each stroke of his lips and caress of his fingers against your soft skin was welcomed, repaid in kind as you preened beneath his touches, begging for more without words.

warnings: 18+ only. pet names; (princess). semi-public setting. fingering. hinted age gap. orgasm denial. soft!dom duncan. reader has it bad, bad, bad for him and we absolutely cannot blame her.

words: 1k.

notes: i don't know what to tell you. i evidently cannot stick to one fandom. so here is some duncan idaho love.

Duncan had you in one of the little alcoves, hidden in a shroud of darkness. The bulk of his frame shadowed yours as flashes of lightning from the waning storm bled through the windows. He tasted sweet, no, not sweet but dangerous— forbidden.

In a haze of lust, you pressed against him, soft curves melding into the rugged outline of his masculine frame.

You were smitten, hopelessly and irrevocably lost in the spell he weaved. Duncan Idaho did not need the Voice to control you; his mouth already did that. He held your hip in one large hand, fingertips pressing hard into your skin, yet he was gentle, impossibly patient.

"Princess," he whispered, his breath warm on your lips as he swallowed your soft sighs. You pressed tighter against him, hips rolling, seeking friction as his opposite hand disappeared beneath the layers of your skirts.

The Duke would be furious to learn that his swordmaster had compromised his daughter. Yet each stroke of his lips and caress of his fingers against your soft skin was welcomed, repaid in kind as you preened beneath his touches, begging for more without words.

"Duncan," you whimpered, your words not a whisper but an exhale, a mix of desperation and absolute longing. Your hands moved of their own accord, sliding down his back, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his armour, memorising the outlines of his body.

Duncan felt the worship in your touch, the reverence that sent shivers down his spine and ignited a fire in his bones. Unabhased, as though in a trance, his lips moved against yours, taking what was given and what was wanted before parting to allow his tongue room to roam— and roam it did.

You tasted sweet, like honeysuckles and ocean spray: delicate and enchanting. As your hands continued their exploration, finding the clasps of his belt, you found yourself pressed further against the wall, trapped between the solid stone and his broad frame.

"Tell me what you want." Duncan's voice was husky with desire, a low growl, his tone dripping with something you could only describe as pure, unfiltered desire. "I will give you the stars and the moons if you ask for them."

You whimpered in response, his name tumbling from your lips in a hushed moan, the sound racing through his veins. You tasted him and swallowed down the full-bodied flavour of him with a deliberate and delicate moan. Breath ceased, his, yours, becoming trapped in your lungs at the push of his tongue into your mouth, the touch of his to yours, the wet glide.

He knew— he understood your silent pleas, and his fingers moved slowly, methodically, slipping beneath the layers of your skirts to slide across the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. You gasped into the kiss when his fingers teased the edges of your folds, slipping and sliding but never pressing inside.

"Tell me," he said again, his thumb brushing against your sensitive bud. He was gentle, almost too much so, the rough pads of his fingers gliding across your skin. It was then that you felt the cold metal of his rings press against your folds, slick and ready for him, as a single finger slid into you, the sensation causing you to shudder. You bucked your hips, desperate for more.

"Please," you pleaded, and his lips returned to yours, his tongue slipping past the seam of your mouth. You tasted the sweetness of the wine he had drunk earlier, a faint tang you could not place. His thumb rubbed circles over your clit, and you arched into him, your head thrown back against the wall, leaving his mouth to explore the elegant slope of your neck.

He withdrew his finger, only to add a second, the stretch burning yet feeling oh-so-good. You cried out, the sound coming from deep in your throat, and your walls clenched around his fingers. His breath was hot on your skin, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses against the column of your neck.

You gasped as his thumb continued its relentless assault, sending shocks of pleasure through you with every touch. "Duncan, I—"

"Not yet," he said, cutting you off, his voice firm. His lips trailed along your neck, sending shivers down your spine before finally finding yours. He captured your plump lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently to suppress the moans and cries that threatened to escape. "Let me take care of you," he murmured.

You could feel the tension building, a mounting crescendo of pleasure as his fingers teased you, sending wave after wave of pleasure rippling through your body. Your legs were weak, and your knees buckled, but his strong arms held you up, pinning you firmly against the wall.

"Duncan, please." You whispered, a hint of urgency in your tone. "Please, I need— I need you."

"Not yet, princess," he cooed, his thumb still circling your clit, the pressure increasing. You trembled against him. You were close, so close, but he kept you balanced on the edge, euphoria just out of reach. You were about to protest when he silenced you with a searing kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, exploring every inch of you.

When he pulled away, you gasped for air, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. You stared up at him with wide doe-eyes and dilated pupils, and his blue-grey swallowed the green of your irises. Your nails bit into his armour, desperate to anchor yourself in the storm he invoked.

"Please," you murmured again, the word barely audible. "I need you— now."

That was all he needed to hear; his own desire surged to its breaking point. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you with a sudden, aching emptiness. "Tonight, princess. You can wait that long, can you not?" His words, meant to tease, seemed as much a reminder to himself. The gentle hum of a glowglobe drew his attention. You yearned to hold onto him, to keep him close, but he had to leave.

Duty called, and it could not be ignored.

#duncan idaho #duncan idaho x reader #duncan idaho x you #duncan idaho fanfiction #duncan idaho smut #duncan idado fanfic #duncan idaho dune #dune #dundan x you

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thevampiremarie · 1 year ago

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THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani) Part III: Duncan

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

(Note: I invented some stuff/added some new terminology to make up for worldbuilding that didn't happen in canon. If you have questions just send me an ask!)

PART III: DUNCAN

Duncan did not consider himself an unnecessarily stubborn man. Though he was initially wary of including Lady Jessica’s young Bene Gesserit handmaiden in Paul’s combat training, a year had proven that Paul flourished with the addition of a sparring opponent who matched him in strength and size.

One, two, three. His pupils’ current sparring bout played out in front of him in the training room. The sound of each blow and each block echoed off the walls like a heartbeat. “Arms up, Paul.” Duncan cautioned.

At the reminder, the youth straightened up and his gangly arms, now starting to finally bulk out to Paul’s poorly-hidden satisfaction, came up to properly defend his head and torso. His black curls stuck to his forehead with sweat while a fierce expression furrowed his young brow.

That expression brought a fond smile to Duncan’s face. Paul’s father looked like that when he fought.

Since he had added full contact sparring to Paul’s training, Duncan was pleased to note that the boy continued to earn that privilege with his devotion to every lesson. His scrawny charge appeared early in the training room with eagerness written across his open face every day.

Of course, he still got into mischief and roped his companion into it frequently - that was just Paul’s way. His attitude had greatly improved since that final, fateful temper tantrum and since his lady mother enlisted that girl into her household.

At twelve, Paul had begun to settle into the features that Duncan imagined he would retain into adulthood. Though he could hardly match his tutor in stature or build now, he was growing like a weed. The boy would easily be as tall as him one day, if not taller.

He could still remember the squirming little bundle Leto had pressed into his arms mere hours after Paul’s birth. When the infant’s eyes had met his, he saw the same emerald green eyes of the Duke and his father before him. Duncan felt privileged to have been able to watch that baby grow into a capable, earnest boy.

Paul was, in a way, the son of his heart.

Even though he seemed to be growing into the very image of his father, Duncan could see himself in Paul too. When he was only a toddler, Paul did his very best to imitate the swordmaster’s mannerisms. That child had been so sincere that all who saw him couldn’t help but chuckle.

Now, Paul had grown to unconsciously mimic the way Duncan carried himself, the length of his stride, the way he gestured with his hands. There was no better legacy the warrior wished to leave behind than this youth, a true child of the three of them - Leto, Jessica, and Duncan.

He had taken to combat with the same ease his father had, at nearly the same age, the swordmaster thought as he watched with fondness and pride. Paul darted, quick as a hunter-seeker, past Chryse’s strikes only to counter with his own.

That his liege had entrusted Paul’s training to him was a great honor. The boy in front of him, fighting with a keenness much older than his age, could yet match his noble father in excellence. Whether or not Paul would exceed him remained to be seen.

One did not so easily clear the bar set by Leto Atreides. The Ginaz swordmaster remembered how at newly fifteen, coral disk in hand, he had been sent to join Duke Mintor Atreides’ household and accompany his son and heir, na-Duke Leto Atreides.

His lord had always been different. Leto had been a mere teenager when they first met, itching to prove his might against the Harkonnens in battle, yet he was wise and principled in a way that Duncan had never known.

Ginaz built master swordsmen and tacticians, not people. Not lords.

After their first spar, after the way Leto clasped his hand and pulled him up from the ground after the na-Duke had sent him sprawling, Duncan knew he would follow that man to the edge of the Imperium and beyond.

There might have been shame and failure in defeat at the hands of a different man. There was no shame in his heart when Leto raised him up, as there was no shame in bowing to the might of the wind.

Later that night, Leto had clasped their calloused hands together, and Duncan remembered thinking, he is half of my soul.

Even the Emperor knew of the then na-Duke Leto’s integrity and the effortless way he commanded respect and loyalty. Thufir Hawat, the most fearsome Mentat in the Imperium, had sworn his fealty to Leto as he had to Mintor and Paulos. The legendary bard-warrior, Gurney Halleck, was plucked out of the Harkonnen slave-pits by Leto and pledged his life to him in return.

The Duke earned every ounce of allegiance given to him.

From that first day on, the Ginaz swordmaster knew he would follow House Atreides until the end of his life. For what was glory, if not serving Leto and his family with all Duncan had? To give his life over to the keeper of his soul?

He would die for his lord without question. The Duke knew this and pressed a more difficult task upon the swordmaster - to live for him, should Leto die first, so that Duncan could protect Paul.

One, two, three. The two children danced around each other on the floor mats before Paul pushed Chryse back far enough that she could not reach him without an answering attack that would do real damage. She stopped for a moment, her gaze darting around the room to catalog everything like a Mentat, and waited for Paul to catch his breath.

“Again,” Duncan commanded, his voice harsher than it should be.

A sigh escaped him at the sight of her barely concealed flinch. He really shouldn’t have barked at her like that. Chryse had never done anything to Paul or Duke Leto. Her presence had lifted Paul’s spirits and challenged him to strive further by all accounts, including his own. The retainer watched the children fight a while longer before halting practice for the day. The two of them gathered cups of water and returned to the mat to stretch, Paul’s carefree chatter filling the room.

Duncan had only lived this long through trusting in his instincts. Around Bene Gesserit, his instincts told him that there was something terribly wrong with these women.

All that said, he and Jessica had come to a consensus many years ago over their shared lord and lover. She made Leto happy. When the woman presented his soulmate with a son and heir, the Duke had never been more pleased. Duncan would die to protect that happiness. He would never go so far as to call her a friend, but they were cordial with one another, and he served and protected her as was his duty.

Though it didn’t matter how cordial and respectful she was to the swordmaster or how many smiles she brought to Leto’s face, Duncan trusted any member of her order about as far as he could throw one.

Her little handmaiden unnerved him in the same way they did.

The day Chryse joined her household, Jessica had pulled him aside. He remembered being taken aback by the wild, desperate fear in her eyes. That smooth voice of hers had only the barest quiver when she informed him of the girl that the Imperial truthsayer delivered in-person to Caladan.

At her words, the swordmaster straightened up while one of his hands strayed to the long sword, sheathed at his belt. “Is she going to pose a threat?” He growled out. That truthsayer be damned. The whole Bene Gesserit be damned. He would protect Leto and Paul at any cost.

He counted the time she took to respond in heartbeats. With each beat that passed, ire set deeper into his bones, and he stepped closer to the lady to press for her answer.

Jessica looked away from Duncan to her pale hands as if examining the tendons that lay beneath the skin. In the moment before she answered, her imperious expression twisted into what looked like shame. Duncan blinked, and the guilt was gone so fast, he wondered if he’d imagined it.

“...No.”

Their gazes met. He trusted her to protect their family. Jessica knew that. While her trepidation alone was enough to mark this unknown girl as a threat in Duncan’s mind, he had faith that Jessica would never let anyone bring harm to House Atreides. To Leto.

Duncan perused her face, looking for any hint of a lie. She seemed truthful enough. “Alright.” He stepped back. That was hardly a satisfactory answer, but Duncan would let it lie as Jessica was indiscernible once more.

She neatly tucked her hands behind her back, out of his sight. “Her name is Chryse. She is to be my handmaiden when she grows older, but for now, I’d like her to accompany Paul to his sparring lessons with you.” Duncan knew Jessica well enough to know when she was giving a command, one framed diplomatically as a request.

The urge to refuse that command was strong, but he instantly understood what she meant under her poised words. Jessica would never jeopardize Paul and Leto by allowing a known threat into their house. This girl was an unknown. Should anything happen under his supervision, Jessica knew he would protect Paul. Duncan did not doubt that she’d arranged other minders for the little handmaiden when he wouldn’t be there.

He would obey his lady’s command, and the two of them would guard Paul against this unknown.

Chryse was quiet, quieter than any child of her age he’d ever known. They had met for the first time when a giddy Paul had dragged her behind him, both to show off his new companion and to seek Duncan’s approval.

She and Jessica shared the same placid countenance that all Bene Gesserit had, a countenance that unnerved him every time he experienced it. The ice in her face only melted when Paul looked to her to ensure her attention during one of his rambles about the latest filmbook he’d seen or when Paul asked her some sort of open-ended question with the bright curiosity of a young child.

When anyone set choices in front of her, the girl seemed overwhelmed and lost. Chryse shied away from decisions, and Paul seemed to enjoy earnestly guiding her through them, even if he hadn’t entirely realized he was doing so. Duncan was grateful Paul didn’t have an ounce of selfishness or ill-intent towards her, for her sake.

There was something wrong with her. The swordmaster was sure of it, and that surety set him on edge. Duncan had observed her during their first lesson - when Chryse fought, Duncan felt that combat was intrinsic to her and required no conscious effort on her part. As if she was constructed instead of raised.

Halleck’s beloved Orange Catholic Bible came to mind. Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.

Hunter-seekers were constructed for combat, too, though those machines had to be operated by someone else, somewhere else. He feared that someone, somewhere, was operating this girl.

Duncan Idaho knew that time was not an enemy, unlike what many other men thought. It was an ally. So he waited, and he watched.

Of course, Duncan had sparred with her himself before so much as letting her near Paul with a bokken. The girl-child didn’t only land one hit - she landed many. She left bruises. For a few moments during the fight, he almost stopped seeing her as a child in his care, not more than ten standard years old. Chryse was another enemy, another Harkonnen or Sardaukar, and Duncan Idaho couldn’t see past that until she was sprawled on the training mat beneath him, the tip of his bokken under her small jaw. One particularly forceful blow and he’d have broken her neck. The child hadn’t responded or whispered a word in protest. She merely continued to look up at Duncan with her large, guileless eyes, like a calf going to slaughter.

In the year since their first meeting, Chryse had managed to put his initial fears to rest. She had a very marked reluctance to physically injure Paul when the two of them sparred and would go out of her way to avoid doing so, even if that action put her at a disadvantage. It frustrated the boy to no end, but Duncan preferred it to the alternative. There were no threats or thwarted assassination attempts from her or anyone else. It seemed like the only people who held Chryse’s reins were them.

But Duncan was not completely heartless. The more time she spent with Paul, the less overwhelmed she seemed. Chryse’s movements were still uncanny, but he watched her slowly become more like a child and less like a weapon, like a winter melted into spring. The girl tended towards a rather endearing wide-eyed naïveté and innocent wonder.

The two of them had grown since their first meeting in directions that complimented the other. Paul wasn’t nearly as restless and dissatisfied as he had been. She grounded him and made him happy in a way the adults in his life simply couldn’t. The boy had continued to guide and nurture her, and Chryse had continued to trust in him enthusiastically. They reminded Duncan of the young vines Jessica tended to in the gardens, intrinsically and unconsciously intertwined as they reached for the sun.

Time was an ally. Duncan had time to continue watching her and ensure she wouldn’t grow into her potential as a threat. Paul had time to grow into his potential as a soldier, a warrior who could defend himself.

A servant appeared in the doorway. “Pardon me, Sir. Lady Jessica requests her handmaiden’s assistance in her presence-chamber.” He nodded his assent quickly and gestured for Chryse to follow after the attendant. The girl hesitated for a moment, seemingly ill at ease. Duncan didn’t miss her unease or the way she tamped down on it with force.

Paul had rounded on Duncan as soon as she’d left without a backward glance, endearingly chattering on about their lesson. “I think I did better today with the grappling? I’m trying-” For the moment, the swordmaster would put away his concerns, and he turned his attention to the boy in front of him.

Paul attempted to duck away from Duncan’s hand but failed to avoid a fond ruffle of his dark hair. “You did well, Paul.” The retainer didn’t give out empty praise - Duncan knew his honesty would benefit Paul the most. Chryse was unnervingly quick at picking up the forms and throws she learned, but Paul even now had a bright mind that could anticipate her moves in advance and adjust instantly to compensate. He had an innate control of every spar; there again, Duncan could see Leto in him.

“I’m proud of you.”

Paul stopped short at his words. He looked then like the small child Paul had been, a child who clung to Duncan’s every word and often looked for his approval and attention. Before he could respond, the tutor continued. “Listen to me. I know you know that one day, you must be Duke Atreides. To you, that seems far away and impossible right now.” Duncan could see Paul’s uncertainty whenever his future as the Duke was brought up as clear as day, for all of the boy’s feigned confidence and maturity.

The Dukedom was his by right of birth. But the potential and capability to be a great man, a great leader, a great Duke; that was all Paul. No great ancestor or accomplished relative could have given Paul that. While the boy didn’t have an inherently boastful or vain temperament, Paul lacked true confidence in spades. Without it, he would fail. “I have never lied to you, and I do not intend to start now. When that time comes, you will be deserving of it. I promise you.”

The boy grew somber at the weight behind Duncan’s words, and his green eyes stayed fixed on the man’s face.

The Harkonnens circled ever closer, their military might backed by the obscene riches they drained from Arrakis.

At the emperor’s command, Leto had been called before the Landsraad that week to negotiate a dispute between their quadrant and an adjacent quadrant.

The Great Houses under Leto’s jurisdiction as Warden of Centaurus Quadrant had risen against the Great Houses of Bode Quadrant. The skirmishes grew bloodier by the day. If House Atreides could not keep the peace, the emperor wouldn’t hesitate to strip them of the wardenship. Padishah Shaddam IV looked for every chance to undermine Leto.

The moment they finished in the training room, Duncan planned to head straight to the war chamber to coordinate the deployment of Atreides troops to the many planets under their dominion, under Leto’s orders. Ideally, they would halt the bloodshed entirely, but judging from the most recent intelligence from Hawat, protracted disputes were the more realistic outcome.

As sheltered as his childhood was, Paul had only known peace. Duncan did not doubt that peace would be in shorter supply when the boy reached the age of majority. Dukehood was his right, and Paul needed to know it. Belief in that right was all that stood between him and his possible destruction.

Paul straightened up under Duncan’s gaze. “Leading our House is your right, Paul. It is what you are owed. You need to own it.” Steel settled in the boy’s gaze, and Duncan grew pleased at the sight of it. Paul would take his words to heart.

When Paul responded, his voice seemed to echo off the walls with a gravity that far outstripped his age. “I understand.” There were still a million and one different ways the boy could falter, and hundreds of thousands of other factors that might end their House.

But the youth standing before him wore an expression of ancient understanding, some otherworldly wellspring of memory and experience. There was no reasonable explanation for how Paul had come to that understanding right here, right now, but it was so intrinsic that Duncan didn’t question it at the moment.

The moment between them passed, and the peculiar awareness that had taken over this twelve-year-old boy went with it. What in the Imperium had just happened?

As if nothing odd had occurred, Paul bowed as he always did at the end of sparring lessons. “May I be excused?” Duncan silently nodded and watched as Paul dashed from the room, no doubt in search of his mother or Gurney Halleck, or off to his room to put on another one of those filmbooks he liked so much.

The swordmaster had felt the same distinctive unease around Paul that he felt around Bene Gesserit. Duncan knew how to pick his battles, though, and the boy seemed fine and, most importantly, safe enough. Under Jessica’s careful eye, Paul was not likely to harm himself somehow with… whatever that was. It would suffice for now, and later Duncan would press Jessica into a conversation about what sort of alien mess her religious cult had undoubtedly dragged Paul into. While he didn’t have any proof those witches were involved, it seemed highly unlikely that they didn’t have anything to do with it.

If he needed to guard Paul against himself, he would do it. Right now, though, Duncan had a more pressing priority of holding the quadrant together so Leto could return from the Landsraad safely and in victory.

He could feel a headache building behind his eyes. With a resigned sigh, Duncan left the training room.

Ah yes the iconic queer dynamic of "lord and the knight who would die for him and the lord's lady)

Tagging: @redskull199987@itsemy01@blahzaiblahsheep@herebereblogs @spacenotwar @assorted-fandom-things @hogwartshouse @mylenne-16

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bioniclechicken · 1 year ago

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House of H/Powers of H

or: Hero Factory if Jonathan Hickman got his hands on it

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cryptdidnt · 9 months ago

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Bulk on his way to get the biggest heaviest armor he can find for an upgrade specifically designed to be light and agile

wait......

why am I making a new post every time instead of just reblogging the original post with the new ones...................

I'm the smartest person alive if you haven't noticed

#lego #hero factory #lego characters #lego hero factory #bionicle #constraction #bulk hero factory #duncan bulk

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oldestenemy · 2 months ago

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where you want, and what you don't

Read the whole series here <3

Two skyship crashes in the same day proves to be too many.

The wizard wakes feeling as though their skull has been split open along each temple.

“The good news is you’re going to be fine—the bad news is you’re in Empyrea.” If they weren’t so damned dizzy, Beans’ remark might have actually struck them as funny. As it was they would just like him out of their face so that their vision could settle. But they sit still for a moment and let him make sure they aren’t concussed….too badly at least. “I suppose you can add traversed the aethyr storm to your laundry list of accomplishments.”

“That was the goal. I can stand, thank you.” Brushing themself off, the wizard looks around the somewhat off-kilter interior of the Spiral Ark. The ground shifts as they stand, spinning in a way that they struggle not to react to—they don’t particularly want to give Beans an excuse to keep them any longer. “Where are the others?”

“Your wizard friend and the Captain are outside. I believe Sparck is surveying the damage to the Lux Capacitor, the cyclo-whatsit we have up here is completely destroyed. If you wouldn’t mind going to check on him down in the hold, I need to salvage what remains of my medical supplies.”

“Right.” At least he asks. It’s still a novelty, every person added to the list of makes requests and not has demands.

Even if the words out of his mouth don’t sound…entirely real.

Maybe that was the head trauma talking.

Beans is right about where Sparck is, the wizard finds him with a small cagelike object in one hand, leaning against an escape pods to steady himself. “Ah—wizard, I’m glad to see you awake. I’m uninjured, before you ask, though I cannot say the same of the Ark.”

“I noticed.” they reply, “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Perhaps. I believe we can use the escape pods to reach Zanadu, though unfortunately I’ll have to ask your assistance in acquiring the materials. The Lux Capacitor is intact, but we’ll need a Storm jewel to repair the Cyclolabe. As well as something sticky to hold it together until I can take the time to do proper repairs.” The wizard nods along as though they had understood more of the words in the initial statement than Storm jewel. “I believe the Captain is outside with Understudy Grimwater. Perhaps the three of you can locate a suitable replacement without much trouble.”

So it begins.

Head still pounding, the wizard steps outside.

“Ah! Wizard!” The way Pork enunciates wizard has yet to sound normal, a novelty yet unworn. He explains where they are, what the likely course of action is, how his and Sparck’s initial goal is getting a world door set up and functional so they can at least get back and forth from Empyrea, even if they don’t have access to the rest of the world yet. So it seems that would take the bulk of the crew’s work while they run around for other supplies.

And then…

“Your friend went on ahead, the jewel we need to repair the ship is in the hands of some Beastmen—”

…Shit.

“—where?” Sharp and irritated, the wizard squeezes their eyes shut a moment, trying to banish the remnant headache to no avail.

This is going to be a long…long process.

~*~

They find Duncan in the den of some sort of…monkeys? Spiders.

Spider Monkeys.

Sure.

Why not.

To Duncan’s credit, he seems to have the fight handled. Though, there’s something off about the ring. He has a minion with him—a specter the wizard vaguely recognizes from Death’s summoning repertoire—but rather than appearing in the circle after his own, it seems to be attached to the side of his. Casting in the same turn, sometimes even before he did.

The wizard can see a purple shimmer to the circle where that minion is bound.

The scar on their chest twinges at the reminder. They hang back and wait, hidden in the dim light of the cave until the fight is over. Watches Duncan pocket something, turn, and stop as he catches sight of them.

“You’re awake.” His tone is almost surprised, it reminds them of being a little kid—holding out a handful of amulets and being greeted with you survived?

“And you’ve been busy.” the wizard remarks in reply, “I’d appreciate you not running off while I’m unconscious.”

“Running off,” Duncan echoes, a touch of familiar annoyance in the words. “I don’t need you to keep an eye on me. Trust the Arcanum is doing enough of that already.”

They don’t doubt that. As glad as they are that he was no longer missing, they’re sure the remainder of the Arcanum haven’t been quick to ignore where he came from, nor who he was training under. The wizard doesn’t have time or energy to feel guilty about that at the moment. Too much needs to be done, they just want this to go smoothly.

That being said…

“Last time I took my eyes off you for a few minutes you vanished for half a year.” they shoot back, not pausing long enough to allow a retort they can see forming inside his head. “What are you doing out here?”

“Your stupid job, evidently.” If Duncan had sounded annoyed before—

—the wizard almost laughs. He’s all sourness and crossed arms. They can’t fault the reaction—not really—but there’s a spark of satisfaction—and beyond that amusement—in him having run off to find that very seldom did anything get done without a host of seemingly unrelated fetch quests. Luckily they can perhaps pass the quirk in their expression off as a grimace. “Where are we getting the storm jewel then?”

“There’s a fortress around the other side of the jungle, but it’s shut up tight and the secret entrance is blocked off. So I have been getting my hands covered in venomous monkey spit to make something we can use to dissolve the webbing.” A back end to the words they only catch bits of, Beastmen asking for help, the rescuing of a lost son.

The wizard can almost picture it if they think hard enough.

The mother had seemed grateful at least…

It would be good to have a few of the locals on their side. Even just for a little while.

It all sounds about usual.

Nobody trusts you.

Run some errands and fix it.

“Living up to all your fantasies?” It’s harsher than it needs to be. They don’t particularly care. Their head hurts, they’re still dizzy, they’re frustrated at having had to run after him.

Duncan rolls his eyes, “I don’t have—look, I get it, I—”

“—no,” the wizard cuts him off, “you don’t. You are, maybe, just barely starting to pick up on bits—but you don’t get it. This is life for me. This has been life for me, the whole time. And you’ve spent most of it using your jealousy as an excuse to act like you’re allowed to hate me for it.” It’s as though they cannot stop now they’ve begun. And like every time they’ve spoken harshly, properly, he seems almost stunned. “You sent Dyvim my way, you decided to come with me, I appreciate that—but don’t get this confused. You are following me. You are playing by my rules here. If I tell you something needs to be done, you assume I mean that under threat of both our deaths. Got it?”

“I—”

“—got it?”

Don’t argue.

Don’t push back.

“Got it.”

“Good.” the wizard lets the tension out of their shoulders, “You can fill me in on the rest while we keep fighting, didn’t look like these things take much focus.”

So what if they are moving backwards.

They don’t have time to care.

#wizard101 #stevie is still stuck in the spiral #wizzy fandom #wizard101 fanfiction #w101 #wizard101 fanfic #don't call it a comeback #because gods know i'll vanish again #duncan grimwater

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likeadeuce · 3 months ago

Text

challengers #wipwednesday

Artashi friend zone/ Artrick divorce

“Help me finish this pizza,” said Tashi

Art looked uncertain, and Tashi pushed the box in his direction. “I can tell you want to. This is a special occasion. By the power invested in me as Tashi Duncan, I grant you permission to cheat on a training diet for once in your life.”

This made him smile. “You think better of me than I deserve. As always.” He took a bite and chewed, for a while, then put his pizza down and said. “When I first got to the academy, right, when I was twelve, I was -- well, you saw the slide show they put together for the party.”

Tashi had put the slide show together for the party. She'd gotten an album of digitized photos from his parents, and no one else recognized` the face they would need to cut out of all the pictures.

“I was so fucking skinny. They put me on this bulking regime that was all, like, boneless chicken breasts and brown rice. Eggs with every meal. Sandwiches with almond butter because of all the peanut allergy rules in the dorms. I was supposed to eat every few hours -- you know how this works -- so we had all these shelves of healthy protein rich snacks in our bedroom --”

Art was constantly lapsing into nonspecific “we”s and “our”s when talking about his school days, never mentioning the name that got his words to make sense. Tashi might not have noticed except that she had an aunt, recently and nastily divorced after thirty years of marriage, who talked around her ex-husband the same way. Breakups were bad enough; Tashi had been through her share. This was being cut off from the story of your own life.

She and Art ought to talk about it.

For now, she listened while he told her about twelve year old boys and their improvised late night snacks. “Whatever, organic almond butter on rice crackers tastes fine at three AM. But if you screw off the top of an Oreo --” He made gestures to demonstrate what he was describing -- “Scrape the frosting off with your teeth, and then just -- slop as much almond butter there as you can. Squeeze it shut, lick what’s left off the sides. Now that is a good mouthful of food. And if it’s good once, it’s good -- thirty-six, divide by two -- eighteen times. Now. Do you want to guess what happened when we had to get up at five and run wind sprints? ”

Tashi stuck out her tongue and mimed vomiting, a silly regular-girl face to make him laugh in appreciation, which he did. She bumped his shoulder with her fist and said, “You know a tennis player’s a phony if they don’t have a dozen good puke stories.”

What she didn’t tell him was that she’d heard this one before, from Patrick. All of Patrick’s stories, when Tashi knew him, had Art in them

.“So,” she said. “Is that how you learned to always stick to your diet?”

“Oh yeah. Never drank, smoked, got high or snuck onto the girls’ halls, either. Always perfectly well-behaved.”

He finished the last of his pizza, then picked up the box and started to tidy up the trash. Once he’d gathered it, he didn’t know what to do with it, so he put it all down and sat by Tashi again. “If anything it’s a story about how, if the school or either of our parents, gave a shit, we should have been separated for being a bad influence on each other.”

Tashi suddenly, dearly wanted to know the ways Art had been a bad influence on Patrick. But that wasn’t this conversation.

“You think that would have worked?”

“Probably not. Still feels like, if it had, it would have saved a lot of bullshit later.”

“If you weren’t joined at the hip with Patrick, you wouldn’t have met me.”

That night at US Juniors had felt like magic while it was happening but afterwards, when there were still the three of them, they’d hashed out the history. Art wouldn’t have gone to the party without Patrick egging him on; Patrick would have gone back after saying one starstruck hello if Art hadn’t dug his heels in.

“I would definitely have met you.” He gestured around them. “Same school, same town. Not that big of a tennis program. Would honestly be kind of weird if we never played doubles together.”

“But would you have MET me?” That first night had come after an extraordinary day, when Tashi felt the pulse of possibility all around her and would have done anything to keep it from ending. She felt more fully herself, a living and limitless being, and she was ready to show that self, in the silliest and most profound ways, to a pair of boys she’d just met and had no reason to trust. They could have met at team orientation, run drills together, been paired up by coaches, while Art flirted awkwardly and Tashi labored to keep up her boundaries.

“I’ve had a lot of doubles partners," Tashi said.

#challengers #wipwednesday

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