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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Beautifully Beastly

Reader X Draco

Summary: It’s over ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts, and you stumble upon an old classmate and his son. Soon you find yourself in a large house, tutoring a young protege, and acquiring feelings for his father...?

A/n: Okay, so this is the cutest thing in the world. I changed cannon of course, but isn’t that the point of fanfiction? Anyway, I know I tortured you guys with the last chapter of my Hufflepuff!Reader series, so here’s a cute one shot with a brooding older Draco and a lively Scorpius who just wants to learn everything. I love you guys so so much, let me know what you think!!

“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” I asked, pausing at the park bench.

The same white blond hair was not longer and tied back at the nape of his neck. I would have mistaken him as Lucius if I didn’t linger. He had grown into his features, his eyes still the same piercing blue. It had to have been maybe ten years since I had seen Draco last. They were memories I didn’t dwell on often.

“Y/n,” Recognition flirted across his face. “What... what are you doing here?”

“It’s a park?” A smile found its way to my lips. “I come here to clear my head,”

He nodded, as if in understanding.

“So, what are you doing here?” I mused.

“I’m here with my son,”

“Son?” I was surprised. “I didn’t know you had a kid,” my eyes scanned the park and narrowed in on a little boy with white blond hair. “Should have known though,” I smiled. “His mother?” I sat on the opposite side of the bench.

“Died when he was seven months,” His eyes stayed on his son’s playful form in the distance.

“Sorry,” I offered, wrapped my arms around my midriff.

“It’s fine,” His lips pressed into a tight line, letting me know that it was not fine.

“I hear you’re a Head Auror,” I tried to keep pleasant conversation. “Brought in a lot of his followers,”

He didn’t comment. His jaw clenched and he kept a cool mask on his features. He clenched his left fist and drew it to himself almost defensively. I heard a lot of other things about Draco as well over the years. It was hard to escape the politics and news of the Wizarding World, but I knew Draco better than a news article, even if I hadn’t seen him in a decade—which spoke to how much the papers knew.

“Where did you end up?” He asked finally.

“Um, well, I’m a writer. Historian.” I clarified. “It’s been a lot of work lately trying to get everything written correctly. So many biased petty people wanting to get their two cents in,” I scoffed, my thoughts drawing to Skeeter, who still wouldn’t retire.

“Historian?” He mused. “So, you’re well versed in a lot of topics then?”

“I guess, yeah. McGonagall sent me a letter not too long ago asking me to come and teach. I... I couldn’t bear to think going back...” I looked down at my hands. “That place still haunts me.”

“Are you for hire though?”

That caught my attention.

“Hire?” I pressed, my brows quirking together.

“Private tutor, for Scorpius.” Draco nodded towards his son. “I’ve been looking for someone to come and start his schooling.”

“You want me to tutor your son?” I asked, quite shocked.

“You’d have lodging at the Manor, and all the books and supplies you needed, as well as a salary,”

I gaped at him. “Okay...?” I finally got out.

It took about a week, but soon I was moved into the Manor with access to the library wing, and the rest of the house as I pleased. The house elves had orders to answer to me as if I was there mistress—even though I hated the notion and protested.

Scorpius was hesitant around me for a few days, until he caught me practicing spells. He was delighted to see even a bit of magic, and I wondered if Draco ever did magic in front of his song. Draco gave me a vague outline of what he wanted me to cover with Scorpius, leaving a lot of it up to me. Which was for better or worse, the best mistake he could have made.

Draco seemed to realize that when he came home one evening and Scorpius and I were in the front lawn, covered in bowtruckles. The little boy was laughing joyously, playing with the small plant creatures. Draco started to yell, but seeing his son laugh, he paused and gave me a cold look before heading inside. I rolled my eyes at him and brought Scorpius inside to wash up for dinner.

“If you have something to say to me,” I baited, leaning against his study door jam.

“No,” He said curtly, his back to me as he leaned against his desk. “He should be well versed in herbology,”

I made an exasperated gesture and let it drop.

A few months passed, and I spent the days teaching Scorpius anything and everything. I had the weekends off, but still didn’t mind taking the young Malfoy to the park or lake or wherever else he wanted to go. Sometimes Draco accompanied us, sometimes he’d be gone weeks on end on a case. In those long periods of time I did my best to keep Scorpius happy. I taught him how to bake cookies and other sweets. I read to him bedtime stories, both muggle and wizarding—after getting a pinky promise from Scorpius that he wouldn’t tell his father.

There were some nights that Draco and I spent together, not intentionally. But he’d be in the library, reading from a pile of large old books, and I’d flit around, finding the material I wanted. Sometimes I’d ask him for a certain book, and he’d raise the one in his hands. It was always left on my desk in the morning.

A few nights I’d find him asleep in his large chair, the book that was in his lap fallen onto the floor. I’d pick up the book and drape an afghan around his shoulders. Neither of us mentioned it.

We shared tea and coffee in the early mornings before he was off to work and I had been up all night reading, our internal clocks aligning for no more than a quarter hour.

After seeing Scorpius to bed, one night in late November, I retired to my own room, picking up my book, continuing to read. The hours slipped away, and I was forced to stop reading and turn in for the night. It was a silent night... almost.

My eyelashes flickered open at the nudging on my arm. I met a teary eyed blond little boy.

“M-miss Y/n? I-I had a nightmare and d-dad’s not h-home,” He hiccupped, trying to hold back further tears.

I was immediately alert and awake, a gentle smile on my face. The light from the hall softly lit the room. I scooched back in the bed and held up the covers.

“Well, come on,” I encouraged. “It’s alright,”

Scorpius hurried under the duvet and curled up to my side without hesitation. My arms draped around him and my hands stoked his hair softly. I had no idea what I was doing, but it seemed to calm the young Malfoy.

“Nightmares, huh?” I asked softly and he nodded into my shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret?” Starling blue eyes met mine shining with tears and hope.

“There’s a way to beat nightmares,” I smiled widely and pulled my wand from under the pillow. “It’s called a Patronus,”

With practiced movements I casted the charm and a silvery ferret emerged from my wand. My eyebrows furrowed. The last time I casted the charm, it was a housecat. The ferret, however, bounced around in the air, circling around the room before hovering in front of Scorpius.

“You have a Patronus, Scorpius,” I let the charm fall, tucking my wand back away. “And it’s always protecting you,”

“But I can’t do magic,” The little boy pouted. “I don’t even have a wand.”

“A Patronus isn’t cast by a wand,” I watched confusion fall upon his face. “It lives inside you, in your happiest memories. And it always protects you.”

The little boy nodded, and I went back to stroking his hair softly.

“I miss daddy,” He mumbled.

“I know sweetheart,” I sighed softly. “But he’s out there protecting you too. He takes down bad wizards who want to hurt you and everyone else,”

“People say that daddy is a bad wizard,” Scorpius was almost scared to say it.

I took a sharp breath in and exhaled slowly.

“I grew up with your dad,” I told him, rubbing his back. “And he made some... difficult choices. We all did. His choices didn’t work out so well, and people hold it against him. But we were just kids,” I sighed softly thinking of my last few years at Hogwarts. “I should have done something...” Shaking the thought I looked back down to Scorpius. “But your daddy loves you. So much Scorpius, and though it may not seem like it, you’re his entire world.”

He nodded into my shoulder again, and I pulled the covers around him. His eyes had a hard time staying open. I smiled, running my fingers through his hair still. Humming an old lullaby, we were both calmed to sleep.

“Scorpius!?” A harsh worried voice called.

My hand went to my wand as I cradled Scorpius protectively watching Draco burst in through the door. We both seemed to relax at the sight of the other. Scorpius stirred in my arms, blinking up at me sleepily.

“Nightmare?” Draco asked softly, kneeling beside my bed, reaching out to stroke his son’s head.

I nodded and uncurled my arms from around him, letting him cling to his father, he was now wrapped up in Draco’s arms. Draco disappeared from the room for a few minutes then returned. I sat up, turning on the lamp.

“I’m sorry about that,” Draco looked at the floor. “He’s been having a hard time lately.”

I nodded. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” There was a weight in Draco’s eyes.

“Dray,” I called. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, long day, that’s all,” He rubbed his face. “One too many hexes... we got him though,”

“That’s good,” There was a silence that hung around us.

“How did you get him to calm down?” Draco asked, changing the topic. “It takes me at least an hour,”

“Patronus Charm,” I smiled. “And an old muggle lullaby,” I tacked on.

“Are you contaminating my son with muggle things?” The words were harsh, but there was a smile at Draco’s lips.

“A bit,” I smiled back. “He loves you Draco,” I confessed to my duvet after a moment.

He nodded and leaned against the door jam, his eyes slipping closed. I called his name and his eyes snapped back open. He grumbled a goodnight and lumber down the hall. I shrugged mentally and spent the next hour staring at the ceiling trying to figure out why my Patronus had changed all of a sudden.

It was a few nights later and I was awoken again, this time by muffled screams and cries. I sprang from my bed, wand in hand, Lighting Charm casted as I tore down the hall. The sounds were coming from Draco’s room. I barged in and saw him thrashing on the bed.

Nightmares must have been a commonality in the Malfoy household.

“Draco!” I called, setting down my wand and shaking his shoulder. “Draco! Wake up!”

His eyes didn’t flash open. He didn’t seem to notice me.

“Daddy?” A small voice called from the door.

“Scorpius go get me a glass of water, please,” I threw the task at the young boy to get him out of the room. He scurried off.

“Come on, Draco,” I whispered, throwing back the sheets. “You can beat this,”

Grabbing my wand, I went through a mental list of spells that might wake him up, but I took the notion after dealing with Scorpius’ nightmares and casted my Patronus. The ferret instantly soared towards Draco, diving into his chest and disappearing. I stared, awaiting.

“Draco?” I asked again, sitting beside him on the bed. Hesitantly, I reached out and took his hand. “Please wake up Draco,” I pleaded softly. “It’s just a dream,”

Blue eyes flashed open and wrestled me to the ground, wand under my throat, a wild look in his eyes. I raised my hands in surrender, raising my eyebrows at him.

“It’s me,” I soothed. “It’s just me,”

Draco groaned and released me, rubbing his face. He sat on the floor, leaning against the bed frame. I sat next to him. We didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much to say. The patter of little feat had us both looking at Scorpius enter the room, glass of water in his shaking hands. He offered it to me, and I passed it to Draco who downed it instantly.

“Are you okay daddy?” Scorpius asked meekly.

“Yeah, I’m okay bud,” He nodded. “Just a dream,”

“Don’t you have a Patronus like Miss Y/n? She says it protects you from nightmares,”

“It’s okay sweetheart,” I smiled tiredly. “I let him use mine tonight,” Standing, I lifted the little boy into my arms. “Let’s get back to bed, huh?”

It took a while, but Scorpius did finally settle down enough for me to feel comfortable to leave him—it did require a bit of spell work. A simple spell that left his bedroom ceiling reflecting the starry night outside—what my parents used to do for me. Another soft muggle lullaby and the stars beckoned the young Malfoy to sleep.

When I turned to leave, Draco was waiting for me in the hallway. Something gripped my heart when I saw the brushed away tears on his face. Without thinking, I wrapped him in my arms, pulling him close. He didn’t push me away. Instead he clung to me, the same way that Scorpius did.

My hands laced into his long silvery hair, carding through it. He pressed his face into my shoulder—having to hunch himself down to accomplish the feat—and inhaled deeply.

Before I wanted him to, he pulled away. Again, we didn’t say anything. Deciding that I wasn’t going to leave Draco on his own either tonight, I took his hand and led him back to my room. He didn’t protest. I nodded to the bed and got in on one side and he got in on the other. There was a tension between us that dissolved when I reached out for his hand in the moonlight.

“Has your Patronus always been a ferret?” He asked softly.

“It was a cat up until recently,” I confessed.

We fell back into silence and remained like that until my eyelids became too heavy to open again.

“Thank you,” Was the last thing I heard before being pulled under.

In the morning, he was gone. I expected it though, he had to work at the Ministry. It was the entire point of my being at the Manor, to watch after Scorpius while his father worked. That and tutor him, but that was become less of a priority the more time I spent with the small family.

That night, however, I was on the verge of sleep when I heard my bedroom door open. A familiar silhouette slunk through the darkness, padding across the wooden floor. A small smile grew on my face as Draco slipped into bed next to me, lying very still. My heart raced. I rolled onto my back and we both stared at the ceiling in silence. Our soft breaths were the only thing heard. His hand reached for mine in the darkness.

He was gone again in the morning. I sighed and sat up, rubbing my face. My feelings were confusing themselves as questions swarmed in my mind. Draco was home for dinner that night. Scorpius went on and on about the day we had: I introduced him to Latin.

“They’re just like spells!” He exclaimed. “Miss Y/n showed me!”

“You know Latin?” Draco looked at me.

“Spent a few semesters at a muggle college learning it,” I shrugged. “Some records only have copies written in it.”

He didn’t comment.

I retired to my room early that night, worrying my lip the entire evening, trying to figure out what was going on. It was all so confusing. Sometimes I thought I saw something in Draco and he in me, but... what did I know?

Draco was preparing for another long-term case. It was only a week. Scorpius tried not to cry in front of his father, but later the young Malfoy ran to me in tears. I lifted him into my arms and rocked him softly. I began to sing another muggle lullaby, a new one. It caught his attention as he calmed to listen to my new melody.

“How do you know all of these songs?” He asked with watery eyes.

“I used to get scared too,” I confided in him as I laid him into bed. “Sometimes I still do. They’re another secret to keep from being afraid.”

“But where do they come from?” He asked.

I smiled and pulled his covers up. “That... is something I’ll have to talk to your father about. It’s complicated,”

“Why?”

“Because they’re all muggle songs,” I explained softly. “And your father is...”

“Against muggles?” Scorpius frowned.

“No,” I responded immediately. “But though I teach you, I don’t have liberty to tell you everything my dear,”

“Why not?”

“Because...” I sighed. I’m not your mother.

“It’s complicated?” Scorpius gave a familiar smirk that once belonged to his father.

“Quite so,” I replied and stood. “I’ll talk to him before he leaves.”

“Night Miss Y/n,”

“Goodnight Scorpius,”

I closed his door and leaned against it for a moment before finding my courage to go and find Draco. I found him packing in his study, gathering books and various magical items. I knocked on the door frame.

“Yes?” He didn’t look up.

How was I supposed to start this conversation?

“Y/n?” This time he did look up, worry in his blue eyes. “What’s wrong?” He set down his bag and came over to me. “Is Scorpius alright?”

“Yes, he’s fine,” I answered quickly. “He... Am I allowed to show him muggle movies?” The question was barely audible.

Draco’s expression sobered as he went back to his desk.

“They’re just fairytales, Draco.” I reasoned softly. “Just stories...”

“And they were just lullabies,” He snapped. “I should have stopped you the first time you sang to him... muggle songs... my son wanting to hear muggle songs... and movies...”

It was like a slap to the face. I took a small step back. Maybe I had been wrong, and Draco was still against muggles.

“If they’re so awful, why didn’t you stop me?” I snapped. “You had every chance to stop me.”

“I’m stopping you now,” His voice was ice.

“You can’t do that,” I argued back. “He wants to know!”

“I do as I please! I am his father! You work for me! You will do as I say!” He threw down a book and stormed over to me, fury written on his face.

“Then I resign,” I bit out.

He faltered and froze.

“What?”

“You heard me,” I tilted my chin back. “I will not be treated like a child. And I will not keep secrets from yours. He deserves more than that,” My voice was calm and even.

“And what do you know about what he deserves!?” Draco spat. “He isn’t your child! You aren’t his mother!”

“I know that!” I yelled back, tears in my eyes.

I turned away, covering my face, biting back the tears that wanted to fall. I took a deep breath.

“I’ll stay until you return, for Scorpius’ sake.” I gritted out. “Then I’m gone,”

I ran down the halls of the Manor and slammed my door shut, locking it childishly. Then I broke down into tears, leaning against it. I quieted when I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. They lingered outside my door but made no attempt to knock or open the door.

The next morning, he was gone.

Scorpius noticed my somber mood almost immediately. He asked me why I was sad. Then he asked me what I fought with his father about, bursting into tears when I told him that I was leaving within the week.

“But you can’t go Miss Y/n!” He sobbed, crawling into my lap. I bit back tears and cradled him close.

“I have to,” A few tears escaped. “But that doesn’t mean I love you any less,” I stroked his face softly, brushing away tears. “But I can’t keep things from you, and your father won’t let me teach them to you. I can’t do that to you my darling,”

“I don’t care! I don’t want you to go!” He clung to me.

“Scorpius, darling,” I tried to reason with a four-year-old.

“No! I won’t let you go!” He cried.

I held him close, hiding my face from him so that he didn’t have to see me cry. I started to whisper out another song. It quieted his crying once more but didn’t stop my own. He slept with me every night that week. I knew it wasn’t a smart idea, but I couldn’t seem to get out the word ‘no.’

There was a loud crack in the foyer while I was teaching Scorpius how to write his letters—he had a habit of mixing up runes and letters. I rose, knowing the sound of apperating and rushed down the hall. Draco was lain on the floor, scantly breathing and bleeding, severely.

I froze at the sight and turned, catching Scorpius in my arms and ushering him away from the sight.

“Scorpius, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” I set him down, kneeling in front of him. “In my room there’s a green carpet bag with purple flowers on it. I need that bag. Please Scorpius,”

He nodded and took off up the stairs and I rose, shedding my cardigan and rolling up my sleeves. I hurried over to Draco, kneeling beside him, drawing my wand.

“Medicari,” I chanted, running my wand over his slain skin.

The gashes on his skin vanished, but he still looked deathly.

“Draco? Draco can you hear me!?” I fought back tears, lifting his head softly, placing it in my lap.

Scorpius came in, my bag in his arms. I thanked him and ripped the bag open. He took his father’s hand, silent tears on his face as a house elf showed up behind him.

“Get out!” I shouted at the elf, drawing a vial from my bag: Elixir of Life. “Just one drop,” I whispered softly to myself.

Uncapping the bottle, I took the dropper and placed it to Draco’s lips that were parted, scarce breaths drawing through them. Just one drop.

Slowly Draco became less a sickly green and restored back to the beautiful pale complexion. His breathing became deeper, healthier. His lips were no linger blue, but the soft pink color they had always been. His eyes remained closed, however.

“Daddy?” Scorpius asked softly.

“He’ll be fine,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

My eyes trailed over his body, making sure I hadn’t missed anything else, and I noticed that his shirt sleeve had been torn and the Dark Mark was opaque black and surrounded by red and irritated skin.

“Death Eaters,” I hissed. “Scorpius, come here,” I opened my arms and the little boy ran to me. I held him protectively and drew my wand, casting Protective and Shielding Charms around the Manor.

“What are Death Eaters?” Scorpius asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” I murmured softly. “Just stay close for now.” My eyes kept darting around the room, expecting to see the dead walk again and my old nightmares come back to haunt me.

“Are you still gonna leave?” Scorpius sniffled, his tears staring to fall again.

“No, sweetheart,” I consoled. “I’m not leaving you on your own.”

I was decided in that moment. It didn’t matter what Draco said to me or ordered me to do. I would stay for Scorpius’ sake. Even if that meant laying aside my pride. I would stay.

With the dreadful feeling that Draco might not wake up soon, I called a house elf—whom I apologized to upon seeing—and had her apparate Draco up to his room, and into bed. Scorpius was glued to my side the entire evening. The house elf came in later with soup and tea for dinner as well as a bowl of water and washcloth.

After dinner, Scorpius fell asleep in my lap. I gently laid him on the chaise lounge that was next to the bed and covered him with an extra blanket. Then I took the water and washcloth and began my task.

I took my time and gently washed the sweat and grim from Draco’s face, moving to his neck and arms. He looked peaceful like this. Years of harsh and cold looks were gone. Instead I found something reminiscent of a young boy at Hogwarts evident in his features. Without knowing it, I began to sing softly.

I unbuttoned Draco’s black shirt and continued to wash away the dried blood and dirt. It was a slow process, but it gave me something to focus on; rather than the crippling anxiety that loomed over me. My fingertips traced old scars that littered his chest in an abstract pattern. I wondered how many of them he had to mend alone...

I sat on the floor, leaning against the bedframe and tried to read my book, but failed. I just stared at the fire in the hearth and sang absentmindedly. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed three o’clock.

“Y/n?” A scratchy groggy voice called.

I sprang up and met tired blue eyes.

“Merlin, Draco,” I cried, tears springing into my eyes as I crouched beside him stroking his face.

He tried to sit up and I aided him, tears streaming silently down my face.

“Don’t do that to me!” I squeaked, cupping his face between my hands, sitting on the bed. “What were you thinking!?”

“I-I’m sorry,” He stammered, shocked at my cry of emotion.

I drew him into a tight embrace and buried my face in his shoulder. Tentatively his arms wrapped around me. After a moment, they started to rub my back as I cried into his shoulder.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” I confessed through tears.

“No, never,” His vow baffled me.

I withdrew and studied him, confusion and heart break on both of our faces.

“I’m sorry,” He took my hand in his. “It was wrong for me to yell at you like that. Or to say the things I did. Please, don’t leave. Even if you can’t stand to be near me, nor say another word to me again, Scorpius needs you,” A pause. “...I need you.”

Saddened blue eyes met mine and I pressed my lips to his without a second thought. His lips melded to mine instantly as he drew me into his arms. My hands went to his hair, knotting themselves into his long locks. His lips were hot and desperate against mine—mine even more so against his.

“Daddy?”

We quickly parted, both of our attentions snapping to a sleepy Scorpius.

“Why are you kissing Miss Y/n?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. “And why is she in your lap?”

After a moment of shock, I dissolved into laughter, hiding my face in Draco’s shoulder. I felt him shake with laughter too. One of Draco’s hands left my waist, beckoning Scorpius into our embrace. It took a bit of finagling, but soon we were all laying on the bed, Scorpius tucked between Draco and me. Draco pulled a blanket around us, pressing kisses to Scorpius’ head and to my forehead. My fingers combed through Scorpius’ hair as I watched him fall asleep to the soft melody that fell from my lips.

When I was positive that he was asleep, my gaze shifted to nervous blue eyes. I searched for answers, for an explanation. Draco seemed to pick up on that.

“They... Polyjuice Potion,” He started. “It was you; they were you... I... Merlin, Y/n,” He reached out and took my hand. “It was a living nightmare... your screams... they wouldn’t advance... it was days before...”

“Stars, Draco,” My heart broke at the picture that he was piecing together for me.

I could only imagine if the roles had been switched and it was Draco that I had heard screaming from pain and torture for days... not being able to do anything... trying to prove to myself it wasn’t real... What would I have done?

“You went in alone,” I realized. “You... Draco, what were you thinking? You could have been killed!” I whispered harshly, careful not to wake Scorpius.

“I... They weren’t going to take away someone else that I cared for. I wasn’t going to sit by and watch it happen,” His voice was firm and sure.

I reached out and stroked his face softly, his eyes connecting with mine. Nothing was said but everything was meant. It was moments like these that my regrets shone the most. I should have done more in school... I should have done something...

“I was going to stay anyway,” I confessed, my gaze dropping down to the young Malfoy. “I couldn’t leave him like that.”

“You... you would have let me order you around... for the sake of my son?” Draco’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes,” I whispered softly. “And I still will, if that’s what it takes.”

My eyes met his again. There were tears in them.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Draco whispered softly.

I smiled and shook my head softly.

“It’s never about what we deserve, but what we do in spite of it,”

We fell asleep, the three of us, curled up and clinging to each other. It was peaceful, for once. When I awoke in the morning, I was alone. Frantically I looked around for Scorpius but relaxed when I heard laughter and a loud clatter downstairs.

Snagging Draco’s house coat, I made my way downstairs to find Draco and Scorpius in the kitchen, in various states of disaster. Scorpius was covered in what looked like flour—Draco not faring much better—and the kitchen counters were covered with pretty much every baking utensil and dish that the Malfoy’s owned. It was very hard not to laugh. So, I did.

“Scourgify,” I snapped my fingers and the kitchen began to return to a less chaotic state of being.

Scorpius marveled at the wandless magic as everything was placed in its proper order. I carefully made my way over to the two Malfoys, avoiding dishes and pans that floated around in a hurry to find their proper homes.

“Good morning,” I drawled, raising an eyebrow at Draco.

“He insisted we make pancakes the muggle way because someone taught him,” He raised an eyebrow back at me.

“I almost remember how to do it Miss Y/n!” Scorpius cut in between us, pulling at my hand.

Chuckling, I pulled him up into my arms and set him on the counter. Then I went around and gathered what was actually necessary to make pancakes. Draco watched quietly, offering things I needed before I could ask for them. His gaze and hands always lingered when they were upon me, and it left me a bit redder than I cared to admit.

With breakfast on the small kitchen table, coffee and tea brewed—a glass of milk for Scorpius— we ate in the company of one another. Draco started to chide Scorpius about the amount of syrup he was using, and I gave Draco an amused look and he refrained, sighing and reading the Daily Prophet. (It meant having to give Scorpius a bath afterwards because of the sticky mess, but it was worth it).

“How did you do it?” Draco asked as we walked the grounds, Scorpius chasing the wild peacocks.

“Do what?” I asked, eyeing a peacock that was getting a bit too aggressive for my taste.

“Last night,” He gave, but I still wasn’t quite sure what he wanted me to explain. “you saved my life. I know about every spell and potion out there... how did you do it so quickly?”

“Elixir of Life,” I paused and teetered my head. “Sort of. It’s the juice of the Fire-Flowers that grow in the Mountains of the Sun. Cures any illness and injury... as long as the person still has breath.”

“That what of what?”

I laughed. “Historian, remember?” I nudged his side. “You learn a few things. I think I have what’s left of it... no one has been able to find the flowers or the mountain any longer.”

“What did you go and waste it on me for then?” He exclaimed.

“Um, you were dying?” I argued back. “It wasn’t a waste.”

“I’m hardly worth keeping alive,”

“That’s not true,” I refuted stubbornly. “You mean so much to Scorpius, and to me for that matter. What would either of us do without you?” I looked to Scorpius who had a peacock feather in his hand, waving it proudly. We both waved back.

“He’d be fine. He’s strong,”

“He’s four, Draco,” I snapped. “He doesn’t need to be strong; he needs to be a kid.”

Draco pursed his lips and sighed. “Suppose you’re right,” He finally admitted. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing this right...”

“There is no right way to raise someone, Draco,” Then mended, “Okay, there’s no one certain way that you have to raise someone. And I think you’re doing just fine with him. He’s a great kid, Dray,”

“Miss Y/n! Look what I found!” Scorpius ran over, a small bowtruckle in his hand.

“Look at that!” I crouched down. “But you better go put him back, he needs to be with his family,”

The little boy nodded and ran back into the yard, crouching down beside a bush. Our conversation of the matter seemed to end there. Draco was called back into work and Scorpius and I remained outside for the rest of the evening. When he returned later that evening, Scorpius was fast asleep in bed and I was staring at the family portraits in the great room. Though the figures moved, they gave me no guidance on what to do. Draco came and stood beside me, gazing at the paintings as well.

“She was beautiful,” I whispered softly, looking at the painting of Draco, Astoria, and an infant Scorpius. “With more courage than a lion,”

Draco nodded and stared at his late wife. I gnawed at my lip and sighed softly.

“Sometimes I wonder how things would have changed if she was still here,” Draco confessed to the painting. “If they would have...”

“Well, you wouldn’t need me,” I smiled sadly.

“And why not?” He turned to me, confusion on his features. “Scorpius would still need a teacher,”

“But we never would have met in the park that day. It wouldn’t be me here...” My gaze shifted back to the portrait.

He went quiet at that, and with a deep breath, bid me goodnight and retired to his room for the rest of the evening. I gave the paintings one last glimpse and turned in myself. I was alone that night, not getting much sleep.

We fell back into an odd sort of routine as December ended. I attempted to keep my emotions for Draco under control as I continued to teach his son. I may have failed at the notion completely. I had convinced Draco to throw a small party for Scorpius for his fifth birthday and though it was only the three of us as well as Narcissa and Lucius, the youngest Malfoy was the happiest five- year-old in the world.

“Miss Y/l/n,” Narcissa gestured for me to join her in a quiet sitting room.

Setting down my plate of homemade cake—that I showed Scorpius how to make upon his request and pouting—I followed her. Anxiety grew in my chest as we sat by the warm hearth.

“It’s my understanding that you are tutoring my grandson,” She said softly.

“Yes ma’am,” I nodded, fidgeting with my sweater.

“And that you care deeply for my son,” She gave me a knowing look.

I pressed my lips together and stared at the crackling fire.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” I repeated my mantra. “I can’t...”

“And why not?” My eyes snapped up at hers, a startled look on my face as she continued. “Draco has been through a lot, and I cannot change the past. Astoria aided him through some of it, setting him back on his feet, but you my dear, have brought back life to my son’s eyes.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,” I started, but she raised her hand to stop me.

“I understand if you do not wish to take on the family name, nor commit to a very broken man.”

“That’s not the issue,” I amended quickly. “I... I don’t know if Draco is ready... Sometimes I think yes, then other times I don’t know what’s going through his head... and I don’t want to lose him or Scorpius if I’m wrong...”

“We are never truly ready for anything my dear,” Narcissa spoke softly, reminiscing. “But I know my son, and I know that he has changed so much since you’ve been around. Do not be afraid of not being ready, it’s when true character shines through,” She rose elegantly and gave me a warm smile. “You are good for him,”

“Everything alright in here?” Draco stood in the doorway, a curious look on his face. I did my best to offer an encouraging smile.

“Yes, quite,” His mother smiled and swept out of the room with the grace of a swan.

I stood and readjusted the shawl around my shoulders. Draco’s eyes didn’t leave me as I walked over to him. He was still waiting for me to explain.

“It’s nothing,” I smiled and looked down. “We just talked about Scorpius and his studies, that’s all,” It was an easy lie, and I knew that he could see through it, but he didn’t call me out on it.

“Miss Y/n! Look! Daddy got me a book! Just like yours!” Scorpius bounded over to me, a thick leather-bound book in his hands.

“Isn’t that wonderful!” I beamed, bending down, examining the book’s cover.

Walt Disney’s Classic Storybook Collection: Volume Three

Shock flitted across my emotions as I looked up at Draco, my eyebrows drawing together.

“They’re just fairytales,” He offered a lopsided smile and a small shrug.

I couldn’t stop the smile on my face or the warmth in my heart that grew. I rose, giving Scorpius his book back and went over to Draco.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered softly. “I told you, it was alright.”

“You were right, Y/n,” He spoke in a hushed tone. “He deserves to know, and he deserves to be a kid,” He pulled me beside him, nodding to his son that played with a mix of muggle and magic toys on the floor, Lucius eyeing him warily and Narcissa beaming.

I leaned against Draco and watched Scorpius play in the firelight, pondering what Narcissa had told me. Was I really the one that brought life back into this small family? Could Draco hold the same regard for me as I did for him?

With his arm wrapped around my side, keeping me close, I thought that just maybe he could.

The night after Narcissa and Lucius had gone, Scorpius begged me to read from his new book as a bedtime story. I gave in and opened the gold leaf pages and skimmed the table of contents. I chose a familiar tale: Peter Pan.

“Is one of your songs from this story?” Scorpius asked, his eyes shining.

“Not this one, no,” I smiled. “But we’ll get to those, I promise,”

He nodded and settled in as I began to read the fairytale. Scorpius was fast asleep before Peter saved Wendy from the mermaids. I closed the book and set it on his bedside table, smiling and leaving his room, the door cracked open. Draco was in his study, hunched over a book on his desk, deeply focused. Passing the room, I headed to the kitchen and made two cups of tea before returning. Setting one on his desk next to him, I stood behind him, leaning against his desk chair.

He murmured a thanks and didn’t look up from the book. Gathering my courage, I sat my mug down as well.

“Draco, can we talk?” I bit my lip and looked down.

His blue eyes looked up from the book, his eyebrows raised, waiting for me to continue. I took a deep breath. Hopefully this conversation would go better than the last time we ‘talked.’

“I... have had a wonderful time, here over the past year, with you and Scorpius,” I began. He sighed.

“I understand,” There was an air of melancholy in his voice.

“You do?” I wondered what he was referring to or if we were on the same page. It seemed like we weren’t.

“You wish to leave,” His gaze didn’t meet mine. “You tried, and it didn’t work, I understand.”

“What?” I took a small step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Where in the world did you get an idea like that?” I paused. “Do you want me to leave?” My voice was as small as I felt in that moment.

“No,” He confessed softly.

“Then what do you want?” His eyes flashed to mine.

“The truth?” He seemed nervous and afraid. I nodded. “I... I don’t...” He pursed his lips together and stood, his back to me, like it would make it easier. “I don’t sleep well when you’re not beside me. I don’t go a day at work without thinking about you. I feel the same need to protect you as I do with Scorpius.

“You understand my son in a way I’ll never comprehend, and I see you in him more and more every day. I’ve given you everything I can, and I still fear it’s not enough to make you want to stay. Because I’ve spent months trying to deny and conceal what I feel about you from you and myself and I can’t do it anymore.”

I gaped at him.

“And maybe keeping you away will keep you safe,” He whispered.

I rounded his desk and reached out, placing my hand on his shoulder. He turned, desperation in his eyes. I reached up and stroked his cheek softly.

“I love you Y/n,” As if the notion broke him.

“I love you too, Draco,”

His hands cradled my face as he drew me into a scared, hesitant kiss. My hands splayed over his shoulders and pulled him closer. Holding another close, we melted into the other. Past fears, regrets, pains, and nightmares all laid aside for one shining moment.

“Don’t go away,” He whispered softly against my lips.

“Never,” I vowed. “You’re stuck with me now,” I smiled up at him.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It was a soft and gentle night. Draco continued to read, I brought my book and joined him in the sitting room that his mother and I spoke in not hours before. He was sitting in the center of the sofa and my legs were draped across his lap as we read into the late hours of the night.

With unspoken words and requests, we curled up together in his bed, in ridiculously expensive silk sheets and down pillows. My fingers absent mindedly traced the scars across his chest, my head nestled on his shoulder and his arm around me.

He rose early in the morning, placing a kiss to my forehead before heading to get ready for work. In his house coat again, I saw him off, kissing him softly before he departed. Contented, I went to wake Scorpius, humming softly to myself. He insisted that I read him another fairytale after lunch, and I compromised and agreed I would after his lesson.

Draco returned that evening, in a pleasant mood, placing a kiss on my cheek, before lifting Scorpius into his arms, asking about his son’s day. The young Malfoy babbled about the tale of Peter Pan and Captain Hook, saying he wanted to fly like Peter.

“Do you still have your broom?” I mused, curious. “I remember someone being quite the quidditch player,”

Scorpius’ eyes lit up. “You know how to play Quidditch!?” He exclaimed.

I laughed as Draco set down his son, the three of us heading out to the backyard where Draco produced two broomsticks. The wood hummed in my hand the same way that my wand did and responded to my thoughts. Draco and I hovered just above the ground. He pulled Scorpius onto the broom with him and kicked off, soaring high over the Manor. I laughed and chased after them. We flew until the setting sun provided no more light.

Scorpius was asleep in my arms as we headed back inside. Draco followed me up the stairs, helping me tuck his sleeping son into bed. With his arms wrapped around me, Draco and I watched the peaceful slumber that Scorpius had claimed.

“You’re a good mother to him,” Draco whispered lowly, not to disturb his son’s slumber.

My heart fluttered at his words, my lips curling into a smile. A new sort of anxiety set into my chest.

“And you’re a great father,” I gazed up at him through my eyelashes.

Again, Draco and I curled up together in the quiet of the night, talking about anything and everything. What we had been doing the past ten years, what jobs we had taken, how our families were. Some nights Scorpius would join us in bed, either from loneliness or nightmares.

We hold him, as I found another melody to put him to sleep again. In fact, my lullabies had a habit of putting both Malfoys to sleep.

In the park one spring afternoon, Scorpius went off and played with other kids his age. It made me smile, knowing that he probably craved the company of those his age. Draco and I sat together on the same bench where it all started.

“Does that boy look familiar to you?” Draco mused, nodding to the child that Scorpius was laughing with, chasing around the swing sets. There was another little girl with them, with bright red hair and an older boy who held more of a likeness than the younger one.

My eyes started to scan park for the Potters.

“There,” I pointed inconspicuously towards another couple a few benches down from us. “Should we go say hi?” I mused.

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re still harboring a grudge.” I laughed. “We were kids, Draco. Besides,” I nudged his side. “It looks like Ginny beat me to it.”

The two Potters came walking over, one sulking, one smiling brightly. Draco and I stood, mirroring the other couple.

“I thought I knew a Malfoy when I saw one,” Ginny grinned at me and Draco.

“Ginny,” I beamed, and we hugged.

“It’s been too long Y/n,” She smiled.

The two boys seemed to be having a stare down, neither giving in. I slipped my hand into Draco’s and Harry’s eyes darted to the gesture, then to my eyes. I offered a smile and Harry seemed to backtrack a bit.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Both Draco and Harry turned.

Scorpius came bounding over smiling hugely. Draco crouched down, a smile on his face as well.

“Daddy! I made a new friend! We’re lost boys together!” Scorpius beamed. “And his brother is Peter Pan and his sister is a lost boy like us!”

The other three children came over, all flocking to Harry and Ginny, telling about the same story that Scorpius did, who was now in Draco’s arms, still going on about their adventure.

“You son knows about Peter Pan?” Harry asked skeptically. “Isn’t that a bit muggle for your lot?” There was a snide tone in his words.

“They’re fairytales Harry. Let them be kids,” Draco responded coolly, like I hadn’t spent months trying to get that through his head.

“Miss Y/n knows all about fairytales! She’s really good at singing them too! She’s been teaching me about so many things!” Scorpius could barely hide his excitement.

Harry looked at the three of us, baffled.

“Seems we have a lot to catch up on,” He finally spoke.

“You’ll have to come by the Manor sometime with the kids,” Draco offered to everyone’s shock, including mine.

“Er, yes.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have Ginny send an owl,”

Draco gave a small nod and set Scorpius down.

“Men,” I heard Ginny muttered and grinned.

The young Malfoy clung to my side, holding my hand. This seemed to surprise Harry and Ginny both.

“Are you ready to go, darling?” I asked Scorpius, crouching down. Scorpius gave a small pout. “No crocodile tears,” I tickled him, lifting him into my arms. “Or I’ll just have to make dinner myself tonight...”

The young Malfoy perked up at that. Every once in a while, I’d cook dinner myself, the muggle way and Scorpius was always keen on learning how. Draco joined us on those nights, showing his son how magic also worked in the kitchen.

“I’ll send an owl,” I smiled to Ginny and Harry. “Say goodbye Scorpius,”

A chorus of goodbyes rang about the four children and Draco and I apparated home. Scorpius bounded off to the bathroom to wash his hands at my request before we started dinner and Draco cornered me against the counter in the kitchen.

“Was that so bad?” I smiled up at him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Terrible, absolutely dreadful,” He smirked, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Potter,” He snarled in a familiar tone that had me laughing.

“Oh, some things never change, do they?” I laughed into his shoulder.

“Afraid not,” Draco chuckled. “Thank you, for staying by my side.” His words were soft and low.

“Of course, always,” I murmured, tugging the hair tie from his hair and running my fingers through it. His eyes closed as he relaxed under my touch.

“I love you,” His tone was soft.

“I love you too,”

Something lingered in his eyes. Something that he hid and something that made the butterflies in my chest flutter anxiously. A question that we both waited for.

It was a few days later that the Potters came over to the Manor, along with the youngest Weasleys and their parents, and another teen who was just as much family as the five kids that accompanied them.

It was tense and awkward for some time between Harry, Ron, and Draco, but with some easy planning and quick thinking between Ginny, Hermione, and me, it faded. We all sat comfortably

out on the back porch, watching the kids play in the yard. I couldn’t help but smile watching Scorpius finally having someone his own age to play and imagine with. Draco seemed to have the same thought because his hand found mine.

“So how did you two end up together?” Ron asked, not so stealthily to Hermione’s dismay.

I laughed and Draco smiled.

“Draco hired me to tutor Scorpius,” I shrugged. “And well...” I looked to Draco and smiled.

“That explains why Scorpius knows so many muggle things,” Harry laughed. “I never thought I’d see the day,”

Soon we all began swapping stories, catching up with each other’s lives. It was nice to be beside Draco and other friends from school. The memories that always haunted me about Hogwarts seemed to fade as the afternoon went on. Dusk came and the two other families bid us goodnight. Scorpius was sad to see his friends go, but with a promise that they would be back, he seemed alright. It wasn’t hard to get him to bed that night, he was fast asleep after the first verse of my lullaby.

An early June day, Scorpius insisted that we make another cake for Draco’s birthday. I laughed and let the young Malfoy pull me to the kitchen as we started our adventure. When Draco came home from work, he found us both covered in frosting, laughing. At least some of the frosting made it onto the cake.

“Happy birthday, Daddy!” Scorpius yelled. “We made a cake!”

“I see that,” He grinned, setting down his case and shrugging off his robe. “And a mess,”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my cheek then lifted Scorpius into his arms. The little boy giggled, and like every day that Draco came home, began to talk about his day.

“Happy birthday love,” I smiled, leaving them to catch up.

I snapped my fingers and the kitchen began to clean itself again as I set the cake onto a cake stand, I had found in the pantry. With dinner eaten and cake devoured—and no longer all over Scorpius and I—the night was quiet once more.

“Now,” Draco sat Scorpius on the counter. “A little birdie told me that someone wants to see a certain movie?”

Scorpius’ face lit up and nodded enthusiastically. I raised an eyebrow at Draco, who grinned. He lifted his son into his arms and led us both to a small sitting room where a screen and projector had been set up. I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand, tears pricking my eyes.

“Dray,” I breathed out. “You didn’t have to...”

“It’s about time he gets to see them, no?” Draco set his son down on the mountain of pillows and blankets that resided on the floor. “He deserves to be a kid.”

I pulled Draco into a hug. “I love you,”

“I love you too,”

Drawing away, I looked at Scorpius who was waiting more or less patiently.

“And every kid deserves a pillow fort.” I drew my wand and crafted a structurally sound fort, big enough for the three of us.

Nestled down into the fort, Peter Pan began to play. Scorpius was glue to the screen, taking in every moment. In fact, both Malfoys were. Laying my head on Draco’s shoulder, I combed my fingers through Scorpius’ hair.

“If you father knew about this,” I murmured into Draco’s ear, causing him to chuckle.

“He doesn’t have to,” He grinned like a rebellious teenager.

About twenty minutes into Beauty and the Beast, Scorpius was fast asleep in my lap. I chuckled and Draco helped me up as we put him to bed. I headed back down to the makeshift movie room where the movie was still playing to clean up, but Draco caught my hand. I looked at him expectantly. With a snap of his fingers the room cleaned itself and he pulled me to the cleared floor.

“Dance with me,” He gestured to the dancing pair on the screen.

I laughed and nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead me in a familiar waltz. Though I hadn’t done it in some time, my feet remembered what to do. It was intoxicating, dancing with him. It took me to a world of far off places, magic spells, and a prince in disguise. I sang softly with the music playing, the words setting in both of our hearts.

Ending the dance with the fading melody, our eyes locked both panting softly. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a sweet loving kiss, something hidden in his warm eyes when he withdrew. My gaze dropped, a blush on my cheeks.

“Y/n?” He called softly.

I looked up, expectant. Waiting for those four words, dreading their moment but wishing their arrival.

“When we were younger, we lived in a different world,” He began softly. “Things were a lot less complicated. And if, as we are now, met back then... I would have courted you. I may have stolen a kiss or two but only after asking your father’s permission... but we are both very different people now, and I know it’s not the same, but if it were...” He took my hands and slid down onto one knee. My heart hammered in my chest, tears welling into my eyes as a smile grew on my face.

“I would have got down on one knee and I would have presented you with a ring.” He pulled out a small velvet ring box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a ring. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, I promise to love you every moment forever, would you do me the extraordinary of honor of marrying me?”

With tears streaming down my face I nodded.

“Yes,” I cried. “Yes, yes, yes!”

A smile broke out across Draco’s face as he scooped me into his arms, spinning me around. We were both crying and holding each other. Little ‘I love you’s left our teary-eyed kisses. He slipped the ring onto my finger: a silver band woven with diamonds and emeralds that enchanted itself to fit my ring-finger.

We didn’t let go of another that night. A night that was filled with soft words, gentle kisses, and loving touches. In the morning, Scorpius burst into our room and bound onto the bed, pulled my left hand into his sights as soon as he was close enough, squealing when he saw the ring.

“I told you daddy!” Scorpius beamed. “I told you she would say yes!”

“That you did,” Draco ruffled his son’s hair.

I smiled at my boys and pulled them both close. The morning was lazy and filled with laughter and moments that I wanted to hold close forever.

List of Muggle Lullabies:

Stay Awake, Mary Poppins

Feed the Birds, Mary Poppins

My Favorite Things, The Sound of Music

Edelweiss, The Sound of Music

Once Upon a December, Anastasia

Lavender’s Blue, Cinderella

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes, Cinderella

You’ll Be In My Heart, Tarzan

Beauty and the Beast, “”

Remember Me, Coco

You Are My Sunshine, Jasmine Thompson

Part 2

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hrtiu · 3 years

Text

@flybynite19 come get your man.

Brit’ni haunted the long aisles of the Coruscant Public Convention Halls, her eyes darting from stall to stall. This was the biggest Galaxy of Heroes miniature convention in the Republic, and if she didn’t find it here, she wouldn’t find it anywhere. Finally, in a sketchy-looking booth in one of the auxiliary wings, she saw it.

It was perfect. A mint-condition figure with articulated arms, first-edition armor, and no helmet. It was almost impossible to find a figure of Captain Tabbard without a helmet, and Brit’ni couldn’t wait to get her hands on it.

She reached out. “How much for-?”

Another hand grabbed the package just before her, blocking her fingers from her prize.

“What’s the price?” the interloper asked.

Brit’ni turned on her rival, ready to throw hands if necessary. “Excuse me! I was here first!”

A Human man blinked back at her from behind huge, yellow-tinted goggles. “As you can see, my hand reached the package first. I believe that means I have dibs.”

“Look, buddy. Just because you have slightly faster twitch reflexes than me doesn’t mean you get this figure. I’ve been looking for it for forever and I saw it first. Run along.” She tightened her grip around his bony fingers and shot him a death glare, then flicked her gaze to the shopkeeper.

The Ithorian man backed away slowly and raised his hands, his translator sputtering out his apologies. “The price is 70 credits. Whoever can pay gets it. Don’t drag me into this.”

“Please let go of my purchase,” the Human in the goggles said. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not letting go until Captain Tabbard is in my bag. Got it, Goggles?”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head disapprovingly. “This stalemate is productive to neither of us. I propose a compromise.”

“What, you get the head, I get the body? No way.”

“As humorous as that would be, I was thinking something more mutually beneficial. You seem to be an avid collector, and I have several pieces that might be of interest to you.”

Brit’ni leaned closer to him, but didn’t loosen her grip on the figure. “Something more interesting than a first-edition Captain Tabbard? I don’t think so.”

“If you’re a fan of Captain Tabbard, I’d imagine you also enjoy the Chandrilan Guard. But there aren’t any figures for the standard Chandrilan Guard armor. I happen to have a custom pattern made for their armor. I’d be willing to share as many molds as you’d like if you are interested in creating the whole set.”

Brit’ni salivated at the thought. A whole set of custom CG figures? She’d been doing her best to make her own over the years, but with new resources… She’d be unstoppable.

“You have my attention…”

“We split the cost, 50/50. We store the figure in a locker at Coruscant Central. Then we meet up next week. I show you the goods and we decide on the deal. If you don’t want my customs, you take the figure and we go our separate ways. If you do, we make the trade.”

Brit’ni narrowed her eyes at him. “It didn’t take you very long to come up with this plan.”

He shrugged. “I’m smart.”

Brit’ni leaned closer to him, staring him right in those yellow-tinted eyes. She wasn’t in the habit of trusting strangers on a planet like Coruscant—especially not lately. But she really wanted those customs.

“Deal.”

---

“Your name is Tech?” Brit’ni asked doubtfully as they walked down to the magtrain platform together.

“That’s what I just said.”

“Ok, sure,” Brit’ni said. What was it to her if he gave her a fake name? They didn’t need to be best buddies or anything.

“We live in a galaxy of billions of planets, populated by thousands of unique species, each with their own distinctive regional subcultures. I don’t see why ‘Tech’ should be a particularly unusual name, considering.”

Brit’ni laughed and shook her head. “Ok, now I get where you got your name.”

They swiped their muni chits and stepped onto the waiting magtrain, finding a spot near the back where they could both comfortably hold to the hand rails. It was a weekend so the train wasn’t as crowded as it would be during rush hour, but Brit’ni still barely felt like she had room to breathe. Just a few inches from her, Tech’s eyes darted back and forth across the magtrain car and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“New to Coruscant?” she asked.

He looked up in surprise, like he’d forgotten she was there. “...Yes.” His expression was oddly guarded, and Brit’ni raised her hands reassuringly.

“You just look like I did when I was still new to the magtrains. Eventually you’ll get used to the close quarters.”

His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “So many variables, with all these people around. Too many unknowns for my taste. And sentient life is so… unpredictable.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that but I think I get you. There’s a reason we collect little plastoid figures, right?”

A single eyebrow peaked out above Tech’s goggles and he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it like that before, but perhaps you are right.”

The magtrain shuddered as it rounded a turn on the old track, and Brit’ni clutched her precious Captain Tabbard tighter to herself.

Why so much interest in Captain Tabbard?” Tech asked. “Some figures are rare because of their popularity, but he was simply rarely produced due to lack of interest.”

Brit’ni bristled like he was insulting her toddling infant. “He’s the best character!”

“I understood that most fans of the serials disliked him because of his treachery.”

“Treachery?” she scoffed. “That’s not treachery. He had good reason to be loyal to both the Old Republic and Tiberian Empire. It was his conflict that made him interesting. And in the end he chose what was right. That’s what makes a good character. Conflict. Struggle. Then overcoming in the end.”

“I suppose.”

“What about you, then? Who’s your favorite character?”

“In Galaxy of Heroes? I don’t know—never seen it.”

Brit’ni’s jaw dropped. “Then why were you ready to fight me over this figure?”

He shrugged. “I’m a completionist. This is the last one I need to complete the set. You know they’re more valuable together, right?”

She just stared at him. Her eyes trailed down to his booted feet, up his khaki slacks, past his drab, navy-colored tunic, and back to those big, yellow-tinted eyes. Who was this guy?

“Deal’s off,” she said.

“What?”

“I can’t give Captain Tabbard to… to someone who won’t appreciate him.”

“I appreciate him! He’s a first edition, mint-condition, ultra-rare piece that will complete my collection! How much more appreciation can you get than that?”

“No.” Brit’ni shook her head. “You’re not worthy.”

Tech pursed his lips and huffed through his nose.”Well I still paid for half of that figure, so what do you suggest we do? Cut it in half?”

She recoiled in horror. “No! I’ll pay you the 35 credits and I take the figure. It’s as simple as that.”

“That’s unacceptable. You have to at least give me a chance to meet your criteria.”

“How could you possibly do that?”

“By watching Galaxy of Heroes. I watch it, I tell you my favorite character, I show my appreciation for Captain Tabbard.”

“Or I could just take Captain Tabbard home now, and have a figure of my very favorite character to display proudly on my shelf.”

The magtrain slowed and a cheery voice emanated from the intercom. “Coruscant Central.”

“We’re at the station,” Tech said. “I suggest you get off, because I assure you my Chandrilan Guard figures are very good.”

He stepped off the train and Brit’ni bit her lip, her grip tightening on the handlebar as she watched. “Ah, sithspit,” she cursed under her breath, and hopped off the train just as the doors closed.

She hurried to catch up to him—he set a surprisingly quick pace considering how scrawny he looked under those pants—and he tilted his head in her direction in acknowledgment.

“Glad you decided to join me,” he said.

“I really want those CG customs. I’ve been saving up for materials for forever but they’re expensive and my job doesn’t believe in working hours that give me enough time to sleep and eat.”

Tech frowned. “What kind of job is that? It seems like a sub-optimal way to treat your employees.”

“I work at one of the Imperial training facilities. I get to clean up after all the sweaty recruits in the exercise halls. It smells and I hate my life.”

He tensed almost imperceptibly at her side and Brit’ni tried not to notice. Plenty of people on Coruscant didn’t like the Empire, but a job was a job. And Captain Tabbard wasn’t going to pay for himself.

“That sounds… unpleasant. I hope you are able to find alternate forms of employment sometime soon.”

“Yeah, me too. But there aren’t too many options these days,” she said with a sigh. “If I had my way I’d be working in the archives or curating the Imperial Historical Society. I have the training for it, too! But I guess they only need a handful of people to do that, and they need thousands to clean the stormtroopers’ locker rooms.”

He nodded sagely, and she wondered if she was saying too much. Scratch that—she was definitely saying too much. But any time her job came up she couldn’t help but try to distance herself from it. To distance herself from the Empire.

“I also wish I could spend my days doing research and furthering our understanding of the universe. But unfortunately I don’t have that luxury,” Tech said.

Brit’ni looked at him out of the corner of her eye, surprised at the wistfulness in his voice. Maybe she’d judged him too harshly. A completionist who’d never watched Galaxy of Heroes he might be, but they might have more in common than she’d thought. He gave the station map a quick once-over, pushing his goggles up his nose as he read the map, and she couldn’t help but notice how oddly endearing the action was. She cursed herself. She’d always had a weakness for hopeless nerds.

They wound their way through the labyrinthine corridors of Coruscant’s largest magtrain station, and Tech seemed to know every turn and forgotten corner. He took them down another flight of stairs to the lower levels, where the storage lockers were, and a squirmy feeling started to bubble up in Brit’ni’s stomach. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to follow a stranger down into the depths of Coruscant Central without telling anyone where she was. But something about Tech felt oddly comforting. Condescending and annoying, yes, but also kind of nice.

Brit’ni cleared her throat and tried to dispel her sudden nerves. “So… what do you do, then?”

“I’m a tech specialist,” he answered immediately.

Brit’ni furrowed her brows. “A tech specialist? Are you military?”

He looked at her like he’d forgotten she was there, then shook his head, oddly flustered. “No, I mean… I do holo repair, comm device repair, droid maintenance—that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Sure he did.

“It’s, uh, not very glamorous, but it pays the bills,” he said, tacking on an awkward laugh like the world’s worst holo actor.

Brit’ni resisted the urge to roll her eyes. I promise you, dude. Whatever your secrets are, they aren’t nearly as interesting as you think. She found herself wishing he’d just be honest with her, then reminded herself that she didn’t care. She didn’t. He was just a means to the end of collecting Captain Tabbard, not an strangely cute guy she wanted to learn more about.

They approached a squat Rodian manning the checkout counter for locker rentals and paid up.

“And can we get two locks, please?” Brit’ni asked. She needed some assurance that Tech wasn’t just going to come back later, open their locker, and leave.

The Rodian shrugged and tossed them another lock. “Sure.”

They walked down the aisle of lockers and found theirs—locker number 9999. Tech gave a weird smile at the number, but Brit’ni ignored it and opened the locker, carefully placing Captain Tabbard inside and giving him one last look of longing before closing the locker on his beautiful, first-edition face.

They both stuck their locks on the door, and Brit’ni pulled out her portable comm device.

“What’s your comm signature?” she asked.

“I don’t see that that’s necessary.”

“Sure it is. What if I can’t make our meeting time? What if you decide to watch Galaxy of Heroes but its themes and storyline are too complex for you to follow? What if you decide to back out and just want to give me your lock key so I can pick the Captain up?”

He frowned. “Alright, then.”

They swapped comm signatures and Brit’ni stuck her hand out to shake. Tech hesitated a moment, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, then took her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Brit’ni said with a firm, professional shake.

“Likewise.”

---

A few days later Brit’ni staggered home from her shift at the training facility with a deep and abiding exhaustion in her bones. She swiped open the door to the small apartment she shared with her younger sister and stumbled through the dark room, determined not to turn on the lights. Her sister was already asleep and Brit’ni knew she had an early shift the next morning.

Brit’ni shed her uniform, took a quick shower, and fell into bed. She could easily have fallen asleep right then and there, but she hated going to sleep right after getting home from work. It felt like giving up—like acknowledging that all there was to her life right now was sleep and work. She rolled over onto her side and pulled out her comm device, checking for messages. There were a few from her mom, a couple of taunting inside jokes from her sister, and… one from a signature she didn’t immediately recognize.

She opened the message, convinced it was some kind of advertisement but curious nonetheless.

I am happy to report that my viewing of Galaxy of Heroes has commenced. Will keep you updated on my progress. -T

A surprised smile rose to her lips. Maybe her evening would be a little more interesting than usual, after all.

She gave it some thought, then typed a response. The first episode is great, but the rest of the first season is a little slow. Make sure you keep watching to season 3.

She pulled out a datapad and scrolled mindlessly through several news updates. There was never anything interesting anymore—not since the Empire had taken over. All the updates felt like propaganda, but there was nothing else to read. Then her comm device pinged.

Then why don’t I just skip straight to season 3? I don’t understand how people can be such fans of a program while disliking a significant percentage of the content. -T

She snorted. Don’t skip to season 3! I thought you were a completionist.

He responded immediately. Fair point. -T

Deciding to let him focus on the show, Brit’ni rolled out of bed, determined to do something useful with the evening before calling it a night. She pulled a case of her in-progress figures out from under her bed and hauled them over to the small work desk she’d set up in the corner. She had some painting to do.

Commander Fes’s helmet was beautiful. The design etched across its surface was gorgeous, with intricately weaving strips of color and textures. That also made it an absolute beast to paint, and Brit’ni extricated her tiniest brushes from the bottom of her brush bag.

Eyes straining with the microscopic details, she labored over the good commander’s helmet for a solid half hour before setting her tools down in frustration. She glowered at the thumb-sized helmet, as if her anger would force it to cooperate better, and reached for her comm device.

What paint do you use for your customs? she sent Tech. For the fine details? I feel like I’m going crazy with Commander Fes’s helmet.

I don’t hand-paint details that small. I have a three dimensional stamper, so I design the decals at full size then use the stamper to apply them. -T

Huh. Brit’ni had heard of tools like that, but most collectors had to make them themselves. It wasn’t a simple or easy thing to put together.

I’ve always wanted to use one of those! Did you follow the Talatar template or the Bikqwik one?

Neither. I made my own design, though to be fair the base design was inspired more by the Bikqwik one. -T

Maybe I should make one. I’d love to get those fine details right, but I don’t know if I have the time to figure it out or the money for all the pieces.

That’s understandable. I was able to use leftover pieces from my work, so it wasn’t so expensive for me. -T

Images of a perfectly-painted Commander Fes helmet floated through Brit’ni’s mind, and she had half a mind to ask him to lend her his printer. That would probably be too much, though. She was considering what she should say next when Tech sent her another message.

It’s nice to talk to another collector about customs and painting. My colleagues are not very interested. -T

Brit’ni laughed. Same! My sister and mom indulge me, but they definitely don’t care as much as I do.

She set her comm device down and refocused her attention on Commander Fes’s helmet. It might be nice to use a three dimensional stamper, but this was what she had to work with for now. And as she focused in on the tiny design, she had to admit that it was turning out pretty well.

She soon fell into a groove so deep she hardly noticed the next half hour fly by. Then her comm device pinged again, breaking her from her painting trance.

I’m going to sleep now, but I’m happy to report that I’ve finished season one. -T

Brit’ni’s brows rose. You finished a whole season in one night?

I’m watching it at double speed. -T

That’s cheating!

When you demanded I watch the show you did not specify a required playback speed. -T

Do I have to specify things that should be obvious??

Goodnight, Brit’ni. -T

No longer in the mood to paint, Brit’ni set Commander Fes’s tiny helmet on a stand to dry, then packed up her materials. She crawled into bed and set her alarm, her eyes already heavy with how tired she’d be in the morning. Still, it had been a pleasant night.

---

The week flew by, and Brit’ni was so busy with work she hardly had any time to work on her figures or chat with Tech. Every once in a while he messaged her with updates on his viewing progress, and he was burning through Galaxy of Heroes at an alarming rate. His last message he sent the morning of the day they’d agreed to meet back up at the station—a simple statement that he’d finished the series.

Brit’ni wanted to ask him his thoughts, who his favorite character was, and what he thought of the infamous plot twist in season seven, but instead she’d had to run off to work. By the time her shift ended, she was excited to hop on the magtrain and head to Coruscant Central not only to finally see his promised customs, but also to talk to him. Funny, that.

She walked down into the lower levels of the station and quickly found locker 9999. Tech was already there, typing away on some kind of datapad built into his wristguard. Brit’ni didn’t think he’d worn that the last time they’d met, but she also couldn’t really depend on her memory.

“Hey!” she called out, and he looked up from his datapad.

“Excellent. Right on time.”

He swung his backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it, pulling out a carefully labelled black box as she approached.

“Are those the custom molds?” Brit’ni asked eagerly.

“Yes.” He opened the box and she could swear the box was glowing from the inside like some kind of mythic treasure.

“I have molds for the standard shock trooper, captain, commander, and the recon units. Four molds in all.”

With a reverent hand, Brit’ni lifted the silicoid molds from their case. The detail work was exquisite, the edges sharp and defined. “I just pour in molding plastoid and let it cool?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, that should work adequately.”

She stared for a minute longer, her fingers running over each groove and divet. They were perfect. “Alright, you have a deal.”

“No, but… I haven’t told you about Galaxy of Heroes yet…” Tech said, confused.

“That’s alright, the molds are enough-”

“I watched that entire series in a week. I’m going to tell you about it,” he snapped.

Brit’ni shut the case with the molds and stepped back from him a pace, her eyebrows raised. “Alright then, do you see now why Captain Tabbard is the best?”

“He’s such a minor character, it’s hard for me to understand why he is your favorite. But I do see the nuance and conflict that you mentioned earlier. I can see why you admire him.”

“Who’s your favorite, then?” It had better not be that awful Alduous Rux. Or even worse: Leve Bontera.

“K3WO was my favorite, I believe,” he said.

“The droid? Really?” she asked, though as soon as the words left her mouth she had to admit that it made a certain sort of sense.

“Yes. He always remained level-headed, he was intelligent, but he had his own personality. He was my favorite.”

“Ok, fine, I get it. But what about your favorite organic character?”

“Why does it have to be an organic character?”

“Do you have to argue everything I say?”

“It’s not arguing if-”

Tech suddenly cut off, his eyes darting down the hall, and Brit’ni followed his gaze. Two stormtroopers had stepped off the landing and were making their way towards locker 9999. Tech glanced quickly away from them, but the tension in his shoulders was clear.

Brit’ni saw the problem immediately. They looked like they were making some kind of illicit deal here, exchanging goods in the basement of Coruscant Station. The misunderstanding could be easily cleared up under normal circumstances, but Tech obviously didn’t want any attention from Imperials.

Thinking fast, Brit’ni clutched the black case of molds to her chest. “Oh, honey! You shouldn’t have!”

Tech stared doubtfully back at her through his goggles, his eyes growing wide enough to fill the lenses as she grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to her.

“What are you-” he hissed.

She pressed her mouth to his before he could give them away, her hands snaking around his back to make sure he didn’t pull away while the stormtroopers were still watching. She worried that she might have to fight him the entire time, which would both make her feel like the worst kind of swamp scum and would also make this significantly less enjoyable. But then he relaxed into the kiss and set his hands at her waist, his long fingers careful and hot against her skin. He picked her up by the waist and spun them around, pressing her back into the lockers. Then he kissed up the side of her neck. Heated shivers ran up Brit’ni’s body, and she wondered if maybe she’d gotten in way over her head.

“Good thinking,” he whispered into her ear once he reached the top of her neck. “My apologies for not realizing sooner.”

“Th-that’s fine,” she stuttered, looking over his shoulder to check for the stormtroopers. They were still there. “Still got eyes.”

He nodded, then kissed her again, this time sliding a hand up her back to run his fingers through her hair. She pressed herself further into him, finding surprisingly firm, defined muscle under his plain clothing. Brit’ni doubted that there was an electronics repairman this athletic in the entire galaxy, and the mystery that was Tech just seemed to deepen with each passing moment.

Then one of Tech’s hands slipped lower on her waist and all coherent thought fled from Brit’ni’s mind. Her teeth caught on his bottom lip and she tugged gently. He started against her, and she took that as encouragement. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he started again, this time jerking away from her in surprise.

Brit’ni’s gaze darted to where she’d last seen the stormtroopers and, Force be damned, there they still were. Staring like a bunch of touch-starved morons.

“What are you looking at, you karking pervs!” she shouted at them.

The troopers flinched away like she’d hit them, then sputtered something about their patrol route and orders to “carry on.” They turned back the way they went and soon enough they were up the stairs and out of sight.

Brit’ni let out a heavy sigh of relief and let her weight lean back against the lockers behind her. “Well, that was a lot closer than it needed to be.”

“Yes,” Tech said, a healthy dusting of red high on his cheeks. “Thank you, by the way. I’d rather avoid Imperial entanglements.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” she said with a wry twist of the mouth.

“And, uh… My apologies, for losing my grip earlier. I… well I have never engaged in kissing before.”

Brit’ni sat up straight at that, her eyes going wide. “Really?” she asked, her skin still tingling from where he’d run his hands up her back. “You could have fooled me.”

“Well, I’ve seen plenty of holos,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. “The mechanics of it seem simple enough. But, um. I didn’t really know what to expect in terms of sensation.”

“Ah,” Brit’ni said, feeling the heat rising in her own cheeks. “Well, it all worked out in the end.”

“That it did. Now if we could exchange goods?”

“Sure.”

They each unlocked their locks and there Captain Tabbard was, safe in his perfectly-preserved box. Tech handed her back her 35 credit share of the price, then lifted Captain Tabbard carefully from the locker. Brit’ni checked the CG molds Tech had given her one more time, then closed and locked the case.

“I guess we’re done, then,” she said, suddenly not sure where to put her hands.

“A pleasure,” Tech said, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some secret meaning hidden behind the quirk of his lips.

“A pleasure.”

---

A few days later, Brit’ni dragged herself to work feeling particularly haggard. She went through the service entrance and changed into her ugly uniform, then jogged to her supervisor’s office just in time to clock in.

She punched the buttons that would start recording her time, then started to walk away from the desk.

“Brit’ni? That you?” her supervisor asked, turning around in his swivel chair. He was a pale, sleight Human who’d barely spoken three words to Brit’ni before today.

She turned back to him slowly, her body already tensing to expect the worst. “Yes, sir?”

“You have a package.”

“A package?”

“Yeah.” He got up from his desk and pulled a drab grey box out from under the counter, sliding it towards Brit’ni with a look of perfect unconcern on his face. “Someone dropped it off early this morning for you.”

“Oh…” That was strange. In earlier years Brit’ni had liked surprises like this, but ever since the Empire… Well, let’s just say that most surprises were bad ones these days.

She took the package back to the locker room and set it down on one of the durasteel benches. Carefully, like she was defusing a bomb, she opened it up. Inside, the perfectly-painted face of Captain Tabbard stared up at her, a bright orange piece of flimsi stuck to his box just over his chest.

Dear Brit’ni,

Thank you for the other day. I should have just given this to you at the time, but I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I hope our paths cross again.

-T

A slow smile crept across Brit’ni’s face, and she picked up Captain Tabbard, holding his box to her chest. She knew she and Tech’s paths would cross again. She’d make sure of it.

#tech x oc #tbb #the bad batch #tbb tech #clone commando tech #tech collects figures now #nerds in love

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wrenhyperfixates · 4 years

Text

Pretty Venom

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Loki pulls away from you, leaving you hurt and feeling alone. Perhaps an emotional confrontation is just what you need to get him to tell you how he really feels. Warnings: very angsty; maybe a little bit if fluff too, I guess?; bit of implied smut at the end; a curse word I think A/N: Based on one of my favorite songs ever, Pretty Venom by All Time Low. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

You didn’t get it. It made absolutely no sense. For the past twenty-four hours, you’d been running through Loki’s words in your head, your mind like a broken record.

“I believe it best that we have some distance,” he’d said.

“What do you mean?” you asked, voice and body shaking with emotion.

“I mean exactly that. I do not want to see you anymore, so if you will excuse me, I must take my leave.”

You were too shocked to do anything more than shout his name. Even your feet had forgotten how to move. Now you were laying in your bed, staring at your ceiling and trying to figure out what had happened. You were going through denial, even though you’d sensed something had been amiss for a while. At the time, you’d elected to ignore it, a decision you feared you’d end up regretting for the rest of your life. Suddenly, the answer hit you and everything became clear. Loki had been acting weird ever since you’d told Wanda that you like him. He must have overheard and not felt the same way, ending with him pulling away from your friendship.

As a new round of tears began to roll down your cheeks, there was a knock at your door. For a second you dared to hope it was Loki come to make amends, but were slightly disappointed when it was Wanda instead.

“Come on,” your friend said from behind the thick wood. “You can’t hide in there forever. Tell me what happened.”

“I’d rather stay in here, thanks.”

“You sound insane, you know. Whatever it is, I’m sure we can work through it together. You at very least should eat something.”

“Thanks again, but I’d rather rot.”

She used her magic to open the door, very concerned for you after your latest declaration. As she came to your side, you began to think back on your time with Loki. Throughout your whole history, he’d never been anything less than absolutely sweet and caring toward you. He’d always told you that from the second he first saw you, he could tell you were kindred spirits. It was from that moment on, he’d confessed, that he wanted to protect you, no matter the cost, and you’d been practically attached at the hip ever since. The momentary warmth that the memory brought you was quickly replaced with a cold feeling of loneliness, realizing that he no longer felt that way. It was sad, you thought, that all your happiest memories should bring you pain.

“Whatever happened, it’s going to be alright. I promise,” Wanda comforted, coming to sit next to you on the bed and give you a hug. Her worry was plainly written on her face. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“It’s Loki,” you finally admitted, sobbing into her shoulder. “He said he doesn’t want to see me anymore, and he didn’t say why. It’s probably because I love him, but he hates me.”

“That’s awful! It’s ok, you don’t need him, anyway. I’m right here, and you know that the rest of us will be, too.”

Even if you were upset with Loki, you didn’t want everyone in the Tower turning against him, and you told Wanda as much. After everything you’d been through with Loki, you knew he’d sunk his teeth into you. You just didn’t realize how much it hurt until he pulled away. Now it seemed you’d been deluding yourself by thinking he cared about you as you did him. You couldn’t even fathom feeling the same way about anyone else, much less anyone besides Loki feeling that way about you.

“I just don’t understand how he could say such a thing. Was he just fucking with me the whole time?” you asked Wanda, though you did not expect her to have the answer. “Was anything he said true?”

“I don’t know, but either way, he played with your heart. You shouldn’t give him another thought.”

A part of you knew that she was right and desperately wanted to pick yourself up from this pit of despair, but it seemed impossible. You spent the next week feeling just as glum as you had that day. Though, you had been able to get out of your bed and Wanda had convinced you to eat. Just as you had asked, she told no one what had happened, but most of them had figured out the story due to your sullen mood and the trickster god’s sudden disappearance from the common areas.

You were aware it was bad to continue living your life in such a sad state as you were in, but you were certain that Loki knew that he hurt you and done nothing to fix it. Your thoughts kept running around in your head, and they always ended at the same spot; how could he do this to you?

Feeling utterly trapped in the Tower, afraid you’d run into Loki around every turn, Wanda took you out for a day out in the city. Little did she know, Thor had done the exact same thing for his brother. Out of all the places either of you could have been, somehow you managed to be at exactly the same street corner. You tried to run away without letting him see you, but his eyes found you before you could fight through the throng of people. As if you were rats trapped in a maze, you ran into each other a number of other times that day. It was ironic that you’d managed to avoid each other for weeks in the Tower, but when you finally went out, you couldn’t stop spotting each other. Seeing your distress, Wanda gave up on your plans and brought you back home.

It hurt you to know that even if you were to go talk to him and try to be his friend again, it would never be quite the same. Maybe it could come close, at least. Anyway, you missed him, felt like you needed him to live. He was like a pretty venom: dangerous, but you couldn’t help but want to get close.

“Loki,” you called through his door later that day. “I just want to talk.”

No response. You’d spent hours in front of your bathroom mirror figuring out all the ways you could say what you wanted to. There was a surprising amount of ways to do it, and you hadn’t quite chosen one. Waiting any longer sounded like agony, though, so you’d marched down the hall to his room.

“Listen, I know why you pushed me away,” you continued when you were met with nothing but silence. “But I also know in my heart that you couldn’t have really wanted to do that. Not after everything you’ve ever said. And honestly, Loki, I just want my best friend back.”

“What reason, exactly, do you think I have pushed you away for?” he asked in a small, pained voice.

He cracked the door open so one of his striking eyes could meet yours. Even through the sliver of space, you could see he was a disheveled mess. A far cry from what he’d looked like out on the city streets earlier, that put together look being the one you were used to.

“Because,” you mumbled, looking at the floor, “you heard me tell Wanda how I feel about you and you don’t feel the same.”

“Is that truly what you think, mortal?” Loki shouted, wrenching the door open the rest of the way. “How foolish I was to think you cared.”

“How dare you!” you screamed back, putting out a hand to stop the door before Loki could slam it shut. You saved the satisfaction of doing that for yourself after following him into his quarters. “You’re the one who didn’t care about me. You’re the one who took back everything you’d ever said. And you’re the one who’s been messing with me from the start.”

This was definitely not how you hoped the conversation would go, but his outburst was pulling all these bottled up emotions out of you. Your heart was the one that had been under constant attack from sadness and loneliness since he’d cast you aside. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might be feeling the same way until he spoke again.

“Do you know how hard it has been to stay away, darling?” he coldly said, his venomous voice now quiet and somehow even more frightening. Even the pet name sounded menacing in his current tone. “Do you know how pained I’ve been keeping away from you? Or how my thoughts have been going in circles since that day? No, I suppose you do not know. Then again, perhaps that is my fault, after all.”

The whole time he was speaking, he approached you, and by now your back was against the wall, his hands pressed against it on either side of your head. Had it been anyone else, you would have felt threatened, but even in his anger you trusted that Loki would never hurt you. Not physically, at least.

“Then why, Loki? Why did you do that to me? To us?” you asked, your voice now soft too. You pressed a hand to the thin material of his shirt, over his heart, which was beating almost as rapidly as yours. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, swallowing thickly, his eyes full of sorrow. “I am dangerous for you. I did hear your conversation, yes, but I did not pull away because I do not reciprocate. It is because I could never be the person you need me to be.”

“But Loki, you already are.”

His arms dropped then, but before he could turn away or say anything else, you pulled him in for a kiss. It didn’t last long as he didn’t kiss you back, and you pulled away in embarrassment, fearing you’d misunderstood what he’d said.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized, retreating towards the door. “I shouldn’t have-”

The rest of your sentence was cut off by Loki crashing his lips onto yours. His kiss was filled with just as much passion and desire as yours was. This time it was even better because you weren’t as shocked as he had been, meaning you were able to return it. His hands trailed down your side and came to rest on your waist while yours tangled themselves into his hair, pulling his mouth impossibly closer to yours. You don’t know how long you were standing there like that, mouths sloppily slanted against each other, but it would never be enough. When you did have to pull away for air, his hand gently caressed your cheek, and he kissed your forehead as he gathered his thoughts.

“May I take back what I said again?”

“Only if by that you mean you’re done punishing yourself and are ready to do this again,” you said, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth after a much shorter, but still lustful, kiss.

“I still do not believe I am worthy of you,” he confessed, “and I may never think that I am. But I cannot continue to hurt you this way. So, yes, I want to be with you, if you will still allow it.”

“I suppose I’ll accept that for now. But I swear one day, Loki Laufeyson, I will make you see just how worthy you are.”

“Whatever you say, darling.”

Then he kissed you again, carrying you to his bed where you would spend the rest of the night making good on your promise.

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

Text

A Loki TVA / Lokane fic that snatched a tempad. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 (of 6)

Shine a Light, part 4

This time around, he feels but the faintest glimmer of surprise as he steps out of the doorway and onto a busy sidewalk in Midtown Manhattan.

A few people stop dead in their tracks when the door materializes out of thin air, but the throng of commuters headed to and from Central Station is so dense, Loki’s appearance goes mainly unnoticed.

Dull resignation washes over him.

The tempad is officially broken. Its coordinates locked onto this little planet where, in his own timeline, he has known nothing but defeat.

Without bothering to look for a newsstand, he reasons there’s a strong probability it’s the year 2014. It would seem the damn gadget is slowly counting backwards, while refusing to take him anywhere else in the universe.

Above his head, a billboard flashing on the side of a high-rise building confirms his suspicions.

Incredibly though, the tempad still not out of “juice”. The battery life seems to be making a mockery of his failed attempts to direct the itinerary.

Taking a step out of the moving sea of people, Loki sees little in way of construction sites along the street.

On his timeline, this would have been two years after his attack on the city with Thanos’ army, but if that ‘highlight’ of Loki’s less than acclaimed villainous career took place in this reality as well, the mortals have effectively tidied up after him.

He tries not think of the countless faces frozen in terror that had looked up at him.

Of the lives lost because of his crazed ambition to prove himself - and to destroy something of Thor’s.

Almost if Loki had been transformed back into the chronically jealous five-year-old child who once stole his golden, annoyingly joyful, perfect brother’s favorite model toy - a grey wolf made of clay - and deliberately let it roll down the steps of the throne when their father (his NON-father) had been away.

The toy had broken into pieces and Thor had been inconsolable. Gripped by immediate remorse despite his initial intent, Loki had tried to fix it with his budging magic powers. Only for the wolf to melt to a sticky puddle on the stone floor.

Thor had wailed so loudly, a passing servant had thought him seriously injured and called for their mother, and Loki had been made to apologize, his usually pale cheeks burning scarlet. Then he had been grounded for the remains of the day.

The humiliation had stung, and so had the regret that his magic had failed him.

Not for the first time, the anger had turned, unwarranted (Loki knew then too), towards his brother.

From then on, it had just gotten slowly worse and worse and more malicious right up until that horrible moment of rage no more than a few days ago (a week?), when Loki had driven one of his daggers into Thor’s side on top of the Stark tower.

And twisted it.

The mix of bottomless sadness and shock in his brother’s blue eyes had cut through Loki’s heart with such force he might as well have sunk the blade of his other weapon into his own chest.

But instead of abandoning his pathetic scramble for power and hold Thor, instead of attempting to heal the wound with his magic that has become so formidable in adulthood, Loki had let the poison drown the remains of his sanity.

Of course, shortly afterward, the green monstrosity had effortlessly and repeatedly smashed him into the concrete floor of Stark’s living-quarters until Loki had thought he heard every bone in his supposedly immortal (right!) body break and his skull crack open.

To the outside, it had surely been a suitably entertaining show of retribution, but as he had lain there in the crater of rubble, unable to utter a moan, it was as if all the anger had been knocked out of him.

The link to Thanos’ ungodly servant had been severed and Loki had felt more like himself than he had in a long, long time.

When Thor, looking grimmer than ever, had dragged him to his feet in front of the ragtag band of ‘heroes’ and cuffed him, Loki had found himself strangely elated, on the verge of giddy.

His legs had been so shaky from the beating that Thor had had to hold him by the arm so he wouldn’t fall, and Loki had felt the heat of his brother’s huge hand penetrate the many layers of his own armour.

For a few delirious seconds, Loki had wanted nothing more than to lean against his brother’s strong frame and just close his eyes.

Instead, he had started cracking jokes until Thor had slapped the muzzle on him, as if he were some dog (that gesture had embarrassed him more than anything that had gone before). Unable to keep up his sarcastic commentary as they rode the elevator down, Loki had fleetingly wondered if he was suffering from a psychosis or actual brain damage.

Now, standing on the street so close to where it happened, the memory oozes fresh guilt.

But he redeemed himself.

In his mind, Loki goes through the TVA reel once more to remind himself of the images of his brother later in life, smiling at him.

Right before the end came.

If he is to spend the rest of eternity on Midgard - or at least until the multiverse crumbles - he will try to find solace in the good his future self managed to accomplish.

For Thor and, in another, brighter reality, for her.

The riddle of her part in his life now remains unsolved, but as hard as Loki tries to release the ghost wrapped in his arms, it merely squeezes itself closer to his chest.

He could try to find her here, on this timeline.

She will be with Thor, that much is certain, but since the reel of Loki’s fate had shown him only his own path, he knows not whether Thor and Jane shared a life on Midgard, or somewhere else, up until the brothers reunited (for lack of a better word) on Asgard.

What would Loki even say to her?

That, while at the bureau that controls all space and time, he saw her face on a roll of film of his supposed life, and now he aches for her more than anything? That on an alternate timeline a few hours ago, she kissed him?

Thor would not approve of that exchange.

Also, with Loki’s luck, Thor might be a frog in this reality.

He could still try to use the tempad to transport him to Svartalfheim and his own life’s story, seeing as he is now only year from where he feels so strongly he must go.

But finding the proper timeline is like shooting an arrow into the endless vastness of space and hoping it’ll hit the right comet.

He realizes that now.

An arrow.

Somehow, somewhere, on two timelines no less, variants of him had …

Loki’s head jerks up.

The tower.

It’s a desperate idea at best, but from the (very) little Loki knows of his character, Stark’s superior technical skills go hand in hand with an endlessly hungry, inquisitive mind. And pride.

Much like Loki, Stark is a man who needs to be the smartest man in the room. And like Loki, he probably is, most of time (in fact… no. Don’t go there).

Maybe Stark will listen.

Perhaps he can even help make sense of the tempad if Loki can somehow win his trust and appeal to his curiosity and (he winces a little) heroism.

Was it not Loki’s actions who had helped Stark “realize his best potential”, as his TVA file put it?

He spots the imposing structure further up the street, noticing the huge “A” at the top (is that new?), and sets off towards it at a brisk pace, darting in and out of the crowds on the packed sidewalk.

Here goes nothing.

As he reaches the large glass doors he briefly experiences a dizzying deja-vu, when suddenly a man’s voice calls out to him.

A frighteningly familiar, agitated voice.

… With a particular brand of anger bubbling underneath, that Loki had hoped he’d never have to witness up close ever again.

“What the hell are you doing here??”

His dark, curly hair has a few more streaks of silver. The checkered shirt is slightly crumbled, the glasses a bit askew. He clutches an armful of papers to his chest.

And he’s wearing a furious expression although, thank the Norns, a mortal complexion.

For now.

“Didn’t Tony explicitly tell you not to come here?! Are you that intent on causing everyone to lose their shit again?!”

Worry is all over Doctor Banner’s screwed up face.

“Seriously, Loki, is this funny to you? Clint is actually in the building right now and, in case Tony didn’t already inform you, he’s made it very clear that he’s quitting the team if you were to stroll through the front door!”

The Avenger has started shaking, his eyes wild (too wild).

This is heading in the wrong direction fast.

Mustering all the calm in the world despite his racing pulse and the nauseating sounds of bones breaking echoing in his head, Loki puts on his most courteous and, he dearly hopes, un-cocky charming smile.

“Bruce, please relax. I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. Not for you or anyone else.”

“Right, you just happened to be in town and wanted to stop by for coffee? Loki, this …”

Loki gently interrupts him.

“I merely came here to have a conversation with S- … Tony. Perhaps you could let him know I’m here? I promise you, I will not set foot inside. In fact - “

Loki adopts the form of one of the security guards he can see pacing inside the foyer.

“… I’m not even here.”

Bruce jumps a little and clutches his papers even tighter.

“Oh god, I hate when you do that, man. If you think showing off that trick makes anyone any less nervous around you…”

“Doctor Banner - Bruce. I have something …”

Loki searches for the words, quickly trying to decide on how much to reveal to the man-beast who’s now looking at him with urgent expectancy.

He sighs and bets it all.

“Okay. Bruce, what I’m going to say will sound mad.”

The man scoffs.

“Coming from you, I’d expect nothing less.”

Bruce shakes his head and looks to the sky in exasperation.

“Please - please - don’t tell me you’ve gone and changed your mind about the whole not conquering Earth business. Really, Loki, none of us understand how transforming you into ‘an asset’ became Tony’s pet project over this past year, or why Fury went along with it. But I’m sure both are going to be pretty damn disappointed if their new alien BFF decides to embrace his inner psycho again.”

Loki almost chuckles. It’s all too ridiculous.

“I won’t … embrace my inner ‘psycho’, I swear.”

“Then what?”

The God of Mischief draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Or rather, the security guard’s nose.

Then he surrenders to the absurdity of the situation.

“Bruce, I kindly beg of you, is Tony here? Or … (is there hope?) Thor?”

Bruce still looks at him with deep disdain, but his immediate anger seems to have subsided.

“No, Tony’s out of town. Took Pepper somewhere on holiday. They’re not to be disturbed for at least a week. Her words. And Thor … I should think you of all people know perfectly well why he’s not likely to hang around at the time being. Jeez, you guys and your endless family soap opera … I can’t even.”

Naturally, the universe again blankly refuses to extend any hands to Loki and his doomed quest. Sadly, once again, he is not surprised.

Wait - what?

“What do you mean, ‘soap opera’?”

Bruce looks like he’s about to throw his hands over his head and all the papers with them.

“Oh, come on! What is this?! You want approval? Confirmation of your little victory? Doesn’t the very lovely embodiment of that currently walk around in your apartment or wherever it is you live now? Loki, I’m done here. You have to leave. Bye.”

To hell with Stark – Loki wants to grab Bruce by his shirt collar and shake the little man till he explains what in all of Yggdrasil he’s talking about.

But he cannot afford to tempt the beast. Quite literally.

“Then … can you and I go somewhere to talk? Bruce, you’re a man of science. This is science … related.”

Loki feigns a smile.

Bruce sizes him up. No doubt considering whether to let the other guy continue the conversation.

Then his shoulders drop.

“Okay. Okay. For a creepy megalomaniac, you somehow tend to end up with some very cool people defending your case. Just know that those people are absolutely the only reason, you and I are still talking. Ugh, I’m too nice … “

Bruce casts a glance over his shoulder into the foyer, appearing to consider their options, when a man exits the glass doors – and shuffles up to them.

“Bruce! How nice to see you. You look well.”

The old man (those eyes …) grins warmly and pats Bruce on the back, then looks from him to Loki and back again.

“Everything alright out here? Is there a security issue?”

Bruce composes himself and smiles back.

“Hi, Lee, good to see you too. All fine. Earl here was just updating me on, eh, the new security procedures.”

He shoots Loki a stern look.

“Ah, yes”, Loki nods seriously. “Doctor Banner had some trouble operating the intricate open and close mechanism of the doors. The elevator doors, especially.”

He can’t help himself. It’s somehow both immensely tragic and life-affirming.

“Oh?” The old man raises an eyebrow (he looks … but he’s not quite …something is off).

“Will I have to get a new security card? I rarely come in these days, but in case …”

“No, no, that won’t be necessary, Lee. Because, because … like you say, you’re hardly ever here, so …”

Still smiling awkwardly, Bruce waves a dismissive hand, almost dropping the stack of papers (the man’s a terrible liar, Loki thinks).

“Speaking of”, Banner continues, “you must be enjoying retirement up there, huh, Lee? Must be nice to live by the sea. Good … air quality?”

Loki sighs inwardly.

The dog sniffing at his ankles looks up at him.

He stares down at the round, fluffy thing as if seeing it for the first time.

Which he is and he isn’t.

The old man is saying something to Bruce about the countryside, when he notices the dog wagging its tail at Loki’s feet.

“Oh, he likes you. You’re lucky, he normally doesn’t care for strangers. No, you don’t, do you Fenris”, the man coos.

Under coats of thick white fur, the animal looks eagerly from owner to Loki.

“Okay, well, I’ll be off,” the old man says, finally. “Come see me sometime, Bruce. My neighbor actually just put his house on the market, in case you’re looking for a weekend retreat…”

He nods at Bruce, then at Loki who barely notices. The dog whines unhappily at being dragged away.

It’s the same timeline.

Of course, it is. The tempad has locked itself on a sequence.

But why the different locations …?

“Yes, thank you, Lee. Take care now. Earl, shall we?” Bruce signals to Loki to follow him round the side of the building.

“We can continue our discussion about the security issue in the garage”.

“So, let’s hear it. Tell me what you came to say, so I can tell you why it’s a catastrophically bad idea.”

Bruce sits himself across the small table from Loki and dumps the stack of papers in front of him. The top sheet is covered in coffee mug rings.

They are in an anonymous, windowless office somewhere below the vast tower parking lot and numerous in-house repair shops.

The place is a gigantic maze and Loki has just shut himself in a tiny room with the very monster that turned him into ragdoll. The deep slash on his forehead has only just healed.

He does not fear many beings in the universe, but the mild-mannered doctor’s alter ego makes the hit list with the worst of them.

Ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up (why did this seem like a good idea?), Loki drops his disguise and takes a seat on the cheap plastic chair. Not much of that flashy Stark glamour down here.

“Okay.” Loki takes out the tempad and puts it in the middle of the table.

He is not quite sure where to start, so he decides to begin with the purely technical aspect.

Bruce might appreciate being given a few ‘scientific’ details before any mentions of giant smoke monsters and alligators.

In fact, the fewer magical creatures and castles in the sky, the better.

“This is called a tempad. It’s a device that makes it possible to travel anywhere in time. You type in your destination, and a doorway opens. I did not make it myself. It was, er, given to me by a large and very powerful organization … in space.”

Bruce is leaning forward to get a better look at the tempad but makes no attempt to reach for it.

As he’s says nothing, Loki continues.

“This is where it gets, uh, weird, but try to believe me when I tell you, I’m not the Loki you know. I’m from another, similar timeline and -“

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just stop, Loki.”

Bruce is leaning back on his chair again. He looks tired.

“I don’t know if you’re supremely bored of domestic bliss already, or just being your supremely annoying self, but I won’t engage. You’re not Loki but a time-traveler from space? Yeah, it’s -“

“No, Bruce, I am Loki. Trust me, I know this seems -“

“Trust? You wanna talk about trust again?” Bruce takes out his phone.

“Okay, we can do that.”

He taps a few buttons, then holds the phone to his ear.

“What are you doing?” Loki’s voice has a sharper edge to it than he intended.

The Avenger stares him down.

“Oh, I’m just calling someone. This guy I have in my contacts under God of Lies”.

Please, no …

Briefly, Loki considers whether another variant of him – the one he encountered at the house by the ocean, most likely – would actually be of more help.

Or if he, the variant, would try to kill him.

It was one thing reasoning with and trying not to get killed by Loki variants who at least understood the concept of variants, but how would he have reacted upon being confronted with a twin before the TVA?

No, not a twin … Because this variant has her.

None of the variants in the Void – the grown-up, human ones – had mentioned versions of her.

Either this variant has successfully taken out every Minute Man ever sent by the TVA to arrest him (in which case, Loki concedes, he may be the superior Loki), or this whole timeline has only just blossomed at the opening of the multiverse.

Why else would he, who apparently also gave his phone number to Bruce Banner, get to live a life so vastly different from the typical arc of a misguided Jotun prince?

Loki feels light-headed.

On one hand, he wants to know everything there is to know about his double, on the other, he fears what and who he might find.

You don’t belong here. Find your own timeline. No more Lokis.

Focus. Explain.

He raises his one hand in a placating gesture.

“Give me a little time to try and explain this, Bruce, and then, then … You can call whoever. Call everyone! But please just -“

“Oh, what do you know,” Bruce puts his phone down, “there’s no answer. What a surprise.”

He crosses his arms.

Loki inhales and tries again, speaking as evenly and as calmly as he can while his frustration mounts:

“There is no way of telling you all or any of this without it sounding utterly ludicrous, so you’ll have to hear me out. Five minutes uninterrupted from now, okay? Yes, we’re talking time travel, but compared to what’s really at stake, even time travel is a pretty basic technicality. Also, I promise you, in a few years’ time from now, the concept of time travel won’t seem all that laughable to you and Stark in particular. Provided this reality exists in a few years’ time seeing as -“

Bruce sighs dramatically.

“Yes, okay, so”, Loki continues, “Two years ago, I attacked New York, right?”

“If you’re about to roll out some outlandish excuse – another one! – I don’t care to hear it.”

The other man is narrowing his eyes as a fresh look of undistilled loathing creeps into his features.

So it did happen on this timeline as well.

“No, it’s not that. Or, I mean, let’s save that. When you captured me, in my timeline, I escaped from the lobby with the Infinity stone. I know it seems impossible from your end of events but - “

“Impossible?”

Bruce gives him a strange look Loki can’t quite interpret.

“Yes, S… Tony dropped the briefcase with the Infinity stone, and I picked it up and -“

Bruce pushes his chair back. The plastic scrapes loudly against the stone tiles of the floor.

“Loki, I can’t. I thought I had the patience to at least indulge you but turns out I don’t. I can’t tell if you’re losing your mind, but either way, you’ll have to take it – this, whatever it is – up with Tony instead when he gets back. Maybe bring that sweet lab partner of yours along if you’re going to talk time travel. With her field of expertise, I’m sure - “

“WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!”

Without thinking, Loki slams both his hands into the table. Papers go flying and Bruce staggers backwards.

Horror dawns as Loki realizes his error, but it’s already too late.

Bruce doubles over in spasms and a deep, much too deep, growling sound escapes his lips. He grips his head with his shaking hands as if trying to contain the explosion within, and Loki feels his own brain go numb with panic as one of those hands triples in size and a sickly green hue rapidly spreads.

There is no way out.

Bruce is blocking the door and soon his bulk will be taking up the entire room. He falls to his knees, arms thrashing wildly and his shirt ripping across his back. The table sails over Loki’s head, one of the chairs lodges itself in the soundproofed ceiling, causing the panels of fluorescent light to flicker madly.

Are there no security cameras?!

There are screams, but they no longer sound human.

Loki has nowhere to hide.

He has to gather his magic around him, but terror is completely scattering his focus, cold sweat breaking out all over his body.

It is a matter of seconds before the transformation will be complete and the monster attempts to tear him limb from limb. With no heroes to stop it.

Cold.

He has only consciously reached for it once before, but now the thought barely registers before ice rushes through him as if by instinct. Bruce is not the only one with an abomination lurking under the surface.

He doesn’t have the casket of his birth father, but he has strength.

There is no time to consider if it’s enough or nothing at all. No time for crippling self-loathing or shame.

In front of him, the Hulk lifts its crazed, bloodshot eyes to meet his.

The green creature cannot stand upright in the office, and the first fist goes through the ceiling with the force of a wrecking ball. The next lashes out at Loki, who dodges it just as his own skin turns a deep, brilliant blue.

Little black ridges and markings rise on his arms and face and though his sight doesn’t falter, he feels the instant his eyes go from green to bright red. The fabric of his clothes chafes his new skin and waves of adrenaline surge through his body. Multiple foreign senses come alive and drown his fear.

But he has not a breath to spare to get used to his true form before the Hulk shoves him against the wall so hard, the bricks shift against his side as if they were made of a child’s building blocks.

The impact makes him gasp for air, yet the pain … the pain he can manage.

He just has to last long enough get out of here. And the cold is crystalizing his focus to let the magic flow easily, powerfully through his hands.

His blue hands.

If he had used this when …

Loki pushes himself off the wall (out of it) and almost collides with the Hulk (there’s no space left to maneuver in) who, instead of smashing its way out, seems hell-bent on squashing the only living thing in its line of sight first.

Loki swiftly crouches down on one knee, puts his palms together and, faster than the blink of a brilliant crimson eye, conjures a rotating orb of ice and chaos energy that explodes in a blinding flash of white light as he hurls it square into the monster’s chest.

The Hulk falls back, breaking through the wall to the parking lot on the other side and crashing into a row of cars, while a sheath of ice spreads from its chest and up its neck. The being that is not Bruce howls and claws at its skin, but the smooth ice thickens and as it reaches the head of the beast, it slides right into its eye sockets – and momentarily blinds it.

It will probably only last seconds but it’s all Loki needs while the Hulk shakes its head furiously.

He makes to flee when he spots the tempad on the cracked floor.

He can’t leave it.

As Loki dives for the gadget, the Hulk simultaneously knocks itself in the face with both fists, splintering the ice into a rain of tiny spikes. With a roar to match the sound of a spaceship engine taking off, the creature lunges.

Loki’s fingers close around the tempad.

He feels a buzz.

The door appears in front of him.

He doesn’t stop to think before throwing himself through it.

The Hulk punches into empty air.

Part 5

#loki #loki series #tva loki #lokane fanfic #lokane ff #lokane #loki x jane #marvel #loki ff #loki fanfic #shine a light #plainlo inthemorning #loki laufeyson

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shroomcult · 3 years

Link

@soulxmakaweek

Got a little carried away with this one, so I’m posting it a bit later in the day. If people enjoy it, I’ll likely write a part two for this. I got some ideas rattling around in my head for some fluff to soothe the angst - just want to focus on trying to finish the rest of the prompts first. Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Day 3: Protect

It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out mission. The Kishin egg that had been terrorizing a small mountain town in Kazakhstan was at a relatively low threat level due to the small number of souls it had consumed.

It was once known by friends and family by the name of Erasyl when it was a human - a large, mild-mannered and hard-working man who often kept to himself. No one could understand what had caused him to go down the path that he did, but after consuming the souls of six innocent people over the course of a few months, Erasyl no longer resembled anything close to a human.

One of the creature’s massive arms came swinging at Maka’s unprotected side, flinging her body several feet in the air and smashing through what was left of a window and out into the blustery night air.

She was somewhat relieved to take the battle outside of the cramped quarters of the dilapidated sawmill building they had been fighting in. The lumber yard was something of an obstacle course strewn with old, rusted equipment she’d have to be careful to avoid tripping over, but at least she had more room to move about.

She wasn’t too enthused about the way she had landed jarringly on her left shoulder, though. That was sure to hurt in the morning.

“Dammit, Maka! Don’t stay in swingin’ range of that thing for too long. Strike, and move back!” Soul’s tinny voice vibrated in her hands.

Maybe she had lingered in close quarters of her opponent for a little too long, but she was becoming worn-out from the unexpected length of the battle and a little tired of her partner’s unsolicited coaching.

“It has four arms for death’s sake! It’s hard to dodge every time, okay?!”

“Just be careful, that’s all I’m sayin’. Your frustration is makin’ you reckless,'' he growled. “Head’s up, Big Ugly is comin’ our way,” he added before she had a chance to continue their banter.

She was back on her feet right as it smashed out the remaining bits of glass from the gaping opening of the window and swiftly climbed over the sill. The hand that had been gripping the side of the building had spread a thick layer of ice across the surface, vapor rising from its fingertips. She took quite a few steps back, bringing herself closer to the tree-line of the woods and putting strategic distance between herself and her enemy.

“Hey, you saw that, right? Didn’t think your average Kishin egg would have elemental manipulation powers. Stinks of magic intervention, I’d say.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she replied between breaths.

A Kishin egg with such a low kill-count shouldn’t have been this difficult to defeat. It was uncharacteristically cautious and surprisingly nimble for its imposing size. Now with the discovery of its freezing abilities, she was fearing the possibility of witch involvement. They didn’t have the necessary back-up to be in a situation like that.

She startled at realization that she had no idea what ice powers could do to Soul’s weapon form. It had even attempted to grab him from her multiple times. She would have to be more careful to avoid letting it touch her weapon.

The troll-like monster only took a few ground-tremoring steps before it halted, still quite a bit of feet away from her. Its eyes were pure white making it impossible to truly identify where its gaze was held, but it craned its neck to the side, ears twitching, searching for something. She got the distinct feeling that it was staring at something out in the dense forest that surrounded them. It was deathly still. What the hell is it doing?

For some inexplicable reason, the temperature sharply dropped and a chill that had nothing to do with the sudden cold ran through her entire body. It was so quiet, even the harsh winds around them had stilled completely.

“Maka, something is in the woods-”

In the blink of an eye, the beast in front of them lunged forward, dropping to the ground to sprint at her with the use of all of its arms. The air around them began to whip about violently.

She dashed to the left with every ounce of strength she could push into her legs, desperately trying to find some kind of cover - anything to become an obstacle between her and that thing if only for a couple moments. She needed to buy time, think up some kind of advantage that could bring her close enough to it without putting Soul in danger as well.

The sooner they took this bastard down, the sooner they could confront whatever the hell it was that was out there waiting for them.

She dove behind a rusted old flatbed full of lumber, but her enemy was quick on its feet as well and practically materialized in front of her. She swung her scythe in a smooth arc towards its abdomen, causing it to leap to the side reflexively, but not before throwing two of its arms forward.

She ducked down, but soon felt her stomach sink at the realization that it hadn’t been aiming for her at all.

A chain snapped loudly behind her and all of the thick logs that had been held in place on the truck lurched forward from the force of the strike and began tumbling towards her.

She was agile enough to roll to her side, keeping Soul’s handle tucked against her stomach - but the Kishin egg didn’t allow her the opportunity to properly evade.

It smacked one of the falling logs with two of its arms, launching it towards the direction she had flung herself in. While she was able to avoid having her head and torso crushed, it had landed on one of her legs that had outstretched in an attempt to give her an extra push away from hazard.

Searing pain immediately shocked her system and a raw shriek ripped from her throat as she was pinned between the log and the front wheel of the truck.

The beast lurched forward, and she could only watch with wide and teary eyes as she saw a flash of light and the telltale sound of Soul shifting from steel to flesh and bone.

“Soul, don’t!” she cried despite knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

He met the fearsome creature no more than a foot in front of her, blades sprouting forth from all over his body. He had successfully impaled and immobilized the creature’s bottom two arms with the blades poking out of his shoulders, another larger blade sticking from his chest was embedded fatally in its abdomen. His arms were outstretched and grappling with the beast’s two remaining arms, keeping its broad wrists in a vice grip.

Maka took this time to brace herself with elbows digging into the ground as she used a free arm and leg to attempt to roll the log off of her. Thankfully, the log’s state of decay made it somewhat lighter and easier to move, but the blinding pain of it rolling over her already broken shin and off her foot was almost unbearable, causing her to bite down on a scream. She grabbed onto the wheel of the truck for support and made to stand, but the moment her punished leg made slight contact with the ground, she was down on one knee and holding back a sob.

She couldn’t even stand and walk, what could she even do to help him?

He was visibly shaking with the tremendous effort it took to hold the giant brute at bay, and one of its hands was getting dangerously close to his throat. Smokey frost was budding from it’s open palm.

His heels were dug firmly in the dirt, but it pushed him back until he was nearly bumping up against the log she had just pushed herself out from.

It took a considerable amount of energy for him to even maintain this many external blades at a time, but somehow he pushed himself to manifest two more scythes from his trembling arms that sliced through the Kishin egg’s remaining appendages.

The large hand that had been desperately grasping for his throat had icicles hanging off of it, and the blood that had been leaking from its wounds had begun to freeze in place.

Its left arm was dematerializing, breaking down into ribbons of black matter that shortly vanished into air. It was dying, but so slowly.

At this realization, the beast seemed to gain a final burst of energy from its rage. Its jaw unhinged and it let loose a bellowing roar, saliva flinging in all directions. Soul responded with a rasping animalistic shout that likely scraped his throat raw as he bared fangs of his own.

It suddenly jolted against him, sending him backwards in surprise. He bent his knees slightly to avoid tripping over the log behind him and his back slammed into the front cabin of the truck, denting it with the sheer force.

Only the one arm fully remained, but it strained against him, outstretched razor-sharp claws finally making contact with the vulnerable skin of his throat, digging in.

Soul howled in pain, planting both of his hands against its chest and shoving with all the strength he could muster to send the beast stumbling backwards.

Its jaws were gaping open, eyes bulging out of its swollen head, but no sound came out. It dissolved into fleeting inky blackness and vanished before it even had the chance to hit the ground. The glowing red, scaly orb of its soul remained suspended in the air.

Soul only stood there swaying slightly, gulping in breath after shuddering breath before falling to his knees with a thud that brought a cloud of dust from the ground.

“Soul!” she screeched, ignoring the agony that lit up every nerve in her leg as she dragged herself towards his limp body. She caught the back of his head with her hands the moment he collapsed onto his back. The gashes in his throat were brutally deep and blood was welling up, trickling down his neck and soaking his shirt at an alarming speed.

His breathing sounded wet and labored, and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he weakly croaked out her name.

She was removing both of her gloves, placing them against the wound and pressing down in an attempt to staunch the blood flow. One hand held the quickly reddening cloth against his neck while the other stroked his face.

“Don’t say anything else, Soul. Please , please stay with me - you’re going to be okay. W-we’re going to get help, just don’t leave me,” she pleaded, choking on a sob.

He kept his mouth shut, jaw trembling from involuntarily clenching it too hard. His pale brows knit together and his eyes were shining with an emotion that he didn’t have the ability to vocalize. He brought a shaking hand towards her face, so gentle as he tried to brush the tears from hers eyes to no avail as new ones only took their place.

He offered her a tight, apologetic smile. He was blinking sluggishly, the erratic puffs of breath coming from his nose were slowing down, evening out. His hand fell from her face to rest at his side. His eyes finally closed.

Maka’s breathing became frantic and a low wail squeezed out of her tightly clenched throat. The blood had already soaked through both of her gloves and she hastily ripped her coat off to help press against the wounds.

She hadn’t even registered that the winds had stopped again. The air was frigid and her breath formed in thick white puffs in front of her.

She hadn’t dared remove her hands from Soul’s wound, refusing to give up on providing him medical aid. She kept her body close to her weapon, but she looked up when she sensed the presence of another soul emerging from the darkness of the forest. A powerful soul - a witch.

She’d obviously been using soul protect; playing spectator to their battle - but she was done hiding now.

In short time, the witch stepped out from the cover of shadows that the trees once provided her. Barefoot and clad only in a simple white gown, she took silent steps closer and closer to Maka. Frost covered the ground wherever her feet met it.

Her eyes, much like the beast, were entirely white and she had no eyelids to cover them. She was a tall, gaunt woman with a wild mane of black hair that seemed to float eerily behind her. Despite the freezing temperatures surrounding her, fireflies flew around her head like a glowing crown.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Maka snarled like a cornered animal, clutching Soul close to her chest.

The strange witch stopped short only a foot away from her. Something was so unsettling, so otherworldly about her presence.

When she spoke, her voice was ethereal like it was no more than a wisp of wind, so soft yet carrying itself in all directions. She spoke a language that Maka couldn’t understand.

“Please,” Maka whimpered, “Please, do whatever you want with me. Just, let me get him help. Let my Soul live - take me and let him live, I’m begging you.”

The witch regarded her with that same unreadable expression. There was no malice that could be found in her face, but she hadn’t felt kindness present either.

She crouched down to level herself with Maka, and spoke again, but this time in words that she could understand. “You have taken my protector from me. Now, your protector is being taken from you. If the universe wills it, you shall be alone - as I am now alone. We are sisters in this same loss.”

The witch’s gentle words chilled her to her core. She looked up pleadingly into the milky voids of her eyes.

“No - he doesn’t have to be taken from me. He could still live, he’s still breathing. Please.”

The witch nodded once, “Perhaps so. If he does not die today, he shall die another. As it is your nature to seek out battles, it is his nature to protect you from them. His death will not be a peaceful one - this I can promise you. It is not in my hands.”

His pulse was weak, and she could barely feel any air coming from his nose anymore. Time was being wasted on this conversation.

Maka shakily pulled out their portable mirror from Soul’s front pocket, breathing against the glass and smudging the proper number to contact Kid. A trauma team could still be sent in time. She didn’t have to lose Soul despite any cryptic bullshit this woman was espousing.

“Maka? Is your mission completed?” Kid’s voice rang out from the mirror, but she didn’t bother looking at him - or the witch. She kept her eyes on Soul’s face, fingers buried in his hair and stroking his cheek with her thumb.

“I need a trauma team sent out to my location immediately. Soul’s been wounded, and he’s lost a lot of blood. Please hurry,” she mumbled numbly, still refusing to look away from her weapon.

“What?! What’s happened-” he was cut off when she snapped the portable mirror shut.

She leaned down to kiss his forehead, letting her lips linger there.

“You hear that, Soul? We’re getting out of here. I’m not losing you tonight, so don’t you dare let go before they get here,” she whispered against his skin, fresh tears beginning to roll down her cheek.

When she finally looked up, the witch was gone along with the corrupted soul.

The wind was blowing again.

#SoMaWeek2021 #SoulxMakaweek #soul evans #maka albarn #soul eater

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draven-imani · 3 years

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Journal 5 (Part 2)

So. Yeah. Commander Irabeth Tirabade gave me a temporary field promotion. Although she said there wasn’t much of the Raven Corps left to speak of at the moment. Apparently, a certain Golden Boy had commandeered as many people as he could convince to come with him on a mad quest into the Worldwound after the attack and our group fell underground. He has an entire legion following him, which he dubbed the Silver Legion. She said it was likely he’d be back soon for a supply run.

Damn. I always knew Leto would go far. But to rally the troops on his own without any preestablished backing and just…go for it? I don’t know how he does it. We walked the same path and yet somehow he’s always been in a completely different league than me. I don’t envy him, not in the slightest. I’m in awe, more like. It’s like looking at the sun. It’s incomprehensible.

Ah. I wish he were here instead of there, though. He’d know how to handle this whole ‘Acting Captain’ thing. I feel in over my head already. I don’t want a position of power. I don’t want people’s lives in my hands. I only thought I wanted to go up the ranks when I was an idealistic kid with no idea what that meant. Now…the idea of giving the order that gets someone killed sickens me…

But if Commander Tirabade is the one who gives me that responsibility, I don’t think I’ll be able to say no.

I was starting to doubt…a lot, the last couple of days, honestly. Everything about Luna threw things into question. And then we found out Baphomet cultists infiltrated the church. And then Auriel died. And then I first talked to Radiance…and heard their threats. The threats from a holy weapon that sounded like they should have come from a demon. That stung. That shook me.

But then we met Irabeth Tirabade. And even in person she represents everything I have ever strived to be. Both in the sense of a former Raven Corps member who pulled herself out and into a position to actually be of use to the world, but also in the sense of how an Iomedae worshipper should carry themselves. She’s noble and strong and honorable, but she’s not quite so stuck in her ways as Auriel was, she seems to see things the way they are, and have been in the past, and she seems to be willing to admit when things are rotten and need to be fixed. I respect her. A lot. I…don’t want to disappoint her.

Aaaaand that means, if she gives me a responsibility, I have to rise to the task…even if I really really reeeeeeeeally don’t want to.

Commander Tirabade told me to give her a full report of everything that had happened. Which is exactly what I’d been keeping this journal for. So I gave her my report, and had the others chime in where my memory or note taking didn’t serve adequately. Then I showed her Radiance. I didn’t really think about it, because I thought since she was a paladin that Radiance wouldn’t be quite so ‘I’m going to flay you alive’. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking, because she was Irabeth Tirabade and I’m dumb. That’s more likely. Anyways Radiance started burning her hands, so I quickly took them back.

And I may have admonished them out loud for doing that. To which Radiance basically asked ‘what part of chosen wielder don’t you understand?’ which…fair, but I guess I kind of thought Radiance was the one deciding whether or not to start hurting someone for touching it with how they’d worded it last time. I didn’t think it just happened.

The others were looking at me like I was crazy and asked if I was talking to my sword. So then I had to explain that Radiance is a magic intelligent weapon and also really picky about who wields them.

(And I got a little off track figuring out Radiance’s pronouns here. The answer boiled down to ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender, call me whatever you want’, so I’m sticking with they since it’s neutral. Must be nice being a formless weapon spirit who can just give a copout answer like ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender’. I’d not conform to my mortal view of gender if I could, but I have a flesh prison with all that gender-y stuff that comes with it.)

So then one of them, I forget who, commented about me being the chosen wielder of Radiance. And I think I laughed. I corrected them. No, I wasn’t the chosen wielder. The others pointed out I was wielding them, it sure looked like I was. So I explained what Radiance had already explained to me. That Auriel had been meant to wield them. That I was only holding them now because Auriel didn’t make it this far, and because Auriel’s soul vouched for me.

Commander Tirabade gave her condolences to us about Auriel, and asked that I tell her as much as I could about him later, as someone was going to give a eulogy for all who had been lost in the battle against the demons soon and she would make sure given his heroic sacrifice that he was given the send off he deserved.

Then Anevia rejoined the conversation, having been listening in on the sword talk. She called Irabeth over and asked her about the sword she had lied about selling. Anevia proved even with a sweet voice and a smile to be scarier than the much larger and more fearsome looking commander. Commander Tirabade admitted that she had sold her sword in exchange for an anniversary gift for Anevia. A potion that permanently changes one’s gender.

Aaaaand looking back I really hope the talk about pronouns was not uncomfortable, I was legitimately trying to be polite to the sword, despite Radiance never once extending the same courtesy to me.

Anyways.

By the end the Commander determined that it would be a good idea for us to continue taking out the safehouses, but she had another mission for us as well once that was done. Something big. She told us that another of Deskari’s generals was on her way here—the witch Arelu Vorlesh. We had heard rumors of this from drifters on the streets as well. The crusaders had managed to get information that Deskari’s cult had holed up in Old Kenabres, making a stronghold of a temple to the Inheritor known as the Grey Garrison. There was a piece of the wardstone left still intact, and Arelu was coming to corrupt it. If she was successful, the Commander believed Arelu was going to turn the wardstone into a weapon that would decimate the crusaders on the battlefield.

With that in mind, she had a librarian from the Blackwing come forward with a magical rod. I’m not one for the arcane, but Hiskaria sounded extremely in awe and almost equally disturbed by the implications of the rod, a ‘rod of cancellation’. The important part I gathered was that if Hiskaria used the rod on the wardstone, then it would destroy it.

Melody was hesitant, wondering if there was any way to eventually fix the wardstone and restore the barrier to save the city. Commander Tirabade said no. It had been created hundreds of years ago, when times were less turbulent, and with divine intervention. We had neither the means nor the time, and every moment we left the wardstone intact was a moment Arelu could return to attempt to corrupt it to her own purposes. Better that it was destroyed than in enemy hands.

We agreed. The Commander said that she would not order this strike until we had cleared out all of the safehouses, so that they had nowhere to fall back to, and no reinforcements to call upon, or else the strike would be a suicide mission. But once we had finished ridding the city of their other bases of operations, she would have an army march on the main forces of Deskari, drawing their attention, while our small strike force took the Grey Garrison.

With a plan in place, we decided that today we would at least take down one more safehouse before we rested. I was the only one really in need of any rest, and Commander Tirabade offered that the clerics of the crusades were at our disposal before we left so that we would not have to use our own limited supplies. Once my remaining injuries from those blasted vultures were healed, we set out.

We came upon some looters, who had overturned the caravan of a handful of survivors and were picking through it. We discussed, and decided we didn’t particularly want to kill these guys, just spook them. So Luna pulled up her hood and donned her Butcher persona, then went after the looters, threatening that she would add them to her pile of the dead if they didn’t abandon this cart to her. It worked, and they fled for their lives.

Luna removed her hood and we approached the survivors. They were frightened after that display, but glad to have their supplies back. We pointed them in the direction of Defender’s Heart and gave them the passcode, and told them to let them know we’d sent them, as we’d seen a number of refugees being housed safely there.

After that we continued on our way, until we came upon the Tower of Estrod. From the note we’d gotten off Hosilla, there was a passcode, “I’ve new material for the archives”. Since we knew this, and we knew Hosilla’s face, we formed a plan. Melody was able to use the magic of her scale of Trendalor to disguise herself as Hosilla. I was to pretend to be one of the Baphomet worshippers who was a false Iomedaen. And Luna was merely being a more exaggerated version of herself, using her infamy as the Butcher of Balestreet to her advantage. Hiskaria didn’t want to go inside and be stuck in close quarters, so she remained outdoors on lookout, listening for any sign of things going badly. After some discussion, Melody had handed off Auriel’s scale to Hiskaria, and explained how it worked to her. The scales couldn’t be used together, so Melody needed to hand it off regardless, and it seemed right that since Hiskaria was going to be helping us for the foreseeable future, she should be the one to hold it. And as an archer the levitation ability it granted would be of more use to her than to any of us.

With a plan in mind, the three of us walked into the proverbial lion’s den. Two cultists of Baphomet were lounging about on the bottom floor. Believing they recognized Melody as Hosilla, they let us in, and told us to meet with a man on the upper floor by the name of Faxon. We followed Melody’s lead, and went up the stairs. At the top of the tower, we found a tiefling with a scorpion upon his shoulder. He spoke smugly to ‘Hosilla’, and had a very…slimy feel about him. I got the impression that he and Hosilla were not on good terms, perhaps even that Stauton Vhagn pit them against each other and that’s why he was having Hosilla check up on him, just to rub salt in the wound. Unfortunately, Melody didn’t quite know how far to press, and backed down too soon, after making her ‘report’, agreeing to return downstairs with little bite back. When questioned about what I knew, I did the safe thing and pled ignorance, claiming to merely be Hosilla’s guard and not someone in a position to have information. When asked, Luna said she was just there for the kills, nothing more nothing less.

As Melody went to have us return downstairs, Faxon called Luna back to him. I had a bad feeling, but Luna shrugged it off and said to go on without her. Melody decided that maybe we could take out the cultists downstairs quietly while he had whatever discussion he wanted with her. I agreed, although we never got the chance. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of violence broke out upstairs, and the two downstairs were alerted that something was amiss. Melody and I decided it would be best for us to guard the stairs and make sure these two couldn’t sneak up on Luna from behind first before going upstairs to try to help her finish with Fenox.

I took care of one of the cultists swiftly, with Radiance spurring me on, the both of us eager to put an end to the evils of these worshippers of the Minotaur. The sounds upstairs began to die down, as Melody took a stab at the other from the stairs with Hosilla’s glaive. He tried to flee. Melody wasn’t going to allow that. She leapt from the stairs, and with far less regard for a glaive that isn’t her family’s sentimental one, she used it to pole-vault at the cultist, landing behind him and swinging around to stab at him once again. Still he was up. He almost made it to the door.

Just in time for Hiskaria to open the door and shoot an arrow in his face.

Somehow by some twisted luck he was still going, but Melody caught up with him once again, and maaaay have decided to show off a little to our new companion as she leapt in the air and skewered the man, finally dead.

All was quiet. I was about to be concerned about what might have happened to Luna, but then Hiskaria told me about the absolutely ridiculously amazing one sided one on one ‘fight’ she’d had with Fenox. As if I should have been worried about Luna. Hiskaria had heard the commotion and used the scale to levitate up so she’d she the last half of the fight. The upper floor didn’t have a roof, so she had been intending to shoot an arrow right into the other tiefling’s skull, but it ended up not being necessary.

See, there was a wall bisecting that room, with a door. He’d shut and locked the door to put it between him and Luna when things started looking bad. Luna had shown yet again just how little walls meant to the Butcher of Balestreet when she used the glaive she’d been holding holding for show as a means to pull herself up and over, then came down on Fenox with her axe. The Butcher one, Baphomet zero.

We met with her upstairs, where we found a shrine to Baphomet and a minotaur shaped object on the wall that was causing the room to be desecrated by its mere presence. There was also a treasure chest, so we decided that while the others went through the loot, I was going to take Radiance and have a bit of fun.

It took some time, that minotaur head was damned sturdy. But when it did break, Radiance’s voice echoed through the room. It wasn’t just me that heard it that time, but everyone. Their voice faded after only a moment. The others seemed a little shaken by that. I don’t really blame them. Radiance is…a lot. They’ve gone back to just being in my head now, which is probably for the best. Them quieting down entirely would probably be better, but I’m not lucky enough to have a normal holy sword that doesn’t demand the blood of demons and cultists as we fight. Ah, well. At least we agree on who our enemies are.

The chest had holy symbols and the favored weapons of multiple faiths, pointing towards the cult’s penchant for infiltration. We decided we would return them to the clerics at Defender’s Heart. Looking back I kind of wish I’d asked if they’d be okay with me keeping one. My wooden holy symbol’s seen a lot of use, and isn’t exactly the sturdiest material. Silver to match Leto’s wouldn’t have hurt. Ah, well. Hindsight and all that.

We were feeling really good after how well that went. We’d been planning on calling it a day after the tower, but since we’d used virtually none of our resources we agreed that unless we ran into particularly nasty trouble on the road we should try to clear out Topaz Solutions, report back to the Commander, and prepare to storm the Grey Garrison tomorrow.

Topaz Solutions was quite a bit farther than the tower had been from Defender’s Heart. Which meant more time for attacks from demons or other things lurking about.

First we were attack by two barbed creatures which made a terrible howling noise. Their barbs were painful when we got too close, but we cleared them out quickly enough with little trouble to speak of. No one ended up with any of the barbs stuck in them, which was a blessing. That could have proven difficult.

Then…we came to Balestreet. The demons had left the street as much a gory horror scene as one might have expected of Luna’s namesake. Here, two cultists of Baphomet tried to ambush us. Big mistake. Luna decided she was eager to make true to her nickname, and took her axe to them. They didn’t go down.

Then two arrows went straight through them, ice burst from one’s injuries, and both fell dead on the road. Hiskaria looked a bit sheepish, asking Luna if she shouldn’t have done that, since Balestreet was supposed to be Luna’s thing. Luna shrugged it off, saying it worked either way.

Remind me not to get on the bad side of the ladies in our group, they can cut quite the fearsome characters.

With that we were on our way, the rest of the walk to Topaz Solutions uneventful. The apothecary was being looted by a couple of thugs when we arrived. Luna decided to do her thing and scared them off with a few threats from the Butcher. Then we started looking around. The looters had taken anything of value, but Luna after some poking around found some ‘really nice door technology’, and opened a secret passage that led into a hidden basement. Luna and Melody snuck down first.

After a minute of waiting, Hiskaria and I heard Luna and Melody call us down, saying there was a strange mechanical doll and an image on the wall they couldn’t identify. I went down first. As Melody stepped forward to let me in, the minotaur head on the wall began to speak. It taunted us, saying it hoped we were Iomedaens so that this surprise from Baphomet wouldn’t go to waste. Then the doll began moving, and smashed a bottle, releasing a small plant creature.

There was also some kind of…gas I think? Something was in the chamber after that which was causing us various issues. Melody and I both started finding it hard to breath for instance—not so much that we were suffocating, but enough that we were wheezing and likely would have been unable to easily move stealthily.

Worse was that plant. It was in a thick patch of vines that it could move through with ease but which we struggles in. It screamed in such a way that it caused both Melody and Hiskaria to become nauseous, forcing them to flee upstairs to safety and leaving me and Luna to deal with it by ourselves. And it was small and tricky, dodging around many of our attacks in the most frustrating manner. Luna did finally squash the blasted thing, and I went over to the minotaur head and broke whatever the device was that was releasing gas into the room.

Then we searched the room and found a chest with a mocking note claiming we deserved a reward for besting the trap. Within were a number of stolen holy symbols. Luna stopped us from taking them, noting that they were covered in a contact poison.

I have decided I rather dislike this Igon Topaz, and do hope he survived the attack on the city. If only so that I may someday bring judgement upon him myself.

With all three safehouses cleared out, we’ve returned to Defender’s Heart for the night. We reported back to the Commander, and we spent some time unwinding and preparing for tomorrow. There are some merchants set up so we were able to get some supplies. And, more importantly, we got some drinks.

And even more importantly, Leto’s back.

He showed up while we were making preparations, all smiles and charm as always. He thought I’d died in a pit, I thought he’d been killed by demons, same old same old.

He looked amazing. He’s been doing well for himself. He really was the picture of a paladin in that silver armor riding up on a holy steed. Although I guess to him I must have looked maybe a little impressive with the holy sword Radiance at my side. Ah, if only he could have a conversation with them, he’d quit being impressed real quick.

Leto played up his knight in shining armor role well, flirted with Hiskaria even though she’s twice his age and a convicted murderer, and got on well with Melody. He…did not get on well with Luna. He tried, certainly, at first, but then she threw some misplaced insults about him being Raven Corps which I corrected, and then she brought up how all the reports of her being a murderer are vastly exaggerated by the Raven Corps and…it was just all around awkward, I think.

So then he introduced us to his horse, Charles, instead. He got a kick out of the fact he’d given his holy mount such a mundane name instead of something more heroic like—

Hold up. Charles.

Charlie.

Chalie Horse.

…that blasted tiefling, I’m going to wring his neck next time I see him.

I can’t decide if I’m mad about the pun, mad I didn’t catch it when we were talking about it, or mad that I didn’t think of it first.

Named his holy steed a pun, the nerve of that man...I wonder if anyone else has caught on. Commander of the Silver Legion, Leto Jules, the tiefling so charismatic he managed to sway 50,000 people to his banner…named his holy steed Charlie Horse. Inheritor help me I don’t know what to do with him.

Or how to outdo that.

Which is frustrating.

Oh well. What’re you going to do? Some days you find out your brother is not just still alive but now leading a legion on the back of a horse named Charlie and you just roll with it.

I’m glad he’s okay.

His Silver Legion is going to be joining the fight against the main forces tomorrow while our strike force goes into the Grey Garrison. So that’s more for me to worry about. But Leto’s always been a lucky bastard unlike me. He’ll be fine.

After the fact Melody, Hiskaria, and Luna decided it was really important to whisper amongst themselves and to send me away. So apparently it’s rumor time again. Yay. I’m fairly certain with them it would be nothing bad…but I can’t fathom what they could have possibly been whispering about. I suppose if they think Leto and I are related by blood it could have been about that, if they think I share his demonic bloodline…but Hiskaria is a tiefling as well, I see little reason why they would need to be secretive about it if that were the case. And quite frankly Leto and I don’t look alike. At all. Even if he weren’t golden, we don’t share even close to the same features. So I don’t think we could be mistaken for blood relatives.

I don’t know, and there’s really no use in speculating. It’s growing late, and we have a temple to siege in the morning.

#journal entry #pathfinder #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wotr spoilers #Draven Imani

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gypsydanger01 · 4 years

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THE STORM - Part six

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x Reader

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

Posting new chapters every Wednesday and Friday!

Getting to know you

While a certain member of the Seven entertained violent thoughts at the upper levels, Sarah sat at her desk filing papers. To be honest, she was studying more than she was doing her job, but there wasn’t much of a workload anyway. Keeping her textbook laid flat against her knees, she quickly went through the lines of text before typing away at her computer for a few minutes.

Martha was perched on her desk reading through some folders.

“You do know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Sarah sighed and finished the paragraph she was reading on molecular recognition.

“I know,” she conceded, before defending herself. “At least I’m doing something constructive.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and shot, “Look at Sierra, over there.”

Her friend moved naturally, looking over at the clock while noticing the young woman taking a string of selfies with her coffee. Martha grimaced, shaking her head.

“No girl, just no.”

“I know.”

“Someone needs to tell her, she won’t stop.”

Sarah laughed, “She’ll learn someday.”

Checking the clock herself, she found herself growing hot. She pressed her sweaty palms into the wood surface of her desk, letting her legs stretch out underneath it. Her fingers twitched slightly, and she masked her unease by bringing her hand back to her mouse, clicking away at the screen.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Sarah made a noncommittal sound, not letting her eyes move away from the screen in front of her.

“You look...” Martha trailed off before finding the right word, “squeamish.”

“Well that sounds lovely. Just what I like to hear.”

Martha sighed, her eyes narrowing at her friend. “You know I worry. You sure everything’s okay?”

The sight of Black Noir occupying her couch was seared into her mind. She could no longer hide. She could only face it and be smart about the information she disclosed.

Her friend was still watching her, and Sarah finally pushed away from the desk.

She pushed her glasses back up and, pinching the bridge of her nose, she bowed her head down.

With her hair falling around her face in soft curls, she murmured, “I’ve made a contact.”

Martha immediately put her papers down and turned to fully face her. “What do you mean?”

“Someone reached out. It’s dangerous, but it could be very rewarding.”

“Who is it?”

Sarah looked around and brought her hands back to the keyboard.

“I really can’t say.”

At Martha’s pointed look, she further explained. “I really can’t tell you. It’s someone—,” she wasn’t sure how she could describe Black Noir without giving it away. “It’s just someone really high up. Lots of info.”

“Oh my gosh, it’s B.N. isn’t it? You said he made contact.”

Sarah shrugged. “Maybe.”

Martha stared at her for a few moments before accepting her friend’s silence.

“Just be careful, okay?”

Sarah nodded, “You know I am.”

Her friend shook her head. “I know you are, but we’re getting closer. Things could get hot.”

The room grew even louder and more boisterous as lunch time rolled around. Sarah proceeded to close the files she’d been working on.

“Oh, and you’ll have to tell me all the deets, understood?”

The young woman laughed, wondering deep down if she’d be able to tell her anything at all. The dead don’t speak.

“I’m ready for lunch, let’s go find Annika.”

The hours after lunch were spent worrying and suffocating that same preoccupation with fool-proof schemes. It was an endless cycle, really. Every time she found a flaw in her set of questions, it sent her spiraling into self-doubt. Could she truly pull this off?

She was more and more convinced that he hadn’t been sent by Vought, simply because he was a trained assassin who didn’t need these long and ambiguous methods to extract the information he needed. He was more than capable of inflicting mind-blowing amounts of pain. And pain always loosened the tongue.

So maybe he wasn’t doing this for Vought. Maybe his fixation and stalkerish tendencies towards her could be chalked up as misguided and genuine. In that case, he was still a dangerous wild card since she wasn’t who he thought she was. If he’s truly loyal to the company, her identity might prove to be an issue.

And so, it went on and on. She went through potential questions she could ask, and questions she should steer clear of. She recalled all the tips and tricks Mallory had taught her, from the phrasing of the questions, to the body language she should maintain. The goal was to ask a series of common questions and sparsely slip an inquisitive one into the mix. But would this work on him?

She’d have to work much slower to access some, if any, information.

Most of all, she was afraid of her body giving her away: her fast heartbeat and shallow breathing, paired with the subtle interrogation could give it all away. And this terrified her.

Sarah watched the clock tick closer and closer to five o’clock with increasing dread.

When it arrived, she waved over to Martha, gathered her things and walked out the door with as much confidence as physically possible.

In his living quarters, Black Noir stood in front of a mirror. He remembered Sarah’s reaction. The woman apparently concealed it well, but he’d caught onto her fear, her state of agitation and turmoil. Was it because of his dark appearance, or was it something deeper, a reaction to the violence he represented? He tilted his head to the side. Or did it have to do with her file, something she’s hiding?

The tall man couldn’t think of any way to convince her of his good intentions towards her. All he could do was respect her boundaries and listen to her; hope she’d accept him.

He usually avoided the mirror in his room, not really needing it for any aesthetic reason. He wore the same armored suit every day and was almost always covered from head to toe in tough black material. And yet now, he stood tall in front of it and took in the sight. He was closed-off, impenetrable, dangerous and stealthy. He appreciated the simplicity of the reinforced suit. It wasn’t flashy like the ones his teammates wore. And it didn’t convey any light-hearted or patriotic meaning. It was functional and allowed him to blend into the shadows and kill. His skull-like mask was the last thing many men saw before he proceeded in tearing them apart. Seeing it in daylight had nothing on witnessing it come out of the shadows at night. Like a nightmare taking form right before their eyes.

And now Sarah had witnessed a small violence on his part, the skull he hid behind and the strength he possessed. It was perfectly normal for her to be afraid.

But the knife, a small part of him reminded. Yes, that was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. But he’d take his time, god knows he could be patient. Especially if it was for her. The mysterious Sarah Burns.

As eight o ‘clock crept closer, Sarah could be found in her kitchen, finishing up her dinner. The creamy pasta she’d made sat heavy in her stomach, the knowledge of her impending doom adding an extra ton. After quickly washing the dishes, she sat at the table and scrolled through the memes Martha had sent her. When she realized they revolved around Homelander, she grew interested. There was no way the Seven’s leader would accept this, and the inner conflict it would produce was the perfect cover for her plan to proceed.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Sitting still, she tensed, ready to whip up and out of her chair. A dark clothed hand came up and over her shoulder moving towards her cell phone.

She almost jumped out of her skin as her mind thought of the worst possible outcome of having his hand so close to her neck. And yet, he simply leaned over and promptly pressed the heart icon below one of the memes. He liked the meme.

Sarah opened her mouth to speak and closed it a few times. He finally retreated from his spot hovering over her and went to stand at a respectful distance, his back to the wall.

She spun around and stood up, her heart still clogging her throat.

“Jesus Christ,” she hissed, eyes wide and a hand raised to her chest.

He simply watched her with that magnetic gaze she couldn’t seem to escape. She picked at the hem of her shirt, not knowing how to proceed. How had he even entered the house?

His gaze settled on the small notebook she’d left on the table for their upcoming meeting. He moved slowly and gave her wide birth as he took it up into his hands. He flipped to a blank page and wrote.

Are you afraid, he paused before adding, of me?

He passed the notebook to her. She took it hesitantly, and once she read his message, her eyes kept flicking from the page to his mask. You could snap me like a twig. She was indeed very much afraid.

“No,” she answered, with a slight shake of her head.

He tilted his head slightly to the left before raising his hand to his chest. He lightly tapped right over his heart. Sarah initially didn’t understand the meaning of the gesture, but soon realized he was referring to her heartbeat.

She brushed it aside, “Oh...” You probably have a dozen different instruments of death concealed in your suit. “That’s nothing, I’m just jumpy, I guess.”

She hummed, looking for a way to grow her confidence and gain control of the situation.

“Plus, you kind of came out of nowhere. In my house.”

He was still, unsure of how his sudden appearance would pan out. He almost wanted to hit himself for not thinking it through.

“How did you even get in here? I know everything was locked.”

He shrugged, almost imperceptibly, before offering his hand. She passed him the notebook and pen.

Trade secret. If I told you, I’d have to kill you :)

Her heart almost stopped cold before she regained composure. If it weren’t for the smiley face he’d added towards the end, she might have died right then and there. And she laughed, she actually laughed. Maybe it was the tension, or the insane fact that Black Noir was in her home, attempting to crack a joke.

“I guess I don’t really need to know,” she surmised with a small smile.

He nodded before adding more to the page.

Your day?

“How was my day?

He nodded, captivated by the fluid movements her hands naturally made as she spoke. He’d noticed it immediately the first night he’d seen her at the gala. Over the next week of watching her, he’d quickly filed it as one of her mannerisms.

“I can’t complain. Honestly, I don’t really like that job, it’s more something to keep the bills payed until I get the position I want.”

He wrote, PhD student. Applied Physiology

“That’s correct,” she confirmed. “Why am I not surprised you know that?”

I know some things. Not everything.

He wanted to apologize for making her uncomfortable but ultimately found it too difficult to actually write down. He wasn’t accustomed to apologizing; he’d never actually needed to. Not out loud, or on paper.

She accepted the quiet confession. “That’s okay. I’m not all that interesting, and there’s nothing to hide.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Black Noir understood her need to protect herself. She’d share the truth with him once he’d won her trust.

“How was your day?”

He straightened and thought of how to approach this question. Thinking on his toes, he went with the easiest, most believable story.

Meetings, promotional event. He added for emphasis. Boring. I slept.

There was no way he could tell her he’d spent most of the day fantasizing her ex-boyfriend’s murder, only to have it executed a few hours ago.

She laughed lightly, “Who knew, I thought you’d be off on some top-secret mission.”

Her hopes were crushed when he answered with a simple shake of the head. She hummed. He leaned against the wall, ever observant of the woman facing him.

“Oh, you can sit. Here let me—”

She got up to pull a chair out for him, but he stopped her with a raised hand. He crossed over to her side of the table and angled the chair she’d been previously occupying before abruptly standing and knocking it out of the way. She slowly sat and let him push her in. He calmly took a seat in front of her.

“Thank you”

I have manners :)

She nodded, “Yes, you do.”

She squirmed under his stare, under the black mask she was starting to grow accustomed to.

Sarah broke the silence, “I wanted to thank you for the other day. I could’ve handled it, but I’m glad you intervened.”

He watched her and she continued, “It was a bad relationship, and seeing him really threw me off balance. Then you showed up, and I was just…,” she trailed off.

He reached out and briefly touched her hand before sharply retrieving it. It was what he’d seen other people do in society, or in the movies he watched in the privacy of his living quarters. As he understood, it was meant as a way to show affection and give comfort. But were they at a stage where he could do that? He honestly didn’t know.

He jotted down a line, I understand

“And thank you for the gifts, I mean, the flowers and the earrings—they’re all so beautiful but you really don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

I want to

She smiled reading the words. She leaned back in her chair and took him all in. Who was this man? The Black Noir she’d gathered intel on for Mallory was nothing like the man sitting in front of her. Well, maybe that was extreme, she had seen proof of his deadly work. And yet, she was not seeing the ferocious, sinister monster she’d come to imagine over the years.

He was a more complex sort of enigma, one that was maybe as complicated as her own. While she needed to maintain her guard around him, she found herself slightly relaxing in his presence. There were multiple layers to this man, and maybe she could appeal to the human, well-mannered side of him.

They spent the rest of the next hour exchanging questions. They mostly revolved around their likes and dislikes, jumping from books to foods, and finally to movies. She quickly realized he was well cultured on cinema, especially war and action movies which he clearly enjoyed.

“Hmm, how about Tears of the Sun?”

He nodded. A favorite.

“Black Hawk Down?”

The large man nodded with enthusiasm.

“What about Saving Private Ryan.”

He snorted. Don’t insult me

“What’s your favorite movie ever? Like the perfect mix of action, shooting and humor.”

He thought for a few seconds before deciding. Die Hard

When he pushed the notebook towards her for her to read, he emphasized his point by tapping on it and sitting back, arms crossed.

“Well, I like what I see. Yippee kay ye, am I right?” she said with mirth. “Yeah, I think that’s Bruce Willis’s best movie.”

He was glad she liked it as well. Early that morning, he’d made a rapid search on the Internet before having to attend meetings. He searched, “How do you know your first date is going well.” He wasn’t quite sure if it was an official date, but in his mind, it was as close to it as it could get. His search gave a wide range of answers. After reading through a bunch of them, he gathered that for it to go well they needed to click. There had to be a spark, whatever that meant.

More precisely, there had to be common topics, common likes and dislikes. The conversation should come easy, and awkward silences should be avoided at all costs because, while they might not disturb him, they may be uncomfortable for her. And while they’d gotten off to a rough start, things were now going quite smoothly.

Sarah thought long and hard, “What about Pearl Harbor? It isn’t as action-packed but it’s still a really good historical war movie.”

She nodded, and shyly added, “Well, if you’d like to, you could come over and watch it. Actually, we could watch Die Hard one time, and Pearl Harbor another.”

He watched her, the way she was so self-conscious. Sarah constantly touched her cheeks, her curly hair, her neck. If only she could see herself the way he saw her.

He wrote. I would like that

Checking her watch, she barely contained a yawn.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you, it’s just late for me,” she assured.

I’ll go

“No, it’s okay, really.”

He shook his head. I don’t need sleep. You do

I’ll be back for those movies

Sarah smiled, “All right.”

Black Noir rose to his full height and she watched him with a twinge of fascination. Who even was this man?

When can I see you

“Well, tomorrow night I’m going out with my friend, but we can definitely schedule Die Hard for the night after. Eight pm?”

I’ll be here.

She walked him to the door and leaned against the wood. The doorway seemed smaller as he walked through. He clicked the switch turning her porch lights out and quickly jotted a few lines down.

Turn them on when I leave. Safer

She nodded with a small smile. How could someone as dangerous as him be so concerned with her well-being, she didn’t know, but she found herself liking it regardless.

He quickly scribbled something down before shutting the notebook and handing it back over.

Facing her, he raised a hand as if he were about to wave. His hand twisted into a thumbs up before he took his leave. Walking away, he crossed under a single streetlight before disappearing into an alley.

She stayed there for a few more seconds, just peering into the darkness. Heeding his advice, she shut the door and switched the porch lights back on. Retreating further into her home, she flipped through the pages looking for his last note. It was a small smiley face he’d doodled on the edge of the page.

She steeled herself against feeling anything but contempt. She reminded herself of the danger he could pose to her. But as much as she wanted to suppress it, she couldn’t help the small smile on her face as she fell asleep.

Giulia

PART 7

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 @proximio-5 @damiminator

Let me know if you want to be tagged!! Or you can like this post and I’ll add you :)

#the boys #black noir #black noir x oc #the boys amazon #the boys tv #the boys season 2 #the boys black noir #fanfiction #oc story

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ehyeh-joshua · 4 years

Text

God of Dragons

@greater-than-the-sword - rather than dragging your post further off-topic, I decided to finally get around to writing this up.

If you honestly want to grapple with the Bible, it becomes essential to consider our ancient scaled friend/enemy the dragon. The Scriptures leave no alternative but to declare that man walked with dinosaurs.

The Hebrew word that we translate as “dragon” is Tannin, and like all ancient Hebrew thought, is not a specific species, but a genera – to us, we categorise things by qualities – we use “pencil” and “pen” and “quill” to describe specific classes of objects; to the mindset of Biblical Hebrew, they are all the same; you write with them.

What Tannin refers to is any large, dangerous reptile, whether on land, at sea or in the air, and while it would include them, it doesn't actually mean our modern understanding of dragon, which having being split from it's roots in historical creatures, is now mythical. (although such creatures are mentioned)

In the Septuagint – the Greek translation of the Old Testament that was considered the Old Testament for the Greek-speaking early church – the word Tannin is translated by “Drakkon” which is the root for our word “dragon”.

The word Tannin is used 23 times in Scripture:(note-all the citations are quoted in full at the end, truncated here for brevity)

Singular form:

Nehemiah 2:13; Psalm 91:13; Isaiah 27:1 and 51:9; Jeremiah 51:34; Ezekiel 29:3, Exodus 7:9, 7:10 and 7:12, and Genesis 1:21.

Plural form:

Deuteronomy 32:33, Job 7:12 and Job 30:29, Psalms 44:19, 74:13; and 148:7, Isaiah 13:22 Jeremiah 9:11, 10:22, 14:6, 49:33 and 51:37 and Ezekiel 32:2.

The second word we need to have in mind is Leviatan – this is the creature we think of when we think of dragon. This word is used five times in four verses: Job 41:1, Psalm 74:14 and 104:26, and twice in Isaiah 27:1. Like Tannin, Leviatan is translated in the Septuagint by “drakkon”.

Leviatan has the longest description, having nearly a whole chapter devoted to describing it at the end of Job – this is the strongest evidence, as this is God Himself describing this creature as an example of His own power.

One of the reasons I like Dragons so much is that God has set them as a testimony to Himself.

Sadly, this is perhaps the most mistranslated word in modern English Bibles; most English Bibles insert jackals into these verses wherever the Scriptures undeniably mean literal creatures, doing so because of the wrong belief that dragons are mythical.

The thing is, Hebrew has a word that actually means jackal; it is the same as that for ��fox”, and for good reason, as they are known to be able to interbreed, and are therefore the same baramin. That word is “sha’ul”.

Nehemiah 4:3 for example; 'Tobiah the Ammonite was beside him, and he said, “Yes, what they are building—if a fox goes up on it he will break down their stone wall!”'

He’s trying to say that despite the fact that the fox/jackal is such a small and weak animal, it could crush the walls the Jews were building; he’s insulting them. By contrast, a dragon smashing down a wall is kind of what you would expect to happen, and throughout the Prophets, the threat of dragons overwhelming a city is used to express judgement.

Compiling all these references gives us a huge amount of information about these creatures, some of it (most of it in fact) directly from God describing what we would understand as a water drake.

Firstly, that the purpose of these creatures is to give glory to God.

Secondly, it tells us that these are huge reptiles that are very dangerous; enough that the mere threat of them is enough to put a city of people to fleeing for safety – a quarter of the times Tannin is used, it is referring to this terror.

If a city got overrun with jackals, a single person could chase them out; a decent thickness stick as a club, and they scatter. A host of people working together could do it easily. They are mildly dangerous, but they have absolutely nothing on levyatan, which the Scriptures equate to Tannin. A Dragon however? An armoured, fire breathing dragon?

That is dangerous; one dragon is enough to be a risk to an entire region, they are apex predators, there is absolutely no shortage of stories of the danger dragons possess.

Now, if you had an entire city overrun by dragons? You’re not going to reclaim that. Not on the Bronze/Iron age technology possessed by Ancient Israel. Roman Ballistae might have a chance, and a Macedonian Phalanx could make a melee fight in the open stick, but I wouldn’t want to try that kind of a battle without at least trebuchet, if not cannon. And this is from a guy who knows how to solo a T-Rex; T-Rex has one primary weapon, the bite. The solution is a fuck-off amount of three feet long spikes covering your whole body, that way it can’t bite you without facing it’s own mortal peril. You could probably win with a spear, but I’d rather have the spikes.

Dragons? Fire. The accounts of dragons possessing fire-breathing capability are nearly universal, and it is far more reasonable than you might think; using the Bombardier Beetle as a baseline, to breath fire a dragon needs the reaction of hydrogen peroxide and hydroquinone, catalysed by catalase and peroxidase; the reactants are ejected from separated storage areas into the front of the open mouth, where the reaction begins in conjunction with the rush of oxygen from heavy breathing out, causing both the reaction and the expellation of the reactants. Range could be comfortably over ten metres and still sufficient to cause burns and scalding on the victim.

Coincidentally, but rather obvious when you think about it, dragon stories generally stop after the invention of cannon, and by the 1800s, almost stop completely outside of Native American tribes.

It is therefore plain that reading the text and allowing the text to explain itself leads to the conclusion that Tannin/Levyatan are a race of immense and dangerous monsters, usually serpent-like but again not always, who’s presence is like the judgement of God, and which God Himself uses to say how awesome He is that He made them and controls their fates. Note also the contrast - the Babylonians had their gods being scared of these monsters, but right from the beginning God takes ownership of them.

The Bible tells us how these creatures lived, where they lived, their diet, their habitat, to an extent their way of life; and it exists as part of material from all over the world that shows that man and dinosaur coexisted. And if humans and dinosaurs coexisted, evolutionary beliefs about ages collapse.

----

Nehemiah 2:13; “I went out by night by the Valley Gate to the Dragon Spring and to the Dung Gate, and I inspected the walls of Jerusalem that were broken down and its gates that had been destroyed by fire.”- presumably, the Dragon spring was a well or spring that was named for a resident/visitor dragon.

Psalm 91:13; “You will tread on lion and viper; you will trample young lion and dragon.” - the point is to talk about the protection of God; the claim about jackals makes no sense, and using serpent instead has already been covered. Further, the Septuagint uses Drakkon here.

Isaiah 27:1; “In that day GOD will punish Leviathan the fleeing serpent with His fierce, great, strong sword, Leviathan the twisted serpent! He will slay the dragon in the sea.” Again, entirely pointless unless it refers to either a real animal, or a mythologised version of a real animal.

Isaiah 51:9; “Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of GOD, awake, as in days of old, the generations of long ago. Was it not You who cut Rahab in pieces, who pierced the dragon?” Again, a pointless exercise if not referring to an actual event.

Jeremiah 51:34; “Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon has devoured me, crushed me, set me aside like an empty dish, swallowed me up like a dragon, filled his belly with my delicacies, rinsed me away.” Jackals cannot eat even a whole arm, and certainly cannot swallow a whole man as the similie depends on; whereas plenty of large carnivorous dinosaurs could.

Ezekiel 29:3, “Speak and say, thus says the LORD GOD: ‘Behold, I am against you, Pharaoh King of Egypt, the great dragon lying in his rivers, who says: “My Nile is my own—I made it for myself.” The idea is to convey that Egypt believes itself to be extremely powerful, before it is cast down in judgement.

Exodus 7:9, 7:10 and 7:12; “So Moses and Aaron went in to Pharaoh and did as Adonai had commanded. Aaron threw down his staff before Pharaoh and before his servants, and it became a dragon. Then Pharaoh called for the wise men and the sorcerers, and they too, the magicians of Egypt, did the same with their secret arts. For each man threw down his staff, and they became dragons. But Aaron’s staff swallowed up their staffs.” Not much to say here, although the Septuagint again uses drakkon both times, instead of one of the words that means a snake.

Genesis 1:21; “And God created the great dragons and every living soul that moves, which the waters brought forth abundantly after their nature, and every winged fowl after its nature; and God saw that it was good.” This is one of the few times the Septuagint uses keytos (whale) to translate Tannin, however, dragons are traditionally associated with the sea and sky, so it makes sense that they are created on day 5.

Plural form:

Deuteronomy 32:33: “Their wine is the poison of dragons, and the cruel venom of asps.” This also informs us that some dragons were poisonous, a feature noted of certain dinosaurs, and never with jackals.

Job 7:12; “Am I a sea, or a dragon, that you set a watch over me?” Again linking dragons to the sea.

Job 30:29; “I am a brother to the dragons, & a companion to the ostriches.” By this, he is continuing his theme, and he means he is alone, ostracised from the community. Jackals however, operate in packs.

Psalms 44:19; “Though you have broken us in the place of dragons, and covered us with the shadow of death.” Doesn’t tell us much this one, as it’s relying on the nature of tanninim to convey the situation.

Psalms 74:13; “You split open the sea by your strength; You broke the heads of the dragons in the waters.” Possibly a reference to the Flood.

Psalms 148:7; “Praise the LORD from the earth, you dragons, and all deeps:” An intriguing statement, given extra-Biblical documentation of dragon intelligence, which some sources put as near-Human.

Isaiah 13:21; “But wild animals will lie down there, and their houses will be full of howling creatures; there ostriches will dwell, and there wild goats will dance.” while it doesn’t say dragon, it says howling creatures, Wycliffe was happy to write dragouns as his translation solely from the sound identified, and it has to be inquired why he did so if humans could not have encountered dragons to record the sound.

Isaiah 13:22; " And the wild beasts shall cry in their desolate houses, and dragons in their pleasant palaces: and her time is near to come, and her days shall not be prolonged.” Given the reference is about animals being used as tools for judgement, it’s no surprise that dragons are mentioned.

Jeremiah 9:11; “I will make Jerusalem a heap of ruins, a lair of dragons, and I will make the cities of Judah a desolation, without inhabitant.” Again, a judgement making the city uninhabitable.

Jeremiah 10:22; “Behold, the noise of the bruit is come, and a great commotion out of the north country, to make the cities of Judah desolate, and a den of dragons.“ again, dragons used as a symbol of judgement.

Jeremiah 14:6; 2and the wild asses stood in the high places, they snuffed up the wind like dragons; their eyes failed because there was no grass.“ This gives us information about how dragons breathed, which is something very difficult to know unless you either witnessed it or heard from someone who had.

Jeremiah 49:33; “And Hazor shall be a dwelling for dragons, and a desolation for ever: there shall no man abide there, nor any son of man dwell in it.“ Again, using dragons as a symbol of judgement.

Jeremiah 51:37; “And Babylon shall become heaps, a dwellingplace for dragons, an astonishment, and a hissing, without an inhabitant.” Jeremiah again uses the presence of dragons as a judgement.

Ezekiel 32:2 “ “Son of man, raise a lamentation over Pharaoh king of Egypt and say to him: “You consider yourself a lion of the nations, but you are like a dragon in the seas; you burst forth in your rivers, trouble the waters with your feet, and foul their rivers.”Not much to say here.

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stardustndice · 4 years

Text

𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓅 𝒷𝓎 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓅 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝐹𝑒𝒶𝓇

part two of an Obi Wan Kenobi x senator!reader trilogy. read part one here.

summary: you train with Obi Wan then drag him to a market. Pining ensues.

a/n: it’s finally here! part two of my Obi Wan trilogy. This one is much longer and I’m very proud of it. Hope you are too. Lots of love to my followers who gave me wonderful feedback on part one <3

wordcount: 3332 (damn)

warnings: none :)

taglist: @karasong @kaminobiwan @snips-n-skyguy0501 @captain-skytrash(let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this work, future Obi Wan works, or overall!)

Of course the rest of your afternoon had to go by as slowly as possible. Padmé knocked on your door only a few moments after Obi Wan slipped out. She insisted that you relieve your duties temporarily, at least until the council believed that whomever was out for your blood was no longer a threat. You agreed. It was difficult not to; Senator Amidala was not known to take no for an answer when it came to aiding the people she cared about.

So, you spent your time sifting through paperwork, signing documents, and attempting to lift different small objects with the Force. The only success you managed was the tip of a pen hovering about an inch off of your desk. Obi Wan would be so proud, you snarked to yourself.

Intrusive doubts weaved thick webs in your mind as hours ticked by. One of the most formidable Jedi in the entire Order agreed to train you, a senator whose name was always on the tip of someone else’s tongue but never quite remembered. What if you were weak with the Force? What if he was disappointed in your abilities? How could you look him in the eye after that, knowing you failed him? These and many other questions accompanied you on your stealthy journey to the Jedi Temple.

Your hood ruffled in the midnight breeze when you entered the Temple. You were tempted to take off the hood but decided against it; you had no idea who roamed the halls of the Temple in the dead of night.

“You made it.”

Well, maybe one idea.

Mirth was clear in your eyes when you turned to see Obi Wan leaning on a pillar beside you. “Surprised?” you teased. He shrugged and began walking down the hallway, his cloak billowing behind him. After jogging to catch up with his long strides, a weight settled upon your tongue. You’d never had problems speaking to others before. Why now?

It seemed that Obi Wan sensed your nerves because he nudged you with his shoulder. “No need to be scared. Today is just for the basics, whatever happens, happens.” You nodded but couldn’t help the sinking disappointment, which showed in your small pout. “What’s wrong?”

“Sort of wanted you to show me one of your fancy Jedi mind tricks.” you couldn’t help the giggle that built up in your chest at his deadpan expression and exasperated sigh. “Can you blame me? The Force is mysterious. In a way, so is the Jedi Order. I’d like to see what others do not, General, and perhaps learn it, too.” Now he was surprised. You could tell from his wide eyes and subtle smile that he wore: he was impressed.

“I trust you won’t use what I teach you for your own personal gain?” Obi Wan questioned. You gave him a look that seemed to say ‘do you really think that low of me?’ and he chuckled. You finally arrived at a set of towering bronze doors and the nervous tug in your stomach returned. This was what you’d been waiting for. He pushed the doors open.

In front of you was a large training area, equipped with the typical sparring mats and such. You followed Obi Wan to the far side of the room. Thin pillows were evenly placed around one large circle in the middle. You suspected it was for meditation. Your breath was snatched away, though, when your eyes trailed up to the ceiling.

A dense blanket of stars swam under the dome ceiling, rotating gradually around a larger star in the center. Violet clouds were strung between the twinkling lights, surrounded by the inky black ceiling. You’d seen the night sky on your home planet, unobstructed by artificial light, but this was different. You felt as if you could reach out and hold one of the stars in the palm of your hand.

You cleared your throat and turned back to Obi Wan, who was smiling at your awed expression. “How did you ever get used to that?” you asked breathlessly. “You don’t,” he replied. “Sit.”

You sat across from him on the edge of the large circle, fidgeting a little. When he sat down in front of you his knees touched yours and your heart twirled. His determined stare caught you off guard. “You wanted to see a fancy mind trick. This is one of them,” he explained. “I’m going to enter your mind, although it isn’t forced and I need your consent to do so. I will only be able to see memories and only memories you allow me to access. When I’m inside, imagine doors that open to reveal a memory. Open one door that you are alright with me entering and seeing the memory instead. Do you understand?” You nodded, momentarily stunned. He was very thorough in his explanation and you thought it was kind of him to consider whether or not you were comfortable with him strolling through your mind.

Well, it was now or never. You steeled yourself in place, raising your posture, and truly embodied the image you’d created for yourself as a senator: strong, composed, and prepared. It was only when Obi Wan lifted his fingers to your temple that your posture faltered. It felt like he was pushing up against some sort of barrier that stood in your consciousness, though you had no idea how it got there.

“It seems you’ve already protected yourself against attacks on your mind, Senator,” he mused. You felt a flush of embarrassment crawl up your cheeks. “I don’t know why that’s there...how do I let you in?” you asked. “Relax,” he purred, sending a jolt of something up your spine, something that you had never felt before. You then followed his order, imagining the wall melting away like a thin sheet of ice.

Abruptly pulled under the waters of the Force, you gasped. A wave of reassurance tugged you back to the surface, courtesy of Obi Wan. You had a bird’s-eye view of Obi Wan walking amongst a hall of white doors. When he spoke, it was into your mind instead of out of his mouth. “I cannot go through a closed door. Open one that you’re comfortable sharing,” he instructed, glancing at his surroundings. After a moment of concentration, you picked a memory and visualized a door creaking open. Before you knew it, he was walking through.

The Jedi smiled gently when he walked onto the tall grasses of Nuca. The soil was soft beneath his boots and tropical flowers grew in bunches of fuchsia and teal on the side of the volcano. Giggles floated by his ears and he turned, spotting a child bounding down the volcano at full speed.

Watching Obi’s face glow with happiness at one of your fondest memories set off a fountain of sparks inside of you. No, scratch that. The feeling was akin to warm honey dripping slowly but exquisitely into your soul.

You watched as your child-self began to roll down the flowering hill, laughing as dirt and grime coated your hair and clothing. “You can bring yourself here, you know. Just imagine jumping down into the grass,” Obi said, somehow looking straight at you despite your lack of a corporeal form. As soon as you envisioned your legs landing in the soil, you materialized beside him.

“Your memories are some of the most vivid I’ve ever experienced. How often do you relive this?” he asked, inhaling deeply. You answered truthfully: “At least once a week, if not more. This is one of my most treasured memories of my childhood, before the Separatists invaded…” you trailed off, a bitter taste on your tongue at the thought. He sent you another push of comfort through the force, which seeped into your bones and relaxed you. The two of you drank in the nearly-overpowering scent of wildflowers and seawater until you heard a quiet fizzling behind you.

A door, worn and wooden, had appeared in the middle of the grass. Intrigued, you walked towards it. Obi Wan said nothing behind you as you approached the mysterious entrance. When you turned the handle and entered, you were suddenly back in the Jedi Temple, although you knew not where. Looking around, you gathered that you were in someone’s quarters.

Muffled crying drew you across the room to the corner by the bedside table. A crumpled form draped in wrinkled Padawan robes was quivering in that corner. Shadows bathed the room and the night hung quietly in the sky as you squinted, attempting to make out the identity of the person. When a door opened behind you, you kept your focus on the figure, whose face was then revealed, tear-stained and heaving with sobs.

Your heart plunged violently into your stomach when you saw the youthful face of Obi Wan Kenobi.

As if someone flicked a switch, your vision went black. Any air in your lungs was siphoned out in an instant and you gasped in vain. You tried to grope for something or someone to hold onto, you discovered that you couldn’t move and it didn’t even feel like you had limbs. A harsh buzzing sound grew louder and louder in your head. When you thought your eardrums would rupture and your lungs would give out, you were thrown back into the training arena, clawing at your throat on the ground.

When you finally regained oxygen in your throbbing lungs, you weakly turned to see Obi Wan gawking at you. “You...weren’t supposed to see that. H-How did you see that?” he muttered, frozen a few feet away from you and the position he was originally in. Slowly, you sat up, resting your forearms on your knees and gazing at him, trying to decipher how best to tell him ‘a door appeared and you didn’t exactly say not to walk through it so I walked through it.’

What you were most worried about though, was what you saw. What happened to him? You were searching for answers while trying not to aggravate whatever dormant trauma you might’ve awakened in Kenobi. So, you waited. You waited for him to reach out to you, whether it was physically or verbally. The memory was already revealed in all of its anguish, thanks to you, he just needed to address it. Pushing him to tell you something he most likely kept to himself for years was the last thing you wanted to do.

Hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do, and yet here you were.

“It was after my master’s funeral,” Obi Wan said softly, almost whispering. You stood and his eyes trailed your form warily as you walked to sit beside him. Sadness was still raw in his eyes, so you didn’t pry, waiting. “I watched him die at the hands of a Sith,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. You were so used to seeing him calm and put together that the seething, contained anger in his voice scared you. “I-”

He was quieted by your hand on his shoulder. You gave him a reassuring look and squeezed his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, Obi.” To your surprise, a blush materialized on his cheeks as he stared at you. You leaned slightly away from him for a moment, trying to discover what you said wrong. It hit you: that was the first time you’d ever called him by his first name. His blush infected your face as well, resulting in an awkward silence that clogged the air between you.

Standing and clearing his throat, Obi Wan held out a hand to help you up and you accepted. You both had an unspoken agreement in that moment to focus on something else. For the rest of the night he walked you through basic movements, both of you trying to bury the awkwardness of earlier. You suggested having a session at the same time, same day, once a week, and he agreed enthusiastically. When you left for the Senate Building, however, guilt sank heavy in the pit of your stomach. You had to make it up to him somehow, or risk breaking the bond the two of you had woven.

Days rolled by as you attempted to keep yourself occupied until your next training session with Obi Wan, or at least until the council deemed it safe for you to return to your duties. Four days into your forced vacation, a knock beckoned you away from your book. You brushed off your slightly wrinkled clothes and opened the door to be met with the face of the very Jedi you were dying to see. Both excitement and lingering guilt from your training session bubbled in your chest and you smiled.

“General Kenobi, what can I do for you?” you asked smoothly, using what you liked to call your ‘senator voice.’ He peeked over your shoulder to ask if he could enter and you swiftly moved aside. His cloak rippled behind him as he entered and you shut the door. “Is something wrong?” you wondered aloud. You prayed that he wasn’t here to lecture you about the breach of his privacy or even cut you off from meeting with him altogether.

The tension in your every muscle slipped away when he turned to you and spoke. “The council has assigned me to be your guard until the assassin and whatever organization might be behind the attack on your life is taken care of.” You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face, and he mirrored you with a soft smile. The prospect of spending more time with him caused your excitement to swell. “Of course, General. I am happy to oblige with anything the council deems is necessary.” Obi Wan nodded and looked around at your quarters. They weren’t exactly spotless after spending most of four days in them. You squirmed in place before you remembered something and surged forwards towards Obi Wan.

“Does that mean I get to go out? Can I leave my quarters and go out into Coruscant? As long as you’re with me, of course,” you rambled, gaze darting between his eyes to try and draw out an answer. His face scrunched up in hesitation. It was rather cute.

“Technically, yes, but it isn’t recommended…” he trailed off, witnessing your victorious expression and watching as you sped to your closet to pull out a heavy cloak. His confused face caused you to halt in the middle of your routine.

“There’s a market going on that only happens once every decade. It’s on the outskirts of the Uscru District, a bit hidden away. I know Uscuru isn’t the friendliest place but the market doesn’t go fully into the district. You can accompany me so I’m safe,” you explained. Wearing a skeptical expression, Obi Wan was silent as he stared at your hopeful eyes. You kept up the innocent act for a moment longer before he finally gave in. “Alright, we’ll go. Always stay close to me. Try not to wander off. I don’t need any more grey hairs,” he snarked playfully, opening the door for you. You took a deep breath and turned to him before walking out. “I think a few grey hairs are handsome. It shows maturity, don’t you think, General?” you asked.

The blush that bloomed on his cheeks and his wide blue eyes was an image you wouldn’t soon forget.

When the two of you arrived at the market, you gasped in wonder. A diverse crowd of Coruscanti citizens mingled and shopped in a strangely well-lit, wide alleyway. Paper lanterns were strung along the top of the alley, revealing stalls packed in amongst one another. You nearly tripped when you scrambled out of the speeder Obi Wan pilotted, snatching his hand and dragging him along with you. His protests were drowned out by the chatter of customers and your pounding heart.

Before you could fully immerse yourself in the market, Obi Wan grabbed you by the shoulders and spun you around to face his stern glare. You withered a little under his gaze and avoided his eyes. It was your turn to blush when he took your hood and placed it over your head, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Go on,” he whispered, smiling at your eagerness. You spun back around but not before grabbing his hand again and yanking him along with you (his yelp of surprise made you laugh).

The goods on display in the market immediately took your breath away. One stall sold spherical glass vases stuffed to the brim with fruits and flowers, another offered vivid candles that seemed to melt up instead of down. You hadn’t seen such bright colors since you left home. Exotic scents and sights seemed to fill every crevasse of the market, bringing Nuca and its brilliant scenery back to you. Every attendee was different, some of them you’d never seen before. You wondered if this market wasn’t just renowned within Coruscant but the entire galaxy. You began to feel very small and you slowed down, breathing heavily.

Someone squeezing your hand tugged you back to reality. You didn’t realize that you never let go of Obi Wan’s hand. He sent a familiar push of reassurance through the Force and you squeezed his hand back. “See anything you like?” you asked, trying to change the subject. He shook his head. “Jedi cannot indulge in material pleasures,” he answered, to which you rolled your eyes. “Just because you can’t indulge in something doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy its existence all the same.” He nodded in surrender, continuing to meander through the throng of customers.

After strolling through the market for a while, you stumbled upon a stall selling vibrant paintings. You slowed to look at each of the paintings, marvelling at the patient craftsmanship. Obi Wan saw your interest and walked you to the stall. The owner, an elderly human woman, lit up when she spotted the two of you approaching. While Obi asked about her art and how she became so skilled, your eyes stopped at one painting. It was a mountain dotted with dew-kissed grasses and blooming flowers. It was Nuca.

“Do you like that one, dear?” the woman asked. “I can’t blame you. It’s one of my favorites. The colors on Nuca are so bright. Quite suitable to paint.” You nodded, a deep sadness swallowing you whole. Homesickness hadn’t sunk its claws this deep into you since the flowers you brought from Nuca died. There was no way Obi Wan hadn’t sensed your shift in mood, you knew that, though you were still surprised when he turned you away from the booth and bid farewell to the merchant.

“What are you planning, General?” you asked, quirking a brow at him. He avoided your gaze but offered you a smirk. “You were so happy before. I’m not going to let some painting ruin your outing,” he replied. His thoughtfulness lifted your mood through the rest of your visit to the market. Although you didn’t purchase anything, you learned more about Kenobi’s taste in ‘material goods.’

Before you knew it, he was leading you back to your quarters. You’d never admit it, but you felt like a teenager again, a flower in your hand and your date walking you to the door of your house. Except this time he held your cloak and you fussed with your clothing. Close enough.

Both of you saw a blush on the face of the other as you stopped in front of the door to your quarters. Obi Wan placed your cloak in your hands and you thanked him. You wanted to say something but the words faded in your lungs when he placed a quick kiss on your hand. When he turned away, you watched him go with a longing in your soul you could never explain.

That longing had made a home in his soul, too.

#Obi Wan Kenobi x reader #Obi Wan x reader #star wars #Star Wars fanfiction #fanfiction #sol writes #userkarina #userxkara

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loveafterthefact · 3 years

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Love After the Fact Chapter 75: Two Different Kinds of Tension

One of our lead couples has lunch with their in-laws and the other couples goes on a date.

Much, much later than I said it would be, here’s chapter 75!!!

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Adam is preparing to return home, watched by a very forlorn Galra. As eager as he is to go home, to get every detail of Altea back into working order, he finds a certain reluctance tugging at the back of his shirt. A part of him wants to stay.

“Do you really have to go?” Shiro asks, not for the first or last time, even though he already knows the answer. He wants Adam to stay too, or maybe he wants to follow. Neither is possible.

“Yes, I really have to go.” Adam pulls the last of his clothes from the captain’s closet, realizing just how many of his things -all of them- made it into Shiro’s quarters. “I’m leaving tomorrow with their Majesties and Pidge, as planned and expected.”

“I know. I know. I’m just really gonna miss you. You can’t blame me for that.”

“I suppose not.” Adam murmurs, laying out a set of nightclothes and a change of clothes for tomorrow on the stool up against the wall. “Though I still don’t really know what you see in me.”

“No, you don’t, do you?” Shiro hangs his shears on the wall, sweeping the trimmings off the floor below his trellises. The pieces he wants to keep are laid out on a worktable, ready to be tied and hung. All normal, innocent, except for the sly smirk on the man’s face.

Adam bristles. No one gets under his skin, sees everything underneath, the way Shiro does.

“I am a soldier, Adam. As far as I’m concerned, loyalty is the best characteristic a person can possess. The Captain takes his hand, gently tugs to pull him closer. “You fit that ideal more than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re clever, conniving, brilliant, beautiful-”

“That’s not-”

“It is true,” Shiro insists. “You are many things, and I wonder if you’re actually living up to your true potential.”

Adam licks his lips. Gulps. Melts against Shiro’s encompassing frame. “I am happy with what I’m doing. Though I’m not happy it’s time to leave.”

“It’s probably for the best, though. At least for now. My season is coming up in another movement. It might be a good thing you’re a planet away.”

“Right.” Adam’s edges fit with Shiro’s as best it can despite the size difference between them. “Call me after so I know you’re well, and let me know if I can send you anything.”

“Definitely. I’ll probably be missing your voice anyway. Maybe you could leave something of yours behind for me?”

“Just pick something. Whatever you want.” Adam closes his eyes, wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more. I don’t want to leave you behind bonded to me.”

“I know. I’ll hold out for a day in the future, when one of us finally decides to retire. When we’re old and impotent.”

Adam scoffs. “Like we’ll like that long.” He steps back. “But I’ll look forward to it, just in case… What should we do with our last day?”

“Steal a ship and go for a joyride?” Shiro suggests. “I have something I’d like to show you.”

Adam regards his companion. “Yes, alright.”

“Excellent!”

As he pulls Adam down the hall, he never lets go of his hand. Adam doesn’t let go either.

Lance sighs, finishing the final clasp on his vest. “Can’t believe we’re going from baby joy to lunch with Zarkon. Are we being punished?”

“I’m just surprised he actually wants to see me,” Keith admits, tossing his now ill-fitting vest aside in favor of traditional clothes. He plans to decline a new wardrobe upon his return, at least until he has the kit. There’s no point in wasting materials. “I bet it’s just out of obligation. We’ve been here a phoeb and a half and he hasn’t called upon us yet. Word’s probably reached the people by now. Do I look okay?”

“What do you mean?” Lance asks.

“Do I… I want him to regret it. Throwing me away,” Keith whispers. “I want him to know he made a mistake.”

Lance stares at him for a long moment before kissing his forehead. “If he doesn’t already know, he will. That’s a promise, beloved. As for how you look, you look like a prince of Altea. We can do better, and we will soon, but this will do for now.”

“What does better look like?”

“Like a Galran prince of Altea. Like I said, when we go home, we’ll pick some better colors for you, and get some new jewelry made, and maybe replace this-” Lance points at Keith’s circlet. “-with that comb I gave you.”

Keith smiles, takes a deep breath. “Let’s grab Bruna and Calik. I don’t feel like walking- hi, baby!” BleepBloop scurries in, leaping into Keith’s open arms, wrapping his own arms around the prince’s neck. “Aw, I missed you too. You wanna come make a mess at lunch? Yeah, let’s go.”

“My only real competition,” Lance quips.

Keith cradles his pet, turning to his mate with a grin. “For now.”

Lance gasps, pretending offense. “That goes both ways, beloved!”

The princes mount their elk, returned this quintant by Krolia, hastening them on toward the compound at the top of the mountain. Krolia is waiting for them, smile quiet and subtle, another Galra with cheek and lip piercings standing beside her. “Bashti, take these elk to the stables; make sure they are fed and watered. Your majesties, I have been asked to escort you. His excellency has decided to eat outside today.”

Krolia leads them through halls into a courtyard bearing nothing but a table furnished with food and drink. The edge of the open ceiling is framed by columns, shaded halls beyond. The royal family is already there, Lotor speaking urgently to his father. Krolia leans in to explain.

“One of Captain Shirogane’s men, Haxus, failed to report a few quintants ago. No one has seen him since. This makes forty-seven members of the compound militia. Others have vanished from various fleets and battalions. Zarkon believes they are simply deserters. Lotor disagrees.”

Allura catches sight of them from her seat next to Lotor, face splitting into a grin when she sees her brother. She gets up, hurrying over, throwing her arms around her brother.

“Hi! It’s so good to see you both!”

“Hey! How’s my nibling doing?” Lance pats Allura’s rounding belly.

“Nibling is fine. I’m fine too, in case you were wondering. Lotor is… resisting the urge to commit patricide-”

“Sounds normal.”

“Yes. Romelle is… less fine, but she’s relatively healthy, so that’s something.” Allura tucks a loose curl behind her ear.

“I’m so sorry, ‘Lura.”

“It is what it is.” Allura smiles. “Father’s still looking, but at this point I’m not optimistic.”

“We’ll make sure she’s well taken care of, regardless.” Lance kisses his sister’s cheek, maneuvering carefully around her protruding belly. “Shall we go rescue your dear husband before he runs out of self-restraint?”

“Please and thank you,” Allura agrees. She pulls Keith into a hug. “I’m so glad to see you’re well-”

The prince pounds his fist on the table, making Allura jump. “IT IS NOT NORMAL!!!”

“Son, please. There is political upheaval. The people will adjust.”

Lotor seethes, jabbing a finger at his father. “You are completely-”

“Ah, Crown Prince Lancel, Prince Yorak! Welcome! I apologize for anything you might have overheard. My son and I were just having a disagreement.”

“It’s fine.” Lance waves away the emperor’s apology with a cheerful smile before helping Keith into his chair. “I’m just glad to know I’m not the only one who has the occasional screaming match with their father.”

“Oh, surely you and Alfor get along,” Honerva protests. “You are both so much alike.”

“I know.” Lance’s grin is sheepish as he takes his seat. If he notices the sly curl to the empress consort’s smile, he doesn’t show it. “I fear that’s where the problem lies. Our personalities are quite similar, but our views are quite different.”

“It is always this way with sons,” Honerva sighs. “It is for this reason I hope my sweet daughter is carrying a daughter of her own.”

Keith can feel the way Lance bristles at Honerva’s claim to his sister and nibling. He nudges his mate with his foot under the table.

Allura rescues them from a response. “Son, daughter, neither, either, I care not. If they are healthy and firm in their convictions, I will be satisfied.”

Zarkon grunts. “Better a son. At least let them present as male, so they’ll have better success in conquest.”

“Father, that is wildly archaic.” Lotor glares. “Conquest isn’t everything.”

“Conquest is the foundation for our entire society! If we have no conquest, we have nothing!” the emperor snaps.

Lance sighs. “Just when I think I understand you people…”

“Mnh. Understanding. A powerful thing,” Lotor agrees. “One that our peoples unfortunately struggle to find.” His gaze darts to his father with vicious accuracy.

Keith takes a deep breath, willing no one to start a fight as he starts in on his lunch. He has no real fondness for his uncle or aunt, less so as time goes on, as he processes everything these people have done to him. He meets his cousin’s eyes across the table, a flicker of understanding in his hybrid eyes.

“I’m working on it,” Lance continues, clearly trying to steer conversation. “I have a few ideas, but nothing actionable as of now… What concerns me is the fear. The locals here were terrified of me when I first arrived. It’s taken me my entire stay and a kronil attack to gain their trust, and I’m still not entirely sure that I have it.”

“They trust you,” Keith assures, dropping a kiss to his shoulder.

“Mnh. They did until we got back from your den in the woods and all my scales were glowing red.”

“They what now?” Allura looks up from her lunch, eyeing her brother with bafflement. “Why would they do that?”

When Lance only shrugs, Honerva cuts in. “Your alchemical abilities are unstable, aren’t they?”

Lance nods. Keith rises to his defense. “But improving every day.”

There’s a stretch of awkward silence in the wake of Honerva’s unimpressed look.

“At any rate,” Zarkon says, breaking the silence. “You all have much to learn, including how to be respectful of tradition. The Galra will not be altering their ways to please the Alteans. It’s your duty to make amends.”

“Make amends?” Lance frowns.

“Your people attacked us. Sooner or later, reparations must be paid.”

Lance inhales, ready to snap, but Keith kicks him under the table. The Altean bites his tongue, not willing to put Keith in the line of fire, even indirectly.

“I'm sure we’ll pay in one way or another,” Lance murmurs, thinking of his people’s declining numbers and quality of life. “We both will, I think. Having so much mistrust in your closest neighbor, it’s not good for any of us.”

Zarkon hums, watching Lance eat. He says nothing. No one does.

Keith watches his uncle, observing the way he inspects his mate. He can sense Honerva observing them, too. A glance at his cousin and sister-in-law shows that they’ve both noticed the imperial couple’s fixation on them. He wonders suddenly if his uncle can tell he’s pregnant, is already deciding how to use their kit the moment they’re born. Possibly before, if he can come up with something.

Have they made a mistake?

Keith finds Lance’s hand under the table, guides it to where his blade is concealed at his hip, a silent warning that they might be in danger. Lance laces their fingers together, acknowledging his concerns, promising support.

It only occurs to Keith much later that Lance was extremely careful not to reveal how much authority he has on Altea. He suspects that was for the best.

“So, you’ve seen rivers by now, and rain, and thunderstorms, but have you ever seen a sea?”” Shiro asks.

“I have not. I assume by your tone they are impressive?”

“I find them impressive, so I figure an Altean would as well. And this particular place has sentimental value to me.”

“Very well, then,” Adam sighs, pretending to find the excursion tedious. “Show me.”

Shiro kisses his cheek. “Always so contrary. I’ll settle us a ways back from the shore… This is where I was born, though it was a village at the time. It was destroyed in a skirmish before I lost my first set of teeth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Mnh. Thank you, but I don’t really remember enough to be sorry myself.”

They both know that’s why Adam is sorry, but neither mentions it.

Shiro settles their ‘borrowed’ craft down on a flat bit of orange rock speckled with green corals, lowers the ramp. Adam takes the Galra’s hand preemptively, finding the action oddly satisfying. “Show me your sea, then. And what’s left of your first home.”

Shiro leads him from the craft, onto a swath of rock formations. The air smells of salt. “Watch your step. It’s just this way. I would have landed closer, but there’s not much more than sand where we’re going. It’s not good for the craft.”

Shiro leads him down the smoothed mounds of stone and around a bend, revealing a view of blue sky and brilliant green lagoon, waves curling over bright yellow sands. There are large, winged reptiles flapping overhead, diving into the water. In the distance, a great beast breaches the water, scales glinting in the sunlight, fins like wings as it sails long over the water.

“Well, here it is. The, um. The headman’s house was over there-” Shiro points their joined hands across the sand to the other side of the lagoon. “And there was a dock in the middle that stretched to the edge of the lagoon and across in both directions. The homes were made of wood and reeds, and they floated on the water.”

“What happened when it stormed?”

“We came ashore and hid in the cave cellars. Or so I’ve been told.” Shiro smiles. “We were a fishing village, and our livelihood came from the sea. Can you imagine it? Me? A fisherman?! But who knows, maybe I would have been good at it. Happy, even.”

“I can’t quite see you sitting on a mat of floating reeds, catching fish,” Adam muses. “I don’t think you could sit still long enough, if fishing actually works as I’ve heard it does.”

“With a stick and a string? Yes, that’s how it works.”

“Definitely not for you.” Adam gazes out at the green water, wind in his hair, salt in his nose, sun on his skin. “Then again, I imagine you would have loved the view. You could fish, and stare at it all day, imagining what’s beneath and on the other side.”

Shiro laughs. “I do think about it! Whenever I find the time to come here, I think about it… I’d like to take you back here, one day. To stay a few quintants, if it’s agreeable to you. I know it’s beneath you, but-”

Adam stops short, turning Shiro to face him. “It’s not. Nothing about you is beneath me, Takashi. Nothing at all. Please, if you believe nothing else, believe that.”

“If you say so.” The soldier gives him a crooked smile before leaning in to kiss him.

For once in his life, Adam decides not to resist change, or even hesitate, choosing instead to drown, to reciprocate. He pours as much into the kiss as he can, trying his best to feel sincere.

He lets their tongues twist, one smooth, one raspy. His fingers curl into the Galra’s short hair as their bodies press close together.

When they finally break apart, because that’s how it always is, Shiro’s gaze is part surprise, part questioning.

“I will miss you, Shiro. Every day.” It’s imperative that Shiro believes him.

“I’ll miss you too. Every day.” The Galra smiles, gray eyes shockingly warm.

Adam turns back to the sea, the waves sighing in his ears. “We should come back here someday. It’s quiet.”

“If ever we both find a day off, we will. But for this quintant, I think we have time for a walk?”

“Yes, we do.”

Grinning, Shiro reclaims his hand, leading him off across the sand, pointing out the remains of some architecture, a net stuck fast in a rockface.

When they return late in the evening, and Adam has time to pack all but the very last of his things, he finds hidden within them a small glass bottle full of bright yellow sand and a few tiny shells.

“Did you put this in here?”

“Yes. It’s a gift. I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”

Adam stares at the bottle, index finger running over a chip in the cork, a scratch in the glass. It’s an incredibly sweet gift, one he hadn’t expected.

“Takashi, will you do something for me?”

“Of course, if I can.”

“Will you- Will you write to me? Writing’s easier than talking.”

“Sure.” Shiro’s hands find his waist. “I look forward to reading what you have to write.”

“And I look forward to more gifts.”

Shiro chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Adam believes him. He promises himself he’ll reciprocate.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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mgtmnk · 4 years

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationship: Gilbert Nightray & Vincent Nightray Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Uncomfortable Sibling Interactions, Canon Compliant, Mild Gore Language: English Words: 4896 Chapters: 1/1

Slowly Vincent reaches into the folds of his skirt, extracting a pair of scissors from between them. He makes a show of flaunting them to his brother, saying yes, these are the real deal, before conspicuously placing them on a cabinet behind him, lifting his open palms and showing them to his brother with a smile. “I’m unarmed.” A joke, probably, but Vincent’s sense of humor always struck Gil as rather tasteless.

Vincent helps Gil out after a problem when he moves rooms. Basically a Vincent character study from Gil's perspective when they're 14-15 and 16 respectively. Happy birthday gay little rat

NOT SHIP

Mirror under readmore

It’s been a couple hours now, and Gilbert’s arms still don’t hurt. Part of him wishes they did, that they had the decency to make his progress seem more tangible -- in the last two years he'd lived with Nightray, he'd gotten considerably stronger, used to associating pain with advancement. Yet despite having carried several boxes of considerable weight over a distance that he feels is nothing to scoff at, Gil’s arms don’t hurt in the slightest. It’s annoying.

A crash sounds behind him and he turns around, sees books scattered across the floor. His brother looks at him in a way that does not constitute an apology and Gil groans, sets the box he was carrying down, gets to work picking up what his little brother had dropped.

“God damn it, Vince,” he mutters, and Vincent laughs under his breath. Though Gil had insisted he do the moving on his own— the maids had offered, he didn’t want to trouble them and honestly, he liked the repetitiveness of the task— Vincent was even more insistent about helping him. He’d find it endearing, if Vincent weren’t fifteen and still small enough to bowl over in a stiff breeze and definitely well aware of this, making it the third time in the five trips they’d made that Gil is forced to stoop and pick up what Vincent failed to carry. On purpose, definitely, because when Gil glances up at him Vincent smirks like a cat who’s caught the canary. Gil makes the decision to not think about this comparison too hard.

“Brother’s a lot stronger than me,” Vincent says, and finally drops to his knees to clean up his own mess. “It still makes me sad to see him doing all this work on his own, though. I’d feel terrible to leave him by himself…”

The mess is cleaned up quickly, given that only a few books of Gil’s relatively sizable collection were dropped. That was one of the advantages of moving into Nightray— he’d never had much chance to do much reading on his own with Vessalius, given his daily duties, and he’d since discovered he was quite fond of it. About the only advantage, actually, with Vincent now clinging to his side, box in hand. He stands not an inch from his brother, their positions threatening collision.

“I know change is unpleasant… but, well, if nothing else, the room will be bigger.”

They round a corner. Gil scowls. “I don’t want a bigger room. I was perfectly content with things as they were.”

“But the room needed renovations… and brother’s an adult now, anyway. He’s even got women lining up to propose to him, doesn’t he?”

That is a subject Gil distinctly does not want to broach, so he doesn’t grace Vincent with an answer until they finally get to what is intended as his new room. It is certainly larger than his old one, with room enough for even a desk and shelves, unlike the child’s quarters he’d been living in previously. The bed was bigger to match, too, but this just made Gilbert more annoyed as they set down the boxes they had been carrying. Vincent’s had been books, but Gil carried the larger box containing personal possessions. Among those he had originally intended to pack his bedding, until Vincent pointed out that they wouldn’t fit on the new bed. Nightray has plenty of sheets to match any of their beds, sure, but Gil had gotten used to one particular set. He doesn’t want to have to get used to a new one.

Vincent sees him contemplating and laughs. “Still grieving those lost sheets?”

“I wish I were like you sometimes, able to fall asleep anywhere. I have to be dead tired to fall asleep anywhere that isn’t a bed.”

Gil actually falls asleep in places other than his bed quite often. He is frequently dead tired. Vincent definitely knows this, but doesn’t comment, to Gil’s relief. Instead he helps put away Gil’s things without comment or complaint, setting to work organizing his bookshelf without prompting. Though Gil’s tempted to watch him, make sure he doesn’t mess it up, he decides against it. Better to focus on his own task than get worked up over the possibility that Vincent will mess up an easy, inconsequential chore. Even if he gets it wrong, Gil sort of likes the process of putting away books.

“One more trip,” Gil sighs as the last thing he’d been carrying is finally stowed away. “Are you sure you won’t drop anything this time?”

“I won’t!”

It’s said so earnestly Gil almost believes it, even though he’d asked the same thing last time and got the same answer. He stands up from where he’d been crouching in front of a bedside table, stretches, lets his eyes drift to a window unobscured by curtains. It’s large, looking out to the garden, and he can see Elliot and Vanessa outside playing in the summer heat.

Vincent must have caught where he was staring. “Good thing our other brothers are out, hm?”

‘Other’ is pronounced with a fair bit of contempt, Gilbert thinks, but even that seems disingenuous. Their elder brothers probably hate Vincent even more than they hate him, for reasons Gil doesn’t understand, but Vincent acts like he hates them more for a joke than for the legitimate reasons he most certainly has. It sets Gil on edge even more than some of Vincent’s other eccentricities.

“Come on,” he mumbles and leaves the room, not having the check over his shoulder to know Vincent was trailing not a foot behind him.

The last things they need to carry over are some of Gil’s old clothes and the biggest box of books. Given that the former would probably be lighter and thus easier to carry, Gilbert takes the latter. Wordlessly Vincent takes the box that remains, and when the two leave Gil’s old room it is finally left completely empty. Somehow, the thought of that poor old room— walls stripped bare, mattress left open to the elements, windows without curtains and the dresser empty of contents— somehow, the thought of it makes Gil the slightest bit sad, having no one to need it anymore. He resolves to not enter it again.

No further items are dropped on their last trek to Gil’s last room, Vincent remaining quiet the entire time in a way that was either eerie or pleasant; Gil wasn’t entirely sure. The boxes are deposited— Gil’s beside a bookshelf, Vincent’s on the bed. For a moment Gil opens his mouth to ask Vincent to help him sort out his clothes— some were definitely too small for him, Vincent could drop them off to a maid he meant to give them to for her son— but he remembered his brother’s habits around fabric and dropped the subject.

“I’m not going to touch brother’s things without permission...”

Gil narrows his eyes, annoyed more at how his brother seems to read his mind when he can’t understand him at all than at what Vincent was actually saying.

“Brother’s special... I don’t break his things unless he wants me to.”

“You don’t have your scissors?” Gil asks, because he has to. There never was an occasion when Vincent had damaged any of Gil’s belongings, now that Gil took the time to recall it, but he couldn’t help but be wary around him. It was only natural.

A joke, probably, but Vincent’s sense of humor always struck Gil as rather tasteless. “Just…” he really should’ve sorted out which clothes he intended to discard before all of this, but there’s no changing the past. “Spread it all out on the bed, I’ll be able to pick out which ones are too small.”

If nothing else, Gil isn’t in the habit of keeping a lot of clothes, at least not for someone who is ostensibly a noble. He mostly likes cycling through the same few modest outfits every day until they get worn out, at which point he’ll usually repair them himself. Since arriving at Nightray he’d only gotten rid of a few old clothes too small for him, but he’d hit a growth spurt recently. Anyway, moving meant he’d have to reorganize his clothes, so he might as well deal with what he has to discard.

Little time passes for Vincent to do as he’s told, even making some initial efforts to sort the clothes into piles by side. “Oh... a lot of these look like they’d fit me.”

Gil shrugs as he climbs onto the bed, grimacing as he touches the sheets. They’re a different fabric from his old ones, and though he’s certainly worn clothes of worse material with little grievance, something about the thought of sleeping with them sets him on edge. “Then they’re too small for me. Put them in the discard pile.”

“Where are they going?”

“A maid. For her son.”

“Did brother promise them?”

With that Gil glances over questioningly, though he doesn’t really intend to. Vincent laughs.

“Brother’s always thinking of the help, isn’t he...”

“I used to be them. It’s hard not to sympathize. They’re a lot more tolerable than Nightray proper, anyway.”

“It wasn’t an insult... I think it’s sweet.”

The clothes are sorted through within a few minutes, Vincent passing no further comment, much to Gil’s relief. Having further things to sort out in his own room, he asks Vincent to drop off the clothes with the maid in question, giving her name and where he’s most likely to find her. Vincent nods, gathers the clothes in his arms, and runs off.

“Vince.”

It’s dinner. Away from the rest of the family, as usual. Aside from their adoptive siblings’ general hostility, Vincent has a habit of being asleep while the rest of the family eats, and Gil usually finds something to busy himself with so he has an excuse to be away. It had been a couple weeks since Gil made the room move, and he’s still not comfortable sleeping there. His head hurts.

“Hm? Oh... if brother wants me to eat his peppers, I’d be happy to.”

Gil flushes a bit, uncomfortable with the verbal acknowledgement of a ritual he regularly participates in. He pushes his plate towards Vincent sitting across from him and crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not about that.” He’d been avoiding the topic for about a week, but it was starting to eat at his sleep even more than the uncomfortable bed sheets, so he decided to bite the bullet. “The maid I told you to drop those clothes off to…”

“I have no idea what brother is referring to.”

Immediately Gil sucks in air through his teeth, covers his eyes with his hands, exhales, slams one fist against the table hard enough that the plate he’d given to Vincent jumps. “Vincent,” he groans, “why.”

A pause, Vincent looking to the side as a grin slowly crosses his face. “Well, I truly haven’t a clue what could’ve happened… but if I were to do such a thing… is it really that wrong for me to want some of Gil’s own…” he sighs, playing with his hair, closing his eyes. “You know, just to keep?”

The chair clatters to the ground behind him as Gil stands with enough force to knock it over. Vincent raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “A joke!” he assures. “I was joking, brother. I promise, nothing strange has been done with your clothes. I asked the maid- her son is eighteen, Gil, and already far too large for a young teenager’s clothes.”

Was that true? It could’ve been. Gil couldn’t remember ever actually asking the age of the maid’s son, just hearing that she had one. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well,” and Vincent laughs for some reason. “I do have them, yes. I was planning… it was supposed to be a surprise for the winter holiday…”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s just amateur, and only for this purpose. I’ve been studying quilting... If brother wants me to give them to the maid anyway, I will...”

“No, it’s fine, they’re probably—” Gil doesn’t know why he wanted to say tainted, doesn’t even know what he thinks Vincent could’ve done to them in the two weeks he’d have them to warrant that word. “Just keep them.”

Vincent smiles, nods, and they finish eating in silence.

The subject doesn’t come up again until a couple weeks later, when out of nowhere Vincent presents Gil with his progress on the quilt. He holds it out, grabbing it by the corner with one hand, and Gil reluctantly sets his book down to look at what he’s being shown.

“I’ve only just begun it. Time prior I spent practicing. Before I went too far, I wanted to ask brother if it felt alright.”

He’s only stitched a few squares together, not nearly large enough to take up the space of Gil’s bed, and while he obviously intended a pattern, Gil can’t figure out what it is. Gil runs his hands over the surface— he thinks Vincent must have remembered which shirts he was particularly inclined to wearing, because all of the fabric feels nice to the touch. Reluctantly he takes the swatch in hand, is surprised to find the back already pressed. When he pulls the edges of the piece apart, the stitching holds, not a single gap or give to be found.

“It’s nice,” he says, looking down at the unfinished blanket in hand. “You did this yourself?”

“I wouldn’t involve anyone else in it.”

“Huh.”

When he’d first heard about the project, Gil was almost tempted to stop Vincent. There were very few things Gil was better at than his younger brother— chores and handicrafts among them, Vincent apparently not having the patience for them. That Vincent may take sewing from him too crossed his mind, but Gil had set the thought aside. Ultimately, he doesn’t see it necessary for an older brother to be better at things than the younger. Gil is already long used to having other people be smarter than him, to the point he doesn’t really mind it anymore.

After a minute or so of inspecting the swatch Vincent had given him, Gil finally looked at his younger brother. In the time he took to test the sample he had spotted a couple mistakes where Vincent had run over the same piece too many times, made the seam a little too thin, but it really is impressive for someone’s first time. Their eyes meet, and Vincent spent half a second expressionless, as though analyzing Gil. Then he beams, smiled in a manner that actually went to the eyes, and Gil almost thought it was sweet.

“Then, is a higher loft OK?”

“I’d prefer it. I like heavy blankets.”

“That’s what I thought...”

Vincent asks him a few more questions about preferences, saying he was glad the secret got out since he’d rather make something perfect for Gil, taking the sample back and clutching it tight to his chest with both hands. The smile Vincent has never falters, and, being one of the only ones Gil had ever seen from him that wasn’t unsettling, Gil actually takes some relief from this. Soon the conversation ends, and Vincent dismisses himself, saying he has a conversation to have with their father. Gil doesn’t pry and simply watches as Vincent leaves.

Sleeping has gotten easier for Gil as the months begin to grow colder, moving out of summer into fall. Though his old resentment for his sheets remains, they no longer torment him. At this point his frustration is mostly a grudge, and sometimes he thinks about taking a page from Vincent’s book and cutting them all up for the hell of it. The thought is quickly dismissed as bizarrely cruel, and Gil chastises himself for letting his thoughts grow so morbid.

“Has training caused brother grief?”

It’s an unexpected question, one which arrives on another of their solitary dinners, and Gil isn’t sure how to answer it. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s been a sort of strange disposition about Gil lately. He doesn’t seem acclimated to things.”

Though Gil takes offense, he knows it’s true. Vincent is always much better at stomaching the sort of things they’re asked to do, doesn’t seem to mind the prospect of violence or the reality of blood. Once Gil had asked if Vincent ever regretted not being able to go to an actual school, which Vincent simply laughed at.

“I’m not sure I can do it. K- kill people, I mean.”

Vincent hums. “I wouldn’t worry about it…”

“It’s just… I can’t… I’m… I think I’m weak.”

“Gil can do it because he’s weak.”

Silence follows for the next couple minutes as Gil tries to think of an answer. He supposes it makes sense, that Vincent thinks he’s weak. There is not a single time he can remember being strong in front of him. The statement was strange, though. Gil thinks it must take a very strong person to kill someone else.

Eventually, Vincent interrupts his attempts to reply. “I meant to ask about something, actually…”

He gets up, runs off leaving an unfinished plate— Vincent was averse to vegetables, and Gil almost feels superior about this before remembering the hypocrisy of it. When Vincent gets back, he’ll give him an earful about table manners. Until then, Gil can hug his knees to his chest and think about how horribly everything he’s going to attempt in the next year is most definitely going to go.

Two or three minutes go by before Vincent’s return, at which point Gil had forgotten about chastising him and nearly forgotten he’d left in the first place. He only stops brooding with the sound of Vincent setting aside their plates and silverware, making space on the table to spread out the quilt.

“It’s not done…”

That much was obvious, given that there was neither back nor loft to it. The pattern was obvious now, though— an arrangement of angular crosses that Gil hadn’t seen before. On reflex he spends the next few minutes looking it over, testing the seams, checking how it’s pressed— Vincent had gotten significantly better over the course of making the quilt, and Gil could guess what order each part had been sewn together in.

“It’s good. Big enough, too. Are you gonna have enough fabric to finish this?” “That’s been taken care of.”

“How long did you spend on it?”

Vincent shrugs, smirking. “I just do it in my free time.”

“If you can actually manage this, it’ll be great.” It doesn’t occur to Gil to comment on the ambiguity of Vincent’s statement. Instead he runs his hands over the front, marvelling a bit at how Vincent managed to cobble enough good fabric together so that it was still pleasant to the touch.

Obligations had occupied Gil, such that he hadn’t seen Vincent all day. His family thought the two were spending too much time together, which was fair— Vincent was clingy, far past the point of being annoying. The excuse to get away from him for a while was one that was well received, and so he’d taken to his duties without complaint.

Having finished his labor for the day, Gilbert heads back to his room, now comfortable with the full arrival of autumn. He intended to get some rest, though it was rare for him to nap or sleep early. It had been a good day, though, and Gil was feeling a bit hedonistic. Maybe he’ll punish himself tomorrow, but for now, a little indulgence won’t hurt.

As soon as he turns the corner he hears familiar jeering and immediately retraces his steps, hiding behind a wall. The sounds weren’t getting closer, which meant his older brothers hadn’t spotted him. Carefully he looks over the corner, trying to get a grasp of where they are and if he can avoid them. The two of them— Ernest and Claude, older than them by a decade— both gathered around something they’ve cornered to a wall. Vincent. Obviously.

Gil presses his back to the wall he was hiding behind. Going through the entire house to avoid them was an option, but unpleasant. He wasn’t sure if he could go to the adjacent hallway without attracting their attention. If he listened to what they were saying, maybe he could get an idea of where they intended to go. Something about that option seemed impossible, though. He wouldn’t be able to understand their words even if he wanted to— or so said his convictions.

Again he looked over the corner, thinking alright, let’s just dash over, they’re too caught up in whatever’s going on with Vincent— don’t look at him. He’s not making any noise, it’s not that hard to ignore him. Yet against his best efforts Gil still pauses to stare at his younger brother by blood and miraculously, probably accidentally, they make eye contact. Vincent probably couldn’t fight off a boy his own age, much less an adult. Gil sees him mouth something indecipherable and then he steps out into the hallway, yelling something he doesn’t understand even as he says it.

The fight ends quickly, if one can call it that. Vincent grabs his hand as soon as there’s an opening and pulls Gil away, running into Gil’s room and locking the door. Smartest option, definitely— Gil is bigger than Vincent, sure, but still doesn’t compare to an adult. Their elder brothers won’t follow them, probably, being the only people on Earth who don’t seem that interested in teasing Gil. He takes a few steps into the room as Vincent leans against the door, looking down. From where he stands Gil can barely see some blood run down his brother’s chin— their brothers must have busted his lip at some point during the scuffle.

Impulsively he approaches, though he does not reach a hand out. Vincent looks up, looks straight at him. His younger brother’s eyes narrow and he seems to snarl before covering his face with one hand, fumbling for the door handle with the other, and he runs off without another word to Gil.

Later that evening the two find each other again, Vincent showing not a shred of humility despite the beating he had so recently taken. The wound on his lip had already formed a scab, at least, and when asked Vincent said it didn’t hurt.

“I don’t get it. Why do they hate you so much?”

“Oh…” Vincent says, a little chuckle following the sound as though the question was itself funny. “That’s pretty easy. I said I’d kill them.”

It’s said so plainly that Gil doesn’t register it at first, thinking he misheard, thinking Vincent was joking.

“I said I hadn’t seen how human blood looks against my scissors, yet. I get bored of fabric, you know… anyone would. I wanted to hold them down, see how their skin would cut open beneath them, see if I could make them get everywhere if I managed to cut their bodies right…” he exhales contentedly. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

Odd eyes meet Gil’s expectantly, Vincent sighing like he’d come out of a nice dream, reaching a reluctant hand towards Gil. In a panic Gil slaps it away, takes a frightened step back. Vincent’s expression shows no recoil, no widening of eyes in shock. He smiles such as to expose his teeth.

“It’s getting late,” his little brother says. “I’m going to bed. Sweet dreams, brother.”

Since then, Vincent’s been clinging to Gil’s side even more closely than before. A distinct change in disposition followed, though not one Gil could place exactly. He’d try halfheartedly encouraging Vincent to try a hobby, to clean his room for once, to maybe eat more than half of any given meal or to get some sun. Vincent would brush him off, saying those things were tiring, that he was happy so long as he could stay with Gil.

The winter holiday was nearly upon them, only a couple weeks away. Elliot would be back from school then, and Gil would have someone to talk to that wasn’t his horrifying blood sibling, even if Elliot was only a child. Vincent’s present hadn’t even crossed his mind until his younger brother brought it up again.

“I’m nearly done,” he explains, carrying the fully assembled quilt in his arms. “Can you test the weight of it?”

Slowly Gilbert takes the blanket, letting it rest over his forearms, feeling how it bears down against him. It’s warm, and soft, and nice to look at, and as he checks over it yet again he can see the amount of effort Vincent must have put into it— even someone with experience would’ve taken weeks to make it. Though the gesture is reluctant, Gil’s a bit too earnestly grateful to hide a smile.

“You did a really good job, Vince.”

Vincent perks up immediately, beaming. “It’s not too thick or anything?”

“No, it’s— um, it’s perfect like this.” Gil hands the blanket back to him, and when Vincent grabs it their fingers don’t touch, but it’s close. “I’m glad to see you invested in something for once.”

“Oh.”

Vincent pauses as Gil lets the blanket fall from his hand, suddenly hesitant to gather it back up.

“Is that so…”

His younger brother smiles, looking down at the fabric in hand.

The winter holiday was upon them. Elliot had come back home from boarding school, and though most of his time was occupied by his blood siblings, he had made time to visit Gilbert as well. Gil hadn’t seen Vincent for most of the day— busy with tasks related to his own entrance into society, having turned fifteen. With not much to do outside and his chores all finished, Gil had taken to reading in the empty dining room while his adoptive siblings had some bonding time without him, taking comfort in the warm fireplace beside him.

It had been a good day, even with the usual conflicts with his adoptive siblings about how he was supposedly being a bad influence on Elliot. Everything they complained about— the sudden contempt for authority, the constant why-asking— seemed much more likely to be Vincent’s fault. Gil personally doesn’t care what values Elliot has; he’s just fond of his company.

The fireplace’s crackle as it dies is soothing, having lost its strength from when it was lit at the start of dinner. The whole family was supposed to be there, Gil and Vincent included, but Vincent must have slept through it. Not that Gilbert particularly cared— he ended up having to eat all of his vegetables, but he could stomach it. Darkness had fallen, the moon high in the sky, and Gil took a break from reading to look outside the window and contemplate.

“Gil…?”

He jumps at the sound of his blood brother’s voice, then feels quite ashamed of this. Maybe he didn’t mind Vincent being smarter than him, but being afraid of one’s little brother was a different matter entirely. “Ah— ah, Vincent— you’re… here.”

Chuckling softly, Vincent stumbles over to his elder brother, hands behind his back. “Brother! I’m happy to have come in time... I’ve missed Gil very much…”

There’s no way Vincent isn’t being conspicuous about whatever he’s hiding on purpose. He’s too smart for that. “What do you have?” Gilbert asks with a groan.

“Did brother forget his present?

“My…” Gil stops to think for a moment. “Oh, that! You, um—” and Gil suddenly realizes he forgot to get Vincent anything. “You really didn’t have to…”

“Yeah, I know.” Vincent grins, takes a few steps back from Gil as the elder brother stands up. “But obviously I’d do it, if it were for Gil’s sake…”

Vincent’s being coy. “Listen— I, I’m sorry for not getting you anything.”

“Don’t worry about it. If anything, I’m glad. I just wanted to see the look on brother’s face when I showed him.”

“Um—”

And just as Gil is about to stutter another heartless apology Vincent throws the bundle he had been hiding behind his back directly into the fire, staring at Gil the entire time as months of work begins to burn away. Reflexively Gil dives to retrieve it, try to salvage what he can, but Vincent stops him, grabs his wrist before he can stick it into the fire.

“Why—”

Gil can’t get anything out further as nausea collects in his stomach for some reason, because he doesn’t feel bad for Vincent, because Vincent did this, but he doesn’t understand why he would and it makes him sick and he can hear what Vincent had worked so hard for burn in front of him and he can’t do anything about it as Vincent leans forward, wraps his arms around his chest, laughs delightedly as he stares at Gil’s expression contorted in confused despair.

“See, now? I love Gil more than anyone. Just that look is more than enough.”

#pandora hearts #vincent nightray #gilbert nightray #writing log #log #fanfic

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bi-naesala · 3 years

Text

A small push, a story about two (clueless) people - A talk between brothers

Cody receives a call.

The morning of their departure, Cody wakes up even earlier than he usually does. It happens often when they are on missions: he can use more precious time to check that everything’s in order and that the troopers are well-equipped and know what they’re doing.

This isn’t the only reason why he’s up already: last night he received a message from general Maul, telling him the time of his arrival, which will be shortly. He doesn’t bother telling Kenobi about this, convinced that he must know already, and also maybe because there’s a tiny bit of hope inside him that like this he’ll get to spend at least a few minutes with the zabrak jedi alone; it’s not exactly a long time, but Cody is well aware that it would be foolish to hope for more - even more than how he already feels when he has these thoughts.

He sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t need to think about that now.

After checking his gear - spotless as always - Cody puts on his armor, leaving then his quarters towards the refectory. He’d rather eat now with the certainty that he’s going to be the only one - or at least one of the very few - around.

Not that he doesn’t enjoy the presence of his brothers, but before missions he’d rather have some time for himself in order to gather his thoughts and focus. He needs no teasing vod now.

As he enters, he’s pleased to see that he’s the first one there, good. At least like this he’s going to avoid very embarrassing situations like the one that happened yesterday at the showers; Waxer and Boil are always a big headache for him, the way only younger brothers can be, so he can’t deny having been a bit too happy when he assigned them to cleaning duty, that way they’re going to learn how to keep their mouth shut.

He picks up a tray and some food, but most importantly he takes two cups of caf - knowing well that he’s later going to refill at least one of them again - chuckling between himself at the memory of Helix harassing him for his “caf addition”, something that he clearly doesn’t have - he’s just blowing things out of proportion. He can’t be disappointed in him if he doesn’t see how much he actually drinks, right?

Just as he’s sat down, ready to “enjoy” his breakfast, he receives a call from his comm. Weird, it’s not general Maul, is…

“Wolffe.”

“Hello there, Kot’ika.”

Cody tries really hard not to sneer at that name; no matter how many times he tells Wolffe to stop calling him that, his batchmate continues doing it without any consideration about how he feels about it. Typical.

“Aren’t you deployed?” he asks then. He knows Wolffe wouldn’t call him for no good reason, so he can’t help but to worry that something has happened.

Noticing the way he’s beginning to tense, Wolffe is quick to reassure him:

“Relax, everything’s fine here,” he says. “Actually, it’s nighttime here.”

“So why are you calling me now?” Cody asks, back to being wary. If Wolffe isn’t contacting him for an emergency, then it means he just wants to bother him. The smirk on Wolffe’s face only confirms his theory.

“A little birdie told me about a certain someone that you’re going to work with for the next few days…”

“Who told you?” Cody asks, only to realize that he knows the answer already. That little… “Rex is a dead man.”

Wolffe laughs at his words, something so rare that despite what caused it, Cody can’t even be that mad at him.

“So…”

“So there is nothing to say,” Cody replies, firm. “I don’t know what Rex told you, but the relationship between me and general Maul is purely professional.”

What Cody says doesn’t match up with what Wolffe has been told and what little he’s seen - he can’t exactly say that he, Cody and general Maul being together is a common occurrence - which means that either the rumors are wrong or Cody’s lying, and Wolffe knows exactly which one it is.

“You’re full of poodoo,” he says in fact, “Big, stinky bantha poodoo.”

“Kriff off,” is Cody’s kind reply. Nothing unusual for the both of them.

“Your pining is worse than Bly’s.” Wolffe can’t help but to say.

“What does Bly have to do with this? Besides, didn’t he get together with his jedi?” Cody asks, confused. Wolffe shoots him a completely unimpressed look.

“That’s why I said you’re worse than him.”

“That’s it! Next time we see each other, prepare yourself to have your shebs kicked!”

It’s time for their conversation to end, but not before Wolffe sends Cody a menacing grin.

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Looking forward to what?”

Both Cody and the holographic Wolffe turn towards the source of voice. While Wolffe casually greets him with an “Hi, Rex” Cody looks more pissed than his vod.

“What did you tell him?” he asks as Rex sets his trail of food right beside Cody’s, sitting on his left.

“The truth, vod,” Rex replies. “Maybe he can manage to get your head out of your shebs and face the truth.”

“There is no truth to face,” Cody says, waving his hand dismissively, “And even if there was… It’s not like I could do something about it, alright? So let’s just drop the subject before I decide that you are my least favorite brothers.”

At those words Rex and Wolffe exchange a gaze, at least as much as they can while the other is on another planet entirely.

“Cody…” Rex tries again, putting a hand on Cody’s shoulder, who thankfully doesn’t shove him away, “We didn’t mean to upset you--”

“Speak for yourself, I’m just here to have a good laugh,” Wolffe interrupts him, though he soon turns serious again. “But enough joking around. What’s wrong Cody?”

“Is this like the Bly situation?”

“No, Bly was dumb.”

“Hate to break it to you, vod,” Rex intervenes, “But so are you.”

Cody huffs, but apart from that he doesn’t react much, which says a lot without the need to add anything.

“Maul’s a Jedi,” he says then, looking down at his trail rather than his brothers.

“So is Skywalker, and the dude’s married,” Rex points out.

“And general Secura is a Jedi too. It still didn’t stop her,” Wolffe adds, making Cody sigh.

“I know, I just… Ugh! I don’t know, actually!”

Kote has always been difficult when it comes with emotional matters; it’s a curse he shares with Wolffe and Fox and many other brothers. They just haven’t been equipped with the right tools to deal with them.

Wolffe understands this quite well. Normally he’d leave his brother alone exactly for this reason, but he also wants him to be happy, and it pisses him off when he self-sabotages himself like this!

“So you admit you like him, right?” Rex asks.

“I thought we had already established that,” Cody finally admits. It’s a step in the right direction.

“And you don’t think he’d be interested because…”

“Because why should he like me back?”

Wolffe remembers all the times he’s seen Kote and Maul together, they way they looked at each other, the way they fought together…

“That’s bullshit,” he says then. This time it’s Cody’s turn to roll his eyes, stealing Wolffe’s signature move.

“I just don’t think it’s the right time now.”

This is even more confusing that Cody’s refusal to admit that he had feelings for general Maul in the first place.

“Why not?” Wolffe asks. He’s beginning to become done with all of this, but unfortunately he’s not there physically, so it’s not like he can bash Kote and general Maul’s heads together, so he’ll have to use his words for once.

“Didn’t you notice, my dear brother?” is Cody’s reply, “We’re in the middle of a war.”

“Didn’t stop the others,” Rex points out, though both he and Wolffe think they understand the sentiment. It’s certainly not an ideal time, but exactly because of the life they conduct he shouldn’t waste this chance. Although Rex doesn’t have enough courage to bring it up - because that’s a scenario he always tries his best not to consider - Wolffe doesn’t have this kind of problem.

“Cody, you could die any time,” he says in fact, voice deadly serious. “You’d rather die with the regret for what you weren’t able to do?”

Heavy silence fills the refectory.

Wolffe’s words are true, but this doesn’t make them hurt less: in war nothing is certain, and as much as one can hope to come out of it unscathed, that’s not always the case, especially for them. If Cody doesn’t take his chances now, he might never be able to do it again.

“I’ll ask him after the war,” is what Cody says, and it’s final, both Rex and Wolffe can understand it from his voice. They could keep going at it for days and Cody still won’t change his mind. Stupid di’kut.

“As long as you do it,” Wolffe sighs. “Actually, if you don’t, then I’ll confess to him for you.”

“You won’t!” Cody squeaks immediately, which in turn only manages to convince Wolffe of the rightness of this choice.

“Oh I will, and it will be very embarrassing, trust me,” he threatens in fact, grinning almost manically at the juicy possibilities. He almost hopes Cody won’t confess anything now.

“I’ll bring a camera and the blackmail material,” Rex solemnly declares. Cody looks at him, betrayal evident in his eyes.

“You’re the absolute worst. You are not my brothers anymore,” he says, and after a tense pause… They all share a good laugh. See? In the end they love each other.

“Well, this is nice and all but…” Wolffe begins, yawning, “I think I’m going to retire for the night. Don’t you dare do anything stupid out there.”

“Same to you,” Cody replies, while Rex wavers his hand to say goodbye.

Wolffe rolls his eyes one last time before signing off, leaving Cody and Rex alone in the refectory.

“So…” Rex begins after a moment of silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’d say we already talked about it enough,” Cody replies immediately, sipping his - now cold - caf.

“Yes, but you’re also the king of repressing feelings, so…”

Cody gives Rex a half-hearted elbow.

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” Rex insists, though he doesn’t press the topic anymore, mostly because more people are beginning to arrive and he wouldn’t want to be overheard by someone who should mind his business.

They keep eating their meal in companionable silence as the refectory becomes louder and more alive by the second.

Rex would love to stay more, but he’d better go fetch general Skywalker and commander Tano since he still hasn’t seen them around, so once he’s done he gets up, taking his trail in hand.

“Well, see you on the battlefield,” he tells Cody then. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I should be the one saying it,” Cody replies with a smirk. “I’m not the one who has to run after Skywalker.”

“Point still stands,” Rex retorts, and with that, he walks away, leaving Cody alone.

This is the first time he admits his feelings to someone else. It was already a big deal when he finally did it to himself, but now more people know about them…

He’s not worried about the news going around because he knows Rex and Wolffe: they might love to tease him but they’d never betray his trust. Besides, he could sense that they asked him not out of simple curiosity but out of worry.

It’s true war is unpredictable, but he doesn’t feel like that alone is enough motivation to ask Maul out anyway. He doesn’t want to do it as marshal commander Cody, but as Cody and just Cody. This is something that he wants to cultivate outside the warzone, even if he knows that this way of thinking can be seen as naïve or too romantic, but that’s not going to change his mind.

He’d never tell it to anyone, but part of the reason why he wants to wait is that he still has to come to terms with this whole thing. It’s a lot, alright? Nobody on Kamino ever taught them this. It’s a new world that he’s navigating alone.

Is he afraid? A bit, even though he doesn’t like it, but well who likes being afraid? Nobody he supposes.

He sighs.

Now it’s not the time to think about that: they have a mission and Cody must focus on it. He’s a professional, damn it; he won’t let his feelings getting in the way, especially in situations like this one where even a small distraction can lead you to your death.

The mission will always come first, as for the rest… he’ll just have to see, he supposes.

#codymaul #commander cody #captain rex #commander wolffe #tcw #the clone wars #sw #star wars #a small push #clone husband #my fics #mine

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